#not going to mention who since they’ve been interacting with a few mutual but after they told me that I really did not like them

[buster-loves-pr]

I remember when some asshole here told me that Ronny’s actor was going to be annoyed at me for posting art and @ing her

Well fuck you. She likes my drawing of her, liked and reply to one of my comments and I got a keychain signed by her when they ran out of change (thank you Ms Murphy’s sister for it)

[vcstasy]

and…⠀♫⠀WHO do you work for, again?

The core four of JAGUAR’s main creative team (presently headed, of course, mainly by creative director Choi Eunhee)—that being their two main producers, their head stylist, and main choreographer—consists of Seol Daejin, Kwak Joosun, Son Sebin, and finally Yoon ‘Vicki’ Miryung. Both Joosun and Sebin have been with the company since 2012, the year of YOON’s debut, despite their ages (19 and 18, respectively). Miryung came on four years later, in 2016, shortly before JUST4U’s disbandment and after then-soloist Daejin’s debut date under SM Entertainment. He only lasted three years before going back to his producer roots and leaving for JAGUAR in 2019—the same year former ALGORYHTHM members Jalen and Haeil did the same—and completing the team most know today.

Seeing as it took them a good seven years to be brought together, and there’s a smaller gap of three years between JUST4U’s debut and Joosun and Sebin’s arrivals, a few people have asked the question of this: Who was doing it all before them? And, the answer is simply that no one knows, except from maybe a few of the main executives and the people themselves. The first few years of JUST4U’s discography are largely uncredited production, composition, and arrangement wise, and the only names that get mentioned are Yeseul’s and Insu’s themselves—they took on the lyrics themselves most of the time, and on a few occasions contributed to the production process also. These ghost producers are likely due to the fact that JAGUAR, in 2009, was still very new in the idol scene (only two years into it after jumping ship from the PR business in 2007). Quick payments for releases most likely seemed easier than spending the time building a dedicated team from the ground up—which is also likely why Joosun and Sebin were hired so young and so early into their careers.

They’ve all grown alongside the artists, and have all grown particularly close to CHERRYADE over the months they’ve spent working with them. Below is an overview on each.

Dead-eyed, perpetually bored, and at times too dry for his own good, people usually avoid making conversation with Joosun at all opportunities possible. And sure, he’s only really there to do his job, but making nice while doing so has never been something he’d be opposed to. He actually thinks he can be pretty funny when you get to know him. Not that many ever make it to that stage.

Joosun never wanted to be in the spotlight. All Joosun ever wanted in the music world was to be used as what he believed he was: an asset. A cog in the machine, sure—but an essential one. Something that things just wouldn’t feel right running without. He grew up the primary caretaker for his three younger siblings while his mother racked up credit card debt and his father lay in ashes, sealed in a columbarium that he never bothered to visit on any separate occasions other than the day they went to put him there, and if you asked him he’d tell you that was where the need to be needed came from.

Others may say they were drawn to music as a child and that was why they chose to pursue it, but Joosun never really found the time for that. The most he interacted with music as a child was through the radio and when he was making up tunes on his youngest sister’s toy piano for her entertainment. He wasn’t an experienced musician—much less an experienced producer—in the slightest by the time he was desperately searching for jobs of all kinds, and the only reason JAGUAR took him on in the first place is because they’d come to the realisation that they couldn’t keep hiring no-names to make music for them and then keep their mouths shut about it. Joosun called it mutual desperation, Seungdae called him a ‘baby bird they could nurture.’ The man had been weird since the day they met.

He learned on the job, and his first few mixes were nothing short of abysmal. It took a lot of overtime and a lot of begging for lessons from his newfound contacts in an industry he knew next to nothing about to get him on track to becoming the artist he is now, and he’s thankful he’s managed to dig out a space for himself in the music world. If he could give his sound a colour, it would be red—a deep, dark, wine shade. Mature, promiscuous, dark, at times. But it’s less of a case of that being all he knows (he experimented with just about everything on his journey to find what really fit him) and more a case of that being what’s his. He’s best at it, he flourishes within it, and he knows his way around it even with his eyes closed. It’s glaringly obvious whenever you’re listening to anything Joosun, and that’s just the way he likes it.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀KWAK JOOSUN  ( 곽주선. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀FEBRUARY 17,  1993

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀PRODUCER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀CHOI WONBIN

Accommodating but no-nonsense, Daejin is always considered the kinder of the two producers. He always has a few words of encouragement even if on the inside he thinks you’re awful, always delivers any criticism he does deem nice enough to say out loud with a sweet smile and little motivational fist-pump, and never fails to get at least one smile out of whoever’s he’s worked with that day. His own dreams of being an idol might not have worked out, but as long as he can help others in their own careers he’s happy. 

A child of divorce, Daejin turned to music (and basketball) as a semi-coping mechanism to block out all the arguing before the split became official. The last he saw of his father was the month before his seventh birthday, sitting beside him on the balcony of their cramped flat with his legs dangling through the gaps in the railing while the man smoked through a pack and gave him some half-hearted life advice. Take care of your mother. Try and get along with your older brothers. Do something with your life. He did his best to follow along with it all, although the second was the hardest. Him and his oldest brother had next to nothing in common, constantly coming to blows, so for the most part he stuck to his older brother or kept to himself. They only became closer during the messy divorce period, while his parents were duking it out over custody and money. That was also where he really got into music, picking up both the guitar and the keyboard as things he could teach himself to keep himself busy when his mind was driving him crazier than usual.

He was never all that academically inclined, bunking off to shoot hoops or waste away the day’s hours in arcades for the majority of his school years—but his mother didn’t really care. She would’ve been more surprised if he was a perfect student, seeing as her two children before him were just as unwilling to show up to school. SM came about when he was thinking about what to do to make good on the ‘do something with your life’ part of his father’s advice. It was quite a rash decision, but it involved music, and if it went well he could safely say he had done something worthwhile (and, he would admit, he was looking forward to lording it over his brothers if it went well also). He didn’t tell any of his family until he got the confirmation that he’d passed his audition, and then off into trainee life he went. Daejin kept his head down and himself to himself during his two years of training, and was perfectly happy with his solo career as it went on—not just for the success it brought him and fun he was having with it, but also because along the way he got the chance to contribute to it more and more, until by 2018 he was fully self-written and self-produced.

The end of his idol career came about of his own volition. He felt he was content with what he’d produced, grateful for the people he’d met and things he’d accomplished, and simply wanted to step back and focus fully on the aspect he loved most: the production. JAGUAR was only his first choice because he’d been a fan of JUST4U growing up (he still has all their albums to this day), and when they accepted him he was packing his SM bags as quick as he could and happily leaving the idol life behind. It took a while to get through Joosun’s shell, but they’re thick as thieves now. He lives his life making music and having fun doing it, trying out all sorts of genres and sounds but always leaving them that little something that makes them truly his. Daejin’s sound doesn’t have one specific colour, as he likes to think it’s an explosion of every single one of them.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀SEOL DAEJIN  ( 설대진. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀MAY 27,  1998

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀PRODUCER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀MOON SANGMIN

DISCOGRAPHY (2016–18)

JUL 2016⠀CALL YOU TONIGHT⠀(FROM MINI ALBUM: “DIAL TONE”)

DEC 2016⠀TRIGGER⠀(FROM SINGLE: “TRIGGER”)

SEPT 2017⠀WANT FROM ME⠀(FROM MINI ALBUM: “COMPONENT”)

MAY 2018⠀2FACE⠀(FROM FULL ALBUM: “PUZZLE PIECE”)

OCT 2018⠀SOBER THOUGHTS⠀(FROM SINGLE: “SOBER THOUGHTS”)

Stretched so thin you’d think she was a rubber band on the verge of snapping, Sebin treats life like she’s on the run. Constantly moving, always talking, never taking a moment to breathe in fear an idea dissipates or her concentration dissolves. She’s a force of nature when she’s in the zone, but her everyday sunny disposition is one that makes her all too easily likeable. All-around lovely—as long as you don’t get in her way.

Sebin thinks she got all her neuroticism and need for over-perfection from her mother. She hadn’t known much about their state of living as a child, but apparently it meant lots of too-long dinners with other adults she couldn’t remember the name of even if her parents reminded her three times over, wearing clothes that always felt too new to break in, and keeping up appearances at all times. Once she’d grown up, she realised they were just wealthy. Clothing was her father’s business of choice, and she thinks she shares his love for beauty, for seeing visions come to life by their own hands—although for her it channeled in different ways. While he loved intricate stitching and the feel of expensive fabric against his fingers, Sebin was always more enamoured with make-up (although fashion never truly left her heart). The heaps of tubes filled with lipsticks and glosses and mascaras her mother owned (which she helped herself to more than a few times over the years), how one shade could compliment one person and insult another—she felt there was a way to learn it, and she very badly wanted to.

Beauty school felt like her calling, and it only took a little bit of begging for her parents to agree to let her go—with the catch that she’d have to take night classes to get a more standard education alongside it, which she agreed to easily. She enjoyed her time there to the fullest, finally beginning to learn all the ways around the thing she’d been so fascinated with as a child. Of course, she became aware that the standards in Korea weren’t the same everywhere, and so on their yearly summer vacations to whatever foreign country her mother was dying to visit she’d find a way to steal a few afternoons to herself to try and get a few more tips and tricks from people who’d had a completely different perspective on beauty than she had over their years. Broken English and hastily scribbled drawings on the notepad she’d dedicated to carrying around with her was all she could communicate via for the first few years of these trips, but over time she brushed up on a couple languages to have at her disposal also. Sebin was determined to ‘master beauty,’ as she called it, in every way possible. Hairstyles for all types of hair, looks for all types of faces, clothes for every type of body, beauty for every type of person.

Her job at JAGUAR came about due to her want to get out into the real working world, and the idol industry was the best fit for her dream. Her looks on people’s faces? On their bodies as they performed for all their fans to see? She would do anything for it, and when she walked into the interview room she said just that, eagerness spilling out of mouth as she spoke a mile a minute. She jumped for joy (literally) when she was accepted, and threw her all into the job from the first day. Her and Yeseul got along like a house on fire from the first time they met, which was another thing she was over the moon about. Sure, getting to know Insu and Yoonhae was a little hard at first, and she felt a tad intimidated by Joosun, but she soon warmed up to all of them, and they did the same with her in kind. Her and Joosun got particularly close, seeing as they were the only official creative team members at the time—everything else being mostly outsourced—and he’s still one of her closest friends today. While she’d ditched the rather childish dream of ‘mastering beauty’ a while ago, what she gets to do today is everything she’d hoped for and more.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀SON SEBIN  ( 손세빈. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀JULY 8,  1994

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀STYLIST

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀HEO YOUNGJI

Often referred to as Joosun’s female counterpart (if he ever went down the dance route), Miryung—or Vicki, as she uses at work—has quickly become known for her gruelling sessions and little sympathy for stragglers. She’s perfectly pleasant after work hours are over (if a tad standoffish at first), but if the only place you’ve been face-to-face is the studio, then chances are you don’t like her much.

Miryung doesn’t quite know where she got her tough-loving nature from. Her mother and father were as doting as they could afford to be when mostly living paycheck to paycheck in order to support both her and her younger brother, and it wasn’t as if she was put through any particular torment at school. But her brother was bullied quite relentlessly, and so she got used to pulling her hair back and getting sharper acrylics in order for it to hurt more when she went to scratch and kick and belittle the perpetrators right back, so she supposed it may have rooted around that time. Her skin got thicker and her eyes got colder, and in some ways she became a bully right back—but she didn’t let herself think about that too hard. She was just doing the right thing as a sister, even if her acts of violence were sometimes a little too far over the top.

As she grew older, she realised that maybe putting all the pent up anger she seemed to be housing into something else would be better, and that was how she found dance. She found a class, picked it up quick and got better quicker, and by fourteen she was standing in as an assistant instructor for the younger kid’s classes on weekends. That was where the desire to teach came from, too. She saw more and more people like herself over the years, people just looking for an escape or to channel everything negative brewing inside them into something more productive, something better for their peace of mind. Her mean streak calmed down the more and more she threw herself into both performing and teaching every style of dance she could think of, although her no-nonsense way of teaching remained—she found it was just.. Easier to keep it that way. Praise and comfort never fell easy from her mouth, always sounded too stilted to be genuine.

JAGUAR came about when Miryung was looking to expand her teaching abilities at places other than the multiple classes she was now handling as a nineteen year old. She wasn’t about to bite off more than she could chew, so a relatively small scale company was what she was looking for—and found, in JAGUAR. Wrangling trainees into shape was easy after all the practice she’d had, however rude they were to start with. What was first simple instructing soon began to morph into choreographing, and after years of making up routines for her classes to follow along with that didn’t come as any particular hurdle either. She felt like she’d finally found her true calling, something she was born to do. That’s where Vicki came from—victory. She’d won.

NAME⠀ㅇ⠀YOON ‘VICKI’ MIRYUNG  ( 윤미령. )

BORN⠀ㅇ⠀APRIL 30,  1997

POSITION⠀ㅇ⠀CHOREOGRAPHER

PLAYED BY⠀ㅇ⠀CHOI ‘YUJU’ YUNA

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for assuming my friend was single? (TW: small mention of suicidal ideation)

I (21FTM) have known Jake (22M) since we were in middle school. We became close friends early on during high school, and have had a good relationship ever since. When he and his long-term girlfriend broke up during our junior year, I was the person he turned to the most. The break-up was bad. Like, really bad. Bad to the point where I sometimes worry that he wouldn’t be here today if he hadn’t reached out to me. (Not in the sense that he was unhealthily dependent on me, or that I felt responsible for his mental health. He got a therapist and responsibly handled all that with her, but only at my insistence, and I fear that’s a step he never would’ve taken if I didn’t insist.) By senior year, he and became FWB. We weren’t worried about it messing with our friendship—he’s heteroromantic, i’m aro—and it continued for about a year until the both of us left for college. We’ve stayed friends and our relationship has remained close. We talk so often that it rarely feels like anything’s changed at all.

December of last year, he excitedly told me that he got a girlfriend again in Emily (21?F). I was ecstatic, of course. He’d struggled a lot with the idea of a romantic relationship after his last girlfriend, and I was happy he felt comfortable enough to open up again. As I said, his previous relationship really fucked him up. Anyways, because of the distance, I never got to actually talk to Emily much outside of when she was at his place during our video calls. She was super nice from the few times we did interact, and from the way he described her when she wasn’t around, you’d think she was a literal angel. Him gushing about her lasted up until early May. Suddenly, he didn’t mention her at all. It was like she never existed. I didn’t see her once at his place, and the few times I tried to ask about her, he instantly shut me down. He was more down than usual, not to the point of worry like I’d previously seen him, but to the point were it was notable. I asked him a few times if he was alright, and reminded him that I was there whenever he needed me, but he just said that he was going through something rough and that he’d be okay, but didn’t really want to talk about it. I didn’t want to push, and from the way he reacted whenever i brought up Emily’s name, and from his previous experience, I assumed she and him had broken up. I had no way to contact her to check, and even if I did, that’d feel like overstepping, considering I never talked to her when he wasn’t around. It was obviously a sensitive subject and stressing him out, so I followed his lead and just didn’t mention her at all. Their relationship wasn’t my business, after all, and if he didn’t want to tell me what happened, that was his right.

School got out for the summer, and shortly after both of us returned home, he asked if I wanted to rekindle our FWB relationship for the summer. It wasn’t like it was the first thing out of his mouth, and he seemed to be doing a lot better seeing him in person, so I agreed. That was in the beginning of June. Cut to two days ago, nearly two months later. Jake left for a family vacation a week prior, and will only be returning at the end of the month. Meanwhile, I meet up with one of our mutual friends who I haven’t been able to see until now due to our conflicting schedules. While talking, she makes some joke about Jake and Emily having “trouble in paradise.” My heart stops as I ask her what she means. Didn’t they break up months ago? She tells me no, they’ve been having relationship issues for a while, but they’re still very much together. She shows me a picture from Emily’s instagram (I don’t use instagram, for reference) that Emily had posted just a few hours ago of her and Jake kissing on the beach. What Jake conveniently forgot to tell me about his “family vacation” is that his girlfriend had *also* been invited.

I instantly tried messaging him that we need to talk, but either he isn’t checking his phone (unlikely) or he knows I know and is purposefully ignoring me. Logically, I know that he’s the bigger asshole in this situation. But I can’t help but feel slightly at fault. I feel like I should’ve questioned him more, or found some way to reach out to her, or even asked any of our other mutual friends about it, because obviously at least one (maybe even some) of them knew, and all of his could’ve been avoided. I also don’t know what to do regarding Emily. I have her instagram now, curtesy of my friend, but I’m afraid to message her. Not necessarily afraid to break the news, I’m already constructing a message to send to her (which I will be doing), but more afraid that she won’t believe me. I’ll have to make an account, and I’m afraid her being messaged by a blank account created only hours ago from a guy she talked to a few dozen times, max, may be sketchy. I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t believe me (I have a few messages from him, but no photos, and those screenshots could be easily faked), because there’s no other way for me to contact her. If she blocks me or ignores the message because of how sketchy it sounds, there’s nothing else I can do.

TLDR: I assumed my friend had broken up with his girlfriend due to him acting weird when I brought her up, became FWB, only to find out he was using me to cheat on her. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[demisexual-eddie-diaz]

Hello, it's the anon from the last " is this transphobic?" ask

if i am afraid of misgendering someone, and i am not completely close to them, should I avoid them (while still maintaining cordiality?)

context:

the person in question used to be a friend of mine, before we mutually drifted apart but remained friendly

After this, they came out as a trans ftm, but eventually found themselves to be non-binary

it's been over five years, and I haven' t seen them much since we have very different classes.

They are SUPER nice but i still catch myself slipping with pronouns sometimes. I can remember their name perfectly though (no deadnaming, but then again I haven't interacted with them much since we drifted).

The fact that it's been so long since they've come out kind of negates the excuse of "not being used to it"

On the other hand, the language we speak at home does not have gender neutral pronouns (i mean they might have come up with some, but my parents sure don' t know about them/wouldn't use them) so my friend is still referred to with feminine pronoun, on the occasion that they are mentioned.

They were only male-identifying for a short period, but i think i had an easier time remembering the male pronouns. so maybe its because im not used to gender neutral pronouns, since all the books I've read only use he/she for the third person singular?

i dont think it would be obvious if i DID avoid them since they have other friends and we dont interact much in the first place

i dont want to alienate or "other" them by making it seem like im walking around eggshells around them--- even if i often am.

also, are they even still nonbinary???? they dont correct me when i slip up, so maybe the pronouns they use have changed??? but its probably because they're just a kind person

Hi, friend:)

To start with, I think the easiest thing pronoun wise would be to just use their name as much as possible.

Example:

A - “Who’s that?”

B - “Matthew. We’re friends.”

A - “How long have you known Matthew?”

B - “I’ve known Matthew for three years.”

As for ‘slipping up’ on their pronouns and not knowing whether or not they still identify as non binary, the easiest thing is to just ask.

Truly, you don’t have to worry about upsetting trans people by asking their pronouns. As long as you’re being respectful and don’t ask too personal questions. The classic ‘what’s in your pants’ question would be an example of going too far.

I know that as long as I’m with a safe group of people, not around my unsupportive family, then I’m perfectly okay with telling people my name and pronouns.

Example:

(Me) - Hello, I’m Matthew. My pronouns are he/him.

(My friend) - Hi, my name is Julia. My pronouns are she/her.

It’s really is that easy and as long as you use the name they’ve asked you to use, and you try to say their name and not pronouns as much as possible, it would probably go a lot smoother.

As for the language part, I’m not sure what language you do speak, but I know that this was a problem for one of my friends. They’re Mexican and only speak Spanish at home. There are a few queer organizations working on discovering new ways to say singular they/them in other languages. As for the book part, I’d recommend going to a library or bookstore and just reading a book centering a gender non conforming character. The book will use the singular they for that character so it would be good practice. Also, you used the correct pronouns when typing this so maybe just writing about your friend or even making stories about characters with they/them pronouns can help.

I hope that this was helpful, I’m a binary trans person so I gave the best input I could. If it makes you feel any better, I will say that even as a trans person I mess up on some of my friends pronouns. If I knew them before then I do sometimes mess up. I will say that the name is the easier part, pronouns can be more difficult.

Also, if you have any other questions you could ask here or private message me. Either are fine.

- Matthew(he/him)

[cinnamonest]

Xingqiu - Yandere Profile

I actually just got my sweet bookworm boi to his next to last ascension, my hydro baby, my angel, I love him even if bc of him I have to marathon fight the oceanid

I’ve had a lot of reqs for him & Chongyun dating back to January again lol but it only felt right to wait until I finished both so I could release them at the same time, so, Chongyun’s will be up immediately after this!

=======================

TWs: fem reader, yandere, confinement, manipulative behaviors, mentions of homicide, gaslighting, Xingqiu being a spoiled arrogant brat

TWs (below cut): noncon/dubcon, manipulating and guilting reader into sex, overstimulation, fluids/cumplay, humiliation 

Since there's no canonical age but he has a bit of the rounded young face I'm tagging with the sh*ta tw as well!

=======================

Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 7 Brutality: 3 Physical capability: 4 Mental/emotional instability: 6 Restrictiveness: 7 Sexual sadism: 5 Stubbornness: 8

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Tries to buy his way to you, initially. He's grown up seeing the power that money holds over people, and, well, his father can always just wave a bit around and get whatever he wants from most people, so why should you be any different? He goes for stereotypical "girl" things like flowers and jewelry at first, unless you have some prominent and well-known interest, in which case he'll invest in something related to that.

Honestly, for all his chivalry and all that, his maturity is something of a faux one, a sort of projected self-image of the gentlemanly figure he strives to be... but when he lets that slip, he can be something of a childish spoiled brat. The thing is... he's completely unaware and refuses to acknowledge that he can be so immature. He likes getting what he wants, when he wants it, exactly how he wants it, and being denied the things he wants isn't particularly common in his life. So rejection comes not so much as a disappointment so much as a shock. No matter, you're just... a brat, yourself. You think you're too good for everyone, he reasons, so you play hard to get.

Really, after recovering from the initial shock, he realizes he likes things this way. He likes challenges. It would be no fun if you came to him easily. You may be a brat, but in the end, the one thing he refuses to ever do is lose. Chivalrous gentlemen are fine with having to earn their things, so really, he's thankful that you reminded him of his morals, of his desire to truly earn the things he wants. It will make it that much more meaningful.

So he goes heavy on the idea of "courting", following whatever old and prudish traditions may exist in Liyue. If you're from somewhere else, he figures, that could be why -- clearly he hasn't followed through on whatever is normal for your culture. Silly him. He makes an effort to research whatever those traditions may be, and goes to the absolute maximum on performing them. Lavishes you in gifts of all kinds, constantly giving you compliments. He even goes to the effort of, if all else fails, reading romance novels targeted at women to get a better grasp of what exactly you're supposed to like, and emulates those behaviors.

Overall, though, in later stages Xingqiu slightly more mild for a yan, allowing you to have interactions with others (even if he’s irritated), such as his family, family servants, and his friends, and will even take you outside now and then. However, he will cut off your ties to those friends you had before that weren't mutual friends. He's also one of the least likely yanderes to ever kill someone, and will avoid hurting people if possible -- if anything, he prefers more discreet methods like ruining their life socially or financially.

He's also a lot more moody behind closed doors than he is to most people. His attempts to be oh-so-mature eventually kinda crumble, and the more comfortable he becomes around you, the more he lets his immaturity show.

He could assign family servants to looking for you, but really, he prefers to do it himself, this is about love after all, he doesn't want to assign them to a task they would never perform as diligently as he could. But rather than stalking, he chooses to just kind of... stay with you. He's somehow always where you are, "coincidentally" running into you everywhere and then somehow nothing having anything to do, because he clings to you for hours until you finally have to go home, and even then, he'll just follow you to continue the visit there if he can. No point in watching from a distance when he can be right there with you. And again, he's actually surprisingly unaware that his clinginess is so obvious, he's oblivious to how obvious his infatuation is. Which is a bit odd, considering that he's usually fairly perceptive, but he's so confident in the fact that he is normally perceptive that he allows himself to slip into abnormal behaviors without really realizing it, because he's not constantly on guard in the way some less socially adept yanderes are.

On a genuinely sweet level, there's one little thing he keeps hidden from you. He's actually written a lot of love poetry for you, verses about you and all of the things he loves about you so much... Despite usually being fairly confident in his work, he can't bring himself to show it to you. He's too flustered. And considering your negative reactions to his affection (read: not wanting to be kept like a captive animal), he is actually a bit sensitive to that perceived rejection, which further discourages him. He keeps them all stashed away, stuffed into some fairly hidden drawer. Should you ever come across them and bring them up, it's one of a very few things that will genuinely make him super embarrassed, and he'll just insist they weren't about you, even though the details make it obvious they were, and storm off, never bringing it up again.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

It's not kidnapping. It's... relocating. He's far too chivalrous to resort to something so brutish as kidnapping! He'll make sure you want to come with him. He can easily arrange for there to be rumors and reports of... occurrences near your home. Criminal activity, maybe false rumors of mysterious disappearances. Hell, he'll get Chongyun to testify that your house has demonic spirits in it. Something to make you want to move out. Maybe some things start happening to you -- you get the feeling you're being watched, you get threatening messages mailed to your home, you have strangers (read: randos who will do anything for some mora he gives them) telling you you're not welcome in the area and to get out. It's all incredibly confusing and scary and you have no idea what brought it all on!

Luckily for you, you have a rich, generous friend who makes it more than clear you're welcome to come stay with him for a while at any time. Eventually, no matter what it takes, he can push you to a point where you'll take him up on that offer. Something feels... oddly ominous about the way the gates to his family estate close behind you once you walk in. Like they're sealing your fate.

And once step one is done, step two of his plan goes into place - make sure you never want to leave. He can make that happen, there's plenty of space here for you to roam, plenty for you to do, and even when he's not there to entertain you, there's plenty of servants to keep an eye on you and make sure that whenever you try to leave, they'll smile and tell you you can't go just yet miss, there's this or that going on tonight! The young master said he had something important for you when he gets back later! You can't go out now, there was just an attack by some deranged person in the town still on the loose! Just... go back inside for now.

Of course, it's wishful thinking, but he likes to maintain the delusion that he can just keep this going indefinitely, that you won't finally one day put your foot down and tell him you've been stuck here nearly a month and you're ready to at least go visit home. He might even entertain it a bit - sure, you can go visit your old house with him and collect some of your old things to bring back with you, but he makes sure to make it look at though whatever problem he made up is still occurring. Nonetheless, if you're insistent, or at whatever point you finally crack and catch on, demand to know what's going on - well, it's not pretty. He gets into something of a tantrum if you don't comply, but ultimately, in his own little huffy, ticked off way, says you can't leave, and that's that, no more questions allowed, and no more of this ridiculous demand to leave. Of course, darling is taken aback at first, even thinking he's joking, but it soon becomes very clear he's completely serious, and intends to enforce that command.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

When he's with you, he's tends to be pretty clingy, both physically and in conversation, never ceasing talking about this or that, and he's actually a sleep-clinger as well, keeping an iron grip around your waist when you sleep. So, whenever he's at his home, he insists on you being in his presence, usually physically touching, so you won't really get an opportunity while he's just in another room or something because you can't get any privacy to begin with. When you're in public, he's incredibly watchful over your every move and incredibly clingy then as well, so don't expect such a chance to arrive either.

Thus, your best bet is to try when you're under the watch of guards, whenever he's gone for whatever reason. They've been instructed to watch you from a distance, you see, he doesn't want them interacting with you directly, so you'll have a few chances here or there where they get distracted or their backs are turned. There will likely eventually also be a time where there's a scheduling error, you end up unsupervised! However, physically getting out of the estate is still difficult. There's still posted guards everywhere. So all in all, it's fairly difficult, especially in broad daylight, the only time he's not with you.

When you're inevitably dragged back kicking and screaming by some poor guards that aren't getting paid enough to deal with this, after getting back and hearing the report he deals with it in that unnerving saccharine way of feigning ignorance to try and get a reaction. Now, he knows you weren't trying to get out... right? Surely you got distracted by a bird or something, right? That's the only reason why you'd ever try to leave, right? It's obvious he knows better, and is just fucking with your head, but it's best not to lie. What he wants is an admittance of guilt and an apology, preferably down on the floor begging for forgiveness.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Moderate, leaning towards difficult. He's perceptive, and intelligent, but that intelligence is largely a sort of book-smarts type of intelligence. He's generally crafty and a prankster himself, so pulling things over on him is difficult because he's familiar with the mindset and methods of doing so, but he can be tricked if you put on a believable enough act. Basically, a darling who is a good actor stands a much better chance.

However, he's ultimately a learner. You can get away with some tricks or plots once, but he won't fall for the same thing twice. Any sort of escape or deceit you've tried once, he'll make active efforts to guard against and prevent in the future.

Manipulation, though, you can forget it. He's way too proud and stubborn to be emotionally manipulated, in the end getting his way and what he wants takes priority over making you happy, so don't expect to be able to manipulate him based on the notion of something making you happier.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Fairly lenient, actually. You get a lot of access so long as your behavior is good, so really it's wise to be on your best behavior in the long term of things. He can get you anything you want, especially reading material. And you actually get to go outside, yay! He's like my earlier Childe profile on that -- he likes to go on dates, and he's actually really enthusiastic about it! He's big on date planning, wanting to see everything there is to see and do everything there is to do together. The rules are that you just need to be physically attached to him in some way -- you can hold his hand, grab at his sleeves, or he can do so to you (although he'd prefer you cling to him. He likes the image it projects to people around you). He actually gets really hyped about said dates whenever you plan them, he'll talk to you for hours plotting out all the things to do on this particular outing. At one point, his smile drops and his voice goes low and he tells you that, just a reminder, you know the rules for dates, right? ...Good.

Similarly, if you ask, he'll let you accompany him on more trivial outings as well, say if you'd like to go grocery shopping, and he certainly won't turn down a trip to the bookstore. The same rules apply, although he's a bit less excited for something so mundane.

One thing he won't do, surprisingly, is let you have anything to do with Guhua arts or skills. He won't teach you anything he knows nor let you learn, and if you were a follower of it before, he'll cut off your access to any material. His reasoning is that he just doesn't really think anything to do with combat suits you. You're better off learning more passive skills and hobbies.

In reality? He can't stand the thought of you ever being able to present a challenge to him in that sense. It would kill his ego if you ever managed to do something related to the Guhua arts better than he can, or even half as good as he can.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Well, to occupy your time, he has things that need cleaning you know... Honestly, he's messy, and he's already used to having maids, so he kinda treats you like one to some degree. Of course, he's active in his little heroism adventures, but when it comes to his own living spaces and such things he can be a bit lazy. So, he'll give you tasks to do sometimes, he likes the power rush too that he gets from ordering you around a bit. It soothes the ego.

Outside of your strolls together, you can't be going outside (and you don't get to choose when you do go on your little walks and dates, he does, although he may grant you the wishes of your begging). Also, don't actually try to talk to the guards. They're there to watch you, nothing more, so pay them no mind, and by no means should you ever have a reason to make conversation with them. If there's an emergency or something you need, you may inform them and get help, nothing more. And really, they're more afraid of this rule than you are -- you'll have difficulty finding one even willing to talk to you, they all take the warnings they've been given very seriously.

He eventually gets nitpicky and makes all sorts of little behavioral rules, it's incredibly obnoxious. But honestly, suffering his bratty tantrums is enough of a punishment, even if he didn't usually follow it up with actual punishment, which, for him, tends to be something perverted in some way.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He actually gets jealous rather easily, often over people who are no real threat. You can never be too nice to anyone -- even after he introduces you to his father and older brother, he expects you to be happy to meet them... but not that much. If you show too much excitement or happiness over any other being, he gets pouty, especially other men, but also your friends, male or female, family, even animals. His first reaction isn't to kill, rather, just an increase in isolation. Drag you back home and make sure you get a lot of time to yourselves, seeks reassurance that you really love him. If it's his own family, he might get grouchy towards them, snap at them a bit, bitterly drag you back off to your own room, where he'll then proceed to get equally grouchy towards you until you have given him enough reassurance he deems sufficient. In his own time, when you're not around, he makes sure to make it perfectly clear to those around him that they aren't to get in between you two.

He's one of the better yans to have in this regard, though, because he's unlikely to resort to killing anyone. He's got too much of his self-image invested in the idea of morals and justice to be able to do so, he can't delude himself into believing it's right or acceptable. It's not impossible to push him to that point, but it wouldn't just be someone you show any positive reception towards -- if Xingqiu did end up killing a rival, it would have to be one for whom you have very blatantly made clear you have actual romantic and sexual affection, someone who poses a genuine, real threat.

Xingqiu is a sort of open book when it comes to jealousy -- it's obvious to everyone around you that he's mad at someone else for even looking at you, and he doesn't try to hide it. It makes him that much angrier if someone doesn't obey his silent demand to stop interacting with you, doesn't seem fazed by his glares and coldness. He'll meet with them privately and make things clear verbally, since he tells himself maybe they're just dense and too stupid to understand. But they only get one more chance. Cross him twice, and they'll likely find themselves in financial ruin after pulling some strings through the connections of his father and brother.

What would make him significantly more likely to kill someone is someone who poses a legal threat, someone who catches on to what's going on and threatens to get him in serious trouble for it. Even if he tried bribing them, well, they'd likely just pretend to accept, and someone so bold likely wouldn't bow to threats.

This is where he can slip into the mindset of a delusional yandere. He once again projects the image in his head, that knight he wants to be for you, and hey, sometimes to save the princess, the heroes in his martial arts epics have to get their hands dirty, have to unfortunately get blood on their hands for the sake of the greater good. And hey, then it's usually called character development. Most of his fictional heroes tend to have killed at least one person in a sort of epic battle to defend something precious to them. This is no different. Of course, ambushing an unarmed person and running them through hardly counts as an epic battle, but he doesn't really take that part into account.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Again, a bit of a spoiled brat at times. He's pouty, gives you the cold shoulder, yet dramatically inserts himself in front of you and whatever you're occupied with so you can't do anything. Basically he's forcing you to acknowledge his pouting and ask him what's wrong so that he can pull the "oh, nothing" until you ask again, and maybe he'll eventually bitterly, passive-aggressively make it clear what you did wrong. The bright side is he's easily soothed - an apology and some groveling will fix his attitude pretty quickly, although he'll have an infuriating air of superiority about it all, telling you he's glad you were able to understand what you did and have, hopefully, learned to correct the behavior in the future.

Worse offenses, things that make him genuinely and truly infuriated, are significantly worse, but rather uncharacteristically for him, he's quiet. And that's what's do frightening about it - for once you almost wish he would blabber or complain or whine like you're so used to, but his fury is dead silent. He moves without speaking, harsh motions that will either shove or tug you to wherever he's trying to maneuver you, and he shows how he feels through actions rather than words - he slams doors and objects, stomps, everything about his body language is frightening enough to make you stiffen and jolt.

Thankfully, Xingqiu is a milder yandere when it comes to severity of things he'll do to you in moments of anger -- he's one that can control himself well enough not to severely hurt you, break bones or anything like that. When it comes to his flashes of anger, at worst he might slap you in his tantrums, but he has at least enough self-control and empathy for you to manage better than a lot of yanderes.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Below. It's mostly that he thinks rather highly of himself - he's an important person you know. He saves people, he goes around doing his little vigilante thing, and he's not afraid to flaunt sometimes.

If you happen to also be from a rich family, you can earn a little bit more respect from him, you're cultured and sophisticated. If you're intelligent, you can get some validity in his mind as well. He'll still consider himself more intelligent and higher status, something you'd be mindful to remember, but he'll begrudgingly acknowledge it.

A commoner darling, though? God forbid an airheaded one? Forget about getting any respect - you're more like... A cute little puppy to him. Dumb and loud and clumsy, but nonetheless very cute and loveable. You were just... Made to be something of an accessory to him. And he loves and values you, you mean the world to him really, but that's all the more reason why you should accept your place as such.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

It drives him up the wall. You know, his father could arrange his marriage to a ton of young rich daughters in Liyue who would be more than happy about it, but he can't get the attention of ONE girl he likes? It's infuriating. And it makes him all the more insistent to have specifically you.

For Xingqiu, it's a mix of both desperation and a pride thing as well. One one hand he desperately does truly want his feelings to be returned, he wants you to love him, he wants the fantasy he has in his head of you two having a long, happy future together. On the other hand, rejection is also a mark on his pride, and that irritates him beyond comprehension.

So don't expect him to ever give up, really. Unlike a lot of loving yans though, he doesn't blame himself, he directs the rejection hurt outward - maybe you're just so spoiled yourself that nothing is good enough for you. Maybe you're just playing hard to get. Maybe you just think constantly turning him down is funny, it's amusing to you, and, well, he doesn't take lightly to you trying to play games with him. So while he'll continue to try and earn your love, don't be surprised if it results in an irritated mood swing every now and then.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

A lack of desire/hesitancy to resort to violence or more morally wayward methods. He stakes a lot of his pride and self-image on being a chivalrous, upright, just person, someone who should exemplify right and punish wrong, and unfortunately for him he's not a delusional and can't convince himself that he's doing the right thing. He wants to be a gentleman, your knight in shining armor, the storybook hero he projects in his head that always comes to save his princess, who in turn is receptive and showers him in praise and affection and gratitude. You're the problem, you see, you're not following through on your role in all this.

As such, he really, really hates having to dirty his hands in any way, or do anything that he knows is wrong and will consequently drag him into guilt. Not that he can't be driven to it, because he certainly can, but if it reaches that point, that means you didn't cooperate with him to begin with, which would have made things so much easier, so he'll definitely rid himself of that guilt by redirecting the blame to you, or deluding himself into some bizarre justification.

Another thing... his family's compliance. Honestly? His dad is far too busy and far too done with Xingqiu's shit to expect any help from him. His son tends to be picky, whiny, and demanding -- now that you're here, he's finally satiated, finally actually paying attention to the important matters his father wants him to be involved with, finally not causing nearly as much trouble now that you're around. You can bet he's more than happy to put in some extra funds and personnel to restrain some random commoner, so long as his son is satisfied. His brother doesn't really agree with it all, but his brother wants this and his father is supporting it, so... his hands are tied. He turns a blind eye. And the staff, the servants? They're getting paid far too much to care, and besides, the family is incredibly influential -- should they get fired, it could smear their reputation. It’s kinda really discouraging, being surrounded by so many people, but none of them willing to help you.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Bounces back and forth. On one hand, he wants to maintain, again, a gentlemanly and sophisticated image, and in his mind, such people don't normally think about such things, don't behave in lewd or degenerate ways. On the other hand, he's a nasty little perv that secretly sinks to the absolute depths of depravity. There's not much he can't get off to. If his poor brother hadn't been so busy being concerned about the martial arts books under his bed, and had dug further, he would have found that those books are actually just a cover-up for a different set of nasty, gross materials he's spent years accumulating -- some of the most vulgar smut you've ever seen, stuff you question how he ever even got ahold of. Surely the book house wouldn't sell this kind of material... it's honestly a mystery how he manages to get so much.

With his first few interactions, he tends to display the former image, but the more time he spends with anyone, the more that inner little pervert side tends to come out. He's definitely one to get touchy, his light grazing little touches become firmer and more daring, his hands always rest just at a point that's right on the boundary of being inappropriate. Sometimes he'll straight-up grope you and pass it off as teasing. He's also like Kaeya in that he intentionally tries to embarrass you by making your mind go to lewd places, making obvious innuendos and euphemisms, then pretending like he doesn't know why you're looking at him like that... oh, is that what you thought he meant? Wow, you must have such a dirty mind, you little pervert.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Something like rape is barbaric! Of course he would never, eeeeever do something so awful, so unbecoming of someone like him. And he really never will. He's another yan that will simply... Secure your consent by whatever means necessary.

In the end he'll most likely guilt trip and gaslight his way into it. I mean, you're staying with him for free, he took you in, he feeds you and clothes you and you can't show one little bit of gratitude? He treats you like a wife and you can't fulfil your end of that role? Don't be selfish. He loves you so much... He'd do anything for you... don't you want him to be happy too?

He'll try different approaches. If seduction doesn't work off the bat, he'll try gaslighting, if that doesn't work, he'll try guilt tripping, if that doesn't work, he'll make up a bizarre lie - he has to have sex or he'll die, somehow! You get the idea. If you really, really, really push it, he may just resort to a vague threat of sorts - nothing too bad or deadly, but hey, it would sure be a shame if this recent market crash affected your family financially... Not that he knows anyone who has power over the local commerce or anything.

With a more timid, soft darling, you're likely to end up essentially... Dubcon'ed. Half-noncon'ed. He just kinda... Slowly goes for it, and at your protests insists no, it's ok, you'll feel good... And a timid darling too afraid to stop him doesn't exactly fight back or resist, so hey, silence is a green light.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Experimentation

As I've said, he's a nasty little perv deep down, and he can get off to, well, a LOT of things. And he loves to try new things out, no matter how weird it may be. He's one you can get into a lot of things involving toys and objects, or physical forms of things applied to the body (think temperature play, hot wax, nipple clamps -- anything that has to do with objects being used on you). Part of the fun of it all is having something new that he's never tried before! Even if it turns out to not be his favorite thing, he'll still enjoy the trying it out, and those things he DOES find himself liking, well, he'll just have to add them to the little mental list of favorites.

And he, honestly, enjoys the little reactions you often have to the notions of this or that -- the shock and sudden fear on your face when he tells you today you'll do this or that, and how you shake your cute little head so rapidly. It's not that bad, he promises, and he's done a lot of research and reading to be sure he does things correctly, so no worries!

Body writing

It's kinda comical because you can't make out a word. With his canonically horrendous handwriting, but fondness for the act of writing, it makes for what essentially looks to you like abstract art on your body -- but just know it's the lewdest, most degrading shit you can think of that he'll get all over your thighs and stomach, marking you as his. If nothing else, he gets off to it, and based on the little things he whispers in your ear, you know it's the same sort of humiliating things. If he takes his time, he can write better, but he gets caught up in the heat of the moment.

Lingerie

He's a fan of lacey, frilly things. And he will definitely invest in as many as he can buy, ornate and intricate things, stockings for your legs that have pretty lace patterns at the top of the thigh, bras and panties that are somehow both lacey and perfectly see-through. He's also a big fan of things that have holes in them for easy access, so you can wear it the whole time. And, if he's feeling meaner, he'll definitely have you walk around in just that for a while -- not out where anyone else in the estate could see you, of course, but in his room with him.

Master/slave

He's not a sadist per se, and doesn't really put you in pain, but he loves your submission. And no better way to exemplify submission than with service. The little bastard already makes you act like a maid outside of bed, but now he likes it even more -- there's a certain rush of power to laying out a command and seeing you follow it. Not to mention the cute look on your warm face as you follow though with the degrading shit. Oh, and you'd better believe he gets humiliating. It's not necessarily degrading in the sense that he says or makes you say bad things about yourself, but rather, just the commands themselves, getting on your hands and knees and crawling over to him, and demanding you slowly strip down. Make it cute, give him a show, you know? He won't be cruel in the things he says about you, yet your pride is still wrecked by the end of it all.

Voyeurism/masturbation instruction

He loves to watch you get off, honestly. It ties into the slave thing to a degree, making you follow every little command, telling you exactly how to touch yourself and move your hands. He'll sigh and tell you no, you're going to fast, you can't do it that fast yet... and if you get too overexcited, he'll just have to make you stop, since you can't seem to listen, and maybe not get to cum until tomorrow, so you can learn to behave better about it next time.

Fluids/Cumplay

He has something of a fixation with all kinds. He loves seeing the trail of saliva from your mouth when you pull off his dick, the way cum drips out of you and runs down your thighs. He also likes seeing it splattered across your face, your chest, in your hair, something about the sight of it nearly has him hard immediately after and ready to go. But he also likes how it will gross you out, leaving you tied up so that you can't wipe it off, are forced to just stay there with it dripping out of your holes and down your skin in a way that makes you shiver. And, really, he loves your fluids too, sweet salty slick that's just so mesmerizing to watch coat his fingers and face. But his favorite thing, probably has to be running his fingers through your own juices and slick, collecting it on his fingers, holding it up to your mouth and telling you to suck them clean. Somehow, it's even hotter when you're licking your own fluids off of his fingers, although you doing so with his is certainly nice too.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He’d like an heir one day. He's one to want a kid, maybe two, but not a whole lot. Just enough to have a proper family structure, much like the family he was raised in. It's the proper thing to do, he thinks, a natural part of the social order and continuation of a legacy. As a natural extension of his spoiled brat tendencies, he often doesn't think very responsibly in regards to preventing children, so, lucky for him, that ideal will likely come to fruition eventually, if physically possible.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Absolutely uses overstimulation. Whatever sorts of toys exist in Teyvat, he's rich enough that he can easily obtain them - little things he can attach to you and leave buzzing, or thick plugs and internal toys to stuff you full and leave you there to suffer in stimulation and stretching for hours on end. And he doesn't leave you alone, no, he stays close by, leaving you tied up and blindfolded, the occasionally lazy checkup of "oh, how are you holding up over there? I almost totally forgot you were there!" in a mocking tone while he goes about reading his books or practicing or jerking off to the sight.

Also ruined orgasms. Ugh, he's the worst. Gets you right to your peak, likely also after hours of edging, and then just... stops. Right as you reach the high, stops all motion, leaves you whimpering and sobbing, it's literally painful to actually reach it, and then still have that orgasm taken from you. And he'll be sure to remind you that if you were good, you could experience it in full, he could make you feel so good and let you ride out that high... but so long as you insist on being such a stubborn little princess, unfortunately, he can't just give you that. He hates this too, you know, he says. He'd love nothing more than to share pleasure, but you insist on being difficult.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Legs and thighs. He likes the aesthetics of legs, the softness, the way the flesh feels in his hands. The way touching them can make you jolt, the sensitivity, the way they leave little marks so perfectly if he sucks and bites at the skin. It's just really pretty.

[gettin-a-lil-hanse]

Love Me

Pairing: No Pairing (Seonghwa and Mingi centric)

Genre: Angst?

Word Count: 1.4k 

Summary: Mingi has been pining for Seonghwa for a very long time :)

Tags/Warnings: Unrequited Feelings, College AU, Mentions of alcohol, Intoxication/Being Drunk, Suggestive Content (Nothing happens, just some things were said)

A/N: It’s only been about 84 years since I’ve written anything but I’ve de-crusted my shell of a brain and we’re getting back into it.

AO3 Link

Mingi stared at Seonghwa from across the food court, sighing wistfully and eliciting a groan from Yeosang, who sat next to him. 

“Why won’t you just go ask him already? I swear you do this every day and it’s making my lunch taste awful.”

“Because why would I do that?”

“So you can stop irritating the shit out of me. Besides, what have you got to lose?”

“My dignity.”

“Oh boohoo, you barely have any to begin with.”

“Remind me again why the fuck we’re friends?”

“Because I’m the only person willing to put up with your shit for this long. Who else would do it for eight years and counting?”

Mingi huffed and pushed his food away, muttering under his breath, “You’re insane if you think I’m doing that.”

“Sometimes being insane is the way to go. You’ll never know if you don’t try, right?”

Mingi groaned and dropped his head down to the table. He knew Yeosang was right, and he hated it. He had had the biggest crush on Seonghwa for a few years, but he felt as if he could barely look or talk to him without getting shy. He’s made a fool of himself in front of the other plenty of times since they’ve met. He’s sure Seonghwa only sees him as the bumbling fool that he occasionally has classes with and sometimes has to tolerate for the sake of their friend circle. 

They have a few mutual friends, forcing them to interact in certain situations. Study groups, hangouts, parties, and even the occasional club meeting. But for some reason, the elder just seemed out of reach to him. There was one night that changed things for Mingi just the slightest bit. 

The only time he’d felt close to him was when he’d taken him back to his dorm after a party to make sure he got there safe. The elder and their friends had gotten incredibly drunk and Mingi, one of the few sober people, offered to get him to bed. Seonghwa could barely stand, leaning heavily on Mingi as he almost dragged him to his car. It was a bit of a hassle to get him sat and buckled in, but he eventually succeeded and was soon on the road back to the campus.   

“Mingi… has anyone ever told you how— how pretty you are?” Seonghwa slurred as Mingi helped him out, hiccuping every few words. 

Mingi knew that these were nothing more than the words of a drunk and that he shouldn’t believe anything the man was saying. Nonetheless, his face burned pink, and he turned away, smiling.

“No, and I’m sure you won’t remember telling me either.” Mingi chuckled.

“I mean it! Really!” He hiccuped again, a pout forming on his lips. “And you’d look even prettier in my bed.”

Mingi choked, head snapping towards the other. He doesn’t mean it, Mingi told himself. He shook his head and continued hauling him towards his dorm. Once they reached the entrance, Mingi carefully felt Seonghwa’s pockets for his wallet, fishing it out and pulling out the key card to get in. 

Seonghwa giggled, clumsily reaching across his shirt. “Here? Really?”

“NO!” Mingi’s eyes went wide, holding his arms still. “No, hyung, we’re not doing anything anywhere. I just need to get you inside okay?”

Seonghwa pouted again, deflating against and making himself impossibly heavier. Mingi managed to get him into the elevator, through the hallway, and into his dorm in relative peace. Once the door shut, Mingi guided him straight to the bed and sat him down against the wall. 

He immediately moved around the neat room, thinking about what Seonghwa would do if he were sober. He gathered his pajamas, painkillers, and a glass of water. 

“Hyung, I’m gonna change your clothes okay?” He spoke slowly, gently as he climbed onto the bed. “Just changing your clothes, nothing else okay? And then we’ll get you comfortable in bed so you can rest.” 

Mingi continued to talk mindlessly through everything he did, face aflame at every inch of exposed skin, but remained respectful. Once he was changed, Mingi held the glass carefully to his lips.

“Have some water; it’ll make you feel better. At least it should help a bit….” 

Though he was a bit clumsy at first, spilling water around his mouth and down his shirt collar, he had eventually drank enough to satisfy Mingi. Glass set aside, Mingi climbed off the bed and helped Seonghwa lie down slowly so as to not make him feel sick. He pulled the blanket up over him and sat at the edge of the bed. 

“Mingi…?”

“Yes hyung?”

“You’re a….” Seonghwa began to doze, fighting to keep his eyes open. “You’re a good guy….”

Mingi smiled and carded a hand through his hair gently. “Get some rest hyung.”

Mingi waited there until Seonghwa fell asleep, hand still in his hair until he stood up. Keeping his footsteps as light as possible, he grabbed a trash can and put an extra bag inside before placing it beside his bed. He set the painkillers beside the glass of water on the dresser, along with his wallet, keycard, and his phone, putting it on the charger. 

With one last look at Seonghwa’s sleeping form, Mingi left his room and closed the door behind him, and started on his way home. 

That was about a month or so ago now, and though they never brought it up passed that following day—all Mingi told him was that he brought him home and got home comfortable—Mingi couldn’t shake the feeling that the elder’s drunken stammering had some truth or meaning to it. After all, they do say that the truth may come out when one is drunk. So maybe he had a chance?

Considering Yeosang’s words, he sighed and stood up. His friend’s eyes widened, shock evident on his face. He didn’t think Mingi would do it now. Mingi made his way across the food court, heart pounding and his hands sweating as his sight zeroed in on Seonghwa. Seonghwa turned and smiled as he watched Mingi approach. 

“Hey Mingi, what’s up?”

“Hyung, could I talk to you for a second please?”

Seonghwa’s smile faltered the tiniest bit, brows furrowing in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Y-Yes! No, of course! It’s nothing bad! I just wanted to run something by you real quick. Please?”

Seonghwa’s smile brightened, and he nodded, standing from his seat and following Mingi to an empty hallway off to the side, away from onlookers.

“What’s this about, Mingi?”

Mingi kept his eyes downcast on his fingers, taking a moment to think about what he wanted to say. He really hadn’t thought this far ahead, but it was now or nothing.

“Mingi..?”

“I really like you, hyung; I have for a while now. I know this is a long shot, but I was wondering if I— if maybe you, too— um….”

“Ah, Mingi… I suspected that you had some feelings for me recently… I’m flattered, really, and I appreciate the interest, but….”

Mingi deflated, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay. You don’t feel the same way. I get it. I took a chance. It’s okay.”

Mingi lifted his face, a broken little smile on his lips.

“I just hope this won’t make things awkward between us.”

Mingi didn’t even wait for a response before making his way back to the table where Yeosang sat, holding his smile. 

“Mingi! How’d it….” Yeosang paused when he saw the first tear fall from Mingi’s eye. “Oh, Mingi…”

Mingi didn’t even bother to respond, grabbing his bag and walking away silently. Yeosang deflated, cleaning up their trash quickly before following after him. 

“Mingi wait!” Yeosang called after him, jogging to catch up. 

Seonghwa felt horrible; the image of Mingi’s broken sad smile burned into his brain. He swore he saw tears in his eyes. 

Yeosang felt terrible but more so guilty. He’d gotten Mingi’s hopes up and practically set him up for failure. And despite all this—despite the hurt he felt for seeing his closest friend in so much pain and seeing him so broken, he couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over him. He knew it was cruel, but he didn’t think he could take having his best friend—the love of his life—taken away from him just yet. And he didn’t think he’d ever be ready. He’d help him through any heartbreak he had to, but he would never confess. Never. He refused to be the guy Mingi fell for only in a time of desperation and vulnerability. Yeosang would not be the rebound guy, but he was so desperately in love with his best friend that it hurt. Maybe they could just hurt together.

-------

@atiny-piratequeen @atiny-dazzlinglight @jacksons-goddess-gaia

[luminescencefics]

stir me up

Harry Styles doesn’t know much, but he does know two things. He knows that there’s not many things a good cocktail can’t fix, and he also knows that he can’t stop thinking about the blonde-haired girl who he shamelessly flirts with during his shift every Friday evening.

Willa Tillerson might know too much, to be fair. She knows that she lets work slowly take over her life, she knows that this work-life balance her friends talk about is nothing short of fiction, and she knows that she can’t help but look forward to Friday’s so that she can flirt with the handsome barman at the pub across the street.

A oneshot about drinks and the people who make them, featuring a hint of pining and a dash of a (potential) happily ever after.

written for @stellarboystyles​‘s 3 year anniversary 

mutual pining // prompt #3 “You’re really cute when you start rambling like that.”

harry/ofc, 15k

Willa Tillerson notices two things instantly when she walks into The Churchill Arms after a long and tiring day at work. The first is that her coworkers have already started without her, a pile of empty pint glasses nearly towering over the wooden table they’ve deemed as their own in the back corner of the pub. The second is that her favorite barman is working.

She tries her hardest not to make eye contact with him, because Willa has always thrived on playing hard to get. But there’s no denying that he makes it that much more difficult, with the way his brown hair wisps around his forehead in fluffy curls, and the way his black collared work shirt strains over his bulging biceps when he pulls a pint from the tap, and the way his green eyes light up and cherry lips quirk with a boyish grin when the door shuts tightly behind her, the bell above clanging together in a pretty tune.

Willa Tillerson is trying.

Before she can begin putting her black leather Saint Laurent boots in front of the other, she hears a loud posh voice calling her over towards the back table. With her new handbag held tightly under her armpit, she begins barrelling forward, purposely sashaying her hips back and forth when she walks past the bartop, ignoring the hot gaze that hits her lower back.

“About time! You’re nearly an hour late, Ms. Workaholic,” Annabelle tuts once Willa has approached the table. She rolls her eyes, putting her Celine handbag on the hook below the table and throwing her Isabel Marant wool longline jacket on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs.

“Oh be quiet, I just had some last minute things to catch up on,” Willa retorts, doing her best to turn off Work Willa and turn on Fun Willa.

It’s hard sometimes, considering her job has been taking over most of her life for the better part of the year. She loves the work, and Willa will be the first person to admit that, but it can be a bit gruelling at times.

But she can’t complain, because she’s passionate about her position as a senior designer at Kensington Interior Design Ltd. Willa’s been lucky enough to work at the company ever since she finished uni years ago, and she received the promotion almost four months ago. Her workload had increased tenfold—but she really can’t lament. Even though she’s almost the last person to leave the office every night, and she’s now the last person to trickle in to their after-work drinks tradition that started a few years ago, and she honestly can’t remember the last time she had been out on a date ever since she’s been working through the weekends.

Willa’s really trying.

The sudden urge to have a cocktail is almost all-consuming. So with a quick flick of her neck towards the bartop to Annabelle, Willa grasps her wallet in her hand and struts over towards the counter where her favorite barman is already waiting for her.

“Evening,” he calls out, his right dimple already sunk deep into his ivory skin, causing Willa to grin right back at him. His arms are stretched out wide against the dark wooden countertop, causing his large shoulders to jut out. Willa is doing her best to not stare at the dark ink swirling up and down his toned arms.

“Hi Harry,” Willa responds easily back, resting her forearms on the countertop and leaning forward in her boots so that her cleavage is a bit more exposed in her tight white blouse.

“Your regular, then?” He asks with his deep voice, and Willa just nods back, suppressing the flush that’s beginning to crawl up her sternum when Harry reaches down for the bottle of gin and begins scooping ice into the shaker, pouring a generous amount into the tin.

Harry’s focus shifts towards the task at hand, and he feels grateful for the excuse to point his green eyes at something other than Willa’s pretty face and exposed neckline. He’s really doing his best to keep his eyes above her collarbones, but she’s making it increasingly difficult with each shift forward against the wooden bartop.

“How was work?” Harry asks after placing the gin bottle back into the speed rack. The distraction of watching him make a cocktail is brief, but Willa is happy for the extra minutes she gets to stare at him unabashedly without him knowing.

“The usual, how about you?” His eyes finally rise from the cocktail shaker and meet hers, and her lips begin to lift because she already knows what he’s going to say.

“The usual.” It’s said with a shrug and a smirk, and even though Willa and Harry have the same transfer of words every Friday evening, it still doesn’t fail to make her red-painted lips quirk up in a pretty smile.

He hands over her martini in exchange for Willa’s credit card, which he slides through the machine swiftly to start her tab that he knows won’t exceed four drinks.

Willa loves how their little flirting ruse has been quite routine for the past two months. She knows that they flirt from a distance, with lingering gazes and small quips of lips into half-smiles, half-smirks. She knows that he remembers her drink order by heart, but still asks her because it’s cordial. She knows that he always asks her how work was, to which she always responds the same thing. She knows it all.

So when she starts to pivot on her back foot to head towards her coworkers, she stops abruptly when Harry leans forward against the bartop, crossing his arms over his chest to support his torso.

Because she hasn’t known him to do this.

“You look nice tonight, Willa.” His voice sends shockwaves through her insides and it happens so quickly that she can’t even try to hide the blush that finally rests on her cheekbones. Before she can think of a witty response or even a gentle thank you, Harry’s already begun moving to the other side of the bar to help another customer.

Before Willa can start to get confused glances from other patrons, she begins to walk forward towards her coworkers, trying her hardest to force the blush to leave her cheeks. Because Harry has never complimented her appearance before, and while she appreciates the gesture, she can’t help but wonder if her surprised look threw him off.

“He is too fit to be a barman,” Ethan says once Willa has slipped into the chair with her jacket on the back, pulling a long sip from her Vesper. She’s grateful for the harsh sting that soothes her burning insides.

“He really is. If I was single I would jump on that in a heartbeat,” Annabelle agrees, shooting Willa a knowing look to which she tries her hardest to ignore.

She really doesn’t want to talk about her love life, or lack thereof, in front of her coworkers.

“Honestly Willa, if he played on my team I would already have done it,” Ethan announces a bit too loudly, forcing Willa to swat at his side.

“Ethan!” Willa shrieks, shooting a glance over his shoulder to see if Harry had overheard anything. He hasn’t, luckily, but he has felt her gaze linger on his frame for a bit too long, so when green eyes meet blue she quickly looks away, swallowing down her drink.

Ethan just shrugs her off, finishing up the pint in front of him. “Oh, bugger off. I don’t know what you’re waiting on, Wills. You clearly fancy him.”

“I don’t even know him enough to fancy him, you twat,” Willa says, placing her drink down on the table to give her friend a sharp look. “I think he’s nice to look at. And he makes a good drink. That’s it.”

It’s a lie and everybody at the table knows it, so when they all roll their eyes and tell her to fuck off, she doesn’t even feel bad.

“Sure, Wills. Fancy getting the next round, then? If you just think he makes a good drink, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Ethan asks and Willa just ignores him, practically finishing her martini in two full gulps. She knows that he’s taunting her, and when he looks at her Willa shakes her head, praying that he’ll just drop it.

He does, because even though Ethan can be a bit much at times, he knows all of the shit that Willa has been through this past year. And while he means well and really wants Willa to branch out and meet new people, he knows that he can’t push her. So he lets it go and Willa does her hardest to not watch Ethan interact with Harry at the bar. Does her hardest to ignore the way Harry’s gaze shifts to hers in a questioning look when Ethan orders her a new martini.

She needs more liquid courage.

So when Ethan hands her another drink without a word, she’s thankful for that. Because as much as she wants to talk to Harry again, she’s far too shy to do it herself. And not to mention a little thrown off at his last comment—because she wasn’t sure that their relationship existed outside of flirtatious looks and short-worded conversations.

So she sits in the back with her coworkers and drinks and makes sure that whenever she chances a look at Harry, he’s busy doing other things. And after she’s finished her third cocktail, she throws her jacket on and approaches the bar to close her tab, just like every other Friday before that.

“Have a good night, Harry,” Willa says once she’s slipped her wallet into her purse and slides the checkbook over towards his large hands.

Harry just nods, looking at her with that special glint in his eyes he saves just for her. “You too, Willa. See you next week.”

And when she walks over towards the door and feels the chill of the autumn breeze hit her flushed cheeks, she’s wondering if the warmth that lingers on her skin is from Harry’s gaze or if she’s just imagining it.

***

Willa’s spirits are quite high when she walks into The Churchill Arms that next Friday only a few minutes after five o’clock for the first time in about a month.

She had just won over a top tier client and was working on the next steps to continue growing her portfolio. It was between Willa and another senior designer at the firm, and by some stroke of luck, she had been chosen to redecorate the master bedroom in their Knightsbridge mansion.

Her good mood is palpable, and Harry can practically feel her beaming from the entryway of the bar. She looks the same as she always does, far too pretty and successful to banter with a barman like himself, but she still does it anyway. Her long legs are hidden under flowy navy dress pants, heels giving her that extra bit of height that makes her seem larger than life in the dimly lit bar. She’s wearing a cream-colored scoop neck top that makes Harry imagine what she’ll look like leaned over the bartop, and before he can even realize he’s been staring at her for far too long, she gives him a glowing smile and he feels as if he’s weightless.

Willa saunters over towards the table in the back where her coworkers are already waiting for her, with Ethan grabbing her jacket and handbag and wrapping her up in a hug and Annabelle holding out a shot glass filled with clear liquid and a bright smile covering her face.

It’s times like these when Willa feels as if everything is falling into place.

She shoots back the tequila with grace, clamping her teeth down on the lime until the acidic taste quels the stinging of the liquor. Willa leans her head into the crook of Ethan’s neck, feeling his warmth completely encapsulate her body.

“So proud of you, Wills,” Ethan whispers into her blonde hair. Willa just squeezes his hip back in thanks, reaching into her handbag to grab her leather wallet, beginning her normal trek up to the bartop to see Harry.

He’s already waiting for her like usual, a rapturous smile covering his face. He looks exactly how she feels—happy and warm and safe, and she wonders if she’s just realizing it now or if he’s always looked like that. His arms are doing that thing again where the muscles practically stretch his cotton work shirt to shreds, and his eyes are doing that shimmering thing where Willa knows she should look away but she can’t, and his hair is doing that floppy thing that makes Willa want to run her fingers through the tendrils, and Willa feels the warmest she’s felt all night.

“Hi Harry,” Willa says once she’s approached the counter, leaning forward and causing Harry’s green eyes to darken a bit. It’s exactly as he imagined it, and he isn’t even trying to hide the fact that his pupils dart down before lifting to her blue eyes once more.

“Evening, Willa. Celebrating something?” He asks, gesticulating towards the empty tray of shot glasses lingering on the wooden table her coworkers are occupying in the back of the room.

Her eyes light up even more and she nods her head in an excited, enamoring way. He leans forward too, resting one forearm on the clean bartop and his other arm is bent at the elbow, holding his face as he watches her.

Willa tries her hardest not to lean forward an inch more.

“Had a good day at work, landed a really important client,” Willa explains, and she’s fully aware that the pair are straying from their usual Friday conversation, but she really could care less.

Harry gives her a look of admiration. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations are in order, I reckon.” He’s giving her a mischievous look and Willa suddenly feels intrigued. Apparently that was the only sign of approval Harry needed, because he suddenly reaches down and makes two shot glasses practically appear out of thin air, pouring them to the brim with the same clear liquid Willa had just swallowed a few moments prior.

“I’m hoping the other one is for you?” Willa asks in a low voice, cocking her head to the side and looking up at Harry under her thick eyelashes. He can practically feel the groan forming in the back of his throat when he pictures her looking up at him for a different reason entirely, but he suppresses it with a quick nod of his head.

“‘Course. ‘S bad luck to take a shot by yourself.” His voice is even lower than hers, and Willa’s surprised that she can hear it clearly with the barrier of the bartop between them. Willa seemingly agrees with Harry’s statement, because she’s suddenly standing upright, reaching her long fingers out to cup the cool glass in her palm, arching her eyebrow when she realizes that Harry is watching her instead of copying her movements.

“Cheers, Harry,” Willa says, extending her arm and smirking to herself when Harry hurriedly grips the short glass, sloshing a bit of the tequila over the edge. He regains his cool composure though, before extending his arm as well and clinking the glasses softly together.

“Cheers, Willa.” His voice is guttural and Willa can practically feel it resonate through her. But before she could think about it too much, she’s bringing the glass to her rogue lips and knocking the liquid back, keeping her blue eyes locked on Harry’s green.

His lips are moistened from the tequila and a small dribble has started to form on the lower left side of his mouth, threatening to leak down to his chin. Without even thinking (or maybe thinking quite a bit, to be fair), Willa reaches her hand out and cups Harry’s chin, before thumbing at the liquid to make it disappear.

His eyes are blown wide and suddenly the clamor from the busy bar turns into white noise, and all Harry can see is Willa. All he wants to do is grab her smaller hand in his and hold on for dear life, bringing her closer and closer into his atmosphere before she floats away. But then, a voice asking for a refill breaks his reverie and he’s back to tending the bar and ignoring the blazing feeling of where Willa’s hand once was on his mouth.

She waits patiently while he pulls a pint from the tap, watching as his large hands grip the cool glass easily, the motions practically ingrained in his system. He’s quite graceful behind the bar, all long limbs grabbing glasses and mixing different liquids together in such a fashion that makes Willa never want to return to that wooden table in the back of the room.

Before long, he’s right back in front of her, asking if she wants her usual drink to which she responds with a dazed yes. He doesn’t say much to her, still reeling from the fact that she was so close and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was behind the bar and she was on the receiving end, the sobering cognizance surging back into his skin that he is, in fact, at work, and can’t spend his night kissing the pretty blonde patron (even if it’s all he can think about, really).

Once the martini is placed on a cocktail napkin in front of her, Willa reaches for her credit card causing Harry to shake his head with a small grin on his lips.

“No, no. This one’s on me,” before Willa can protest, he cuts her off. “Congrats again, Willa.” And with that he’s off to the other end of the bar, leaving Willa feeling a lot more hot (and bothered) than she was earlier.

Once Willa returns back to the table, she finds herself sandwiched between Ethan and Annabelle, talking about anything and everything. The group rarely bring up work, and instead, Willa finds herself joking around with the office intern and reminiscing about drunken uni nights, finds herself gushing over Annabell’s engagement ring and revelling in wedding plans, finds herself laughing at Ethan’s crude jokes about all of the failed dates he’s been on in the past few months.

Willa finds that she’s actually having a lot of fun.

After her second martini, Willa asks the group if they’d like another round and with a few negative responses, she walks back over towards the bar. Harry can see her out of his periphery, and the sight of her with flushed cheeks and messy hair and glossy eyes causes him to overpour the pint glass in his hand, sticky beer coating his long fingers.

He shakes it off and rubs the remaining liquid on the bar rag in his back pocket, handing the glass over to the burly man who ordered it and accepting his payment with a quick nod. He really wants to head over to where Willa is before the other barman notices her.

Harry’s expecting her to ask for her tab, because he’s noticed that she’s had two martinis and two tequila shots, and she’ll probably want to call it an evening.

But when she’s looking at him with big blue eyes and a hint of a smirk on her lips, he’s suddenly hoping that she doesn’t want to leave. That she’ll stay for quite a bit longer, actually. (And maybe even long enough so that he can walk her home after his shift, but he doesn’t want to think about that all too much).

“Hi Harry, fancy making me another?” Willa asks once he’s in front of her, swiveling the empty up glass in her dainty fingertips. He smiles at her, plucking the glass from between her hands, trying to ignore the burning feeling on his flesh from where their fingers touched.

“Thought you’d be heading out by now,” Harry says in between exchanging the gin bottle for the vodka bottle, pouring a generous amount into the tin.

Willa laughs a bit, shaking her head softly. “Kind of feel like staying out a bit longer.” She’s fully aware that the alcohol she’s consumed throughout the evening has made her much more bold, but she really doesn’t care. She’s grateful for it, in fact, once she’s noticed the darkened look in Harry’s eyes and the sultry smirk gracing his cherry lips.

“I’m glad. Always feel like you cut out a bit early, anyways.” His eyes lift from stirring the liquid in the tin to her pupils, and Willa wonders if he’s speaking in riddles like she is.

“Are you trying to persuade me to stay longer?” Willa asks, and she’s doing that leaning forward thing again and Harry can feel his neck tense with the running reminder to not ogle at the swell of her breasts trapped inside her tight top.

He puts the top back on the cocktail shaker and lines up a new glass, straining the Vesper into it. “Might be.” He’s trying to be smug but Willa is really testing his patience, and she’s found that she quite enjoys making him squirm.

She grabs the glass as he’s placing it on the bartop, her thin fingers falling over his wider ones, causing his hand to still. She’s leaning forward on her forearm, her chest resting over the skin practically causing her breasts to spill out of the tight material of her top. Harry gulps harshly, slipping his fingers out from under hers and immediately regretting the warm feeling that leaves his hand.

Willa giggles again, staring at Harry as she takes a sip from the cocktail, her lipstick leaving a mark on the lip of the glass, making Harry practically fall over at the sight of her.

He has a feeling she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, and normally, he would be annoyed. But for some reason, this pretty girl with too-expensive shoes and put-together makeup and an all-together sophisticated demeanor is somehow the hottest person he’s seen sitting at this bar in weeks. And even when her hair is messy and her eyes are blown out and her lipstick is a little smudged, she still causes Harry to fidget and second guess what he’s saying to her.

He also can’t deny the sudden urge to bend her over in the toilets and make her squirm instead.

He coughs into his fist, breaking the spell, and thankfully Willa gets the hint. Without another word, she slides her credit card over the wooden counter and slips it under Harry’s palm, muttering a slow, “Keep it open, please,” before slinking back to her friends.

Harry’s in a daze and he really needs to do something about the tightness in his pants. But before he can dwell on it any longer, a redheaded girl has taken over the spot Willa was once in and he’s forced to think about something other than the blonde girl sneaking looks at him from across the room.

After two more cocktails, Willa has come to the conclusion that she’s had quite enough to drink. She’s the type of drunkenness where laughter comes far too easily and she feels a bit too warm in her clothes, and while she has the sudden urge to dance and kiss a pretty boy, she knows that she’s done for the night. Because she doesn’t want to lose this feeling, and one more drink will definitely cause her to be the type of drunkenness that includes a side of nausea and a dizzying headache.

She grabs her belongings and gives both Annabelle and Ethan a sloppy kiss on the cheek, promising to meet them Sunday afternoon for brunch. Willa starts heading toward the bar on shaky feet, and when Harry looks at her with an amused grin on his face, she’s quite thankful for the countertop that she can latch onto, because she could get lost in his green eyes if she wanted to (and she really wanted to, more than anything).

“I think I’m throwing in the towel,” Willa slurs through a smile, watching the way Harry’s lower lip juts out in a pout. Her eyes fall to the pinkness of his round lower lip, noticing the slightly chapped skin and admiring the stubble framing his mouth. She starts to think about how kissable they look, but then the pout leaves and he’s forming words and Willa focuses back to listening instead of staring at him hungrily.

“Ah. As the barman, I fully support this decision,” Harry starts, sliding a glass of water over in her direction and beginning to run her credit card before slipping the receipt into a checkbook with a pen. “But, as a normal guy, I’m quite disappointed.”

Willa pauses signing the dotted line at the bottom of the paper. “A normal guy, huh?”

He watches her close the book and slide it back over in his direction, her face scrunched up in confusion. He wonders how somebody could be both sexy and cute at the same time, and wonders how she does it so effortlessly.

“Yep. You do know that I work on other days besides Friday, yeah?” Harry asks, leaning a bit forward so that the conversation can be as intimate as possible in the newly crowded area.

Willa looks at him and smiles, relief flushing over her as her drunken convoluted mind comes to the conclusion that Harry is, in fact, finally making a move. Albeit it’s not as direct and Willa is fairly certain that if she were a bit more sober she’d actually pick up on what he’s been hinting at the entire night, but nonetheless, she takes it in stride, finding herself leaning in a bit more towards his towering frame.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Willa watches as Harry’s eyes light up, and she’s almost certain that he’s leaning closer towards her, but she steps back with a sly smirk. She wants to leave Harry wanting more (even though all he does is want her, practically every waking moment she’s in this bar), so she sneaks away with a tiny wave, causing Harry to come to a startling realization.

Willa Tillerson knows exactly what she’s doing.

***

The next time Harry sees Willa, he didn’t think she’d look so dejected.

He hears the bells chime when the heavy oak door closes behind her. It’s a Wednesday, therefore her usual gang of coworkers haven’t entered the bar at all this evening. At first glance, Harry’s excited to see her, thinking about the last time he saw her and invited her to come in on a non-Friday. But once he sees her blue eyes are a bit dull and her trousers are crinkled from slumping in her office chair long after everybody has left and she just looks, well, sad, he’s instantly concerned.

Willa wasn’t really thinking all too clearly about her arrival when she looks around the half-full bar. It’s a much different scene inside than it normally is on Fridays—the leather booths along the far side of the wall are filled with people eating dinner, the music is a calm acoustic playlist, and Harry is standing alone behind the bartop.

She can feel his eyes on her frame immediately, and while the warmth is still there, she suddenly feels timid under his unwavering gaze. Willa’s fully aware that she looks exactly how she feels—complete and utter shit. It’s a far cry from how she felt the last time she stepped foot in The Churchill Arms, but she didn’t feel like going home, and when she remembers Harry’s invitation to come in on another day, she didn’t really think twice about changing her route to the bar instead of the tube to head home for the evening.

“Evening Willa,” Harry greets her like normal, and he isn’t really sure how to play this one out. He really wanted to sound more excited to see her, maybe playful even, but he doesn’t want to scare her away. Because even though she looks upset, he still really is glad she came in.

But there’s no denying he’s worried.

“Hi Harry,” Willa mumbles, sliding her heavy Theory trench coat off her shoulders and hanging it around the back of the leather barstool. Her handbag rests on the hook under the bartop, and she realizes then that this is the first time she’s ever sat at the bar with Harry in front of her.

He slides a cocktail napkin over in her direction, just like he does with every other customer, and waits patiently for her to look him in the eyes. When she finally does, clear blue eyes squinting up at him with an unknown emotion covering her face, he wants nothing more than to jump over the barrier between them and hold her close.

But he can’t.

So he does the next best thing he could think of—ask her what she’d like to drink.

Harry is expecting her to ask for her usual. But she surprises him (something she’s been doing quite a bit of lately) and gives him a sad, half-smile. “What do you usually drink when you’ve had a shit day?”

He frowns at that. “That bad, huh?” He’s leaning down over the counter on his forearms, trying to reach her at eye level. She’s not backing away, which Harry appreciates, and before he can lean in a bit closer, she gives him a small shrug.

“Yep. I’m officially the sad girl at a bar asking the cute barman to make her feel better with copious amounts of alcohol. Think you can help me out with that?” Willa’s head is cocked to the right in question, her blue eyes brightening when Harry’s lips form a deep grin.

“You think I’m cute?” He asks, reaching for the nice bottle of Reposado he saves for himself after long nights behind the bar. Harry watches as Willa gives him a genuine smile, and he finally feels the mood begin to lighten around them.

Willa chooses not to answer, instead, her eyes widen at the bottle in his large hands. “Tequila? Are you trying to kill me?”

He laughs, reaching into the ice bin to deposit a few cubes into the highball glass on the counter. “This isn’t just any tequila, Willa. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

When the cold glass lands on the cocktail napkin in front of her, she reaches for it, holding it up in front of her face a bit in Harry’s direction in cheers. His eyes squint behind his smile when her lips wrap around the glass, taking a generous sip without flinching.

She doesn’t need to tell him that it’s good, because he already knows that.

Instead, he rests his palms on the countertop and looks down at her. “So, why are you officially the sad girl at my bar, Willa?”

“Christ,” Willa starts, swallowing down another gulp of tequila. “Am I really going to be that person who tells the barman all the woes in their life?”

Harry laughs. “Only doing my job here, babe.”

She laughs a bit, finally feeling a bit better. Maybe her decision in coming here wasn’t as stupid as she originally thought. Maybe seeing Harry on a night where she can actually hear him and be in his presence without the lingering feeling of another patron waiting for her to finish up, or the looks she gets from Ethan and Annabelle when she’s so obviously flirting with him, or the loud music reverberating through the wooden walls, is exactly what she needed.

So, Willa gives in.

“You know how I’m an interior designer, right?” Willa starts, watching as Harry nods instantly. “Well, I had just gotten back from a meeting with a new client—”

“—The big one, yeah? The one you were celebrating last week?” Harry asks, and Willa immediately feels her cheekbones warm. She feels a bubbling in her stomach at the fact that Harry remembered, and before she can get sidetracked on the feeling inside of her, he’s nodding at her in a way that’s asking her to continue.

“Yeah. Anyways, on my way back to my office, I ran into my ex-boyfriend.” Willa takes a break to sip the tequila again, trying her hardest to wash the image of Gavin and his blonde hair and smug look out of her brain with each harsh sip.

“That’s never fun,” Harry admits. There’s no denying the fact that he’s a bit chuffed to hear that she has an ex-boyfriend. Even though a part of him knew deep down that she must have been single with the way she was flirting with him and pushing her chest in his direction and wiping his lips clean of leftover tequila. But he can never be too sure.

But he doesn’t want her to think that.

“Oh that’s not the best part!” Willa announces, feeling herself hot with anger once again. She thought she had gotten rid of it when she slumped in her leather office chair for the past few hours, staring at the white wall thinking about how much of a fucking prick Gavin actually was.

“What happened?” Harry’s voice is soft and kind and it suddenly calms Willa down. She starts to feel her anger dissipate with each second Harry’s green eyes are on hers, and she’s wondering what that all means.

“He was early for a meeting with one of my coworkers. He has plans to make the spare bedroom in his loft a nursery.” Willa’s eyes fall from Harry’s and focuses on the amber liquid sloshing around the heavy ice cubes. Instead of anger, Willa just feels sad.

Not only sad. She also feels a bit stupid, if she’s being honest.

Because Gavin didn’t want her in the same way Willa wanted him. Gavin wanted stability, a place of his own with a wife who would be home with their baby. He always believed that Willa put her career first, which in hindsight, was probably true.

But Willa was not the type of woman to stop doing what she loved in order to make the person she was with feel secure. She was not the type of woman to bury her feelings in order to make her partner feel comfortable. She was not the type of woman who would drop everything in her life to have a baby.

So when she tells him this, he walks away.

It was only until today that Willa discovered he had found another woman to do all of that for him instead.

“I’m sorry, Willa. That’s really shit,” Harry says softly, forcing Willa to turn away from the liquid in her glass and look at him. Him, with his fluffy chestnut curls. Him, with his forehead scrunched in concern. Him, with his cherry lips turned downwards. Him, who causes Willa to realize that she shouldn’t be upset over Gavin.

Not anymore, that is.

“Yeah,” she shrugs and finishes off her drink, nodding silently when Harry offers her another. “It’s been almost a year now, and honestly I do feel like I’m over it. It’s just—I don’t know. It just sucks realizing that he’s moved on and he’s finally gotten what he wants and I’m still so unsure of everything.”

“Who says we’re supposed to have everything figured out?” Harry responds, placing a new drink in front of Willa.

She looks at him and wonders how he can make sense of all of this with a few measly words. Wonders how he always seems so confident and sure. Wonders how he’s made her feel comfortable in this bar on a Wednesday night. Wonders if he’s always been like this, to be fair.

“You’re quite good at this,” Willa says after a beat, smiling when Harry laughs.

“Yeah, well, it’s part of the gig.” Before he can stay and talk with her longer (because he could give fuck all about his job at this point), one of the waitresses rings in a drink order and Harry’s off to the other end of the bar, pouring pints and scooping ice into glasses.

Willa doesn’t mind. She actually finds it quite comforting to watch him work. He’s a natural conversationalist, always making eye contact and coaxing laughter out of people. And while she sits and continues to drink, she notices how he always manages to glance her way whenever he is in the middle of performing different tasks, and she finds that her heart keeps swelling with every shy look he sends her.

Two more drinks later, Willa starts to realize that she hasn’t even thought about Gavin at all. Instead, her mind is filled with green eyes and curly hair and mermaid tattoos. She’s found that her eyes keep tracing over Harry’s features—at his sharp jawline, his scattered freckles, his carved muscles, his long torso. She’s quite overwhelmed with how handsome he is under the dim bar lighting, and she’s quite grateful to be sitting this close to him for this long.

Harry makes sure to keep Willa company between drinks, watching the way she seems to grow a bit lighter with each passing sip. A large part of him wishes he could just close early so he could take her home and make sure she stays this level of content for the remainder of the evening, but with each passing hour, he’s watching her eyes grow a bit heavier and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves him again.

Willa begins to reach for her wallet just as Harry saunters over towards her. “Leaving so soon?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.

“Unfortunately, I have to wake up early tomorrow for work. And I’m already dreading the ghastly tequila hangover I’ll be dealing with,” Willa says, handing over the thick plastic card in Harry’s direction.

Harry laughs. “Hey! I wasn’t the one who asked for a different drink this time!” His tone is light but Willa is quite intoxicated, and normally she would be able to identify the hint of sarcasm lacing his words. But she can’t this time, and suddenly her cheeks burn red and she starts stammering out an apology and Harry can’t help but watch her with a grin.

“Shit! I, uh, didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yeah—I definitely asked you for your usual, and I didn’t mean to insult you! I just, uh, let me rephrase—”

Harry’s laughter cuts her off and Willa drops her forehead into her awaiting palms in embarrassment. “You’re really cute when you start rambling like that.”

Willa lifts her head up and smiles at him, reaching for the checkbook in his extended arms. “You think I’m cute?” She asks in the same way Harry did to her hours earlier, and she watches as he looks deep into her eyes with an unwavering look.

“Much more than cute.”

If Willa was warm before, she feels sweltering under his gaze. She tries her hardest not to let his words affect her, but she gives herself away when she almost drops her credit card while she’s trying to slide it into her wallet, when she starts fidgeting in the leather of the barstool, when her throat suddenly becomes dry and she starts to take heavy gulps of the water glass in front of her.

“Do you live close by?” Harry asks after a beat of silence passes through them. He’s suddenly aware of the late hour, and even though he wishes she could stay, he has the overwhelming urge to make sure she gets home safely.

Willa shakes her head before wrapping herself up in her coat. “No, near Swiss Cottage. I’ll just take the tube, it’s not far.”

Harry immediately shakes his head, reaching behind him to grab the telephone near the till. “Nonsense, you’re not taking the tube at this hour. Sit here, I’ll call you a cab.”

Before Willa can argue, Harry’s already punching the numbers into the phone, giving the driver the address of the pub to pick Willa up at. Normally, Willa would be annoyed at his forwardness. But, she finds it quite charming that Harry is hellbent on making sure she gets home safely, and she finds that she’s not annoyed in the slightest.

“He’ll be ‘round in ten minutes,” Harry announces once he’s hung up and he’s stood in front of her again, looking at her in a way that makes Willa warm all over.

He has a habit of doing that, she thinks.

Just as she was going to thank him, Harry’s attention is drawn to the older man at the end of the bar asking to settle up his tab. With an apologetic look, he heads over, forcing Willa to wrap her scarf around her neck and gather her handbag so she’s not sitting there looking at Harry like a lovesick puppy.

When Harry’s back in front of her, she notices the headlights in the windows announcing the arrival of her cab. Just as she’s about to say her goodbyes, Harry cuts her off, his arms holding him up as he leans forward, staring at her with nothing but intent in his green eyes.

“Go out with me.”

“Pardon?” Willa asks, completely thrown off by his declaration.

“Saturday. I want to take you out.” The cab driver honks from outside and Harry’s practically desperate, needing Willa to say yes. He doesn't think he’ll get another chance alone with her.

Her eyes shift from the car to his. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks, breathless.

“Yeah.” It’s final, sure and assertive, and before Harry can say anything else, Willa’s already heading for the door, offering him one last lingering gaze before the bells clang above her head, signalling her departure.

Harry’s almost positive he’ll be dreaming of that look for the next three days.

***

On Friday evening, Willa decides to skip out on after-work drinks with her coworkers. It’s not because she doesn’t want to see Harry—because every time she closes her eyes all she sees are his staring back, and she really doesn’t know what to do about that.

Willa’s not used to being so enthralled with somebody else, and all she wants is to play it cool for their upcoming date. So when she’s home in her flat, she throws her mobile on her bed after ignoring Ethan and Annabelle’s incessant calls about her bailing on them. And just before she falls asleep, she digs into her comforter and finds that she has a text waiting for her from an unknown number with an address and a message underneath.

Don’t overthink it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. x

When she clicks on the address and it populates on her Maps app on her mobile, she finds that it’s a pub somewhere in Camden. Before she can overthink it, just like Harry’s message predicted, she shuts off her mobile and forces herself to sleep and try not to think about the boy who’s been infiltrating her dreams for the past three nights.

Just as Willa’s getting ready for her date, she decides that she’s been ignoring Ethan for far too long, and reluctantly decides to call him back while applying a generous coat of mascara to her eyelashes.

“Christ Willa! You have a date with the fit barman and decide to go AWOL in the meantime? How bloody selfish can you be!” Ethan’s voice squeaks out through the receiver on Willa’s mobile, and she honestly shouldn’t be surprised at his dramatics after knowing him for four years, but she still rolls her eyes anyways.

“His name is Harry,” Willa decides to mention while placing the mascara wand back in the tube on her vanity.

“Oh, pardon my mistake, Wills. Imagine my surprise when Harry asked me for your bloody number last night! You at least could’ve given me a heads up so I didn’t look like an absolute git standing there with my mouth hanging open,” Ethan recounts, and Willa can practically see his erratic hand movements with each stressed syllable that comes out of his lips.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to branch out and meet new people?” Willa says through mumbles, making sure her lipstick application isn’t butchered through her choppy conversation with Ethan.

She hears Ethan’s cackle through the speakers. “I didn’t actually think you’d listen!”

Willa chooses not to respond. Instead, she leaves her bathroom vanity and heads over to her closet to grab her black leather heeled boots resting on the bottom of her shoe rack. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she starts shoving them on while she waits for Ethan to talk—knowing fully well that quiet pauses in conversations never sit well with her obnoxious friend.

“So, where’s fit Harry taking you?” Ethan finally asks.

“Some pub in Camden, according to the address he sent me,” Willa says while grabbing her tube of lipstick, keys, and wallet and throwing them into her small black leather shoulder bag.

“Camden!? Please tell me you’re not wearing your bloody Celine bag!” Ethan is absolutely ruthless and Willa is really regretting calling him back.

“Will you calm down? I doubt Harry would take me to some dodgy pub,” Willa assures him, flicking off the overhead light in her bedroom as well as the kitchen light and beginning to lock up her front door.

“It’s just so not you, Wills.” Ethan’s words cause Willa to freeze while turning her key into the lock in the hallway of her apartment complex. In retrospect, Ethan does have a point. Willa’s not entirely sure what she’s doing going out with the barman she’s been shamelessly flirting with for the past two months.

And while it’s slightly terrifying, Willa finds a rush of excitement scouring through her veins.

“What if that’s the point?” Her friend hums on the other line, and it’s one of those rare moments when Ethan is actually silent during conversation. Willa takes this in stride, locking up her front door and heading out towards the Underground near her complex.

She says goodbye to Ethan as she’s descending the cement stairs, knowing fully well that her reception will cut out the further down into the station she goes. Willa promises to call him the next morning, and reassures him that she’ll let him know if she needs a rescue (even though she’s fully certain that no danger will come her way with Harry by her side), and happily ends the call just as she’s stepped onto the platform.

The journey doesn’t take as long as Willa would like, considering she’s still wringing her hands together as her body is riddled with nerves when she gets off at the appropriate stop. While Harry has done nothing but make her feel comfortable, there’s no denying that for the first time since knowing him, she’s finally meeting him outside the comfort of The Churchill Arms. She’s finally going to be able to stand near him without the barrier of the bar between them, and while the thought of that is what sends her brain into overdrive, there’s no denying the nervous butterflies floating around her stomach, racking against her ribs until she’s forced to meet the situation head-on, exiting the Underground faster than when she first entered.

Once she’s on the pavement outside, she reaches for her mobile to pull up the address Harry sent her last night. According to her Maps, the pub is a short five minute trek from the tube station. Tucking her chin into her charcoal longline jacket to escape the biting wind, Willa starts walking, trying her hardest to quell the rib-racking nerves shaking her body.

Just as she’s a block away, she notices her destination on the corner of a somewhat quieter intersection. The building is tall, brick-faced at street level, a black sign with The Camden Eye written in capitalized white letters. The pub is lodged between a restaurant and a coffee shop that’s long since been closed. When Willa cranes her neck up, she can tell that it’s two-floors, with loud laughter reverberating through the cream-colored cement walls that have aged with time.

Willa’s head begins to search over the small crowd of people outside the front door, trying her hardest to spot curly hair amidst the cigarette smoke wafting around the entrance. Just as her eyes fall on a tall figure in a cable knit jumper and a long navy trench coat, eyes locked on the glowing screen of his mobile, her own vibrates in her left hand, and she notices it’s from Harry.

Hey, I’m waiting outside. Can’t wait to see you. x

She grins at the message, locking her phone instead of responding to his text considering he was standing just across the street from her. As she approaches him quietly, she takes this time to quietly acknowledge him. It’s sort of cute the way he stares at his phone, undoubtedly waiting for the bubbled three dots to appear with her response that won’t come. He shifts a bit in his brogue boots, the hand not holding his mobile nipping at his lower lip.

Willa wonders if Harry is as nervous as she is, too.

Before she can get caught, her heeled boots stop a few feet away from his, and she watches his head snap up when she calls out his name softly.

Almost instantly, Harry shoves his mobile into his pocket, no longer needing the distraction. Instead, his green eyes shift to Willa’s blue, and his mouth quirks up in that slanted boyish grin of his that she has grown to love, his dimples appearing through the light stubble surrounding his mouth. Willa watches as his eyes dart down from her face to scan over her outfit, and for the first time since knowing her, Harry finds that he quite enjoys the version of Willa standing in front of him.

This version wears denim jeans that are tight around the waist and upper thigh, before falling straight until cropping just at her ankles, showcasing her square-toed leather boots. He takes note of the haphazard holes in her trousers, giving Willa’s look a bit more edge than he’s normally accustomed to. Harry thanks the gods above that she’s wearing another top that shows just the perfect amount of cleavage, his eyes falling to the stacked gold necklaces resting on the smooth skin under her long neck.

While Willa appreciates the way Harry’s arms look in his collared work shirt, there’s something about the way he looks in a cable knit jumper that gets her heart racing just a bit quicker than normal. He looks to be the perfect mixture of comfort yet cool, and as her eyes linger on his waist hidden beneath a pair of worn-in denim trousers, she can’t help but be fully aware that she’s been ogling him for far too long.

But when her eyes finally catch his and she takes note of the surprised glint in his irises, she’s not embarrassed at all, because Harry’s also aware that he’s been caught, too.

“Was starting to think you’d bail on me,” Harry finally says, stepping a bit closer to her on the somewhat crowded pavement.

Willa giggles and Harry’s heart almost stills. “Told you I was coming, didn’t I?”

Harry’s starting to think that if he had to banter with her for the rest of his life, he probably wouldn’t mind it at all. In fact, the thought is practically all-consuming at this very moment.

“Well, I’m really glad you’re here.” His voice drops a bit as he takes one last step towards her, brown leather boots touching black. Both Harry and Willa are conscious of the fact that this is the closest they’ve ever been to each other. While Willa has always known Harry to be tall, she’s extremely aware of it now when he’s standing this close to her, leaning forward with his torso so that his neck falls to keep his eyes locked on hers. With this distance (or lack thereof) between them, Harry can smell Willa’s perfume without the overbearing scent of stale ale lingering in the air. He wants to bask in it for as long as he can.

“Me too,” Willa finally responds, reminding herself that she needs to pull herself together if she wants to get through this night without embarrassing herself any further.

Harry seems to sense it too, standing straight and gesturing his head towards the front entrance. “Ready to head in?”

Willa nods. “You wanted to spend your night off at another pub?” She watches the way Harry’s neck falls back as a loud laugh rips through his lungs, and she can’t keep her eyes off of the bob of his Adam’s apple and suddenly, her throat has gone completely dry.

“I’ve seen your local. Figured I’d show you mine,” Harry says, holding the heavy oak door open for her with that dimpled grin of his.

Once Willa’s stepped through the front entrance, she can’t help but take in the drastic difference between Harry’s local and her own. Willa takes in the sticky wooden flooring, chipped from overuse and stained from various liquors ruining the coating. The high-tops lining the walls are no different—antiquated and blemished, some wobbling in the corners, no doubt lacking a distinct charm. The bartop itself is busier than ever, long and sleek. Willa notices the overworked brown-haired barman pulling pints from the tap and heckling other patrons, and she finds almost everybody in this small pub knows each other in some strange way. The atmosphere is vibrant and light, loud and serene, and Willa finds it rightfully so that this is Harry’s local.

Because it’s practically him personified.

Before she can think too much of it, Harry’s long fingers are wrapped around her wrist and he’s dragging her straight to the far corner of the bartop where a small group of people are pulling long gulps from tall pint glasses. Just as they get close enough, Willa’s eyes widen when a few of them call out Harry’s name in heavy Northern accents, and she can’t help but watch the way he interacts with his mates.

They’re clapping his back while Harry appropriately says his hello’s, but before he can get lost in conversation with them, he turns his back towards the group and rests two strong hands on Willa’s shoulders, gripping the heavy material of her coat.

“Here, give me this,” he says softly, peeling off the fabric from her upper body with such intense care that Willa can feel her already dry throat practically barren at this point.

He watches her as he strips the wool from her thin arms, handing it back to her carefully as he rips his own off, before gathering both jackets easily in one hand. Once he tears his eyes off of hers, Harry grasps Willa’s wrist again, dragging her softly towards the far corner past where his friends reside, shouting over towards the brunette barman who’s neck nearly snaps in his direction once he hears Harry’s gruff call.

“Oi! Horan! Take care of these, would ya mate?” Willa watches as Harry rests the arm that isn’t holding their jackets on the bartop, heaving his upper body over the ledge so that the long material in his other hand does not lap up any spilled drink on the counter.

The barman grabs them, before entering a doorway behind him and disappearing into what Willa can only assume to be an office. Harry’s back in front of her now, smiling that toothy grin that makes Willa feel as if she’s completely lost the plot.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah?” Willa just nods, afraid that if she tried to speak her voice would come out gravelly and hoarse. Harry’s hand slips into hers and he gives it a gentle tug until Willa is standing right beside him, her front resting against the bartop with Harry attached to her right side.

“Who’s this, Harry?” The barman asks once he’s reemerged from the back room in a muffled Irish accent. Willa watches as he gives Harry an amused look under his blue eyes, and she can feel Harry’s gaze shift from her left cheek back to the man in front of her.

“This is Willa.” Harry says her name as if it was something everybody should already know. And judging by the wide look in the barman’s eyes and the way Harry’s cheeks start to flush a rosy color, Willa can only guess that these people do, in fact, know exactly who she is.

And for some reason, that makes her feel all warm and gooey inside.

“Willa! Hiya, doll. ‘M Niall.” Willa smiles at Niall, watching the way the skin around his blue eyes crinkles when he gives her a gleaming grin. His arm is extended out towards hers, flannel shirt rolled up towards his elbows revealing untouched warm skin. When she shakes his hand, she makes sure not to break eye contact, and she watches as Niall gives Harry a look that seems to be laced with approval.

“I’ll take a pint of Fuller’s, mate,” Harry says to Niall before looking down at Willa with a shy look on his face. “Want your usual? Can’t be sure that it’ll taste as good as when I make it, but I’m sure Niall here could give it a go.” There’s no sign of an innuendo laced in Harry’s words, but for some reason, Willa can practically feel the sexul tension grow tenfold when he speaks to her. She shivers a bit, despite the fact that she is quite warm to begin with, before shaking her head and turning her attention towards Niall who is already, undoubtedly, staring at them with a knowing look in his eyes.

“I’ll just have a vodka tonic with lime, please.” Niall nods at her before grabbing a pint glass and heading over towards the taps, leaving Harry and Willa to themselves for a moment.

“What do you think so far?” Harry asks, his body mirroring Willa’s as it rests against the bartop, with nothing but his chin resting on his left shoulder, looking down at her under the curtain of his eyelashes.

Willa just smiles, cocking her chin upwards so that she’s looking right back at him, and Harry feels his lungs constricting for air. “Ask me after a few drinks.”

It’s coy and sultry and sexy, and the thesaurus in Harry’s brain is working overtime, but instead of getting lost in her gaze (something he’s quite positive he could do without really trying), Niall reappears with two drinks in his hand, sliding the clear glass over to Willa first before exchanging the pint for Harry’s credit card to start a tab.

“Cheers, Niall,” Willa says kindly, before taking the straw between her cherry lips and drinking a generous amount. The immediate rush of liquid alleviates the dryness of her throat, and she tries her hardest not to moan at the feeling.

Harry holds his pint up in Niall’s direction in thanks, before resting his right hip and elbow on the wooden countertop in order to face Willa. She mimics his movement, and Harry’s eyes watch every discerning shift of her body, the way her hips sway in her jeans, the way her tight blouse leaves little to the imagination. His eyes shift from her exposed neckline to her jaw, to her full lips, to the slope of her nose. Suddenly he feels parched, and he’s practically draining his beer once his eyes meet hers, watching the way her lips twitch upwards in a tempting smirk.

Before he can force his mouth to form words, a body approaches Harry's left side, and he feels the heavy arm of one of his mate’s wrap around his shoulders, nearly sloshing the beer over the rim of the pint glass. Sadly, he tears his eyes away from Willa.

“Who are you hiding from us, Harry?” He asks. He’s almost the same height as Harry, and when Willa looks at his grin, she can tell that he’s just trying to take the mick out of his friend. Before Harry can introduce her, Willa places her glass on the bartop and extends her hand to the dark-skinned man.

“Hi there. I’m Willa.” Once his larger hand is in Willa’s much smaller one, he glances over at Harry with a gigantic grin. Harry just nods back, his eyes showing nothing but adoration for the blonde-haired girl, and suddenly he’s realizing that his nerves about her meeting his mates were absolutely unnecessary.

Willa Tillerson can hold her own in any environment.

“Ah, Willa. Nice to meet ya, babe. I’m Marcus.” The inflection of her name only causes Willa to give Harry a look, one that’s laced with surprise and maybe a little bit of teasing. Because she’s found it quite endearing that he’s told his friends about her, and while the flush on his cheeks tells Willa that he’s a bit embarrassed by it, the quick wink she shoots in his direction tells him that he’s nothing to be worried about.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Willa takes a long gulp of her drink as Marcus starts talking to Harry about one of their other mutual friends. But before she could be left out for too long (not that she needed the constant attention to begin with), Harry suddenly asks Niall for another round and shifts the conversation to her, telling Marcus about her job and how successful she is at it.

She thinks that’s quite charming, to be fair.

“Wow, you’re working on a mansion in Knightbridge?! Blimey, that’s proper lush. Congrats! Pretty fuckin’ wicked, Willa,” Marcus says, reaching between Harry and Willa and smacking his hand on the bartop to get Niall’s attention. “Oi! Horan! Line up some shots, would ya? Harry’s date here’s earned ‘em!”

Both Harry and Willa try not to flush at the word date. Instead, their eyes meet through their periphery, and Harry’s not quite sure how long he can stay in this bar without pushing her up against the wooden walls and feeling her against every single ridge of his body.

Their eyes fall to the copper liquid in the shot glasses, noticing that Niall has poured a generous amount not only for the three of them, but for the rest of Harry’s mates as well. Willa doesn’t even look at them, though. She barely even acknowledges Niall when he shouts out a cheers! in their direction. No—instead her eyes are locked on Harry’s, taking note of the green and turquoise swirls, the golden sphere around his pupil, the way his eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheekbones, the way he licks his lips in preparation for the bitter liquid about to fall down his esophagus.

Harry’s watching her just as intently. Wonders how in this small space filled with people she’s the only person in his atmosphere. How everybody else has practically vanished at this point. How her hair shines under the shitty pub lighting, how her light blue eyes look like mirrors, how her red lips pucker a bit, her mouth hanging open just slightly so that Harry can see the tip of her tongue.

He can’t imagine looking at anybody else.

She doesn’t even want to think about anybody else.

Suddenly the shot glasses are in their hands, and without breaking eye contact, Willa leans a bit closer so that she doesn’t have to extend her arm too far in order to clink their glasses together. She’s so close that all she has to do is whisper a quiet, “Cheers, Harry,” in his direction, watching him mimic her words before bringing the rim to his lips and swallowing whole.

Harry’s eyes are locked on her lower lip, and he’s watching as her soft tongue darts out between the folds to lap up the whiskey dribble that never made it into her mouth. He shudders, his mind conjuring up any and every inappropriate thought, all filled with ice blue eyes and ruby full lips and her.

He’s not quite sure how he’s going to contain himself. But before he could harp on it much longer, Niall places another round in front of the pair, and Harry’s almost positive that the only thing that will make him calm down is liquor.

Or maybe, it’ll just make everything that much more difficult.

***

After an hour and a half, Harry’s almost positive that he’s going to burst.

He’s watching Willa from a short distance away mingling with the rest of the girls in his friend group. She’s taken to his friends quite easily, and while that’s impressive in its own right, Harry sort of wishes he could spend the entirety of his evening alone with just her.

Harry’s downed enough pints to make him that much more sociable, that much more calm, that much more pliant. But, the drinks have somehow made Willa that much more vivacious, that much more amorous, that much more teasing.

It first started when Marcus’s girlfriend complimented her boots, and somehow dragged her away from the comfort of Harry’s side. Before she could slip away, she made sure to rub her arm against Harry’s, flush her side against his, brush her fingers against his wrist, before slithering a couple feet away. He’s been trying his hardest to pay attention to the conversation going on in front of him, but every couple of passing minutes, he can feel Willa’s warm gaze on his. And whenever he looks over, she’s always staring up at him under her heavy eyelashes, keeping hold of his gaze before slipping the plastic straw between her lips.

Harry’s not sure how much longer he can hold on, to be fair.

With every passing drink that Niall generously places in front of Willa, she’s fully conscious of the fact that she’s turned into an absolute tease. And while she feels bad, she can’t really help herself, considering Harry is looking extremely delicious leaning against the bartop with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up, exposing his strong etched forearms and big hands.

She’s never one to lose her cool, but she can feel herself grappling with her self-control with each lingering gaze Harry leaves her with. Whether it’s on her eyes, or her lips, or her collarbones, or when he brazenly darts down to her chest—she instantly finds herself craving to be alone with him.

Willa’s not sure how much longer she can hold on, to be fair.

Once she realizes her third drink has been emptied, she kindly excuses herself from her conversation with Marcus’s girlfriend and slowly approaches the bartop near Harry and his friends. He notices her approaching just like he notices everything about her, and in a bold move, Willa sneaks by his frame, making sure to rub her front against his side, her hand falling just above his waist, as she excuses herself to get past him in order to reach Niall.

Harry doesn’t even excuse himself from his friends before he turns around and approaches Willa. She’s leaning against the bartop, her backside fully visible to Harry and he takes this moment to appreciate the length of her torso, the plushness of her backside, the reach of her legs. He places both palms on the wood outside of Willa’s forearms, easily wrapping himself around her body, resting his chest against her back. Willa smiles at the warmth, before adjusting her back a bit in order to feel the friction of Harry’s waist against her, noticing in her periphery the way Harry’s knuckles turn white against the edge of the counter.

“You’re killing me, Willa,” Harry whispers roughly into her ear, the tips of his curly locks tickling Willa’s cheeks. Instinctively, Willa tilts her head to the right, exposing more of her neck for Harry, practically moaning at the feeling of his lips so close to her pulse point.

“I could say the same for you,” Willa mutters back, pushing her backside almost completely flush against Harry’s front, and she jumps in surprise when she feels his right arm wrap around her waist.

“Are you suggesting something?” Although he’s whispering, his grainy voice cuts right through Willa’s insides, causing a shiver to run over her entire body. She can feel his words rush straight through her middle, falling lower and lower until they settle in her core, and she’s suddenly both hot and cold all over.

All of a sudden, Willa is spinning around until her back is against the bartop, with her elbows leaning on the edge, her front practically millimeters away from Harry’s. His eyes have grown darker and she’s fully aware of the rising and falling of his chest, and how his gaze has shifted towards her breasts, completely pushed out at this angle, and all she can think about is kissing his mouth.

But before they can, Niall places two more drinks on the countertop behind her. Harry’s hooded eyes snap up to his friend, and Willa takes note of the strained look he shoots in his direction. Niall clearly has bad timing, and while Willa would normally turn around and acknowledge the barman politely, she suddenly has the urge to dismiss all of her morals and forego most of the rules.

Harry fully expects her to turn around at the intrusion, but after Niall walks away and he realizes that Willa is still trapped in between his arms, his eyes dart down to hers and he sees her white teeth biting her plush lower lip, and he’s completely lost all self-control.

Willa runs a long pointer finger down the lines of his chest, and Harry’s eyes watch the path she traces starting from the middle of his pectorals, falling down the tenseness of his abdominal muscles, before settling just above the button of his trousers. Harry’s certain that Willa’s pupils are as dark as his, and when she lightly traces over the zipper of his jeans, a loud groan forms in Harry’s throat and he’s almost positive he’s about to break in half.

“I’m gonna head to the loo,” Willa says, grabbing her drink with the hand that was just tracing a tantalizing path to Harry’s nether region. Her grip on his forearm is a signal for Harry to move out of the way, but he’s suddenly found himself frozen in place. “If you’re up for it, I’ll make sure the door is locked.”

Willa sneaks away before she can take in Harry’s slacked jaw.

He turns around just in time to catch one last look at the undulation of her hips in her tight jeans, and suddenly he’s downing half of the fresh pint in front of him. He ignores the smirk Niall shoots in his direction, ignores his name falling from Marcus’s lips, ignores basically everything in his sight until he’s standing in the far less crowded hallway where the toilets are.

Harry waits until the girl in front of him enters and leaves the loo before he nearly breaks the wooden door down in order to reach Willa. He finds her by the sinks touching up her lipstick, and before he can even check if the coast is clear, she’s pushing him back against the door, flicking the lock with one hand before wrapping it around the back of Harry’s neck and bringing his lips to hers.

It’s as if time stands still, and it’s a bit surprising for both of them considering their minds have constantly been filled with visions of the other person doing exactly this. But as Willa feels Harry’s tongue slither against hers, and Harry feels Willa’s teeth bite at the flesh of his lower lip, and they both feel warm hands grasping at their sides—it’s as if everything makes sense.

Harry snakes his hands around Willa’s waist, leaving one above her hip while the other palms her ass in her trousers. Willa squeals inside Harry’s mouth, before interlocking her arms behind Harry’s neck, crawling her fingers up the back of his head, pushing and pulling at the soft tendrils along the way.

It’s everything and more and Harry feels as if he could finish in his pants, because kissing Willa is the one plaguing thought that’s driven him completely mad for the past two months. And now that it’s finally happening and she’s here in front of him pulling his hair and biting his lip and moaning his name into his own mouth, he feels as if he’s floating through air.

Willa slots her legs in between Harry’s before grinding her hips against his, and the sudden friction causes Harry to pull apart from Willa’s lips and rest his head back against the door, moaning loudly into the ceiling. The sound makes Willa squirm against his front, and she begins to mouth at Harry’s exposed neckline, running her tongue over his throbbing pulse point before sucking harshly on the skin.

Harry’s never been so hungry for a girl ever in his life, and with each lick and bite at his flushed neck, he can feel himself grow harder and harder against his pants. He’s desperate for friction, and once Willa begins lapping at the strip of skin just above the collar of his jumper, he shifts his hips forward so that she can feel him against her clothed core.

The force of the pleasure causes Willa to still against Harry’s neck, and when Harry pushes forward a second time, she can’t help the whimper that falls from her mouth. Once Harry hears it, he wraps his fingers in her blonde hair before bringing her face forward so that he can connect their lips once more.

Willa’s never felt so many things all at once—it’s as if an electrical current has shot straight into her chest, and the only thought she can think of is Harry. He’s moved his hand from her hip to her right breast, and the smooth kneading causes her to grind against Harry again, a breathless fuck falling from her lips into Harry’s mouth.

When they break apart for air, Willa can see her lipstick on Harry’s mouth and it’s enough to send her into a frenzy. Harry notes her blown out pupils, her messy hair, her smudged lips, and it’s as if he’s completely lost all restraint.

Willa’s eyes dart down to Harry’s stifling erection trapped inside his trousers and without even thinking, she begins to palm him through the denim. His forehead falls into the crook of Willa’s neck, and she can feel him heavily panting with each hot breath that scorches her already flaming skin. His muffled moans prompt Willa to pop the button of his jeans, her fingers falling towards the zipper slowly.

Before she can reach under the waistband of his pants, three loud knocks form against the other side of the door, and Willa’s hands immediately fall to her side. Harry’s head lifts from her neck, darting towards the door before falling back to Willa’s eyes.

She calls out a quick “one minute!” before breathing loudly through her front teeth, creating a soft whistle with her frustrated huff. Harry quickly buttons up his jeans before pressing his forehead against Willa’s, sighing breathlessly against her warm skin.

“As much as I like your mates,” Willa starts, “Any chance we can get out of here?”

Harry laughs a bit before nodding, pressing a quick kiss against her forehead. “My flat’s close by.” Willa finds herself nodding, her mind completely clouded over by lust and the fact that she very nearly had Harry’s cock in her hand in the inside of a public toilet in a tiny pub in the middle of Camden.

From the dazed look in Harry’s eyes, Willa can confirm that he feels the same, and all at once he flicks the lock beside them, grabbing Willa and holding her a bit close to his front as they hurriedly rush over to the bar to close his tab, praying her body covers his half-hard erection in his jeans that practically hide nothing.

With the safety of the bartop covering his lower half, Harry calls out to Niall before grabbing a handful of notes from his wallet, throwing them on the wooden top without even double checking the amount. Niall gives both of them a knowing look, taking in their flushed cheeks and unkempt hair, before cackling loudly at the pair.

“You two have fun!” Once they have their jackets, Harry grabs Willa’s hand and leads the way to the front door, not even sparing his friends a second look. He doesn’t even think to put on his trench coat, his body still blistering from wherever Willa’s hands were placed. She feels the same, rushing after Harry wordlessly as he drags them through the busy streets of Camden, racing towards his flat to keep this sexually charged energy-filled bubble from popping.

Before long, they reach an old brick building that looks as if it were once a factory of some sort, but was recently transformed into a modernized apartment building. Willa doesn’t get the chance to observe it much longer, because before she knows it, Harry’s punched in the code to the front door and shoves her into the open elevator door before pressing his lips back to hers.

It’s quick and hurried and somehow completely satisfying every craving itching up Willa’s skin. She’s not even sure what floor he’s clicked or how much time they have left in this confined space, but her fingers are pulling at his chocolate tresses and his hands are gripping her jaw and cupping her cheek and all she can think about is how much she’s been waiting for this moment to finally happen and now that it’s here, she’s kicking herself for waiting this long to feel it.

Harry breaks away once the elevator doors have opened, and with one last peck he’s gripping her waist and shuffling them towards the last door on the right of the short hallway, holding her against the slate grey door before picking up where they left off. Willa’s moaning into his lips and he can feel her clawing at the material of his jumper, and before they can get too carried away, he shoves his key into the lock and thrusts them both into his dark flat.

He flicks a switch on to the right and before Willa can get adjusted to the new light, Harry’s mouth is at her neck and his hands are inching their way up towards her chest, pushing her back against the door and she feels completely lightheaded.

“Harry, fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” Willa says, her head falling back against the heavy door as Harry kisses along every inch of her exposed neck.

“God, been thinkin’ about this for months, Willa. You’ve no clue what you do to me, do you?” He’s speaking against her skin, his lips ghosting over the upper swells of her breasts. The feeling is almost too much, and Willa feels her body arching from the door and pressing her chest closer towards Harry’s mouth, needing every inch of his searing mouth against her skin.

His palm cups over her core above her jeans and she sighs out blissfully. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and Willa feels herself freefalling towards the edge. She’s not sure if it’s because she hasn’t been touched like this in a long time, or if she’s been waiting for this moment with Harry for months now, but she’s completely enraptured by him and all she wants is him inside of her.

“Show me, then.” Willa’s words cause Harry’s lips to pause against her chest. His head shoots up and his eyes meet hers, and Willa watches the smirk work its way against his lips.

“Is that what you want?” His voice is husky and he’s leaning in so closely that the words form over Willa’s swollen lips, and they’re enough to cause the wetness to spread inside her knickers.

Willa grips the back of Harry’s neck tightly, her fingertips ruffling the hair at the base. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Harry groans before bringing his lips roughly to Willa’s, dragging her away from the front door and leading her into his bedroom. On the way, Willa steps out of her boots, flings her jacket and purse somewhere, not even caring if Harry has a roommate or someone who would be bothered by the noises escaping their mouths.

Harry does the same, and she can sense that even if he did have a roommate, he could give less of a fuck if he or any other neighbor of his could hear what the two of them are doing. They finally reach the entryway of his bedroom, and when they part for air, Willa presses her body tightly against Harry’s and she can feel every inch of pleasure coursing through his veins.

She brings her palms to Harry’s front and begins rubbing him over his jeans, running her fingers along the strained length of his cock hidden under the fabric against his thigh, and the throaty moan that escapes his mouth is the only affirmation she needs to unbutton his pants and pull them down his legs.

Willa falls with them, kneeling on the hardwood floor and bringing her lips to the tip of his cock. She licks a stripe from the base of his shaft all the way up to the tip, making sure to outline the hardened vein on the outside, pulsing against his skin.

Harry shudders, weaving his hands around the back of Willa’s neck and gathering her hair into a messy ponytail to ensure it doesn’t get in the way. He watches as she wraps her mouth around the tip, flattening her tongue against the rest of him as she works her way down, inching herself closer and closer down until he’s practically completely enveloped in her throat.

“Holy fuck. Are you real?” Harry calls out between grunts, and the second she looks up at him through the thick of her eyelashes, he can immediately feel himself careening towards the edge, remembering how he thought of her in this position multiple times.

He pulls at her hair, signalling he needs her to stop deepthroating him. Willa lets him go, the suctioning pop reverberating through the quiet bedroom once he’s no longer in her mouth. She pouts up at him, and the vision along with her sticky lips is enough to cause Harry to roll his eyes behind his head.

“Christ, babe. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last if you keep doing that,” Harry groans, reaching down to pull her up so that she’s back standing in front of him. He pushes a strand of hair that has fallen in front of her face behind her ear, and Willa settles into the open palm of his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I’ve been picturing you doing that to me for months. So the fact that it’s actually happening I just—shit. Need a minute.”

Willa smirks before inching her fingers under his jumper, walking them up the ridges of his stomach before settling on his chest. “Yeah? What else have you pictured me doing?”

Harry’s eyes widen at her forwardness and he can practically feel his cock twitch against his stomach. “You really want me to tell you?”

Willa smiles, resting her other hand against Harry’s jaw and bringing it close to her mouth. “I’d rather you show me.”

Harry growls before stepping out of his jeans and pants and walking her backwards to his bed. He pulls his jumper over his head, exposing the warm planes of his skin littered with various tattoos. Willa’s hands immediately trace the outlines, her lips hovering over the matching sparrows under his collarbones causing Harry to moan loudly.

“You’re far too overdressed,” Harry mumbles against her lips, reaching forward and pulling her shirt over her head, her breasts hidden under a nude lace underwire bra. Harry’s eyes fall towards her chest, before following the lines of her stomach until his hands begin hovering over the buttons of her jeans.

“Please tell me whatever’s under here will match,” Harry says, his mind completely stupefied at the sight of her half-naked in front of him.

“Why don’t you pull those down and find out?” Willa’s words cause Harry to whimper, and before she can even blink, Harry has pried her legs from her jeans, his mouth watering at the sight of her see-through matching knickers.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Harry says, taking a step back and watching the way she looks splayed out over his duvet. He’s completely hooked on her, one hundred and fifty percent fucked by the way her hair falls over his pillows, the way her chest puffs out against her bra, the way her long legs fall from the ends of her knickers.

He’s in awe.

Willa looks up at him in that way that makes his mind fall to mush, and with a quiet “c’mere,” he’s completely hers.

She brings her mouth back to his and his hands instantly fall to her back to unclip her bra. Her hands fall to his backside, pressing him against her clothed core, begging for friction. She moans when Harry’s lips fall to her chest, before wrapping his mouth around one of her nipples, lapping his tongue against the pilled bud, causing Willa to lift her back completely off the mattress.

His hands graze over her core, cupping her heat as his mouth moves to her other breast. She feels him push the lace fabric of her underwear to the side, before slipping his middle finger into her wet folds. She’s a writhing mess underneath him, and as much as she loves the touching and kissing and kneading, she needs more.

“Harry,” Willa gasps, her own palm sliding up and down his shaft, causing him to groan against her chest. “I need you to fuck me.”

He stills, looking up at her through clouded eyes. “Yeah?”

Her hand squeezes a little harder around him, and she pushes her body upwards to graze against his, watching the way his eyes shut tight in pleasure. “Please.”

He nods, reaching over into his bedside table for a condom, leaning over her again and ridding her of the last layer of clothing between them until they’re both flushed skin against flushed skin. His eyes scan her body, and when he looks at her, she can practically feel the devotion falling from his gaze.

“Are you sure? Can’t guarantee I’ll last long,” He admits, and as much as Willa appreciates his affable claim, she really just needs him inside of her. Without speaking, she grabs the condom from his hand and rips the foil open with her teeth, before sliding it down the length of his cock.

“I’ve never been more sure. Show me what you fantasize, Harry. I’m here.” That’s all Harry needs before he’s lined up at her entrance, slowly sliding into her warmth.

He makes sure to take his time, allowing Willa to get adjusted to the feeling of his length inside of her. It takes her a moment, but once Harry’s almost three-fourths of the way inside, the pinching feeling suddenly fades into something almost euphoric, and instantly her hand reaches out to grip Harry’s wrist by her head.

“More, Harry. I need more.” He groans into her neck, sliding out of her almost completely, before pushing all the way inside, bottoming out with one loud cacophonous groan.

He gathers his rhythm quickly after that, and when Willa wraps one hand around his glistening bicep and the other pulls at the curls at the base of his neck, he reaches down to lift her ankle over his shoulder, the other hand kneading her breast and his mouth latches against her own.

The new angle allows Harry to reach that plushy spot along Willa’s walls, forcing her back to arch off the mattress and her fingernails to dig into the skin around Harry’s bicep. “Oh my god, Harry. Yes. Right there.”

“Fuck Willa, you feel so good. Love when you say my name,” Harry says against her mouth, his teeth clacking against hers, tongue sliding in to taste every inch of her.

“Harry!” Willa calls out through a moan when he lifts her leg higher into the air, causing him to reach deeper inside of her than ever before. He’s nothing but a narcissist, and the sound of his name crying out of Willa’s lips is enough to cause his movements to falter a bit, his release coming far quicker than he imagined.

“Shit, babe. I’m close,” Harry says against her neck, his eyes fall towards her navel where he can see the tip of his cock push inside of her. The vision is enough to cause him to spiral down down down, but he needs to make sure Willa is close too before he completely falls into the abyss.

“Me too, Harry—fuck! Me too,” Willa squeaks. The fingers resting against Willa’s chin inch their way towards her mouth, and instinctively, Willa wraps her mouth around them, sucking deliberately while watching the way Harry’s mouth parts in wonderment.

He reaches down to circle against her clit with his wet fingers, and after a few more timed pumps inside of her, Willa’s crying out against his skin, her fingernails digging harshly into his bicep. Harry likes the pain, and that coupled with the sounds falling from Willa’s mouth is enough to push him towards his release.

He languidly pumps slowly in and out of her until her body has grown limp underneath him. Slowly, he pulls out of her, and Willa immediately frowns at the warmth dissipating from her insides. Harry rolls onto his back beside her, discarding the condom in the bin near his bedside table and trying his hardest to catch his breath.

“That was—”

“—Yeah.”

Willa’s giggling softly beside him, and the sound is enough to cause Harry to smile widely, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and bringing her to rest comfortably against his chest. Their skin is sticky from exertion, and Willa’s hair is knotted from Harry’s hands pulling through the tendrils, and Harry’s arms feel bruised from Willa’s fingers, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Can’t believe it took us that long,” Willa says against his chest, causing Harry to laugh loudly from above her.

“Yeah, we fucked up a bit on that one, I reckon,” Harry says back, combing his fingers through her long blonde hair. Willa hums at the comforting feeling, and she reciprocates the same, running her fingers lightly over the moth tattoo under his chest calmingly.

Maybe it was the alcohol she consumed this evening, or maybe it was the fatigue to her body from what her and Harry just did, or just maybe it was the fact that she had never felt more comfortable wrapped up in another person’s embrace, but almost instantly, Willa finds herself falling asleep, her soft breathing pattern lulling Harry into the same comfortable darkness.

***

It’s the absence of warmth that causes Harry to wake in the middle of the night. He looks over to where he remembers feeling Willa sleeping against him, and finds that his bed is empty. The only reminder of her ever being in his bed is the crinkled sheets and the overwhelming smell of her shampoo on his pillowcase.

His eyes dart over towards the clock on his bedside table informing him that it’s nearly five in the morning. He looks around a bit to see if she’s crept into the en-suite attached to his bedroom, but he finds the light off and no sign of movement inside.

Harry’s a bit bummed, to be fair. Although Willa never explicitly told him that she’d stay, he never would have pegged her to pull a runner in the middle of the night. Especially after the mindblowing sex they shared.

Or was it just mediocre for her? Harry thinks, silently cursing himself for underperforming in any form. He can’t really blame himself. He’s been imagining Willa doing the unspeakable acts she performed on him a few hours ago for months now, so he can’t really blame himself for finishing quickly.

Before he can mull over any other scenarios, the sound of bare feet padding against hardwood flooring causes Harry’s eyes to scan over the hallway. Willa approaches silently, tip-toeing into his bedroom wearing nothing but Harry’s discarded white undershirt, falling against the middle of her thighs. Her hands are deep inside a box of Golden Grahams, and the sight is enough to cause Harry’s heart to thump loudly in his chest, relief rushing through his veins.

He starts laughing, and immediately Willa locks her eyes on him, her chewing abruptly stopping. She swallows harshly before speaking. “I didn’t mean to wake you! I was just, er, hungry.” Willa holds up the cereal box slightly, and Harry just beckons her over with his outstretched hand.

“You gonna share?” Harry asks teasingly, and his just-woken-up thick voice is enough to cause her lower stomach to warm significantly in pleasure.

Willa giggles quietly while treading over to the bed, squeaking when Harry’s arms wrap around her waist and she crashes into his lap, her legs slithering around his waist comfortably with the cereal box in between them.

He reaches his hand in and scoops out a large mouthful, before tipping the open box in her direction and allowing her to do the same. She’s smiling through her chews, watching the way Harry’s jaw works through crushing the cereal bits before his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow.

Suddenly, Willa isn’t hungry for cereal anymore. She places the box on the ground near the bed, before wrapping her legs tighter around Harry’s waist, settling herself lightly on Harry’s lap. His hands wrap around her backside, his fingers squeezing the soft skin underneath her thighs, causing her to ground down a bit more against his hips.

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Willa says quietly, her hands falling comfortably around Harry’s shoulders. She watches his lips form that crooked grin that makes her smile right back at him, and slowly his mouth starts to lean towards hers.

“Good, because I’m thinking there’s other things we can be doing,” Harry says against her lips, before pushing her closer to his half-hard bulge and licking his way into her mouth, groaning at the sugary flavor residing on her tongue.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Willa’s teasing and Harry’s come to the conclusion that he quite enjoys her this way. Without answering, Harry reaches for the hem of his shirt and pushes it over her head, discarding it aimlessly on his floor.

“Whatever you want to do, Willa,” Harry says earnestly, noting the way her eyes twinkle in the moonlight falling through his window. She’s beautiful, and he suddenly realizes that his statement was true.

He’d do anything she wanted, as long as she keeps looking at him the way she is at this very moment.

Willa somehow knows how he feels without him needing to express words. She can see it in his eyes, the same ones that have looked at her for months through the crowded bar. And now that they’re in front of her, staring at her with nothing but adoration and fondness, she’s almost positive there’s no other place she’d rather be.

“I just want you,” she whispers, closing the space between them with a kiss, meaning every word.

[clarste]

Since it's been a few weeks, what's your opinion on Chapter 8 of Arknights? Reading about your opinion on other pieces of Arknights has been very nice so far.

I find this enemy description inordinately amusing so I will start with this before going to spoilers below the break.

1) First of all I am a sucker for flashbacks following the villain, so the basic structure of Chapter 8 was right up my alley. Even if Talulah's arc was more or less predictable—who among us did not expect Alina to die? I think some people might feel that it was a little too long, but honestly I think it said everything it needed to say and frankly there is nothing more important the chapter could have said. If anything, the parts that weren't about Talulah would be first on my chopping list if I were editing this story down. In particular, the whole bit with Kal'tsit and the sarcophagus and all that had almost nothing to do with the themes of this chapter or the Reunion arc, so they seemed especially superfluous. Even if that story might have been interesting told on its own.

2) Talulah. The main character of this chapter, obviously. I think there are two different angles to approach her from that seem almost mutually exclusive, which are that A) she is a tragic figure who started with noble ideals but was pushed to her limits until she became a ruthless shell of her former self and B) she is literally possessed by Kaschey, ie: the Deathless Black Snake, who is the immortal spirit of Imperialism manipulating the country of Ursus into a constant state of war. From what I've seen of people’s reactions, I think most people focus more on angle B, which makes sense because that is literally true in the story, but what I took from it is that it's a lot more ambiguous than that.

What I mean is that the story is constantly emphasizing that the Deathless Black Snake can only take action as long as Talulah agrees with it. It's more insidious than just an external ghost taking control of her (and thereby freeing her of responsibility for her actions), it's a philosophy that was planted in her by her mentor, a way of thinking, an idea. A living meme. So when I say that it's the immortal spirit of imperialism, I don't mean that as a joke, it is the embodiment of imperialism itself, of imperialist ideals and goals, manifested in this particular person the moment she starts seeing her enemies as obstacles to be eliminated instead of people with their own motivations. I certainly don't think that the trigger for the transformation was set arbitrarily, that's just Who She Needed To Be in order to buy into the ideas that Kaschey and the Snake had taught her from a young age. It’s also an ancient god taking physical control over her, but hey, it's fantasy.

Ultimately, we didn't defeat the Deathless Black Snake in battle, we just gave Talulah second thoughts. And she will live with what she's done for the rest of her life.

3) Amiya. In this chapter, more than anywhere else, it's clear that Amiya is the main character of Arknights. Sure, we have whatever Kal'tsit is plotting, and whatever the hell the Doctor is, but that doesn't actually matter. In fact, they spent this entire chapter walking around in the basement and never once interacting with Talulah. The Doctor shows up at the end with no idea what's going on or what happened, which is quite comical when you think about it.

By contrast, Amiya sees the big picture. Of the three people on top of the tower during the climax, only Amiya knows what both Talulah and Chen have been through, or indeed what she’s been though. What brought them all to that point. She is watching all these flashbacks right alongside us through her empathy powers. Which, as I've mentioned before, is really the best superpower in this setting: the power to see the world through someone else's eyes, and to feel the pain that drives them. And we, the players, feel what she feels. In a certain sense, she's even more of a player avatar here than even the Doctor, which I mean in the best possible way.

And of course her empathy gives her cool shounen superpowers that are suspiciously similar to Emiya Shirou, but I will allow it.

4) Chen. Chen is honestly kind of the weak link here, imo. While of course we've been following her character arc since chapter 3 and I don't mind where they've taken her, it ironically kind of felt to me like she had no personal stakes in the final battle. Which is odd since the story seemed to be hammering that it's all personal for her, what with Talulah being her long-lost sister and all that. The problem (imo) is that her close relationship with Talulah is all Told-Not-Shown, and also that Talulah is being possessed by the Deathless Black Snake, so it kind of feels like she's being left out of the loop, both in terms of knowing the facts and also emotionally.

I'm not saying she doesn't get any good lines, or that her banter with Amiya isn't cool or funny, I'm just saying that what should have been a big emotional moment at the climax of the story just sort of fell flat for me, and I was left wondering "wait, why is Chen here again?"

That said, I did enjoy her bit afterward where she's like "you need to stand fair trial for your crimes, Talulah, but in this world that discriminates against the Infected, there’s nowhere worthy of giving you one." I feel that sums up the game's stance on these things quite succinctly.

5) Rosmontis. Rosmontis had sort of an interesting arc here because it separated her from Amiya and I almost want to say that was a good thing? While I thought her relationship to Amiya was one of the most interesting things about her in the previous chapter, it almost feels like it was preventing her from forming bonds with other people and becoming a more well-rounded person? I guess what I want to say that is that Rosmontis was being coddled, sheltered, treated as a child. While some would call her a monster, Amiya was always around to say "no no no, don't listen to them, you're cute!" And while that was certainly nice of Amiya, it feels like what truly made her accept herself was almost the opposite: being accepted as a monster (or rather, a person with monstrous powers) by people used to fighting alongside monsters. Being told that she's allowed to hate the people who hurt her, and to be ruthless to her enemies. That her own emotions, both good or bad, are valid. For the first time, she felt human.

What you'll note, of course, is that these aren't exactly heroic virtues, and in fact they're kind of similar to what Amiya rejects and what got Talulah into so much trouble? Honestly I don't know if I would say Rosmontis is a good person right now, but what she is doing is thinking on her own for the first time, and deciding what's right and wrong for herself. It sounds almost malicious to put it this way, but it's like Amiya and Rhodes Island were trying to mold her into someone she's not. In some ways the opposite of what Kaschey did to Talulah.

I don't think her story is over yet, of course, but I found it an interesting direction to take. Rosmontis is on the path to find her own justice, which may or may not align with Rhodes Island's.

Also, kitty:

6) W. Back when I was doing a write-up for chapter 7, I said that maybe she would have been better off being recruitable in chapter 8 instead of 7, because it seemed a little early in her arc for that. I was wrong. She wouldn't fit in for chapter 8 either. Honestly she probably shouldn't be recruitable at all right now, not that I'm complaining as someone who uses her. Just, you know, narratively she is not at a place where she would consider joining RI, and in fact she ends the chapter pretty much going "later losers, I hope we never meet again." Which implies that the W in my squad right now is like a totally different person who is either from an alternate dimension or the future, after a lot of character development. That's not like the worst thing ever, it just seems a little weird to have her right now. W's story isn't about Reunion and never was. It's about Theresa and Babel, which as of now we are still only getting little hints of. I'd be glad to see that story when it happens, but until then W's just kind of there.

7) Themes. For some reason, this one line in this chapter really hit me. While it's not literally true, especially if you count all the former child slaves or feral children and whatnot, it does feel broadly true that most of the characters come from middle-class backgrounds. Like, your Krooses and Orchids of the world. Kal'tsit goes on to explain that this is because RI can only really recruit in cities, and that rural Infected tend to get thrown into the wilderness on their own and have no idea that RI exists.

Interestingly, this idea also sort of comes up in Talalah's side, when it's revealed that Talulah is the daughter of a duke, making her followers hesitate for a moment. While I don't recall it being explicitly spelled out, the implication was obviously that she's not "one of them" and this might be a cause for distrust. But what are "they' exactly? Clearly she is in fact Infected, she made sure of that herself. But she wasn't abandoned in the same way her followers were. She had a choice, and chose to side with the Infected. Which is honorable of her and all, but it also indicates a fundamental disconnect between them because they never had a choice. She could've used her influence to hide her oripathy and be treated like a normal person (as we saw happened with both Chen and Patriot), or used her wealth to get sent to a fancy private hospital like Rhodes Island, with the latest medical technology and treatments.

So while the story focuses on the discrimination of the Infected, it's clear here that that's not really the only thing going on. Being Infected means little to those in power, while for those without power it's just an an excuse to intrude on their lives and make sure they aren't "harboring any Infected" or whatever. Basically the story starts discussing intersectionality, which I found interesting.

8) This is a good line:

[tanoraqui]

AU where I gently tweak character ages to my whim so that when Jame is outcast, the next time Tori sleeps and reaches out for her reflexively in his dreams...he can’t find her of course. She’s lost in the dark somewhere. But he wanders the edges of that darkness searching, crying as he can’t let himself be seen to do while awake…and he stumbles into Kindrie’s garden

Tori is seven years old and dreaming. He wanders around, admiring the many pale-flowered plants, before he notices that one of them isn't a flower at all, but a white-haired, blue-eyed toddler sitting quietly in the corner.

(I don’t think it’s at all normal to slide from dream to soulspace at the age of 4, but this is Kindrie, who is just a little bit of a prodigy - and, of course, Tori, likewise.)

Tori nearly backs away in disgust, filthy shanir ringing in his ears in his father's voice (and this isn’t even the shanir he wants to see, wants with every lonely, not-quite-guilty-yet fiber of his being.) But the toddler’s eyes well up with tears at his disgust and Tori has never interacted with a baby before but he’s always been responsible. So he wipes the sneer from his young face and tentatively sits beside the boy, and asks what's your name, is this your garden, are there any adults here? (Kindrie, yes, a shy look toward the faint impression of a woman's face in a mossy wall.) Are you lonely, too? ...Do you want to play?

Tori wakes up before he gets much farther than explaining the strategies of tic-tac-toe. He doesn't go back the next night, because he wakes up inexplicably exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all. He dismisses it as a half-forgotten dream.

But soon enough there’s another night - when Ganth raged at dinner, when the other half of the bed felt especially cold and empty - when he goes looking for the peaceful little garden again, and finds it after only a little bewildering wandering. Kindrie is there, and lights up to see him.

Maybe they just play tag, and water the plants - or water plants and end up splashing water at each other, Tori drawing Kindrie into not flinching at the sudden movements… Or maybe Tori asks, “Do you know how to play marbles?” and Kindrie says yes but points out that that there aren’t any marbles here, and Tori, with all the confidence of a young lord, says, “Well that’s dumb,” and conjures some marbles to play with. Because it’s a dream, and you can do that in a dream! (It’s a soul and most people can not do that in a soul, but the children who will one day be Creation and Preservation don’t know that.)

And then! They just! Hang out! No less often than once every few weeks, and sometimes every night for nearly a month. When they're young, it's more effort; it takes Tori days to regain his strength each time. When they're older, they both have more nights too busy or anxious to sleep, or too hurt and weary to choose anything but dreamless dwar.

By day, Tori keeps swallowing down his father's poison, but by night - obviously he, Tori, isn't a shanir. Obviously. it's Kindrie's dream garden. But Kindrie is - well, he's just a little kid (Tori thinks from the ripe age of 3 years older). He doesn't have claws or anything; he's not dangerous like Jame was. And by mutual unspoken agreement, neither of them talks in detail about their waking lives, but if Tori were to mention his father's view on shanir - well, Kindrie has been drinking his own poison since birth. Bastard, worthless shanir brat, and all the curses of the priests and their benefactress... He wouldn't argue, I think, with anything Tori said.

(As for that benefactress..she nearly catches them once, for sure. She's surprised to see another dreamwalker, but her reflexes are good: she flings a curse at Tori that would hit most souls like a well-aimed arrow, or at least like a discreet tracker tag. It bounces off his back as he dashes away; he barely notices. Kindrie is terrified. A door has developed over the years, from frequent use, between here and Tori's Haunted Lands keep. It's always been concealed behind a curtain of vines, but after that incident with Lady Randir, he hides it so thoroughly that Tori has difficulty finding it from the other side, next time he visits.)

The first time Kindrie follows Tori back through that door is when Tori, age 12, has broken his arm falling out of a tree, and been put sternly to bed but left too restless for proper dwar. Kindrie has learned enough in his classes for young could-be-priests to realize that this isn't a dream, but (guiltily) he hasn't told Tori, because Tori - best and only friend, and something like an older brother - will freak out about shanir things, and possibly never come back. This is the worst possible outcome.

But right now, even dreaming, Tori is cradling his arm with remembered pain, and Kindrie knows that when he grows up (if he grows up), he's going to be a healer (he has already been made so exquisitely aware that his talents lie in healing, himself if no one else). So he convinces Tori to take him back through the door to explore Tori's dreadful keep, and together they gather the ladder and hammers and etc. required to repair the few fallen beams.

(Ganth roars when Tori wakes up with an arm far more healed than one night of dwar sleep should have healed. Filthy shanir, monster! But he calms without delivering more than a few extra slaps. Tori dances desperately around the truth, because his dreams with Kindrie - best and only friend, something like a younger brother - are something they've never needed to swear to keep secret. The kendar who'd examined the break in the first place says, "Lord, my eyes are growing old, and Torisen is young and strong - maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. A fracture, not a break. And he slept well.")

(Not a lie, just barely not a lie.)

(But these are kendar who would, in a couple years, every single one of them swear to take any dishonor onto their own accounts so that their young lordan could escape this place. It's not the first not-a-lie, and it won't be the last.)

"How can I?" Tori asks, agonized, surrounded by gentle white flowers, in one of the rare times they speak explicitly about the things they endure by day. Though Tori still doesn't give his full name, nor his father's, and Kindrie's given little more detail of his location than that he's studying to be a priest. He's never named the woman against whom he sometimes locks his doors so tightly that even Tori can't get in.

"One of us should escape," says Kindrie, who's 3 years younger but plenty old enough to be bitter.

(A few days after that, waking, Ganth demands that Tori drink a cup of wine with a drop of blood in it, "To my health", and something dark and rotten will take root in Tori's soul-keep. But it's so small, and hidden for now, not to mention ineffective, that Tori doesn't notice - and Kindrie hasn't come over to help clean up since the near-disaster of that broken arm.)

Less than a year after that, Kindrie is having a particularly bad day, the sort where even in his garden, he's doing little more than curl up in a silent ball. Tori sits nearby, sketching a map of the Southern Host's camp, so as to remember his new environs better. Unprompted, he says, "You know, I don't actually mind people thinking I'm a bastard."

"That's because you're not," Kindrie says, quietly into his knees, but just a little waspish.

"Maybe," Tori concedes. "But also it's..." He waves his hand at undefinable concepts, because he'll never be good at introspection. "Everyone assumes things, about me, about Lord Ardeth - assumes the worst, assumes the least of me. But it's not right at all, it's just because they hear the word bastard and think those things - so who's to say they're right about any other bastard?"

Another day, Tori is restless, pacing, and wearing armor even here, and won't say why. He doesn't need to - he's been keeping Kindrie abreast of the events with the god-kings, Karnids, and brewing war (though not every detail - not how the high priest spoke to him). If only as a listening ear at which to talk it all through, figure it all out.

He still doesn't, truly, overall mind people assuming he's Ardeth's bastard. But he hates the stupid games around that and being a Knorth at the same time, the spying and the constant not-quite-lying - and tomorrow, they reach Ukakarn, with enemies unknown.

"Kindrie," he says abruptly, can you keep a secret on his tongue - but that's a stupid question because all of this is secret, and always has been. "Would you mind knowing my name?"

"Tori?" Kindrie says, answer and question, blinking as his attention is pulled away from the flowers he's been meticulously winding around a trellis.

"Torisen," Tori says, with that same abruptness. "Torisen Knorth, son of Ganth Grey Lord." And because he cannot bear to unburden himself without offering something - "Lord Ardeth knows - that's why he's been mentoring me, and spying on me, this whole time. But I think he did mean it, when he said he wants to help me regain my father's seat - that's why I mean it, when I say I'm quite sure he'd help me get you out of this place" (the priests' college) "if you want. He could send for a new healer to attempt Dari's rotten teeth..."

He trails off in the fact of Kindrie's odd response: avoiding Tori's eyes, a small smile that he's failing to suppress.

"What?" Tori says, maybe more sharply than he should.

"It's just...my grandmother was a Knorth. I heard someone say it, once, when they thought I wasn't listening." Kindrie's mouth keeps trying to smile, but his glance is anxious, because the last thing he wants is to sound like he's angling for something. Like he's bringing this up - or worse, making it up - because he, like Lord Ardeth, wants some in on the hypothetical future highlord. He's known this for years after all; he never mentioned it before because it was a treasure for just himself. By old, unspoken agreement, there's a lot they don't share about their waking lives.

But Tori lights up. "Really? Do you know who?"

"Her name was Telarien, I think."

Tori, who has studied his so-empty family tree, who has been alone since he was 7 - stops his pacing and turns with hands outstretched. "Why, then we're cousins!"

(Tori has offered this more than once, and each time Kindrie has declined - no politically machinated release nor clever trick, nor even (once, when Tori was in a particular Mood, and maybe thinking of his sister) some sort of rescue heist. Because the priests' college is terrible, but it's familiarly terrible, and who knows what greater disdain and torment might be out in the rest of the world?)

And then came Ukakarn.

Tori doesn't show up cradling his hands, or the blood on them, and weeping, the next night, his dire keep under siege next door. He doesn't flicker briefly in and out, as his torturer disallow him true rest. He doesn't come to Kindrie's garden at all, because he has been taken into the bowels of Ukakarn, which lie in the same shadow that consumes the land north of the Haunted Lands - the same shadow, unbeknownst to any of them, that swallowed his sister.

But he's not dead. Kindrie can tell, can feel, that he's not dead. And Kindrie is a healer (in training) and this is his best friend and cousin and rightful lord (however illegitimate the blood claim may be, for the latter two). So he doesn't hesitate a moment before plunging into the darkness that has swallowed the place where Tori's soul usually looms.

It's a little bit like swimming, through shadows thick enough to choke on. It's a bit like finding the will to get up in the morning, struggle that that often is. But Kindrie, though only age 13 or so, has a great deal more expertise than Tori, age 7 did, and more natural talent as well. Off in the physical world, the priests deem him truly comatose this time, but he breaks through to Tori's haunted soulscape - running with cracks of fire, as though about to explode. Overlapping with a grander house, a manse whose dark hallways Kindrie doesn't know. He wanders, searching desperately, pressing against not shadows but the end of his own tether.

He only finds Tori when he catches a glimpse of a slim, ghostly figure he thinks is him - but her armor is white and her hair is long, and when Kindrie follows her, they end up in a cell that's dank yet too-warm, with Tori crumpled and chained to one wall. Kindrie watches the woman break those chains - then she looks over her shoulder and meets Kindrie's eyes, hers bright silver, and he knows this must be the sister Tori has let slip mention of - older, somehow, tender and wroth at once.

The surprise breaks his focus, sends him careening back into the shadows, and to the safety of his own hidden garden.

Kindrie is a bastard, except that he has a cousin. He's a rotten little shanir - yes, the best healer in his generation, even if he has no other prizes to his name. He's worthless and useless and unwanted - except that he has a friend whom sometimes he can still make smile, who has never been just a dream, who leaves the flowers of Kindrie's soul-garden blooming a little brighter every time he helps tend them, and who has scattered the place with marbles and books and even a sword. Kindrie has cleared away some of these, and kept others, hidden as carefully as the door behind the vines, and never once mentioned to Tori that this is a weird thing to be able to do. Also, illegitimate though he may (seem to) be, Kindrie is a Knorth and Tori - well, he was scared to leave, and he did it anyway.

So, in the fashion of Knorths, Kindrie stages his escape from the priests' college that night, about seven years earlier than canon, and he makes his way as fast as possible to camp of the Southern Host.

Nothing else changes about Ukakarn, except this: Rose Iron-thorn doesn't die, because Tori's hands aren't too badly injured to keep their grip on her, because Kindrie walks, clumsily rides, and pleads his way onto illicit trade caravans going down the valley, he spends as much time as he can in Tori's keep - no longer lost in shadow, but still cracked with flames, eroding with exhaustion, dust-drenched for lack of water. Tori is no help - if he notices at all, in more than a daze - but patients rarely are.

(Rose isn't in the water to guide their boat through the sea, but Kindrie, for lack of any proper sleep himself, keeps Tori going, and Tori keeps his few people, and all together, they find the safe shore.)

Tori has told him about the Caineron commander of the host, so Kindrie goes directly to the god-king of Krothifir. Quite frankly, tfw a moderately unhinged 13-year-old kencyr with a shaved head (for not being tracked by description) bursts into your royal court and starts insisting that a precious few of your army have survived the dread fortress that captured them, and are even now in desperate need of a rescue party in the near desert. Please believe me, Kindrie begs, I know it from a dream (a perfectly normal, if rare shanir trait - though it is on the tip of his tongue to shout at the kendar guards in the hall that this is their future highlord dying in the desert out there, and why aren't they moving already.

Kroaky lets Kindrie convince him to make a royal visit to the optomancers' Eye, and they are of course just in time to watch Tori's little group straggle back into camp. Exhausted though he is, Kindrie dashes off right then, maybe with a tipsy wolver at his heels. Krothen, alas, takes longer to get down the cliff - a king needs pomp and circumstance, after all. Gendar Caineron is dead before either arrives.

Once Harn is back on his feet and in command, he quietly adds Kindrie to the lacking ranks of a medic squad. Within a month, Kindrie has picked up the nickname "Whitey", for his growing-back hair and, of course, mirror to Blackie. (I'm sure the boys try to keep it subtle, and let the story be that Kindrie just happened to have a vision of these escapees...but it's not like an ever-growing proportion of the host isn't already politely not commenting on the fact that their Blackie is clearly a full-blooded Knorth.)

...and then they lived happily ever after, the end

(except Tori still won't admit to himself that he's a shanir until after Jame has metaphorically kicked in the door of the Kencyrath and less metaphorically set multiple parts of it on fire)

[skylar102]

Soulmate prompt: Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color, the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color. How is the life of a Shadowhunter with one hazel eye and one golden eye? ~

Well I tell you this took weeks to figure out, I really mean I had no idea how I wanted them to meet so I came up with this canon divergence. I hope you enjoy! ^_^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you are born, you have two separate eye colors. One that is yours and one that is of your soulmate. Your eyes will stay that way until you meet your soulmate and your eyes return to their natural color. You don’t know what eye is your true color which makes the moment you meet your soulmate even more exciting.

Alec stares at his reflection in his bathroom at the Institute. His hair is neatly styled and he’s wearing one of his better formal attire. 

Alec sighs as he looks at his one cat eye in the mirror. Twenty-four years of living with his soulmate’s eye and he still has a difficult time seeing his reflection. It’s not his soulmate’s fault, Alec would never blame him for what he was naturally born with.  It’s the Clave’s fault that downworlder’s are viewed in such a harsh light. If this is how Alec is treated as a Shadowhunter for having a cat eye, he can hardly imagine the discrimination that his soulmate had to go through. That’s why he’s started the Downworld Cabinet, to let the downworlder’s of New York know that the Institute has their back. 

He adjusts the collar of his button-up for the tenth time. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous about this first meeting. He’s been in correspondence with the leaders of the New York Downworld for weeks now making sure that everything is ready to go for this gathering. 

He’s known Maia for as long as he can remember. She’s been his friend ever since his siblings have been dragging him to Hunter’s Moon to “let loose” and he sat at the bar chatting her up every night. Her saying yes to this was a given, knowing how much he wants to make the downworld feel safe in this city they call home. 

Raphael was a bit more difficult getting him to agree to come to the meeting. Of course, Alec mentioned that the meeting would take place after dark or if Raphael had requested it, in a windowless room and hire a warlock to portal him there. He didn’t know why the vampire had such issues with him. 

At first, he thought it was because of his eye from the few times they worked together taking down illegal dens. Alec would sometimes catch him staring at the eye with a blank expression. He eventually agreed because of Izzy. The vampire had taken a liking to his sister more than him but he wasn’t going to look too closely into why that was.

The seelies were a struggle to get an answer out of. Their queen loved to create trouble and inconveniences out of nothing so getting them to agree was tiring and took longer than necessary. He will forever thank Raziel that they are sending Meliorn to be their representative for this meeting. He and Alec have a respectable relationship if you could call it that.

Last but not least the mysterious High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane. Since becoming Head a year ago, Alec has not once interacted with the man. All of their correspondence has been through either fire message, texting, or calling. Alec had tried to suggest email once and Magnus had gagged on the line over the phone. Alec thought it was a tad dramatic but the noise had gotten a laugh out of him. Alec also saw this as the perfect reason to have Magnus look over the Institute’s wards. Two birds, one stone kind of situation. Thankfully Magnus agreed.

He’s taken out of his thoughts but a loud knock on his door.

“Hurry up, Hermano!” Izzy’s muffled voice says. “They’re going to be here any minute!”

“I’ll be right out.” One last look in the mirror, a slight adjustment to the cuffs on his suit and he opens the door. Izzy looks him up and down, clearly judging his appearance as if she wasn’t the one to pick the outfit.

“You look great, Alec,” she settles on. She steps forward to adjust his lapels before making her way out of the room with Alec in tow. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, easily catching up to her strides. “Has the room been prepared?”

“Yes, for the millionth time, everything is ready.” Izzy rolls of her eyes. “You didn’t spend the last week locked away in your office planning out everything just for it to go wrong.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs. “I just want this to go right.”

“And it will. Alec, they wouldn’t have shown up if they didn’t believe this cabinet meeting could lead to something better,” she reasons as they turn the corner leading to the meeting room. 

“There’s no one else who could pull this off but you, Alec,” Izzy praises. “I guarantee that none of these leaders would be here if it was our mother.”

That picture gets a laugh out of him. He can barely imagine any of them being in the same room as their mother. Though he does know that Magnus would gladly go toe to toe with Maryse. He’s witnessed that first hand when Magnus came by the institute when he was younger. He wasn’t able to see the man, but his words were loud enough that a ten-year-old Alec heard them from his room late one night. It’s how he’s been able to stand up to his mother now.

Of course, he hasn’t told Magnus that. The High Warlock would never let him hear the end of it if it was discovered that it was thanks to him that Alec was able to take the Institute from his parents and create this cabinet.

Alec steps into the meeting room and is blown away by the decor. Banners of each faction hang on the wall behind the round table. Each chair looks the same, no difference in material or texture. It looks equal.

“Izzy this is beautiful,” he compliments, wrapping his sister in a hug. “This is really happening.”

“It is,” she laughs. 

Footsteps approach behind them. Jace is standing at the entryway with a big grin on his face.

“They’ve arrived,” he announces.

“Thank you, Jace.” Alec nods his head towards his brother. Izzy helps adjust his suit for one last time before they both approach the door. 

Maia is the first one to enter. Her matched eyes widen at the sight of the room. 

“Ms. Roberts,” Alec announces. “Thank you for coming.”

Maia snorts at the introduction. “I bet you rehearsed that in your bathroom.”

“Of course not,” Alec denies, he nods towards his sister. “I rehearsed it with Izzy.”

Maia and Izzy laugh at the joke. Izzy loops her arm around her soulmate’s, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She leads Maia to the table while Alec remains at the door. He might as well let the two have a few minutes alone before this meeting begins.

Meliorn is the next to arrive. He is escorted by a single guard which strikes him odd since Meliorn is the leader of the Seelie Queens Royal Guardsmen. His confusion must be visible by the smirk he receives.

“Meliorn,” Alec greets. “Thank you for agreeing to come and represent your people.”

“Of course, Mr. Lightwood,” Meliorn bows his head, “and apologies for the plus one. They will be staying out in the hall while the meeting is going on, but my Queen requested that I bring company in case this was a rouse.”

“That’s alright, though I would have hoped the queen had more confidence in me.”

“Oh she most certainly does,” Meliorn cryptically says. “She’s very interested in the Nephilim who’s fighting against his own people.”

“Of course, she is,” Alec chuckles. “Always the curious one.”

That gets a real smile out of the Seelie, both knowing what Alec truly meant by the words. The Seelie Queen always liked to shove her nose where it didn’t belong and this was only the start. Alec wonders, as time passes, if the Queen herself will show up to one of these meetings. The thought along makes his body shiver with dread at the thought of her mind games and cryptic answer during a meeting that not only has Maia and Raphael but Magnus as well.

Meliorn nods to his guard and they go to stand against the wall opposite of the double doors leading to the meeting room.

“If there is anything you would like while you wait for the meeting to adjourn, please let my sister, Isabelle know,” he says. The guard looks at him with curious eyes before a smile appears, acknowledging his words.

“I will keep that in mind,” they say. “Thank you, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec smiles back and turns towards the next guest to arrive. 

Raphael has a scowl on his face as he approaches Alec. It took a while for Alec not to be offended by that look as it seemed to be the man’s permanent expression, but it is looking particularly more loathsome tonight.

“Raphael,” Alec greets, holding out his hand. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Raphael states, rolling his eyes. “Our mutual friend was very adamant that I go to this and show appreciation for the effort you are putting forth.”

“I see,” Alec says, there’s a smirk on his face. “Magnus must have some good dirt on you to get you to come then.”

Raphael’s scowl turns into a small smile, the kind of smile that Alec knows will make his life hell during this meeting. He’s only seen that smile twice before in the times that he’s interacted with the vampire. Once when they were about to go into an illegal den and the second time when he asked Alec about Izzy. 

Though as much as they give each other flak, Alec likes to think there is a mutual respect between them the people they lead. Since Camille was taken out of the picture, meaning arrested and locked away in the Gard, the tension between the werewolves and vampires has decreased immensely. 

“I’d be careful what you say at this meeting, Lightwood,” Raphael warns. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think the Head of the Institute has favorites.”

Alec feels his cheeks red but keeps his face neutral. While it is not well known that Alec has developed a small crush on the High Warlock. It’s kind of hard to keep it a secret from the man Magnus practically raised like a son. Especially when Alec has not so subtly asked about the man when he visited the DuMort not too long ago. 

Raphael gives him a once over and heads towards the table. Three down, one more to go.

Alec looks down at his watch and sees that the meeting is supposed to start in five minutes and the High Warlock has yet to arrive. He taps his foot on the tiled floor deciding if he should wait for Magnus or get the meeting started. He looks back at the table and sees that everyone is already seated and looking at him. He lets out a sigh and makes his way towards the round table.

“Magnus running late?” Maia snickers as Alec sits down.

“It would seem so,” Alec sighs. “I would wait for him, but knowing him. He’s probably going to be as he states ‘fashionably late’.”

Maia snorts at the comment while Raphael rolls is eyes. Meliorn just smiles at them for their reactions. It warms his soul that they all feel comfortable inside the Institute. It took a lot of work this past year to get the Institute to get used to seeing downworlder’s inside its walls and make sure that everyone felt welcome.

It was a mess of people requesting transfers and patrol changes, but Alec took it all. What surprised him was the number of people requesting to come here. Alec was sure that he would lose a lot of shadowhunters with the changes he was making, that it would be a while before those numbers rose again. At first, a few people requested a transfer to New York and by the end of the first month, he had more people coming in than out. Jace and Izzy made fun of him because of the smug look he had that entire week. 

Alec starts the meeting with a discussion about any issues the others were having in the past months. Any issues with shadowhunters or downworlders alike. Though Alec doesn’t want to intervene in downworld issues, he still wants them to know that if its a situation the shadowhunters could help with, he was willing to send his best people to assist.

About 20 minutes later the doors to the room burst open and a man wearing the most beautiful outfit storms in. Alec pauses mid-sentence to take in the man.

“Dios mio,” sighs Raphael.

“Sorry I’m late everyone or should I say I’m not late you are all early?” Magnus jokes as he approaches the table. His head is still down looking at his outfit, fixing it up where he can.

“You do know how to make an entrance Magnus,” Meliorn comments, looking back and forth between Alec and Magnus like he’s waiting for something. Raphael does the same but more subtly.

“Yes, well what can I say? I love being fashionably late,” Magnus trails off as he lifts his head and makes eye contact with Alec.

Alec feels his voice gets stuck in his throat as he takes in Magnus’ eyes.

One cat eye and one hazel.

Alec feels the change and sees it at the same time. His left eye shifts to a normal pupil shape while he watches Magnus’ hazel eye disappear into another cat eye. Something in Alec’s chest fills and he finally feels whole. Like the missing piece of a puzzle was found and locked into place.

Silence fills the room, everyone holding their breaths as they watch the Head of the New York Institute and the High Warlock of Brooklyn stare at each other in wonder.

“Oh.”

[scripttorture]

Regarding ICURE, I have a character who is familiar with the process and a deep understanding of most of the mindsets and mental states involved in torture, interrogation, and captivity. Would that make resistance to the techniques easier? How would a willingness to engage and empathize with captors, combined with an awareness of their goals and methods and a greater than average degree of self-awareness and self confidence interact?

I’m mostly working without studies here extrapolating based on what I know.

 The only bit of this I can definitively answer is that knowledge of what torture does wouldn’t effect the high innate resistance we have to it. Resistance to torture is bound up in so many fundamental systems, like how our nerves physically register pain, that conscious knowledge wouldn’t make much difference to the outcome.

 It might make the character feel better or more confident though: ‘There’s no way you can force this information out of me’. It might also make the recovery process a little easier if the character is tortured. Knowledge about mental illness and how they’re treated can help people identify what they’re going through and process it more quickly. It can also make it easier to seek help.

 For those who are new to the blog ICURE is a combination of techniques that can be used to change someone’s beliefs over time. As with everything there is not a 100% success rate but unlike torture consistently applied ICURE can lead to a controlled change in the target’s belief system.

 It stands for Isolate, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotional responses.

 A group of characters attempting to use ICURE would isolate the target from other characters, ensure that the information/news the target gets lines up with what the group believes. They’d then attempt to create uncertainty about previously held core beliefs and respond in an overblown emotional fashion if the target attempts to challenge their own beliefs. Repetition of this, consistently over a prolonged period (months or years) can (but does not always) lead to change in core beliefs.

 For an example let’s imagine a story applying this to Bucky Barnes from the Marvel series.

 A group holding him might try to create uncertainty by underlining how long he’s been held and how his friends haven’t attempted to rescue him. They might give him news that his best friend has another group of heroes he works with now. Bucky has been abandoned, forgotten. And so forth.

 An emotive response in this scenario could be something like the primary care giver of the group (the person who most regularly interacts with Bucky, giving him food and trying to interact positively) flying off the handle when Bucky mentions his old friends. How can he be so ungrateful? Doesn’t he realise what the caregiver has risked and sacrificed to keep Bucky safe? Does he think persuading the group to ‘help’ Bucky and keep him alive was easy?

 You get the idea.

 My instinct is that knowledge of these techniques would make them less effective. These things are never 100% successful and I think consciously acknowledging the manipulative nature of ICURE would make it harder for the captors to achieve total success.

 However a lot of the reason these techniques work is because humans are social animals. We need interaction with other members of the species in order to remain healthy. And as a result we often change and adapt in order to fit in with new groups. We are geared to compromise in order to gain or maintain positive social contact.

 I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist but I do know that there a lot of research papers which suggest personal opinions can gradually change over time when we’re surrounded by people with differing views in non-coercive settings.

 This does not necessarily mean full conversion to another set of ideals. The impression I get is that it mostly looks like a series of small and subtle changes.

 For the sake of avoiding internet insanity let’s make up an issue. Let’s make up a character who grew up in an area where no one wears red and the colour has a lot of negative associations.

 This character moves to a different area where the colour has different connotations and wearing red is a neutral act. Over a period of years the character’s attitudes towards the colour might mellow. They might never wear red themselves. They might not decorate with the colour. But they’ve met a fair few people who occasionally wear red now and they’re decent people. They don’t judge people who wear red the way they did when they first moved in to the area.

 What I’m trying to illustrate here is that it’s normal for people’s views to shift over time. Obviously this does not always happen. People can hold extreme or vastly differing views when compared to their community.

 From a certain point of view my views are extreme. Most cultures in our global society accept and legitimise violence to differing degrees. Pacifism is the absolute rejection of violence*. If you take a moment to think about how often violence permeates all aspects of our lives (from child care to religion to politics) you’ll see what I mean.

 What I’m trying to illustrate here is that while we do adjust and change to fit in with the people surrounding us we can also cling to things that are very much against the norm. And that makes it difficult to answer any of these questions with certainty. There is a lot of individual variation.

 A lot of the techniques to resist effective interrogation are essentially a refusal to interact. But the longer someone’s held outside their community the less viable that is as an option. We can choose to do things that are harmful to us (including avoiding needed social contact) but it’s hard. Because it’s unhealthy.

 I think the way I’d approach this as a writer is to start by identifying the core values of this character, the things that are most important to them. Try to think of things the character absolutely could not compromise without becoming a different character.

 Circling back to the example of Bucky Barnes, a core value might be his relationship with Steve Rogers, his oldest friend.

 Once you have an idea of the core values think of the next most important value. And keep going.

 I tend to do this pretty instinctively. For me it’s a part of my messy, sprawling character creation. If you need to take a more visual or organised approach to figuring things out then a list (with the most important values at the top) or a circle (with the most important values in the middle) might be helpful.

 Next think through the same process for the group that has captured the character. Since it’s a group rather then an individual it should be simpler. (Because a group is unlikely to be as nuanced and complicated as an individual.)

 See if there’s any overlap which might be grounds for grudging mutual respect. Values like loyalty to your own group and taking care of the people on your side are good things to use for this.

 I would then look at the more peripheral values the character has and shift some of them a little over time.

 Keeping Bucky as our example I might put something like ‘American cultural values’ as a more peripheral value. Bucky seems to prize the culture he was raised in and consider it the norm. But it’s not something he bases his personality on or something that motivates him through the stories. So shifting that, having him not see it as the ‘norm’ any more, or adopting things his captors did would be a good way to show that he has been influenced.

 Obviously the right choice, the right value to shift, depends on the characters and the story you want to tell. The degree to which you want to shift the character’s values is also up to you.

 Bigger shifts, or more obvious shifts, could serve to cause conflict later in the story. This could lead the character to feel rejected, like their loyalty is being questioned after everything they went through.

 Bigger shifts could also serve a practical purpose in the story though. If this character has gained a greater understanding for the group they’re opposed to that could make them a much more effective interrogator. They might know how to establish rapport more quickly and earn the trust of captured prisoners. Which could in turn lead to more accurate information.

 Greater understanding of the group they’re opposed to could also help with strategic thinking/planning.

 Smaller shifts add less elements to the story. But that could be a good thing too depending on your story. If you don’t have a lot of time or space to explore new conflicts or skills then this approach would save you narrative space while still showing the character has been effected.

 It would also work if the point here is to show the character as mostly unmoved, unchanged, despite coercive external pressure.

 I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*In case anyone’s interested I personally define violence as harmful acts done without consent.

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Magnus Thorbjorn

Guardians name: Magnus Thorbjorn

Age: Roughly 34 when resurrected, currently unknown

Race: Awoken

Call signs/alias: Peacebroker, Traveler’s Favored, Evocate General

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Titan

Preferred subclass(es): Solar

Ghost’s name: Einar

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Harbingers of Destiny

Fireteam teammates: Magnus, Dominus Ghaul, Anthem-99, Velliks, Gadrax, Kahun

Favorite legendary weapon: Steelfeather Repeater

Favorite exotic weapon: Ace of Spades

Favorite exotic armor: Crest of Alpha Lupi

Favorite ornament armor set: Empyrean Titan

Favorite weapon ornament: Glee Barrage

What stats do they focus on: Resilience, Recovery, Strength

Are they offense, defence, or support: Offense

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Mid range

Do they lean more “Element of Surprise” or “Upfront and Aggressive”: Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Strikes and Crucible evenly

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Ikora and Zavala

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Dominus Ghaul

What ship do they have: Saint’s Invocation

What is their Sparrow: Praxic Finery

Favorite Ghost shell: In Memoriam

Favorite shader: Circadian Chill /Virtified Chronology

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite food: Pizza

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): None, Magnus hasn’t really seen any

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they’ve heard any): Anything from Twilight Force

Favorite place in The Last City(if it’s a place you created, give a little description!): The Hollow Cairn. This is a place where many once-invading species have attacked throughout history, and it has sunken into the ground since due to the massive destruction created over centuries. However, the place has since become a point of unity for everyone, with communities of Hive, Cabal, Humans, Eliksni, etc. all building shelters within the crater and living together. It’s a bustling district, and only because Magnus sacrificed so much of himself and his efforts to unify everyone.

Favorite NPC(s): Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6, Saint-14, Banshee-44, Eris Morn, Mithrax, Spider, Failsafe, Devrim Kay, Suraya Hawthorne, Sjur Eido

Favorite patrol location: Anywhere on the Tangled Shore

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Diplomacy, metal music, leading, sleeping, using the Hammer of Sol

Least favorite food: Steak

Least favorite shader: Lilac Bombast

Least favorite patrol location: Braytech Futurescape on Mars

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): N/A

Least favorite NPC(s): Oryx, Savathun, Mara Sov, Lakshmi-2

Least favorite weapon ornament: Jade Countenance

Least favorite ornament armor set: Pandemonic (skeletal Titan) set

Least favorite legendary weapon: Literally any fusion rifle ever

Least favorite exotic weapon: Telesto

Least favorite exotic armor: One-Eyed Mask

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Dishonesty, disloyalty, feeling hopeless, giving up, loss

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: It’s well-managed, with a LOT of collectibles from all around the galaxy in display cases, organized on shelves and wall hangers, and on tables. Magnus loves to collect trinkets that have meaning to him.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!):

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Writing and reciting poetry, learning languages (speaks English, Ulurent, Eliksni all fluently), fighting, crafting armor, singing

What would your Guardian’s lore book be called: Broken Broker

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Sector 25 in The Last City

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Scorched black cotton hoodie, worn-out black jeans, beat-up sneakers

What was their reaction to being reborn: FIGHT, AND DEFEND THE PEOPLE!!!

What was their reaction to their first rez: Sheer confusion, then immediate duty

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Both. He met Vex who were attacking and rampaging The Last City, but fought them and was then met by Zavala who’d come to handle the situation, only to see a new Guardian had already done this. Zavala saw the distress on Magnus’s face at this, and assured him over and over again.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Zavala

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Magnus has no indication of his past life, and knows nothing about it. He assumes he wasn’t Reefborn, but he partially wonders if he was just because of his vehement hatred for Mara Sov. Magnus can’t find anything on who he was, nor does he really care to know.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn’t rez with past life momentos): He knew/remembered it, and also Einar addressed him by “Magnus” when he was first revived and woke up.

Going back to your Guardian’s lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: Two passages are actually readable at my Ao3, dawnbreakerdystopia! Most of the lorebook passages would recount the tales of Magnus’s efforts to join the warring species of the galaxy together in unity, and would likely use the Hammer of Sol which he wields as a metaphor, leading those who read them to wonder if Magnus actually wielded it (he does). The passages would also recount the daring exploits he’s done to protect his friends, family, the training he put Ghaul through to be a strong and independent Guardian, and overall they’d just be written like poetic legends.

Does your Guardian have a significant other: Cayde-6, and they’re married.

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: Magnus never explored until he was resurrected.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: This place needs defenders.

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: Not officially. He’s sort of a part of every group regardless of whether he chooses to be or not. Life finds a way to drag him into them all.

Does your Guardian’s clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): N/A

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “I’ve got a thousand years on me, and for each year, a million lives. I can’t bear to sacrifice any one but my own.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Magnus has unified Cabal and Humankind, mostly, because he was brought by the Traveler to Ghaul who was resurrected as a Guardian himself. He’s had plenty of rough encounters with them, but nowadays, they accept him as their Evocate General, and bend to his every command (Magnus NEVER abuses this). Magnus has had very few positive interactions with Hive, as Savathun and Oryx have constantly tried to seduce him with Darkness and ruin him. He struggles to trust Hive, but knows that there is good in everything just as there is bad, nothing is inherently evil, and thus, he has to and does accept Hive who are willing to be his allies. Magnus’s interactions with Eliksni have always been positive, and he’s always gotten along with them. Scorn and Vex, he has yet to meet any who’d be willing to work with him. Magnus personally hates the Vex entirely, but still holds out the belief that there is at least one out there who’s good and friendly.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): PLENTY!!!! Ghaul, Spider, being Evocate General of Cabal, you name it.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Magnus is against himself using it. He understands that others can make use of the power, but he HATES the Darkness, and would never trust a single thing from it, let alone a “gift” which would inevitably corrupt him, not to mention bring him nearer to it which he refuses to do.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: Magnus has not run this raid yet.

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: Magnus has not run this raid yet, either.

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: He’s not from D1

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Magnus followed the main story, and was the only Lightbearer, thus he spearheaded the entire operation and literally held the fate of every single life on his shoulders and his alone. He fought, nonstop, and never gave up or slowed down.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Magnus looks up to Osiris for his wisdom, only a little, though, and he’d never tell Osiris this. Both of them know it, though, and words are not necessary to convey their mutual respect.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: He loves her, he wants to help her at all costs, and he knows to never pity Eris, or try protecting her without asking if she needs protection first, as she’s highly capable and strong-willed.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: Magnus is fucking head over HEELS for him, and would lay his life on the line for Cayde. He was devastated beyond words when Uldren killed him, but came to understand that it was the Darkness’s doing, not Uldren’s. And thus, he forgave him.

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: Mom. She’s just straight-up his mom.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Mentor, dad-like friend, always reliable.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Extreme respect, love, honors him deeply, aspires to be like him, MUST PROTECT!!!

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Indifferent. Magnus entirely disagrees with and somewhat hates what the Iron Lords did, but he senses good in Saladin and sees it as well. He holds onto that good, as he does for everything and everyone.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: FRIEND!!! Always a good motivator, always reliable, selfless af which Magnus respects, and Magnus aspires to be so much like him. Is also slightly intimidated by Shaxx.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: Friend, must be protected, is a new person and not Uldren, is capable of great things and must be guided to do just that. Magnus sees Crow follows his heart, and that’s more than enough for him to know this man is on the right path.

The Spider, The Shore’s Only Law, founder of “House” Spider: DAD!!! Spider adopted Magnus after (reluctantly at first) he went to Spider with a bounty from the Vanguard saying to kill him. Magnus knew this had to be a setup, it was, and Spider was immediately thankful, and then began calling Magnus his son. Both of them trust each other with everything and anything, and Magnus knows Spider is a good man at heart.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: No. Don’t trust him, he’s misguided as FUCK!

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: FUCK! YOU!!! Magnus would throw her off the throne and take it himself if he wasn’t so busy being Evocate General. He’d imprison her until her natural death. The things Mara has done, to the Awoken, the galaxy, and her brother, are unforgiveable, and she MUST pay for that.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: A friend, an ally, someone Magnus can rely on. He values Variks, even if he made mistakes in the past, but Magnus is a firm believer in destiny, and thus thinks Variks’s actions have been done for a reason which is to bring the world to the present it’s at.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: Absolutely reliable, always a good friend, Magnus will drop everything and go help protect Mithrax or aid him in his endeavors if he’s able. Magnus loves him as a close friend, and is deeply bound to House Light.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth “Elsie” Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: Can be trusted, must be trusted, and Magnus also takes pity on her for what she went through both in the future, and by the hands of Clovis Bray.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: FUCK NOPE, don’t trust, avoid at all costs.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: An ally and definitely trustable. Her motives are questionable, but Magnus understands where she’s coming from, and therefore believes she can be a great companion with some compromise.

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: Nooooooooooooo get away get away get away GET AWAY!!!

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: A N X I E T Y! !! !!!! ! !! But Magnus is taking action, fighting it head-on and never backing down for even a moment. He refuses to let the Darkness take hold, and aims to destroy it entirely once and for all.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: “The Darkness is a lie, but the Light is true. Nobody can see in the shadows of night, so it’s your duty as a Guardian to eclipse the world in endless sun, and create a world everyone can see within and beyond.”

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Why these ships

Yesterday Admin 1 posted a rather complex post (x), so today we thought we’ll take it a little easier and instead talk about our ships and why we ship the ships we ship. Seems fun, right? This isn’t meant as some kind of detailed analysis of moments or a way to convince others of why these ships are superior somehow, because that’s not something we do around here. 

This is simply meant as something lighthearted and for you to get an idea of who types these posts and the POV we have when looking at ship content, as well as what got us into being vminies and namjinists.

Since Admin 1 is a very wordy person, we’ll start with Admin 2. Let’s go!

Admin 2, who ships vmin

My bias is Tae and my bias wrecker is Namjoon. When it comes to Tae, it isn’t about his stunning visuals or whatnot, but more his artistic soul that captivated me. Because of that I feel like I can understand him, just like I can understand Namjoon though I’d never be able to reach such intellectual heights like him. 

In my opinion, if there is a romantic couple within BTS, the most likely option would be Jimin and Taehyung. I’m not basing my opinion on any concerts or things like RUN since I’m aware that BTS are idols and places/events/shows such as those are more like theatre in that they are playing a role, playing up certain things to get a reaction out of the crowd and alike, or is being used as a way too push or highlight a certain member or members.

Any time I see Tae and Jimin interact with each other I get this feeling that they have some kind of mystery about them, that they’re like + and -, two very different people, and yet there’s this something about them that brings them together. Perhaps it is simply the sole fact that they are so different that makes them so intriguing not only to each other, but also for me. Observing all the materials we have of these seven years, it’s been interesting to see how they’ve changed both physically and mentally, how they went from being these ‘bad boys’ at the beginning of BTS career and how that transformed over time until they became the boys we know today. I think over the years they simply got the chance to explore and find and be who they are, together but also as separate people. Looking at Tae, he’s changed a lot over the years and I don’t mean it in the sense of “he became quiet”, but rather that his mannerisms and personality changed, that he got to show more of himself and who he wants to be and as who he wants to be seen by others. Same goes for Jimin, who in the first years struggled with being one person until he finally started to evolve into who he wanted to be and simply became Jimin instead of whatever others wanted, which he even praised himself for.

And along with that I also think they got to explore parts of themselves they might’ve not even been quite aware of being there at first, in terms of what they mean for them as individuals but also as two people together. In that regard I think they’ve changed the most out of all the members, and really, in such a way, only they have visibly changed in such a way. They got to explore deep parts of themselves and live them together.

“I’m from the moon, you’re from the stars”, as in they are both different, not from earth, but they got the chance to be different together.

There’s also the fact that they themselves call each other soulmates is for me very intriguing since I understand soulmates as either two people being very similar to each other (the same mentality, interests, tastes etc) or two people who found their romantic other half that, in a sense, completes them. I don’t see vmin as the former, since they are so different, but I think they’ve simply found and worked so hard with together to meet each other on another level which led them to become the second. That’s my theory and my feeling. 

I adore how, even though they get so comparatively little screen time together in the last few years, whenever we do see them interact with each other their interactions are always so different, so full of warmth, softness and gentleness, romantic even, and fully of mutual respect. It’s endearing to me how shy Tae seems to get whenever Jimin shows him more affection on camera. I applaud Tae for how he showcases his feelings for Jimin so “openly” on Weverse through the pictures and posts he makes that involve him, though most don’t want to see it as such. 

Them saying that it’s enough for them to look at each other and they immediately know what the other is thinking, how they basically almost have conversations with each other just through looking into each others eyes, honestly made my heart sing with cuteness and fondness.

These are my feelings when I see them. When it comes to more substantial reasonings as to why I think they may be real and why I think so, that’s a post for another time since it’ll take much more preparations and thoughts. But at the same time I want to say that I’m one of those people who thinks that if not vmin and not namjin, then none of the ships are real in a romantic sense. In a friendship way, all of them are real. But that too is also something for another post in the future.

The most important thing in it all for me was Tae stating that 95z is love, but that, too, is something for another time.

Admin 1, who ships vmin and namjin

I’d like to preface my part of this by saying that while I do ship vmin and namjin, I’m not the kind of person who will try to find definitive proof that they are real (especially if that means overanalyzing the most minute interactions and split second touches because, to me, that feels obsessive and invasive and not every one second shared glance must mean anything) and proceed to force my opinion onto others, or get into fights why my ships are more valid than someone else’s. That’s not who I am and that’s not the kind of experience I’m looking for while being ARMY. At the end of the day while I do believe that there are good chances (and reasons to believe so) that these ships are real, vmin probably more than namjin, I won’t insist on that having to be true and I also don’t really care all that much either? It’s their private lives after all, so for me this is all mostly for fun and for discussions, if that makes sense. Should one day any member of my ships come forward and say he’s in a relationship with someone outside of my ship, I don’t be angry or disappointed, I’ll be happy for them regardless.

That being said, similar to Admin 2, whenever I see Jimin and Taehyung together, there’s just this special something about them that just does it for me. I’ll admit that when I first got into BTS and became ARMY, I didn’t care about shipping at all. It’s not that I wasn’t familiar with RPS, I’ve read plenty of that as young teen, but rather that I was so enamored with their music and friendships that those simply seemed more important to me. With time I started to pay more attention to the individual dynamics and bonds within the group and soon I realized that Jimin and Taehyung stood out to me without a question or doubt. I’ll admit that I do read fanfic, so out of curiosity I checked out the other maknae ships (the actual ships as well as their fanfic counterparts) and came to the conclusion that they didn’t have that something for me, felt more like brothers, and that I kept on going back to vmin every time.

There’s this sense of belonging (to each other) I feel when I watch Jimin and Taehyung together, how they’ve grown together over the years, their bond going through phases and changes and how they only seemed to get closer and closer, even during the time when people claimed vmin were over and we were in a drought. I look at them, their interactions, the fondness in their eyes and the gentleness with which they treat each other and I think this is it. It’s so easy to see how much they care about each other, and how important they are for each other, I can’t help but love and admire it, and in the end it turned me into a vminie.

As for namjin, this one is a little less clear cut, perhaps. Something that hasn’t been mentioned yet is that I’m a Namjoon bias. He was the one who caught my attention first when I discovered BTS and he’s been my bias ever since, so I enjoyed seeing his interactions with the other members, how he has this mutual respect with them yet how when he says something, everyone else listens because he’s the leader. Plus, his mind is honestly the greatest and most wondrous thing. Anyway. I adore the dynamics that Namjoon has with the other members and how different they are, but the one he shares with Seokjin has caught my attention that little bit more and stood out to me more, just like with vmin.

Namjoon and Seokjin have been close ever since Seokjin joined BigHit, at first simply because they needed to figure out how to get the rest of the group to listen to Namjoon despite him not being the eldest, and then simply because they liked it. I’ll never forget that video they made together around christmas time which ends with Seokjin singing All I Want For Christmas Is You. The date vibe of that video? Off the charts. Over the years as they’ve matured, so did their bond, and while they’re certainly not as clingy and touchy with each other anymore as they used to be after debut, it makes their interactions and little ways of showing affection for each other that much more special.

Their mutual respect, admiration and influence on each other is also something that’s always drawn me to them, how some things Seokjin told Namjoon years ago stuck with him for years and he found ways to incorporate them into his philosophy and ending ments at concerts showing how even these small things affected him, touched him. There’s also things like Namjoon helping Seokjin with his music, the way they praise each other and get shy about it, or tiny details such as Namjoon holding Seokjin’s hand and trying to hide it from the camera behind Namjoon’s thigh (which obviously didn’t work out since we did end up seeing it). It’s these little things about them that do it for me, how when they hug it simply feels so special, so meaningful, the way Namjoon looks so fondly and proudly at Seokjin sometimes and vice versa, and how calm and also absolutely chaotic they are when they’re together. Brilliant.

So, as much as I’m a vminie, I’m certainly also a namjinist.

As for other ships, I’ll call myself a Sope enthusiast since those two together definitely have a certain something about them too. At the end of the day though I love BTS, will always be OT7 and their true family type bond, as they have called it themselves as such many of times, will always stand above all else for me.

[fellowstrangetownappreciator]

La Fiesta Tech and other unfortunate decisions 1: Greek House powered by hatred (Tank and Johnny)

After my last post about my general play style for university in TS2, here I come with something more specific! (aka a blog that promised to be about gameplay is finally posting gameplay)

I ran 35 Sims through college at once - the 8 Strangetown and Pleasantview teens, La Fiesta Tech premades, plus student bin families from the other two universities. In this post I’ll focus on one of the households, what their general experience was and what are my headcanons about it.

Now, I don’t have the save file anymore. The neighborhood succumbed to corruption just a rotation after, so I restarted. It was a learning experience and now I know to run HoodChecker after every rotation and to batbox gossip memories frequently. However, I’m over it and enjoying my new hood even more, I just thought I write a short disclaimer that these bits won’t have any mentions in future posts. But my interpretation of the characters still stands and doesn’t change regardless of save files.

Anyway, let’s get down to business!

...to defeat Academic Probation.

When Johnny Smith signed up for an assignment to establish and lead a Greek House of his own, he was overjoyed. Even more so when he saw the name "Grunt" as his assigned partner.

Founding a Greek House with Ripp? AWESOME!

But... the Grunt in question wasn't Ripp...

No. It was the a**hole Grunt. They’ve already been living in one dorm (with like 14 other people) and the place was a battleground.

To be fair, Johnny and Tank didn't just fight and nothing else. Yes, fighting was like 90 % of how they usually spent their time together but there was something else...

Chess.

In this particular game Johnny had become surprisingly fond of chess and frequently rolled the want to play it.

Chess has always been Tank's favorite game.

They played quite often and it was one of the rare times they were having fun together and actually talked instead of yelling.

But are a few games of chess enough to earn one forgiveness for a teenhood of nastiness and abuse?

In Johnny's eyes rightfully not.

He had to admit the a**hole is quite chill when he's not being a total d*ckhead but that didn't change anything about the fact that Tank had been terrible to him for no good reason ever since forever and he hated him for that.

Those feelings... weren't completely mutual.

College was Tank's awakening. He found himself away from his father, away from prying eyes that would judge him for not being perfect and for the first time in his life, he felt quite free.

And empty. And alone. He realized he had no friends and that the only person who truly liked him was his father and he would most probably stop if he ever learned of Tank's inner world.

He decided it was a high time for a change.

But habits aren't easy to break, especially if they're the only thing you know. Tank had never learnt to relax around people, never learnt to talk to them just to get to know them, never learnt to express himself, never learnt how to make friends.

Why, he had never needed to! They would have been a weakness, an unmanly stain of lollygagging on his consciousness. He was taught that friendships form themselves on the battlefield and it's a waste of time to try to create them otherwise.

It was quite awkward when he started approaching Ripp in attempts to mend their relationship. Tank has hurt Ripp in the past, he actually treated them quite horribly, fueling his own confidence from being the older, bigger, stronger one and from their father approving of such behavior.

Their father has never said it out loud but it has always been simply there that Tank was the superior one. More obedient, stronger, faster, more masculine. Smarter, even! How could Ripp with an attitude like theirs, with their lousy academic results even compare to by-the-book and hardworking Tank?

Yet it was Ripp who was seemingly happier, like they didn't even care about father's disapproval or the pressure of being the offspring of a venerated general. Tank realized he admired them for that. They did things Tank wouldn't even dream of. They didn't hide who they were.

Forgiveness... forgiveness isn't easy to attain. But Tank was determined to try anyway. At the very least he would stop causing any more harm to his sibling in the future.

It wasn't that straightforward with his new alien roommate, though.

Johnny was special. First he despised him because his father taught him they were inherently dangerous and invasive, they needed to be driven away. But that got quickly buried under memories of aggression and hostile experiences. It was by all means Tank who started it and Johnny was only fighting back but that didn't matter deep in Tank's head, his brain had connected Johnny to unpleasant, awful things regardless.

But he was also the most... attractive person Tank knew. Tank couldn't help himself. He wished Johnny Smith wasn't an alien, so they could've been friends right from the start. He was athletic, even more than Tank, was interested in the same sports as him and was damn good at them, he has always had good grades without seemingly having to study that much, and all around, he would make such a worthy friend!

Friend. Was that something Tank sincerely had on mind when he fantasized about Johnny? (And did he do that a lot!) No. Not at all.

Ripp has long been out, proud and loud about their orientation, not denying they liked boys and girls and anything in between and beyond, and the general was giving them dirty looks and deprecating remarks for it. He wasn't outright punishing them, mainly because he expected nothing more from Ripp and knew his middle child was simply "a weirdo" but Tank was sure his reception would be even worse if he came out.

He was supposed to be the good son, after all. The heir. He was not supposed to think or do or, by the Watcher, be something his father considers perverted and unmanly. He could only imagine the horrible things the general could say to him and the thought alone was enough to make him shudder.

Once again Tank simply didn't understand Ripp. They liked girls, so the world didn't even had to know that it's not all there is to it. They could've just find themselves a girlfriend and not face any judging generals. That's what Tank would do!

But he couldn't. He wasn't like Ripp. He only ever felt attracted to other men and male-presenting people. There was nothing he could do, no way he could force himself to be any other way.

And nobody knew. Not even that girl from their high school that Tank asked to prom so that he didn't look weird. They were on amicable terms but they weren't even friends, they just helped each other out so they didn't seem like outcasts to the whole school on the prom night.

He remembered his father being elated and encouraging him to invite his "girlfriend" for a dinner soon, so he could meet the fine young lady that might just one day become his daughter-in-law.

Tank had to tell him that it unfortunately "didn't work out" and that he "needs to focus on his studies and training anyway" and the general then praised him for it.

Little did he know that his favorite son, even back then, was not only gay but had a hopeless crush on an alien boy.

Every time Tank tried to interact with Johnny and be nice to him, he got reminded of his feelings he was so ashamed of and of his fear of his father disavowing him, so he said something mean instead or didn't talk to him at all.

The only exception was chess.

Sometimes, when a game neared its end, they spoke. And they talked... casually. It was awkward and cautious but it was a conversation and it felt... good.

Playing chess with Johnny became Tank's guilty pleasure. (even worse than watching make-up tutorials on SimTube!)

Being forced by the assignment to live together for six semesters was equal parts a living hell and a dream come true.

They had a small house on La Fiesta Tech premises that they were to transform into a lively Greek House.

"This place looks like shit and smells like a prison cell. Or vice-versa?"

"You got everything you have for free, Smith. Stop bitching."

Johnny sighed and opened up a book. "Says someone whose loaded dad literally sent him money for this house."

"I thought your family was also well off. Is that incorrect?"

"We have a financial situation called None of your business, Grunt."

"Sorry for asking like a normal person."

"Nothing you do is 'like a normal person'."

...

"I quit! You're unhinged, Smith!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I found a knife under your pillow!"

"You found -what? Why the f*ck were you looking under my pillow?!"

"I was just changing the sheets. I did mine, so I thought I'll do yours, too!"

"Why the f*ck would you change the sheets on MY flipping bed?"

"Because you are a disgusting manchild and it stank."

"I was gonna change them tonight! And, guess what!"

"What?"

"YOU also have a knife under your pillow!"

"I don't!"

"Yes, you do, liar."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw you put it there yesterday, you galaxy brain. The question is, why the hell do you have a f*cking knife under your pillow?"

"Why do you, Smith?"

"Because I live with your ass. I sleep better knowing you can't just murder me in my sleep. Now you tell."

"Same. I've slept with a knife under my pillow ever since grade school in case a robber got to our house. I won't stop now that I live with YOU!"

"..."

"I won't kill you. I'm not a freak! Killing is wrong, even if it's parasites such as you. And, besides, I'm not stupid. If you turned up dead, I'll would be charged immediately, even if I didn't do it."

"So why do heck do you think I would kill you, Grunt?"

"I... don't know."

"Anyway, were you for real? Are you quitting? We fail this assignment but I'm chill with that if it means getting rid of you."

"No, no! I'm not going anywhere until we pass. I'm not a quitter! But if you want to quit, I'll respect that and be glad this circus is finally over."

"Fine. Are we getting pizza for dinner tonight?"

...

“I invited my family for a lunch...”

“Alright. I’ll be in the library. Or the gym. Haven’t decided yet.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want you to be here, Grunt.”

“Why? So you can all make fun of me?”

“Stop being so defensive. I want you to be here, so you can just chill with us. And my folks are gonna know you’re actually... okay.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And if you hang out with mom, dad and Jill, you’re gonna know they’re okay, too.”

“That’s not how this works. I can’t just act like we’re friends now and everything’s peachy.”

“Well, who said that? Maybe that’s exactly how it works. You never know until you try!”

“If anything goes wrong-”

“Nothing’s gonna go wrong. It’s not that deep. We’re been living together for nearly three f*cking years and had a sh*tton of time to talk. In fact, I already told them you’re my friend now.”

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t use the F-word!”

Johnny laughed. “What? F*cking? F*ck? C’mon! Your dad can’t hear us!”

“No, the other one. The FR-word.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and grinned. “Go friend yourself!”

“Okay, I’ll stay for the lunch. I’ll go get my tuxedo...”

“Please don’t.”

Reaching a truce was a painfully slow and slowly painful process. Sometimes Johnny wondered if there’s even a point. Sometimes Tank wondered if it wouldn’t be better just to focus fully on his studies and forget that Johnny existed.

But they had to live together, they had to work together organizing parties and happenings in order to grow the Greek House. They had to speak. And when the exams drew nearer, the only person who was available for evening study sessions was usually the other.

What did they study anyway?

Tank rolled the want to major in Drama while Johnny studied Political Science. Tank has never told his father the truth of what his field of study is and knowing his father has access to the university's statistics and probably could fact check that in Tank's house there lives a Drama major and a PolSci major, he pretended he's doing Political Science and Johnny is the one majoring in Drama.

When the general came for a visit to attend Tank's graduation, Johnny played along with his lie.

The relationship between Tank and Johnny improved drastically over the three years. They still weren't exactly close friends but were healing with a prospect of a friendship further along the way.

Were they romantic with one another?

No. Johnny reciprocated Tank's attraction and maybe something could happen in the future but Johnny fell in love autonomously with somebody else.

With a different Grunt, to be exact.

(typing angrily)

Anyway, even though Tank's crush on Johnny ended up futile, it was still a great experience for him.

In college, Tank Grunt really flourished, despite the initial struggle. He realized a lot about himself and started working on his social skills and repairing his relationships.

He also found a friend in none other than Ophelia Nigmos and she became the first person he ever came out to.

Plus, he was the most academically successful Sim of the whole 35 students I played, being the only one who graduated with a flawless 4.0 GPA.

Unlike Ripp, Tank returned back to live with their father and Buck for the time being. He was expected to enter the army and needed a place to be. Moreover, the general was vocal about choosing him as the heir who inherits the Grunt house someday, so it was simply right for Tank to go back and live there.

Was it? Wasn’t it?

Tank was definitely having second thoughts.

He didn’t wonder anymore if military was the right career path for him. He knew it wasn’t.

But was he ready to let the world know who he really was?

[woogurl]

The peculiar case of woosanhwa.

DISCLAIMER: i am not a professional at reading body language, just putting out my observations.

now, i’ve been thinking about their relationship for a while now and i think most people would agree with me when i say these three are particularly close to one another. more so than the other members, i’ve noticed in vlives that these three communicate the most with each other.

there’s no doubt in my mind that they have a deep and genuine bond. but do i think the relationship between these three go deeper than brotherly love. 

no, i don’t think so, mostly because as i’ve said before. i don’t think seonghwa is bisexual or gay. this is just something i’ve determined from seeing his interactions with woosan. now if you think seongjoong is entirely different and proves that he is that’s fine. but i’ve never watched a compilation of seongjoong. this is just what i’ve determined from watching woosanhwa. this says a lot because ateez is probably one of the few groups that give me massive gay/bi vibes.  

let’s talk about his relationship with woosan.

let’s start with woo.

now, i’ve said it before, but i’m so sure that woo is or was physically attracted to seonghwa, but it is obvious seonghwa doesn’t have mutual feelings. anytime woo does something like attempt to kiss seonghwa he’s just like “please don’t” at times it looks like he’s barely putting up a fight, but i don’t think he does this because he secretly enjoys it. i just think seonghwa is a man with a lot of patience and i mean a lot. like sheesh. any man would probably punch tf out of someone crushing his balls but seonghwa sat there and took it(woo’s such a brat, lol). 

poor baby, anyway, it’s obvious that woo is attracted to him, because as he’s mentioned before he likes to see his reaction when he’s angry. he does this with san a lot too which is what probably starts the sometimes petty arguments. lol. 

here some points to reference.

this vlive, seonghwa’s birthday, now it’s important to note that woo does not often appear on vlives. even though i wished he would, he just doesn’t unless it’s a group vlive he rarely goes live and i’m bitter about it as a woo stan. note that san was on the vlive too, but came after woo left and stayed. now, we could hear san in the background during the vlive. but many of us didn’t know he stayed in the background watching seonghwa.

we could only trust anewz to release such confidential information.

now, before i make the point about woohwa, i just want to highlight how close these three are. even though the members often watch each others vlives and congratulate each others birthday and even call. woosan actually came to seonghwa’s bday vlive and woo stated that he wanted to do the vlive with seonghwa which is very telling. ‘cause he rarely does vlives and san, seonghwa and yeosang are probably the members he feels closest too. i would add hongjoong in there too, but i feel like people wouldn’t understand my reasoning why. i’m considering doing an analysis for woojoong. ‘cause i do feel that they are close, but underrated. but anyway. my point is during this vlive woo was super excited and was literally all over seonghwa constantly telling him that he’s so, “handsome”. his hands were roaming all over his neck, shoulders and chest. which i do think woo is attracted to because i’ve caught him trying to look in members shirts multiple times. lmfao. he’s just a bit more curious then i think is normal. 

let’s talk about other small moments where woo is much more invested in seonghwa than the others.

this recent moment, where it’s as if yunho doesn’t exist, it was a bit awkward for me to watch because it was clear where woo’s interest was. lol.

this recent moment where he literally abandoned yeosang once seognhwa came in(can i just note there was also a moment here where woo tried to look in yeosang’s shirt and seonghwa was like wtf, stop and woo got embarrassed. lol like i said before i am confident that woo is bi). now, continuing on because i don’t have the captions i’m gonna give a rough translation of what was said. you can always go to the vlives and search for the moment yourself, but i do think the subs are still a bit janky don’t know if they’ve been fixed. but as you can see woo started getting closer to seonghwa. closer than he was comfortable with and you can tell by his body language that he is tense and nervous. if this was anyone else or even san, i honestly don’t think seonghwa would have reacted this way. because this type of skinship is normal but since this is woo. seonghwa’s body is instinctively reacting to something that he is expecting to happen. in this case, i’m more than sure he’s expecting woo to probably kiss him on the cheek. because he says, “i get nervous when you come close”. i mean.....

so yes, he is probably nervous, now note, woo seems to only do this with seonghwa, ‘cause as i’ve said before he’s physically attracted to him. now someone he never does this to is yeosang, but you’re probably like, “because they’re friends and woo prob isn’t attracted to him and yeosang doesn’t like skinship. which i all agree with, but i don’t think seonghwa enjoys it either and i think the difference is that he knows seonghwa probably won’t do anything because he has the patience of a saint. 

now this only worries me a TEENY bit because i know that woo can be rough and manhandle people at times. and most of those times he tried to kiss seonghwa it was probably not out of consent. and if you see my woohwa moments where woo attempts to steal a kiss without seonghwa’s permission. it’s clear to see that he is uncomfortable. and i think woo continues to do this because seonghwa is too patient to tell him otherwise. but i DO trust that if seonghwa seriously doesn’t like it and tells him to stop he would. i’m sure things are fine tho because they still seem super close. but i do think seonghwa may be too nice sometimes. 

i mean he was treating him like a dog and telling him to sit for the ice cream in that same vlive. lmfao. 

woo plays too much, but is super soft and kind. :) but don’t take it from me.

anyway, woohwa is a ship that’s very close and sweet, but it’s obvious that woo is much more infatuated with seonghwa than seonghwa is infatuated with woo. but woo said in the xmas vlive that he knows seonghwa well which is why seonghwa’s “into him”.  

however, seonghwa responded and said this was not the case when woo left. seonghwa said that woo’s a tsundere and one second he’s nice and the the next he’s like, “don’t touch me.” lmfao. now that i know this i wonder if woo does this with san as well. where he looks like he can’t be bothered with then the next second he’s probably clinging to san in bed. which probably confuses san. it reminds me of that time where woo said he didn’t wanna look at san during an idol radio episode and san was dumbfounded. lmfao.

so, as i’ve mentioned before i believed these two(woosan) are genuinely in a relationship or are somewhat intimate with each other. if this is the case, why does woo do this? why does he shamelessly flirt with seonghwa lit in his face? lol 

now i think most of us probably assumed that woo was someone who doesn’t like to commit or doesn’t like to settle. now a lot of people think this even without knowing his sign. so this was only confirmed for me when i realized that he was a sagittarius. i don’t really rely on horoscopes because they’re not always accurate. but i do feel like this may be something woo has in common with those who are sags.  

as a sag this means it’s easy for him to gain interest in someone and we can obviously see that when woo is interested, we’ll know. he has mentioned he doesn’t like to play hard to get. and we also know sags are blunt and honest to a fault and if you watch the old woosan vlives you can tell that it sometimes hurts san’s feelings because he is sensitive and an introvert completely opposite of woo. sags are also known for being slow to commit or preferring to keep things casual. but are very loyal when they do commit. 

while san is a cancer and they are the exact opposites. cancers are incredibly sensitive and caring. they’re also quick to commit and are slow to bail when things get tough.

what’s important to note about these two is that their signs are very VERY incompatible.

so like i’ve said it’s best to not rely on horoscopes because we know woosan are bestfriends and soulmates. but we can also see their very obvious differences in personalities when they’re together and we can tell san often gets hurt by woo’s bluntness. but i wanna highlight a moment during an idol radio podcast.

now this is a moment that happened during the radio podcast at 41:50 on schmoosubs channel on yt. during this whole podcast san was clearly upset with woo and woo was attempting to win san back. something you should know about sags is they love to chase. so i’m guessing woo did something to upset san, but woo says in the video that he’s upset with san. lol. but it was this moment in particular that caught my eye because it came out of nowhere. 

there was no song being recommended or anything from what i could hear, and suddenly yunho said that and san was like yeah, “i was just a toy”. i’m wondering if he was referring to woo treating him as such which is why he was rejecting him. now it would seem harsh especially if they were referencing block b’s song which is very plausible seeing as the podcast was for recommending songs for people. and idk if it would be a stretch to say yunho was recommending it for san to woo. but interpret it as you want. here are some lyrics.

now why is all this important well, this is just to highlight why i feel woo may flirt with the other members shamelessly and also why they may also fight and seem distant for a period of time and san stops returning woo’s advances. i think it had a lot to do with woo not wanting serious at the moment.

if you watch woosan’s interactions before they were definitely not as close then as they are now. which is a big reason you can’t convince me it’s fanservice, because everything changed before debut they were obviously friends, but after debut you can tell they became more intimate physically and mentally. even the way they look at each other has changed.

another reason i don’t think it’s forced fanservice is because people often forget that seongjoong is also a pretty big ship. just look at the views on yt for seongjoong moments and the number of fanfics(many woosan fics turn out to be seongjoon fics and i’m salty af. lol). they’re much bigger because these are two members that are both popular in ateez. but they don’t really bother with fanservice much. which leads me to believe that even though it’s probably advised KQ doesn’t force them to sell it’s realness despite seongjoong being just as high in demand as woosan.

now, let’s get back on topic and discuss sanhwa(ikr, it’s finally time btch). 

sanhwa is definitely one of the softest underrated ships. like they’re obviously very comfortable with each other and are comfortable with skinship enough that they aren’t afraid to cuddle or slap each others butt on camera. their relationship is very domestic and sweet. 

this moment happened during hwa’s birthday vlive where he asks san if he has anything to say to atiny and san’s like “i love you atiny” and hwa’s like what about me do you love me more than atiny pick one. lol. san then hung up. can i say he’s so brutal to my boi. but the point is they were very open about their conversation because they have nothing to hide because they love each other and are really trustworthy friends/brothers. i would like to note that san also appeared in hwa’s vlive two other times. this alone proves to me once again that the bond that these three share is particularly close and special.

throughout this vlive they were so touchy and sweet with one another. san is a baby that needs to touch for comfort. and as you can see they’re both comfortable and as i mentioned before. seonghwa doesn’t really care i mean he let san hug him for almost a full two minutes lol. he only gets annoyed around san after excessive physical affection but if it were woo hugging him like that he’d probably feel more so nervous than annoyed. lol.

san is practically a baby around seonghwa. they’re so comfortable around each other and it’s obvious that san let’s his guard down around seonghwa. now, seonghwa is an aries and to me he’s literally nothing like one. lol. he’s probably the most patient person i’ve ever come to know. and to me i think he treats the members similarly and is truly like a parent. although woo does make that hard for him. >_>

now let’s talk about woosanhwa as a whole and woosan, being like no, it’s woosan not woosanhwa.

i can’t believe san bro-zoned seonghwa like that. lmfao. but the fact that seonghwa refers to san himself as woosan is utterly adorable and it really shows the bond between woosan is strong. like they’ve mentioned before their each others halves. and quite honestly i don’t know why woosan is so opposed to people joining, but i do feel like they genuinely dislike being disturbed when they’re alone together. but seonghwa is consistent in wanting to join them. i can honestly say i think he just wants to hang out and doesn’t have an ulterior motive.

san’s basically like i don’t want you to join us, why does he always wants to join us? but then woo’s like he’s really different off camera, yET HE’S STILL SO HANDSOME. just shamelessly flirting with seonghwa. they obviously enjoy teasing him. i’m gonna be honest and say i think san only started teasing him because woo does it. the thing about woosan that is different from all ships is that they literally see each other as one. like a married couple and they make the effort to be alike. when they talk it’s almost as if they’re reading each others minds and voicing each others thoughts. then you just have san going sure you can join, but your name is separated from ours. 

seonghwa’s still on a mission to join and they’re both just making fun of him and seonghwa’s like what about woosanhwa. note that seonghwa wanted to join these two during their vlive in the middle but they were still firm in their decision like nah fam, you can do it by yourself tho. which he did end up doing alone. like they really don’t want this man’s to join. he can’t even sit and eat with them. x)

but he finally succeeded in joining them and they finally became woosanhwa. but even though this may seem like a fanservice gimmick i think it just became a joke because woosan wouldn’t let anyone join them. but this does not only apply to seonghwa. it applies to everyone let’s take this moment from last year as an example.

this was a vlive from a while back that started off with woosan, but yunho wanted to join in on the fun. even before allowing him to join they were both, well mostly san was irritated every time yunho called them. you can look at my analysis of this woosan vlive and see how irritated san was every time yunho called. lmfao. to me it wasn’t that serious but it made me realize that woosan probably prefers doing things alone and being alone.

these are just more proofs that they hang outside together off camera a lot. if they were concerned about shipping they wouldn’t be this open. nor do i think they would hang out as often as they do. woo is just talking about his day that mostly involved san and he more then likely didn’t realize how often he was mentioning him. especially in comparison to everyone else and he probably mentioned seonghwa once. 

i wanted to add this because to me this alone speaks volumes. these are the three things that make woo smile. i mean san is literally part of ateez, and he’s best friends with yeosang and san. but he put san there and i’m sure it’s because san makes him smile for different reasons. i mean think about it he could have even replaced san with family. this was really powerful.

san is saying they proved it, in my opinion i’m pretty sure he was referring to how well they know each other. the fact that san said they make efforts to to close their differences also speaks volumes. like they don’t even have to like the same things but they make the effort to and this makes them proud. saying it’s fanservice would be so disingenuous and unfair to them. especially when they are clearly close and are proud and open about their relationship. and just because they are open doesn’t mean it’s not real. woosan is a ship that can’t be compared to the others because they’re entirely different than any other ship. 

i don’t know why, but hongjoong was being real petty referring to woosan as, “amicus something” like he really had me dying laughing. i think he was lowkey jelly. but san was like i’m gonna have to correct you, it’s, “amicus ad aras” and hongjoong was still clowning and was like “this amicus something team” lmfao. and san AND woo was like “amicus ad aras!” 

like woosanhwa is a beautiful ship, but listen to woosan, “it’s amicus ad aras”.

[willcwthewisp]

spirited away | eddie & willow

TIMING: before mother’s day. LOCATION: willow’s apartment. PARTIES:  @specterchasing and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: eddie goes on a medium-driven chore, but gets medium uno reversed. also the spiderman meme except it’s mediums.

Willow sighed as she lowered her paint brush, feeling that familiar nagging sensation tingling in her neck that came whenever a portrait wasn’t quite right. It looked fine— lovely, even. But there was simply something amiss that the ghost in question hadn’t approved of, and she’d lost the snippets he was saying to her quite some time ago, as if his words had flitted out her open wind on the breeze. Oh well. The piece would be a nice one to sell, and there still might be a person who recognized what it was that she’d painted. There’d been quite a few instances of people coming forward, asking questions about certain pieces she’d done that looked far too similar to their memories of loved ones, or scenes of their youth. That was generally when she passed the painting off to her brother, a medium and exorcist who was much better equipped to deal with the ghost of the painting, and the loved one that came along with it. 

It almost came as a relief when she heard a knock at her door. Almost. Rising from her place at the easel in her art room, she peered through the peephole of the door only to be met with the face of someone she’d never seen before. “Ah- sorry, can I help you?” she began nervously, already thinking of the disaster that could strike if she ended up having to open the door. She didn’t have any interest in causing a hospital visit today. Or any day for that matter. Maybe she should request to be moved to the first floor of her complex. Then it’d be a little less worrisome when it came to potentially throwing people across the hallway. 

Eddie had some reservations about showing up to a stranger’s house unannounced, but they were outweighed by curiosity and a sense of duty. The ghosts made Willow out to be someone like him. In all of Eddie’s years in White Crest, he’d never had the opportunity to meet someone else who could interact with the dead. Admittedly, it seemed like she had a knack for ignoring them and that didn’t sit well with him, but he tried to reserve judgement until there was proof beyond the claims of a few disgruntled apparitions. 

“Yeah, so, hey,” he said, eyes locked onto the peephole. It struck him as odd that she didn’t open the door, but they lived in White Crest, after all. Being careful saved lives. “I know you don’t know me and this is probably wicked weird for you, but I’ve got a message from a, uh, mutual friend that they’d really like you to hear. It’s a little private, so I’d feel a little more comfortable giving it to you in… well, private. You wanna open the door for me?” He thought about reassuring her that he wasn’t some kind of bloodlust-y murderer, but realized that would only make him seem more dangerous.

Willow’s fingers tapped nervously against the door, still looking through the peephole and reminding herself that this man couldn’t see her in return despite the eye contact he made. “A mutual friend?” she echoed, the phrase throwing her. She’d purposefully distanced herself from the bulk of her friends ever since this whole sporadically throwing people problem had come to her attention, and she hadn’t had all that many to begin with. It was a choice of her own, never having been someone to seek out the company of too many people. Willow had been more than happy with that before her telekinesis had made any company dangerous. Now she relied on the people she called at her telemarketing gig to remind herself she was alive. It wasn’t all that helpful when they were yelling half the time. 

The ability to say ‘no’ was another of her shortcomings, and Willow walked a few paces back and forth as the man asked to be let in. Going back to the door, she glanced at him once more through the peephole. “I...okay- alright. But just- don’t come too close, okay?” If she could keep a table between him and her, things should be alright. Without further delay, she was opening the door to reveal the interior of her apartment, already taking a few careful steps away from the man. 

When Eddie’s question was met with a few long moments of silence, he half-expected his venture to be rendered fruitless. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame Willow for not trusting him, but he did wonder where her sense of adventure was. If a stranger came knocking on his door with the promise of a vague message, they wouldn’t have been able to finish their sentence before he welcomed them in.

Just as he turned away from the door, she finally spoke up. A warning. “No problems there, I’m a big fan of boundaries,” he enthused as the door opened. Willow seemed even more skittish than the average White Crestian as she put ample space between them. Eddie decided not to let it bother him—she likely had her reasons.

“Okay, so, the friend in question is a little on the dead side,” he explained carefully as he stepped into the apartment. “Actually, there’s a few dead friends. Is that… like, is that unusual for you, having dead friends?” As accustomed as he was to having conversations with ghosts, he knew that wasn’t exactly normal. His parents made that perfectly clear to him. If Willow wasn’t as much like him as he hoped she was, he needed to ease her into the subject matter.

“Great- good, that’s good,” Willow babbled nervously as she did exactly as she’d planned, skirting around to the other side of the table that was in her kitchen while Eddie spoke. But the mention of dead friends was more than enough to catch her interest, and in a reflexive move she looked over to the chair that Kal often loved to frequent. He was the ghost she heard most reliably, and currently her best friend seeing as she’d banned herself to as much isolation as possible. Unfortunately she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was here at the moment, her focus pulled away from any attempts to perceive him by the stranger in her apartment. 

Thankfully, Kal had no problem speaking for himself. The ghost had already taken up a spot at Willow’s shoulder the moment Eddie had stepped into the apartment, feeling rather protective after the last stranger to enter Willow’s abode had left her tired and crying. “What do you want?” the ghost asked the man reflexively, not actually expecting an answer from one of the living. That was- until he recognized the familiar aura of what Eddie was. “Oh shit- you’re a medium, too?” 

Willow, still blissfully unaware of the guardian ghost asking questions on her behalf, was doing her best to play it close to the chest. She wasn’t entirely all that private about mediums and their abilities, but it wasn’t exactly the best idea to lead with ‘occasionally I see and hear dead people.’ “Um- do you have dead friends?” she asked, unable to come up with any better reply while being entirely oblivious of that fact that Kal had already given her away.

Willow’s babbling and general nervousness faded into the background the moment Eddie laid eyes on Kal. “I am!” he announced, eyes glistening with pride before finally prying them away to look at Willow. “Looks like we both do,” he said with a wide grin. Hope had taken hold of him before he reached Willow’s apartment, and now he knew it wasn’t in vain. Finally, he knew someone like him; someone he wouldn’t have to hide from, not that he usually did such a good job with keeping secrets. Eddie didn’t know how to be anything except himself, but he thought it might be nice to have someone in his life who didn’t look at him like he was speaking in tongues when he talked about the dead.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, I’m just like you,” he told Willow. He thought it was a little strange that she apparently hadn’t heard the ghost out her, but maybe she was just playing it cool until she knew she could trust him. “Okay, maybe not just like you, but we’ve got a pretty cool common denominator.” 

Eddie took a moment to center himself. Amidst the excitement, he nearly forgot what he came here for. He looked back to Kal. “I’m just here to talk to her about her paintings, nothing weird, I promise.” Again, his eyes switched their focus to Willow. “See, some of our dead friends aren’t exactly happy with how they’re being portrayed, and they’ve been very adamant that I bring the issue up to you.”

Willow almost jumped at the stranger’s exuberance, momentarily confused while he replied to Kal. She still couldn’t hear the ghost, her mind moving far too fast at the moment for it to slow down enough to listen to her ‘dead friend.’ “Like me?” she repeated the words skeptically until he began speaking to Kal once again. “So you’re a medium?” Kal put his hands up as if trying to stop Eddie’s words before he could get them out...to little avail. “Hold on- don’t say that!” Willow’s paintings were one of the few, free joys the woman had left in the world, and he wasn’t too keen on seeing whatever reaction she might have in response to the other medium’s claims. 

But the words had been said, and Willow’s lips had already turned downwards into the beginning of a frown, looking towards the door of her art room and then back to Eddie. “They don’t like them?” Did they want her to stop? She’d always loved painting the stories she heard from the ghosts, even if some of them were sadder than the rest. Those were the paintings she also gave to her brother, the ones that had such miserable stories attached to them. Surely all ghosts deserved to move on if that’s what they wanted, but the ones that could only focus on their pain...that could only give Willow the traumatic stories of their demise, those were the ones that needed it the most. “I mean...I know my pictures aren’t perfect to what they remember but…��� she trailed off with uncertainty, not entirely sure where that sentence had been going.

Kal’s warning went unfortunately unheeded, and Eddie only realized its importance once he saw the frown on Willow’s face. Her second question dampened his initial excitement. He didn’t know how important her paintings were to her, but it already sounded like he wounded her pride. So much for making friends.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” he quickly backtracked. “I’m sure they really appreciate the time and effort you put into memorializing them—I know I would.” Eddie spent more time than he cared to admit wondering about his own demise and what would follow it; how he’d be remembered. If someone cared enough to put his final moments on canvas, he couldn’t imagine being anything other than grateful. “Really, they just have a few minor critiques. You know ghosts, they can be a little picky.” He shot Kal an apologetic glance. “I know how hard it can be to feel the pressure of someone’s last wishes on your shoulders, it makes you really wanna do right by them, but there’s no way to do it perfectly every time, y’know? And only a few have come to me, so I bet you’re actually doing a really great job overall.”

The stranger was sure of the dead’s gratitude because the ghosts had said as much to him? Or was it because he assumed such a thing? “Did they...tell you that?” Willow asked tentatively, hoping that the answer might be yes. She didn’t paint solely for the ghosts, but it’d be nice to know that they got some enjoyment out of it as well. She’d always thought they liked having their stories listened to, being given a moment to relay something important of their life and seeing it painted before their very eyes. Still standing behind Willow was Kal, nodding his head emphatically as if he could provide the answer for Eddie, or at least signal the other man into giving a good one. 

The mention of ghosts being less than fond of her paintings was awkward enough, but now came the part where Willow had to tell this man that she actually wasn’t all that familiar with working for the dead, at least not in the way most mediums were. She wasn’t as self-conscious about her lack of abilities when it came to her family, having accepted long ago that she was different, and actually being somewhat grateful for the fact that she’d gotten to live a life of her own rather than one ruled by the departed. But when such an admission was being made to another medium that wasn’t related to her...well, it was nerve wracking to say the least. “Ah- well- about that. I don’t actually see and hear them all that well. Just sometimes. Not like the rest of my family or most mediums or whatever.” The last of his words had another semi-hopeful spark entering her eyes. “Really? You think so? Do you know which paintings the ones that have come to you are upset about?”

Seeing Kal’s emphatic nodding convinced Eddie to mirror the action. “Yeah, of course,” he said. In truth, they were usually more concerned with their grievances than what they enjoyed about Willow’s work, but Eddie felt like her spirit had been crushed enough for one evening. If she needed to hear a white lie to keep her self-esteem from folding in on itself, he would more than happily oblige. 

“Oh,” Eddie uttered upon hearing her confession, more interested in learning that her family shared her gift than anything else. He wondered what that must be like—to be surrounded by people that understood you. Mild jealousy flared in his gut. He thought he’d met someone like him, but instead it seemed to inhabit two completely different worlds. “At least you have people in your life who can help translate,” he offered, smiling sadly in spite of himself.

Willow’s follow-up question pulled him out of his self-pity. “Yeah, one sec.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and opened the notes app. “George, the guy who died in a house fire, he said his eyes weren’t that close together. Shelly, the elderly woman who died of natural causes, says that you got her bedroom all wrong—she can’t stand your choice of wallpaper. And, um, Andrea, killed by some kind of demonic moose, would like it if you painted her with a little more dignity. She swears she didn’t go out screaming.” Eddie looked up from his phone to see how much damage their criticism had done. “See? Not so bad, just… little things.”

“Really?” Willow asked again, rather smitten with the thought that the ghosts might like her work. Sure, the person she painted most for was herself but...it was still nice to hear that people had enjoyed your work— especially when they were the inspiration. “Well then...I’m glad they like it.” The very beginnings of a smile had taken to the corners of Willow’s lips, looking the most relaxed she had since this conversation began. 

But that smile quickly turned to concern as Eddie spoke. He didn’t have anyone with him? How had he learned about the world of ghosts in the first place? “You parents...they can’t sense ghosts?” Willow supposed the ability didn’t have to run in families, but she was rather biased when she’d been raised in a family full of spirit-sensing humans. “Well you know- if you ever needed someone to help you translate I’m sure anyone in my family would be happy to. Especially my mom or brother.” It’d been some ten minutes of knowing the man after he’d shown up unaccounted at her door, and she was already offering him access to her family. This was probably what some of her more cynical friends were talking about when they said her kindness would get her hurt. 

Willow listened carefully to his requests, trying to memorize them all before she realized she’d most likely forget. “Do you think you could send the list to me? I could give you my number.” Then he’d also have it if he had any ghost questions, and was too nervous to ask how to contact her in the future. Going over what she remembered from his list, her lips pursed ever so slightly as she thought of the paintings in question. She couldn’t be sure, but this seemed more like an issue of vanity rather than her skill. Except for the wallpaper one. She often filled in the lesser details of paintings that ghosts didn’t bother to outline with her own artistic license. “Yeah- not too big.” Now that it was clear it was more the ghost’s problem than her’s, she was somewhere closer to being set at ease.

At the sight of Willow’s sort-of-smile, Eddie grinned from ear-to-ear. It felt like he managed to do something right. “Yeah, me too,” he enthused. He didn’t know Willow well, or at all really, but he already had a sense she might need the validation. Eddie couldn’t blame her, he had a lot in common with Tinker Bell, himself. When the applause stopped, so did his heart. Considering that, he realized he might have been projecting, but doing so in this instance seemed harmless enough.

The smile dropped as quickly as it disappeared, giving Eddie a taste of emotional whiplash. Willow seemed concerned about him, he didn’t intend for that, but her offer struck him right in the heart. “I don’t really wanna bother anyone,” he said politely while every fiber of his being revolted against his ill-timed manners. “But, I mean, if they… if they would be happy to help, like you said, it’d probably be better for everyone if I took you up on that, right? Who wants an uneducated medium running around solo?” He shrugged while his heart beat wildly in his chest. Finally, people who would understand him. Eddie’s throat tightened as he considered the possibilities.

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Eddie brandished phone and closed the distance between Willow and himself with little regard for how intentionally she’d cultivated it. “Here you go,” he said amicably as he offered the device to her.

Oh! The younger man looked very nice when he smiled, like he didn’t have a single intention to hurt anyone that lived in this world. The change in his demeanor had her mirroring it instinctually, and her own smile grew bigger— as if they were stuck in a feedback loop of grins. While he began to speak of being a bother, Willow’s head was already shaking in a fierce denial of the concept, not willing to let him disparage himself in her presence. “You’re not! I’m the one who offered, anyway! And I mean- it’s always nice to have more ghost friends, isn’t it?” Friends were the last thing she needed while she was a literal flight risk in the sense of sending those around her sailing via telekinesis. But she couldn’t just let him fumble in this strange world by himself. “Perfect, then! I could put you into contact with my brother first! He’s the most involved with all the spiritual stuff- he’s actually an exorcist in addition to his mediumship.” If this young man latched onto her brother, Forest, there was also less risk of him coming around Willow to get hurt. 

Gingerly accepting his phone while being careful to avoid any contact, Willow tapped her number into the contacts, adding her name to the entry. Oh, right- she hadn’t actually introduced herself quite yet. “I’m Willow, by the way. Willow Finch.” She made no inclination to offer a hand for shaking, still avoiding physical contact at all costs. 

The moment Willow uttered the words ‘ghost friends’, Eddie felt a rush of unexpected affection. His entire life, most people either completely denied the existence of ghosts or spoke poorly of them. For a moment, Eddie struggled to find the right words to say, an unheard of predicament for him. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just—you ever hear something that sounds too good to be true? I’m waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.” Not only did her family have mediums, it had exorcists. He wondered if she knew how lucky she was.

Eddie watched as she entered her phone number, half-expecting it to begin with 555. “Oh, right, I kinda did walk into your home without telling you who I am, didn’t I?” It wouldn’t be the first time he disregarded common courtesy and overstepped boundaries, and it likely wouldn’t be the last either. “The ghosts told me your name, but I’m Eddie, Eddie Carridine. It’s awesome to meet you, Willow Finch.”

Willow’s heart already ached for him, recognizing a loneliness in his words that she knew intimately these days. Perhaps their situations of isolation were from different patterns, but they’d been cut from the same cloth. The feeling of being alone wasn’t kind in the least, no matter where it stemmed from. Not for the first time she wished she could lend someone physical comfort in addition to emotional solace, the desire to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder growing stronger the longer he stood in front of her. “Of course. The world can be disappointing in the worst ways,” she began softly while forcing herself to stay where she was. “But I also know me and my family. And I bet you’ll be begging to get rid of us before they’d even think about leaving you alone. It’s just not in our blood.” After all, wasn’t that one of the tenants of being a medium? Ensuring that not even the dead were left behind, let alone one of their own. Where that was potentially comforting to Eddie, it was less than ideal for Willow— constantly having to make her own space when it came to the people that loved and raised her for fear of hurting them. 

“You were just trying to help,” Willow began with a chuckle, the only reservations left in her being based around keeping Eddie out of arms-length. And so far he’d respected that. “And the dead...they have a lot less people helping them than the living- so I’m glad you did.” Her smile was softer this time, still settling into who she was while she was less concerned about a stranger being in her home. “It’s awesome to meet you too, Eddie.”

Kal elected this as good a time as ever to re-enter the conversation, some of his wariness stirpped away as the conversation proceeded. Besides— he was naturally inclined to like any medium he came across. “She means it- you know. About not leaving people alone. She can’t see me half the time, but she still talks to me. Even if she’s not even sure I’m here. She’d do the same for you.” It was why he’d become so attached to Willow in the first place, unable to deny the heart she had for caring.

Eddie smiled sadly when Willow mentioned disappointment. The world let him down a few times, but he placed the blame on himself more often than not. He made eye contact with his biggest disappointment every time he looked in the mirror. Willow swiftly pulled his mood out of the gutters of self-deprecation when she told him he wouldn’t be left alone, not by her family. A lump formed in his throat, forcing Eddie to convince himself not express such intense emotions around someone he met minutes ago. “Where’ve you guys been my whole life?” he asked, making an attempt at levity. Nothing she said felt real, but Eddie had a penchant for far-fetched beliefs.

“Yeah, you actually get it,” he said, nodding as he did. It made sense for a fellow medium to empathize with ghosts, but that didn’t make it any less surreal. “I’m glad I did too, otherwise we might not have ever met. That would’ve been a pretty big loss, I think.” He didn’t want to sound too certain, he knew how intense he could be. 

Kal captured his attention next, confirming what Willow said. The lump in Eddie’s throat quivered, forcing him to clear it. “You guys make quite the duo,” he observed. “I, um, appreciate it—everything, I mean.” His gaze turned back to Willow. “You didn’t have to be so kind, most people wouldn’t. So, I… yeah, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Willow could tell he was on the verge of spilling over, she recognized it well when she’d seen it so often in herself. A gentle shrug tugged at her shoulders in response to his question, knowing he was trying to lighten the mood, but unable to perfectly match the nonchalance. “Just sitting here waiting, I guess. I think you’re actually running a bit late.” Another bell-like laugh trickled from her lips, not wanting to come on too strongly despite the kindness in her words. But she recognized a lost soul when she saw one, even if she’d seen less wandering spirits than most mediums had. 

She got it. Maybe not quite as much as someone with fully realized abilities, but she’d seen enough of it through her sister and brother, and parents as well. For a moment Willow was also overcome by emotion, her throat tightening as Eddie landed his compliments. How long had it been since she’d had such a tender moment in person? How long had it been since she’d made actual eye contact with someone for this extended amount of time? “I think I’m the one who would have been missing out,” she answered with the corners of her eyes crinkling in a welcoming happiness. She didn’t mind his intensity, oftentimes having a penchant for it herself when it came to the delicate side of life. 

Willow was silent a moment while she assumed Kal was talking to Eddie, reckoning the way his gaze flitted to the ghost over her shoulder. She’d seen it in the eyes of her family more than enough times. “Kal’s been here with me when...I haven’t been able to see much of anyone else. He does just as much for me as I do for him.” Possibly even more. “The way I see it- kindness is free, isn’t it?” Another shrug claimed her, and for a moment she thought she could almost feel Kal’s hand as he laid it onto her shoulder. “I’m just glad I can give it. You just focus on being kind to yourself, and we’ll call it even, yeah?” 

Fresh tears stung Eddie’s eyes. He immediately blinked them away, trying his best to save face. Showing his emotions rarely sat well with him, but he felt safe here even though he only just arrived. “Sorry,” he offered yet another apology as a second wave of tears formed in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is probably so awkward.” He wondered what Willow thought of him crying at the first sign of kindness. Eddie pulled the hem of his jacket’s sleeve into his palm and wiped away the evidence of his emotional outpouring. “I promise, I don’t usually do this in front of people I’ve just met… or anyone, actually.” He let out an empty huff of laughter, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

The blows kept coming as Willow turned the compliment around on him. “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” he countered. “Get back to me when you’ve known me for a few hours.” Eddie felt pathetic and happy at the same time; exposed and protected. It didn’t make sense, emotions weren’t supposed to contradict each other so harshly, not in his experience.

Eddie watched as Kal’s hand rested on Willow’s shoulder. He said she couldn’t see him half the time, but Eddie liked to think he could recognize love when saw it. An irresistible urge came over him and, before better judgement could kick in, his arms wrapped around Willow.

Willow was a sympathy crier. There was no way around it, and her own eyes were beginning to well as she watched Eddie’s fill with tears, though her’s were born of the happiness that came from witnessing the weight fall from the other medium’s shoulders. Her heart ached for him, recognizing just how desperate he must be to break down so easily when faced with the bare minimum in terms of showings of kindness. Her own clumsy laugh danced with Eddie’s while she gave him whatever time he needed to recollect himself. She’d already decided she was going to ask him to stay for some juice and cookies. Or maybe wine and cookies? He looked fairly young, just at the cusp of drinking age. Someone so young should never have been as alone as he seemed, and her soul began to hurt all over again. 

All that turned to panic in the very blink of an eye as Eddie reached for a hug, and Willow’s hands were thrown out in front of her while she yelled frantically, “No! Don’t!” But it was too late, and as the young man came into contact with her hands she felt the telekinesis flash along with her flaring emotions. In another blink, he was pulsed back from her with a thrust far too powerful for the force to have come from her hands alone. “Oh god- oh god,” she gasped as she ran to his landing place on the couch. He’d fallen on something soft, but she wouldn’t feel relief until she knew he was alright. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh no- oh god I’m so sorry.” This time her tears were ones of dread and hopelessness. She should have known. Should have known things were going far too well, and that danger was lurking around the corner.

Eddie pushed the envelope often, it didn’t always end well, but he could honestly say that being telekinetically launched across the room was a first. He hit the couch with a thud, feeling like the air in his lungs had been knocked out of him. Before he could manage to sit up, Willow appeared next to him spewing apologies and concern. Eddie looked up at her, recognizing that she never meant to hurt him, and couldn’t help laughing. His lungs hurt, but he preferred the pain over crying. Propping himself up on his elbows, Eddie shook his head. “Hey, accidents happen,” he said with a wide grin. “But, uh, do you think you could teach me how to do that?”

Accidents happened, but they happened far too often when it came to Willow and her telekinesis. “But they shouldn’t,” she insisted, head shaking even as she skittered to put space between her and Eddie once again. “I don’t- I don’t control it.” The admission was paired with a blanket of shame and guilt falling over her features. Eddie had trusted her to give an answer when she offered help, and she was already failing the first question of that test. “I’m sorry- I can’t- I don’t know how to teach you. I don’t even know how to teach myself.” That was why he should stick around her brother more than he ever clung to her. “You should- you should go for now, I don’t want to hurt you if you stay longer.” How could she offer him a home, and then cast him out in the next breath? Was that not the cruelest thing she could have done? But if he left disappointed, at least he left whole and with his life still intact.

“Thank you, though.” He’d given her so much in just the span of a half an hour or so. “Really- thank you. I’m um- I’m glad the ghosts chose you to deliver the message, and brought you here.” Now the ghosts of her anxiety would just have to get him to leave. “And I do want you to text me.” In person wasn’t something she was willing to offer in the wake of having lost control, but she remembered how relieved he’d look immediately before everything had gone south, the look of a man crawling towards an oasis in the midst of a desert while he’d throw himself into his attempted hug. She wanted to be the person that quenched his loneliness. Willow just wasn’t sure how to do it while keeping him in one piece.