#same ol spiel

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

personal ramblings

life has been feeling rough lately, and even though some days it feels like I have a better handle on things, sometimes it hits me all at once.

taking care of a family member who has a terminal illness is hard. taking care of and supporting 2 family members who have said same illness is even harder, especially when it is your mother and grandmother. it feels like myself and my family members are literally being pulled thin by the obligations of life, and family, and being there for one another, and sometimes I forget that I'm only one person.

I also think I'm more affected than I'd like to let on cause even coming on here and trying to read fic is overwhelming. It's all starting to feel the same, to the point where I'm numb to it. Forget writing, I haven't had much inspiration to write anything at all in the last couple weeks. I feel like the mojo is gone for now. Not only that but the fixation around engagement of fics on here is starting to get to me in a way that I don't like. I don't care about notes or reblogs on my shit, but sometimes it feels like the overarching theme or purpose of putting content out on this site, and some people are downright obsessed with it, and it's scary. I try not to get sucked into it but somedays it needles it's way into my brain.

I don't really know what the point of this post was, but I feel like I'm getting more and more stressed, more cabin fever with being at home, more burnout with taking care of my mother and grandmother and it's all a bit much, and tumblr doesn't really feel like a safe space anymore that I want to come to in order to escape and shit.

I look forward to starting school in September, that's one silver lining I can appreciate. A change of pace, change of scenery and being able to learn again.

If you read this far or you still follow me for whatever reason, I appreciate you! And thank you for sticking around.

-nicole 🌹

[stevebabey]

Eddie has a test.

It took some time to formulate, a few too many times with guys careless with his heart, who leave behind more heartache than happiness littered in their memory. It’s fucking hard to tell.

More than once, there’s been a dude who promises between kisses i’m not going anywhere and takes more than his fill during a night which Eddie desperately hopes is passion and not some misguided lust. Only to wake a familiar empty side of the bed, them gone — skipping town, back in the arms of their parent-approved girlfriend, or back to spitting his name out with the word freak.

It’s what the test is for.

It’s specific, purposeful, all intending to weed out the straight boys who liked to dip their toes in the pool of queerness and leave Eddie to any consequences of the heart. Eddie doesn’t want to turn cruel, to be too jaded after feeling used too many times. It’s what the test is for. Protect the heart, see what interest is genuine.

Right now, he’s putting the test on Jared. New in town and in Eddie’s life, he’d captured the metalhead’s gaze from the glint of his pierced ear and light eyes that lingered. Kissed a little mean, and with too much teeth, but Eddie chalked it up to excitement. Jared seemed good. Nodded and smiled when Eddie found himself wrapped up in yet another DnD spiel. Said he found it endearing.

The test is simple.

A bid, a nudge, for attention. Never anything big or too exciting— that always got him specifically warped smirks designed to lead him along. Just something minuscule, like will you come take a look at my notes? or can i play you that riff once more? to see if it gave.

The pattern runs deep in Eddie’s dating history; same ol’ jerks who couldn’t bother to come and look at his new DnD sketches are always the ones who are only leasing a new sexuality for a month. It’s like setting a minefield and seeing who stumbles on a landmine, the bids getting ignored is as early as a warning sign he’ll ever get.

He tries the test on Jared.

It’s a Thursday night and Jared’s round at the trailer, lounging on Eddie’s sheets and still a little flushed from the night’s earlier activities. Usually it’s a good sign when the guys stick around after sex, not flying out the door once they’ve got what they want. By now, Eddie has drifted away from his bed, skittish thoughts already off and away with new campaign ideas.

He’s scrawling in a character design, some new boss, half troll, half hellhound, that requires a lot of finicky details worked out. The page is covered in scribbles, nothing in any semblance of lines and a crude first sketch is in the middle. It’s not quite the vision he had in mind but it took him an hour, so he’s hardly going to erase it. Besides, it looks pretty fucking metal to him.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, a bit soft. No pet-names used— most of the time boys didn’t like them and wrinkled their nose. Those that didn’t mind, never returned them. “Can I show you the sketch I’ve been working on?”

He pauses, then launches into an explanation without waiting for a response, “It’s for the new campaign I’ve been planning, one of the bosses, and honestly, those little shrimps have no idea what’s coming for them.”

Jared, still slouched on the bed, peeks up a bit at the noise. He hadn’t really been doing much, just leafing through some of the junk beside Eddie’s bed. If Eddie let himself hold any hope, he would say it’s because he wants to know more about Eddie.

“Huh?” Jared asks, genuine enough that Eddie thinks maybe he didn’t hear him.

“A DnD boss?” Eddie says, eyebrows raising. He barrels on, thinking about how Dustin had helped propose the new boss, with a grin spreading across Eddie’s face. “Dustin, the little twerp, challenged me to pick a random combination of creatures and mash em’ together- see what crazy abilities come from it.”

“Who’s Dustin?” Jared asks, failing to sound like he cares. His eyes have wandered elsewhere, head falling back on the pillow and Eddie’s initial question about the sketch is long, long gone.

Oof. And that’s like 3 failed bids at one time because Eddie talks about Dustin all the time. Jared clearly isn’t interested in Eddie Munson, just what he can offer. Eddie’s heart grows a little colder.

“Look, I think I’m gonna get going, yeah?” Jared says, maybe sensing Eddie’s mood change as he begins to sit up and tug his shirt back over his bare skin. His sticks his feet in his shoes, laces them up. Eddie nods, tucks his notebook behind him and walks him out, plastering on a smile the whole time.

After ambling down the stairs to the trailer, Jared turns back, after searching the surrounding area for leering eyes, and he reaches out and gives Eddie’s hand a squeeze. Just a split second, before it flies back to his side.

Eddie would like to believe that he’s at least worthy of a goodbye kiss. Even if some wicked part of his brain says he’s not, that boys like Eddie Munson don’t get sweet goodbye kisses. Don’t get good relationships, just mindless flings.

The thought makes hurt flares in his gut, Eddie so desperately trying to protect his hope, and so before Jared can say anything, some pitiful goodbye, Eddie leans out the doorway and says, “Don’t call me.” then slams the trailer door.

It follows him around for the next week, his own personal storm-cloud to keep his head grey even when it’s sunny out. He mopes to Robin about it during her shift, probably the only other person he can talk to about it.

“So, you tested him? What does that even mean? Is there a gay test you know about that you haven’t told me about? That would be so uncool, man.”

She’s talking as she types, half paying attention to the computer. Steve is out in between the shelves, putting out a new batch of films— Eddie knows because he’d instinctively sought him out when he came in. Harrington was a pretty boy, sue him for wanting to enjoy the view.

Didn’t help he was also decidedly declared not-a-douchebag by Eddie during the whole upside down spiel and had the duality of biting off that bat’s head and somehow being the world’s biggest sweetheart for his friends. Friends that now included Eddie.

 What can you say? Going through that much together, including killing a death wizard and getting dragged out of an alternate dimension certainly forms some strong bonds. Plus, Steve was hot.

(Eddie denies the crush on the basis that would. never. happen.)

At the reminder of Vecna, Eddie winces and supposes he should be lucky he gets any sort of attention after that whole scandal. But it doesn’t stop him from draping himself across the front counter, laying pathetically with a pout on his lips. He shakes his head fervently at her question.

“Not a gay test, Robin.” He stresses. “It’s the Eddie-Munson-is-this-boy-gonna-stick-around-test.”

He rolls up onto his elbows and props his head into his waiting palms. “Gotta make sure I’m not being treated like some common whore.”

It’s meant to be a joke, a usual joking lilt to his voice, but the end of the sentences comes out a bit too bitter to land that way.

Robin’s sympathetic expression makes Eddie’s chest twinge in a way he doesn’t like. He waves her off. Slumps back down a bit before deciding he’s done enough wallowing in the public eye.

Robin doesn’t say anything as he pulls out his usual notebook, pages weathered and filled. Eddie usually hangs around the store on days without plans, flits between Robin and Steve, and scribbles in his notebook. She bites her lip, gaze moving between the book and the resigned expression on Eddie’s face as he turns to the latest page— the strange hellhound troll mashed up boss.

“Okay, I’ll bite—what’s the test involve?” She asks, pausing in her typing for a moment. Her hands don’t stop moving, still stressing the fabric of her pants twitchily. Eddie perks his head up, clutching his pencil a bit tighter and rolls right into it.

“It’s not even really a test, technically, but doesn’t matter- that’s just what I call it - it’s like a bid?”

Robin raises her brows and they disappear under her fringe. “A bid?”

“Yeah! A bid!” He waves his arms around as he speaks, gesticulating a bit wildly. “It’s like— like asking them to come look at something stupid and small, just to see if they’ll give your interests time of the day, yanno?”

He punches a finger down into his sketchbook. “A guy who can’t even be bothered to look at a sketch I worked on for an hour? Douchebag.”

Eddie’s tone turns a bit sing-song as he continues, like it’ll somehow distract from the bleakness of them. “Ergo, not sticking around.”

Robin’s hands finally stop their messing, becoming completely still against her legs. She finally swivels her body to face Eddie, a furrow between her brows. Her lips are quirked up, just a bit, like she knows something Eddie doesn’t. He feels his apprehension grow as he slumps his chin back into his hands.

“You mean, like how Steve is with you?”

Eddie stands a bit straighter at that, some flushed combination of disbelief mixing with delight flooded his body.

“What?” It comes out a bit more squeaky than intended. Eddie clears his throat, waves his hands, anything to stop that smirk from spreading across Robin’s face — he can feel his cheeks glow a bit warmer at the mere idea. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Robin smiles a bit and nods over to where Steve is. “Try it, test him.”

Eddie follows her nod, casting his eyes across the store to find Steve. He finds him situated in the romance section, a pile of cardboard box stacked beside him, the top box open and ready to be unpacked.

But Steve’s clearly been distracted by the first film in the box — he’s sunk deep into his mom-stance with one hip popped, one hand on his hip, the other holding the film as he reads the back cover of it very intently.

Eddie watches for just a moment, watches Steve squint and pull the case just a bit closer, wrinkle his nose adorably, snort a little laugh at whatever he’s reading — and dammit, this is just a fast track to insanity if Eddie watches him any longer.

“Steve,” he calls, too hesitant and too quiet. Steve’s head doesn’t move, he just flips the cover back over, marveling at the front. Eddie tries again. “Harrington!”

Steve’s head pops up, eyes skirting about to see who’s calling him. He doesn’t move when he sees it’s Eddie calling, just raises his brows. “Yeah?”

Eddie swallows, tries not to think of Robin paying close attention to both him and Steve. He grips his notebook a bit tighter even though he’s not entirely convinced Robin’s right. Steve Harrington doesn’t like DnD — not even for Dustin who has self-proclaimed himself Steve’s ‘adorable little brother that he never had’. Steve is hardly going to care if it’s Eddie asking.

“Do you wanna take a look at this sketch I’m working on?” He asks, as casual as he can.

Steve’s features give away just a hint of surprise, a blink as he comprehends what’s been said. Eddie holds his breath, ready to turn to Robin and say ‘I told you so!’ and to pretend that he’s not secretly hoping Steve will say yes.

“Sure,” Steve says, slotting the film back into the cardboard box and beginning to meander between the shelves towards the front desk. Eddie doesn’t even get time to be surprised because Steve’s suddenly there, in front of him, all expectant.

Eddie opens his mouth, thinks the better of it, and snaps it back closed. Instead, he thrusts the notebook to the side along the countertop, opened to the page of the sketch and doesn’t say anything. In the background, Robin snorts lightly. Eddie shoots her a glare.

If Eddie could look at Steve, he’d see the lightly amused expression on his face, but Eddie only focuses on the book. Really focuses. God, if he looks at Steve he’ll probably get some stupid mooned expression on his face that would totally give away his tiny stupid not-a-crush.

In his peripheral, he can see Steve sidle a little closer and lean over to peer at the page. And while he looks over it intently, Eddie let’s his eyes drift up, taking in the side of his face.

Curses his stupid handsome face. Then curses it some more when Steve lights up in recognition, turning to Eddie, excited to have a sliver of an idea what Eddie’s showing him. Normally, it’s all mumbo-jumbo to Steve. Not that he hasn’t tried to keep up but those kids are ahead of the curve and Steve wasn’t about to embarrass himself asking them to slow down their explanations.

“Woah, is this that one that Dustin was talking about?” Eddie thinks there might be a bit of genuine excitement leaking into Steve’s words.

“The weird like, mashed up, uh, what’s the word? Hyp- hypb—“

“Hybrid,” Eddie supplies, voice cool. His heart is not feeling so cool. Jesus Christ, Steve wasn’t supposed to pass Eddie’s test— he wasn’t even supposed to be tested. In order for that happen, they’d have to even be fooling around and Eddie blames his building blush on that mere suggestion.

“Yeah!” Steve raps his knuckles against the countertop and takes a second look at the drawing, closer this time. He looks back up at Eddie, so he knows he’s completely sincere when he says, “This is really cool, man.”

“Okay.” Eddie breathes, sounding a bit stupid. He remembers himself, remembers Robin watching him essentially bluescreen at the praise from Steve and wrenches his awed smile into a familiar smug type of grin. 

“Of course it is, Steve-o,” He quickly amends, reaching back and tugging the notebook back. It’s closes with a quick snap, like Eddie’s afraid Steve will take another look. “She’s not finished yet, of course.”

Eddie had to bite his tongue to keep it from either taking an insanely egotistical route to pretend Steve’s praise hadn’t had a profound effect on him, or even worse, start trying to suddenly be humble — oh this ol’ thing? it’s nothing really, just threw it together quickly— Eddie nearly melts against the counter in relief when the bell on the front door saves him.

A customer enters the store, instantly taking Steve’s attention and he bounds off to help them, an easy smile on his face.

Eddie waits until Steve and the customer wandered off into the aisles to release his breath. He doesn’t look at Robin, just turns and presses his forehead down against the countertop. Then raises it just a bit, and thunks it back down, a couple of times for good measure.

“Okay, okay—“ Robin’s gone a bit wide eyed and she waves her hands at Eddie’s pathetic form, his head still bonking against the counter. “Stop doing that. Jesus, Eddie, are the dramatics always necessary?”

His motions stop at Robin’s words and Eddie’s whips his head up. He narrows his eyes at her, and as if to prove his point, exaggeratedly jabs a finger at her.

“Hey! Never deny my right to be a drama queen. It is my god given right as an American citizen—”

“He passed.” Robin says, cutting off what was about to be a very long rant about god knows what. Eddie just didn’t want her to say what she was about to. “Your test. He passed, didn’t he?“

That. He didn’t want her to say that.

“He’s being a good friend! A very good nice friend!” Eddie counters, only sounding a little bit whiny which takes half the conviction out of his words. He slams his hands down against the wood. “That test is for— it’s not for him! It’s for—”

An annoyed noise comes out of Eddie’s throat and he aims for one more thunk of his head against the counter before tugging it back up and meeting Robin’s smug expression. She’s too smug. Her whole face is smug smug smug and Eddie scowls. He points a deliberate finger at her again.

“Different context, alright? That—” He waves an arm behind him, in the direction of Steve carelessly. “—doesn’t count. Nope. Not- that’s not how the test works.”

Robin sighs, as if she realises how fruitless it is to keep chucking this argument between the two of them. Her hands finally resume their typing and Eddie lets his head drop again, this time resting it against the wood a tad more gentle. He slumps, blowing a pointless raspberry as he tries to evacuate every thought that’s entertaining Steve as more. Or Steve wanting more of Eddie.

“Look,” Robin says suddenly, halting her typing once more. Eddie rolls his head so he can see her but doesn’t bother to lift it. She’s sideways in his vision, but still barreling on in that Robin way. “One last thing and then I swear, I’ll leave it.”

Eddie raises his brows. Says nothing.

“Have you considered,” She pauses, and appears to be trying to pick her words carefully. “whether anyone else is putting their bids on you?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, knowing exactly what she’s hinting at. Subtlety has never been Robin’s strong suit. It’s even more obvious when her eyes dart across the store — Eddie seriously doubts she’s talking about the random customer that had just entered.

“Just think about it?” She pleads, and Eddie feels his annoyance at how easily he can feel his heart roll over. “See if you notice any bids from... anyone! Anyone at all.”

Eddie picks his head up, chances a glance towards Steve and admits, there’s no harm in trying. Even though, Steve had surprised him today Eddie can find a dozen reasons to chalk that up to. A dozen reasons that don’t include mutual feelings.

Eddie mulls it over, because because what are the chances really? Steve putting bids out to him? To specifically Eddie? The chances are slim to none.

So the answer he gives is, “Sure.”

He’ll get to tell Robin later she can stuff it and wipe her smug expression off with the most righteous i told you so on the planet. There was no way she was right about this, right?

Part two. Part three.

[oscconfessions]

Idk if this really counts as a confession, I just wish Gelatin gave Four the good ol' "treat others the way you want to be treated" spiel. "You were mean, but we were mean too," could've been "We were mean because YOU were mean." Four's breakdown is over people not liking him, so now they'll have a choice of treating everybody better so everyone likes him, or stay the same and have nobody care for him... And if he chooses to better himself, they work at the tpot hotel as community service YAYY HAPPY ENDING (´∇｀)

But nah, welcome back, White Diamond. Maybe I'm expecting too much from an object show...

.

[laylawatermelon]

Now all we need is a queer club scene a la lone Star.

Buck would absolutely flourish, henren would be flirting, Eddie would be sitting at the bar doing a beer watching Buck like a hawk and sometimes smiling, Tommy would be in the void floating (sorry babe I'm a Buddie 4 lifer), and for a lil pizzazz Maddie and Chimney also go.

(it evolved into a tiny fic 🥺if you wanna read you can🥺)

ao3 link :

Ravi is probably there somewhere with someone in the VIP section looking down at them both happy but also a bit worried to see them.

(he's been working with them for a while now he knows the rumors of that many collective jinx powers they hold)

He sends them drinks periodically and they all wonder if someone is about to get a sugar daddy and then realize they're all couples so who's the couple who's getting a third?

Hen has her hands permanently glued to her wife's side and her head in her neck. She's murmuring sweet nothings and Karen giggles it away as she rubs any part of her that's closest to her and sips her drink.

Chimney and Maddie chat as they become a two-headed, four-limbed creation that smells of tequila, love, and laughter.

Maddie is constantly getting compliments on her shiny outfit and nails and ends up beside Buck periodically through the night, both of them like radiant sunlight to others.

Chimney also magically appears next to her almost instantaneously but vanishes and returns with drinks for his friends eventually chatting up the biggest guys he can on their gym regimen and suggesting they buy a calendar to support the new Asian Sex Symbol.

Of course, they sell a few copies.

Buck is the crown Jewel of the drag queens who are all shapes, sizes, and identities getting off of a show to have a nice night out.

He's marvelous and praises their outfits before quickly getting sucked into impromptu makeup and drag lessons, cards for shows, drunken histories, sexuality stories, and good ole fun lip-syncing.

And of course, since he's a bright star who everyone loves, many people begin their hunt.

A quick wink, a lingering smile, a hand on his lower back that lingers as long as a guy slides past him.

Okay, that's it.

Eddie orders another two beers, checking his phone for the babysitter's update before pocketing it.

He slides up behind Buck sliding a beer in his hand and resting his head on his shoulder his hand coming up to his waist.

The girls immediately gush about the two saying there are Two Hot Firefighters ready to put out their fire and Eddie bursts out in laughter.

They begin to fawn over him next complimenting his jawline and face suggesting he go into modelling or movies.

One of them says it's a waste but they'd be all fired up if they see him covered in soot. Another asks if he's on the same calendar as the sexy Asian guy.

Buck pouts telling them no and he's the focus again.

The drag queens then launch into a spiel about fire safety and if they could do a lecture at a show or help them.

Buck ends up video calling Bobby at the request and he and Athena are laying in bed amused as they watch him stumble through his words before a crowd of colorful queens squeeze into the frame.

He assumes them he'll think about it and the comment on Athena's beauty before the call is cut.

Bobby turns to Athena after the call and she laughs. "Your boy is always getting into trouble." He kisses her forehead softly. "We should go next time." "Let's."

Later that night as Christopher's finally dozing off, his phone slipping out of his hand he jolts at the sound of the front door bursting open.

Harry and Denny freeze on the phone, their faces both lit up by their computer screen, "What was that?"

Chris reaches for his glasses and slips them on staying quiet.

He listens again and relaxes as he hears giggles and shushes.

He rolls his eyes and pulls his covers over his head. "It's my dads."

The shuffling gets louder and he groans softly as his door is knocked on before it's pushed open.

Eddie grins down at his son's lying form and stumbles over as gracefully as he can. Buck is in the kitchen filling two (plastic) cups with water and shakily walking to his room.

Eddie walks to the left of his bed and kneels down resting his head on his arm.

He pats his head suddenly emotional, "I love you so much you know that?"

Chris frowns at his distressed tone but also notices the softness in his touch.

They watch him and Buck tiptoe in to hand Eddie a cup and rest his on a nightstand.

"We should probably let him sleep, okay babe?"

Eddie drinks from his cup smiling and pats Chris' head one last time. "Okay. Night son."

As they're leaving Buck sticks his head back in, "By the way your phone light is still asking through the blanket. Go to bed, Chris."

Harry and Denny burst out laughing and Chris promptly hangs up. He closes his eyes with a smile on his face as his dads fall into bed sloppily in the next room, leaving their problems for themselves tomorrow. 

[himboskywalker]

Literally my favorite part of my job is getting to talk about books and pop culture with kids,and thus I get a lot of Star Wars obsessed little gremlins that come in that I get to talk shop with. Yesterday I had this little boy come up to the register,decked out in Star Wars gear,Grogu baseball cap,Mandalorian shirt,Grogu tennis shoes,and a big ol’ stack of Star Wars DK reference books. He was absolutely feral and I got to do my favorite thing in the world which is excitedly go “you don’t like Star Wars do you?” And this lil dude,with his two missing front teeth and unparalleled feral energy,talked my ear off about the Mandalorian until his mom almost physically had to drag him out the door.

Today I had another little boy come in with this massive stack of Star Wars books,I did my same spiel I always do,he unhingedly chattered on about how much he loves the Clone Wars and Ahsoka most of all.

I don’t know I just wish a lot of fans who get snide about different Star Wars media,liking one thing and absolutely dragging other stuff,could see it how I do through kids’ eyes,and how much they love and connect with different parts and different characters. It’s always so apparent to me with my job,like this isn’t for crybaby adult fans,this is for these little kids with fire in their eyes.

[sgiandubh]

Hitting a nerve, again

Dear @outlanderfandomfollies,

You took an extraordinary amount of time to lecture me on your blog with regard to one of my comments about the (in)famous funeral pictures. This deserves a reply and I hope you will understand it is done in good faith, although I cannot guarantee you that my answer will be devoid of irony. I am who I am, even if my opinions clearly vex you: I am sorry, but there is little I can do to accommodate you in that respect.

Fair enough, then. I took a stroll on your two blogs yesterday and I have to say I am underwhelmed. The thousands of words, the hundreds of pages, all that Taj Mahal of wisdom so liberally, relentlessly bestowed upon us, ignoramuses, was not enough to shake my beliefs. And pardon me the approximation: trying to make sense of what you wrote left such a strange aftertaste, that I did not pay enough attention to such details. Stupid me.

I have to say I was just starting to enjoy your very interesting interpretation of Jungian archetypes as applied to JAMMF. It did also remind me of Richard Campbell's Hero With A Thousand Faces, to be completely honest. I wanted more of that: a non-biased and personal interpretation of a beloved literary character. So, I am asking you in all honesty: why do your approach and your tone change, from professional to patronizing, when you deal with this side of the fandom, including me?

You present yourself as an independent blogger within the OL fandom. That, in my humble opinion, is a bias and a lie. There can be no independence in the current context of cold war, with the "truthers"' side bucketing out insults on a daily basis, with no prompting and no provocation from the shippers. You probably know as well as I do how the spiel works, via multiple spy sock accounts, anonymous submissions often sent to oneself and yes, rivers of "stupid shippers, idiot shippers". You also know and yet keep complete silence about it, that sensitive information is always exchanged in DMs and private groups, primarily out of respect for the people concerned (and also because that is none of your business, Antis).

Your very peculiar orientation is also something that ethically nags me. Independent, yet aligned. I find this fascinating, truly: it reminds me of an Eastern European tyrant's game of promoting himself for years to the West as aligned with the Soviets, yet independent from them. True story.

In the side note at the end of your long (loooooong) intervention about a mere comment expressing an opinion, you write:

I am asking you and I would appreciate a serious, well-researched answer (a girl can dream): exactly which boundaries did I (and I really mean I, Sgiandubh, not "shippers": that is very cheap rhetoric and I expected better from you) cross by simply expressing an opinion that disagreed with your POV?

For comparison purposes, an example of a very recent, supremely suave comment on one of the major Anti players' blogs. We never read any well-articulated protestations from you on those, ever: it is as if they do not exist. Heh. Talking about bias, when it's all about hiding the Antis' garbage under a skillfully woven carpet of scientific jargon:

And since you love side notes and caveats and all the critical apparatus paraphernalia, let me be very clear: I blurred the blogger's name on purpose, and not by cowardice. I blurred it because it is perfectly irrelevant, in this context and at the same time, very representative of a certain dominating vibe, in your camp, about OL's male lead. Something I believe you, as an independent (let's not forget aligned) blogger, should have no trouble taking a strong stance about.

Oh, the stench of intolerance, from the same person who wrote this, in 2016, on her blog:

Yes, yes. I know you also wrote your opinions changed with time and adventures along this long-winding, twisted road. Yet, I cannot help but thinking that a walk down this particular memory lane could bring more serenity and more clarity to your fandom endeavors.

I have no wish to attack you and I am not the insulting type, unlike some of your fellows. But I also do not need a laissez-passer sealed, stamped and delivered by you (with which authority?), in order to continue my journey. I would be very happy to settle on a non-aggression 'we agree to disagree' , keep calm and carry on common ground. At the very worst, I will simply ignore you and would be very grateful if you did the same. I simply feel I owe you absolutely nothing, including my time and attention.

Cordially yours,

Sgian-dubh, stupid shipper

[mirror-to-the-past]

So.... I bolted to the finish line of Dream Drop as I had nothing else to do today.

I am still collecting many thoughts, sentiments, attempts at analysis, etc, as I always do, but this game just had a lot to offer so I'm still weeding through the freshly tilled flowerbed that is my brain at the moment. Holy mother of run-on sentences (you're gonna see a lot of those).

First off, I wanna thank this game for doing so much for Sora and Riku's characters. The inverse development they had through the course of the plot was really interesting to follow, actually, and none of it's out of nowhere!

Since KH1, Sora's had the repression subplot and embracing the strength of others as his own. Here, he tried to do the same, but with everything that's happened to him since, all of which he doesn't even necessarily remember, and all of the emotions and memories he's been touched with and made more and more aware of- he's on shaky ground and the same ol' methods don't fit like they used to! Understandable! And Xehanort/13 Darkness gang just feeds into that. He expands on Sora's questioning of his identity, suggests the lack of validity of his emotions. Everything that could be used to describe Sora in a positive light in wake of what's happened to him, he finds a negative spin on it to really dig at Sora's core:

'You're confused about the direction your life has taken? Hm, wonder how much of you is even real. Your emotions? Memories? Could be fabrications. Or someone else's. Who knows...'

'Your heart is a refuge for lost souls, hoping to find a new future? Nah, screw that. Your heart's a prison. Your very existence binds people, Sora. And of course, you just love holding people back.'

'Aw, you follow where your heart leads? Cute. People's feelings have never led them astray before, huh? Why don't you just keep being a precious little idiot though, it works great for us.'

Xigbar particularly, was brutal as always. Loved the scenes with him and Sora in The World that Never Was. So well crafted. He towers over him, gets all up in Sora's business and you can see how uncomfortable Sora is. He pokes directly at Sora's two biggest insecurities:

Weakness; being incapable and helpless.

Not being wanted/needed, or dragging others down.

He goes on his whole spiel where he specifically highlights how Sora's pretty much leftovers. He acts like he's a good for nothing- "As if the Keyblade would choose a wimp like you." And childish for simply feeling the pain of others: "Oh... thank you, Sora's heart, for pushing him right into our clutches. Aren't hearts great? Steer us wrong every time." (Love that line) And Sora figures out that Nobodies have the capability of essentially learning to gain their own heart (CALLED IT, YES- BUT ALSO 😭 you poor guys. I think every party that could have benefitted either didn't care or didn't figure it out.), only to be further disparaged by Xemnas essentially being like 'Yeah, and then they got manipulated anyway, hah. Just like you.' Just two grown ass men bullying and gaslighting a teenage boy to heighten his insecurities. Because "possession" just seems to be a symbol for one losing themselves.

Xehanort as a character just gives those vibes of an individual who takes, takes, and breaks someone down until they don't feel like themselves anymore, becoming an extension of their manipulator. He preys upon vulnerability and lack of self assurance and it's so good, hah. So, that's the reading I find most appropriate for his thematic relevance, in relation to KH's continuous crisis of what makes up an identity. I mean, just look at how Xehanort describes the others they were considering as a dark vessel- Riku's "immune to the darkness," in other words, immune to obfuscation/has more solid connections. Roxas was considered as too driven, assured in his place in Sora's heart when he forged his own trial-by-fire path. Both people that came to peace with themselves and what they wanted through hardship, one way or another. Now, I'm not saying Sora hasn't felt hardship, but when your theme is "repression," he's up against amnesia, feelings of others encroaching on his own, and a lack of self evaluation. He has more of himself in others, at the moment, and that's leaving him vulnerable.

So, you can only imagine how Sora feels at the game's conclusion, denied a rank of Keyblade Master, those words lingering in his mind as one of the most recent things he's heard, near death(?) experience, and Sora had been filled in I'm sure on how Riku was endangering himself for Sora's sake. I'm sure he feels super great about all that.

(His "What do you want me to see?!" line after Roxas disappeared... haha... I'm well.)

Meanwhile, Riku. His whole arc was the polar opposite! By the end of this game, he was the most self assured than we've seen him the whole series! 🎉 Hooray! At least someone gets to be happy! :'D

But for real, *wow.* Personal quip, I doubt I need to go heavily into the queer connotations of Riku's journey to easier vulnerability and self acceptance, especially in this game, because I'm sure anyone who takes time to read this can probably see it, but wow. The way he learned to change his reflexes and actions throughout the course of the story in a number of small, meaningful ways was so sweet. It was cheesy, sure, but him openly laughing with the other teens in Traverse Town. Him admitting to the nature of his insecurities to help another, and then getting comforted by Esmeralda in return, who assured him it was understandable to have walls around his heart/keep parts of himself separate from the world when he was still unsure and figuring out his feelings (lines that drive me crazy, 2023). Him rolling his eyes at the "All for one and one for all," motto before reflecting on Sora's openness and inclusion, and deciding to give it a try, himself. So many little things where he learned to laugh and reminisce freely and it reminded me of the snippet of how he was when he was younger in BBS, which, speaking of- all those steps towards healthiness made it so that throughout the entire game, unlike CoM, where he fought in darkness with self hate, and Days, where he lost himself completely, he never battled with notable levels of internal darkness to try to win anything. He found his strength to protect the things that matter, like he always wanted, by being himself, unapologetically.

...I wish I played this game in middle school or something. Alas.

(Also Riku Dream Eater theory was a go, boys! Also like how there was no explanation other than *X. Heartless voice* "Yes adopted son of darkness, you were down so bad you changed species to protect Sora from bad dreams as soon as you subconsciously felt suspicious vibes." And that's all we're gonna fucking get, so deal with it *mic drop*. 😂 Was pleasantly surprised Sora's clothes were also plot relevant, and I feel better about disliking them now. They branded him, eugh.)

Speaking of being yourself, but perhaps being too many of yourselves, in this case, here's my obligatory "cries at the endgame" sentiments. This one was less hype than the others, but punched me directly in the heart instead. Oh. My. GOD? That whole sequence of Riku diving into Sora's heart (with all of his memories floating past? Lord I'd be so embarrassed if I was ever in such a situation- it's so personal, y'know?), entering its innermost reaches, answering the questions... holy guacamole guys I think I left a part of me on those sunset beaches, there. That whole scene was a KH1 reference with the questions (I answered in terms of how I best thought Riku would answer), Riku and Xion's sitting placements on the Paopu tree (also Riku saw Xion as Sora *fist pumps in sad success*), and I'm almost *certain,* especially since it was right before "What are you most afraid of" that my theory of Riku overhearing the Sora&Kairi dock convo in the first game was valid. I mean, just look at the dude's face after staring out at the sunset. M'boy Riku looked downright melancholy and I trust KH microexpressions with my life. (And speaking of microexpressions, Sora's smile looked suspiciously forced when congratulating Riku on becoming a Master, poor fella. He was trying so hard to be a good sport about everything with that messy situation.)

Dream Drop Distance did so much with how we're finally having all of the separate plot points converge and it was so surprisingly satisfying. Sora seems to be picking up more about Naminé, he's aware of Xion and is trying to figure out who she is. Roxas seems to be losing himself or doubting who he is outside Sora and aaaahh?? No?! My beautiful boy, don't do this, we'll get you out! I miss Axel, but we've got Lea, who keeps getting deadnamed (he got chosen as a Wielder by the universe for his troubles). I want to see more of Ienzo, he endears me, especially when he's told "shut up nerd" by Lea. Foreshadowing about Ventus (when he smiled upon feeling Sora's happiness with the Dream Eaters post-credits, something got me in my core about imagining Ventus experiencing all of Sora's joys and hurts while he grew up. I wonder if he'll feel any affection for Sora's friends as if they were his own, as well.). We finally got Ansem's data he implanted within Sora. Kairi is being brought back into the plot since KH2!! HYPE! *On my hands and knees*

Anyway this game was good. I probably have more to say because there was just so much but yeah.

Edit: Almost forgot the thing I groaned at my TV for earlier! ^_^

*ahem*

They composed a Heartsong and each of their hearts play a piece of a Duet version of Dearly Beloved, which is the Title Theme for the Entire Franchise, and Definitely Doesn't have any romantic connotations as a phrase or anything. Also they Definitely do not have a Two-Part-One-Whole Keyblade that isn't (so far, I'll catch up) explained, and is a phenomena not previously noted throughout the games, that has a Paopu Fruit hanging off the end.

Man, all this stuff tuckers an epic gamer out. Think I'll go replay Hades, Stardew Valley, Undertale/Deltarune as a break, considerably less gay games. (Har, har)

[rustcleaver]

It Falters On The Horizon (Chapter 1)

Fnaf Eclipse x gn reader, 6k words

(it/they/he pronouns are used for Eclipse)

If any of you have an ao3 invite I could use, I would be deeply grateful <3

Waking up for work on a Tuesday morning isn’t all that bad if you like your job. It doesn’t even need to be particularly glamorous; anything that doesn’t make you want to crumple to the floor like a tinfoil ball by the end of your shift is a win. And anything beats retail. So you’re pretty satisfied with your decent pay (and flexible hours) at the Fazbear Entertainment™ Mega Pizzaplex©. You even get to google conspiracy theories on company time, it’s great.

Your alarm rings, and you feel at least half the joints in your spine crack as you sit up to turn it off. It takes a minute of flailing like an indignant carp before you’re able to roll out of bed and onto your feet. You grab your Fazwatch© (patent pending) from its little charging station and its screen buzzes to life. A few practiced button-taps show you the day’s schedule. All the tours are at the regular times, showing the same schedule as it did last night. Maybe you don’t need to check it as often as you do, but management has made last-minute changes before, and it’s pretty fair to assume it will happen again. For some reason or another, the tour times will sometimes get moved around or cancelled on the day-of. After a month on the job, you’re comfortable enough in your routine to give a tour on 5-minute’s notice. (You had to last Friday. That was a new low, even for Faz-management.) But everything looks fine today, so you shouldn’t have to whip out The Ol’ Fazbear Entertainment Approved Apology Spiel for any poor customers who might miss the sudden change in their tour times. 

You once bet $50 that management will try to move a tour to some time in the past. The staff bot that cleans at your end of Rockstar Row is often the recipient of your quips, and it only stopped sweeping for a second to acknowledge your comment. You still aren’t sure if it knows what money is, and you probably don’t have 50 bucks to spare, anyway. You guys can probably just call it even. Besides, you think it found the joke funny (it made a single ‘ha’ sound), so that’s probably all that matters.

You used to be surprised by the number of people you can find in the pizzaplex at the asscrack of dawn, but the magic of the place (and the meticulously crafted ads on kids’ youtube) always attracts a small crowd. Weekdays are pretty quiet in the mornings, but there’s always someone visiting the pizzaplex. It’s a lavish place that probably pays more money for the monthly electricity than you will ever see in your life, but you’re sure the company can afford it easily with the number of guests they get. With how stupidly overpriced some of the stuff is here, you’re sure those guys have plenty of funds to spare. You really don’t get why management will always cut corners and be so cheap, then turn around and drop hundreds of thousands on some shiny new robot. Fickle, those guys.

Anyways, back to your own work:

Thankfully, it’s never too busy back at Rockstar Row during the day when the animatronics are performing or going to private birthday parties. You can hear their music if you listen for it, but all the festivities are distant enough that they don’t disturb you. The voices, cheers, and catchy tunes blend together in a gentle hum-drone of white noise. You keep saying that you’re gonna watch a performance one of these days, but you want to go at a time when you won’t get lost in a sea of pre-teens and their exhausted parents, so you keep putting it off. Usually, none of said pre-teens or parents are hanging around Rockstar Row when you prepare for the day, so you can have your peace of mind as you clock in. You can even whistle a bit of copyrighted music while dusting off the ol’ display cases without getting a single disapproving email from management. Throughout the day, you give a couple of tours down the Row to tell the history and legends of the old Fazbear pizzerias, throwing in some popular conspiracy theories and horror stories for spice. There’s plenty of time in between the tours of this makeshift museum when you usually just sit around in case anybody needs directions or something. All-in-all, it’s a pretty nice job. And you’re pretty darn good at it, too. Nobody knows how to redirect a customer to somebody who actually knows how to help with whatever wild shit happened to their kid quite like you do.

Sometimes, Rockstar Row gets kinda crowded at the end of the day when the animatronics are doing meet-n-greets in their rooms. There aren’t any museum tours at this time (thank Faz), so you get to sit down at your little desk area and watch how these vibrant characters and their equally dazzling personalities capture the attention of the crowds. They’re real pros at what they do; you can’t help but smile at their acts, even from a distance. 

There have been a few times when there wasn’t anyone waiting in line to chat with one of the animatronics, so Freddy or Roxy will sometimes come over to say hi when you wave to them. You’ve been hoping to introduce yourself to Monty and Chica, but their rooms aren’t really visible from your corner of Rockstar Row (and you don’t want to intrude when anyone’s busy), so you’re limited to the other two at the moment. Freddy is very popular and very busy, he is the titular character after all, so you’ve probably spoken to Roxy the most. She once expressed gratitude that she doesn’t have to maintain her usual act and energy when she talks with you. It was a pretty serious and vulnerable comment, so you wanted to respond in a positive and encouraging manner. The somewhat goofy thumbs-up that you gave her (clearly not the expected response) made her laugh so hard that Freddy came over, concerned that her voicebox was glitching out. The memory makes you smile as you clock in for the day.

---

On this morning, this perfectly average Tuesday morning, you do a double-take at one of the display cases. Empty. It definitely isn’t supposed to be, so you walk over to take a look at it. You stop a couple of inches away from the glass and squint at it like this is some optical illusion. Yep, definitely empty, no amount of rubber-necking or suspicious glances appear to be changing that. Also, it looks like the top panel has been unceremoniously smashed in. In fact, it took you a perfectly normal amount of time to notice that the whole upper half of the glass box is shattered. Yes. And, like the awe-inspiring detective you are, you start looking around on the floor. You know, just in case the old Chica arm had hopped out of its display case and was lying around somewhere. Okay, so maybe it’s a little hard to wake up on a Tuesday no matter what your job is. 

You’re almost surprised that management didn’t tell you about the missing exhibits before your shift, but then you remember how low they keep setting the bar. They probably didn’t know, or didn’t care. You move to check the rest of the displays yourself and see that an original Fredbear top hat has also disappeared. This horrible loss is enough to properly wake you up. That was your favorite exhibit. It was a nice little hat that will be sorely missed. You take a minute to grieve the tragic loss before you see your good pal (the staff bot who you might owe $50 to someday) vacuuming around the golden Roxy statue. You jog over to it and give a little wave.

“Hey! How’s it going?” You say. It turns off the vacuum and looks over at you. It blinks twice and gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Happy to hear it! Doesn’t look like you got covered in soda like last week, so that’s good. Hey, if that ever happens again, you can come to me if you need a hand with cleaning it off. I’m getting pretty good with those chem wipes. Also, two of the exhibits are missing: the Chica arm and the old top hat. Do you know anything about that?” You ask, remembering your original mission mid-sentence and pointing at the crime scene. In response, the staff bot looks at the ground for a minute, then tilts its head quizzically. It turns to look down the hallway and makes a little ping sound at a nearby security bot. The security bot comes over and the two of them look at each other silently for a minute. Robot-to-robot conversation, robot-to-robot communication. The security bot looks briefly at the floor like the staff bot did, then the two resume their telepathic chat. You begin to wonder if you should ask again later when they both turn to look at you. The security bot beeps a few times. 

“...Did you see anything suspicious around the displays recently?” You offer, guessing at what the security bot is trying to communicate. It shakes its head in response. 

“Can you check the security camera footage from last night?” It nodds this time. 

“Great! So, do you see anything..?” You wait a moment. Maybe the security bot didn’t hear you? It keeps looking at you but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. Your fazwatch buzzes on your wrist, and you read the screen, confused.

REQUESTING SECURITY CLEARANCE ...

...

APPROVED

UPDATED SECURITY CLEARANCE FOR: DAYCARE ENTRANCE

Ok. Well, that’s something. But the daycare has been closed for long before you even got hired, and you doubt that whoever stole the two displays would have any reason to put them there. (Our great detective has deemed this a case of larceny, deducing that there iss a thief afoot.)

“The daycare? You want me to go to the old daycare..?” You ask. The security bot nods. 

“Shouldn’t I go to the security office for this sort of thing?” It doesn’t respond. Your fazwatch opens the pizzaplex map and begins charting a course for the daycare. There’s your answer, you suppose. The security bot begins rolling back to its post and you shout a quick thank-you. Turning back to your dear friend and colleague, staff bot, you shrug.

“Well, the security bots probably know a lot better than I do. I’ve got about an hour, so I’m gonna go check it out. Wish me luck!” You give it a dramatic little salute. It blinks in acknowledgment and goes right back to vacuuming.

---

It always bothered you that “Floor 1” isn’t always the first floor of a building. Sometimes, it’s literally the second floor. You are reminded of this tragedy as you take the elevator down to the “Ground Level” and step out onto the balcony. (Note that even the “Ground Level” has two levels. Fazbear Entertainment really dropped the ball on this one.) You shuffle out of the elevator, leaving room for the family passing by while checking your faz-map. It says that you just have to go left. And there it is, a large pair of doors labeled “Superstar Daycare Pick-Up”. You’ve never had to go inside, but it still shocks you that you never noticed the entrance before. The lights above the door are off and all the paint is faded, so it’s admittedly hard to spot. You hesitate for a second, just standing there, staring at the door handle. You get the sense that you aren’t supposed to be here, like you’re a child about to get caught doing something that you were told not to. Reminding yourself that you were literally told to come here, you try to shake the feeling. As weird as this whole thing is, you’re pretty curious to see whatever the security bot has sent you to find. Besides, if this yields nothing, you can just stop by the security office and ask somebody else for help. You finally turn the handle and step through the door.

Here you find a large, poorly lit, and lifeless area. There are only a few posters on the walls, lit by bands of neon light. Some are of the band, but you notice several that depict a sun figure and a moon figure. These advertise some “Sundrop” and “Moondrop” candies. You find it weird for the Fazbear advertisement team (faz-vertisement, if you will) to come up with new characters just to promote some candy that you’ve never even heard of. Weird when they will typically do whatever they can to “show the audience our beloved cast of Fazbear Ent. characters that you know and love” (reuse the same old clipart of the animatronics for most ads because, collectively, they do not give a single damn). But here are two characters you have never seen before. Something entirely new. A sun and a moon. 

You walk over to the posters and note the layer of dust clinging to them. The sun and moon look very similar in design and are clearly each other’s counterparts. You’re the museum guide, the person who probably knows the most about the pizzaplex’s history, and yet you’ve never heard anything about these two characters. Maybe these were just a part of the daycare’s shtick since the entrance also has a sun and moon on it? You decide to grab a couple of these posters as potential stand-ins for the missing exhibits. Even if you don’t need the interim replacements, you’ll definitely want to look into these characters later. 

You pass a little fountain surrounded by the world’s jankiest fake palm trees on the way to the end of the hall. It’s impossible not to marvel at the dichotomy of how cheap or extravagant Fazbear Entertainment can be. There are some lights around the fountain’s edge, but the water isn’t running, just lying quietly at the basin. Your footsteps echo over the checkered PVC floor tiles and the poor lighting doesn’t let you see the ceiling. It looks like it might go on infinitely. This room feels too big. You grip your phone a little tighter. 

You eventually come to a big, metal shutter door with a little panel to the right. Using your sleeve, you wipe the dust off the screen. After a few taps, it begins to boot up and update. You are presented with a few options, and “Open Daycare Entrance [A]” immediately catches your eye. You press the button and it makes a little ping sound.

 AUTHENTICATING CLEARANCE, PLEASE WAIT… 

Your watch buzzes, and you flinch at it, startled. It shows a loading wheel for just a second before the panel beeps again. 

STAND CLEAR OF SHUTTERS UNTIL FULLY OPEN 

And the metal doors begin to rise. Inside, you spot a golden statue of the sun and moon figures. So they have 3D designs, too. That’s a little too much effort for a couple of candies. This thing looks just as glamorous as the statues of the band members out in Rockstar Row. Impressed, you take a photo and begin walking around this little entrance area filled with chairs. There is a thick net that hangs in front of you with a railing that leaves room for a rainbow slide. The sign above it says “Slide Into Fun!” and points at the opening. Hm. No thanks. 

You lean against the railing and look into the massive space beyond the net. There are a bunch of play structures and a massive river of a ball pit that you can barely make out in the dark. You see a small balcony to your right, on the only wall where there is no netting. It is the only place inside that is properly lit, gleaming in the spotlight, but it doesn’t look like there’s any way to get up to it. Over on the left, you think you see a desk. It’s right next to some large wooden doors, and you’re glad to see a normal entrance so you won’t have to use the slide. It could be fun, don’t get me wrong, but thoughts of dashcon ricochet around your brain as you envision the ball pit at the end. You choose to think about something else. Like your mission! Yes. You’re here to… well, you’re not really sure. Find whatever the security bot wants you to find, I guess. It’s darker in this area, feeling even more abandoned than the fountain area before. You can’t really see, but you doubt that the (potential) thief would choose to stick around in the building, so you don’t think that’s what you’re looking for here. There’s no one else in the entrance area, so you’ll have to go inside the daycare to see if there’s anyone you can talk to. Maybe there’s a security bot who guards the place, and maybe it knows what happened. So, to get inside, you’ll have to make your way down some stairs and circle around the walled-in (netted-in?) daycare area to get to those doors.

Said doors feel a lot taller when you’re right in front of them. It’s a little intimidating, to be honest. From here, you can see the corners of the mechanisms that open the door, and you’re glad that the doorknobs about 20 feet up are just ornamental. This does, unfortunately, leave you with no idea of how to actually open the doors. The thought of flailing about to grab those doorknobs gives you a laugh, at least. For lack of a better idea, you knock on the door. 

“Anybody here? Knock knock.” You say to yourself, trying to come up with a plan to get in. You most certainly don’t expect a reply.

“Who’s there?” Rings a response in a muffled, robotic voice. This makes you jump like a cat. There really is something in there, and it’s definitely not a security bot. But that doesn’t sound like the voice of anybody in the band; it has a completely different intonation and almost rumbles at the end of its words. Each of the glamrocks has a distinctive voice, and this doesn’t match any of them. And, above all else, it just set you up for a knock-knock joke. Now this is serious. It’s one thing to meet a mystery robot in an abandoned area of a technologically-unmatched pizzaplex, but it’s something else to get the perfect set-up for a real bad pun. You’re gonna have to think hard about this one, pull out all the stops. You could use the ol’ classic “Boo-who” but that’s too basic, too predictable. There’s one about yodeling, but you don’t remember how the second part goes, so you’ll have to improvise a bit.

You settle with a “Wa.” 

A few clicks resound behind those doors. You take a small step away from whatever they came from.  

Your mysterious interlocutor responds after a moment, sounding genuinely curious: 

“Wa who?” 

“Mario, is that you?” You offer, hoping that your improvised punch-line makes sense. After a second, a hearty chuckle echoes from inside the daycare. There’s a rumble as the doors before you start to swing open (which makes you jump again, but this time it feels more like the frantic wiggle of a disgruntled worm than the hop of a cat). The doors open slowly, making you wait a moment before gingerly taking a step inside and looking around. 

The darkness is almost complete in here, and the air feels heavy. There is a particularly dark area around the play structure right in front of you, casting even more shadows around itself. Within that darkness, you see a wavering, orange glow. Two pinpricks of light loom above you, shining down from this structure. You realize that this must be your new “friend.”

“I’ve never heard that one before,” It muses, “but I don’t think it’s legally advisable for any Fazbear Entertainment staff to mention Mario by name. Copyright infringement is against the rules.”

You realize that the glowing orange points are a pair of eyes. Eyes that are firmly locked on you during the slow tilt of its head. There are some other glowing areas around them, but they’re dim enough that you can’t make out their shapes.

“Ah, right. Definitely wouldn’t want to cause a lawsuit.” Your voice doesn’t even echo in this cavernous space. You are suddenly made very aware that you’re completely alone with this thing. In the dark. Pretty far away from anyone. Spooky, but you’re being so brave about it. 

The eyes before you do a whirling clockwise spin while the entire patch of orange glow moves rhythmically downwards. You hear something land gently on the floor with the rattle of a bell, crouching to absorb the impact. Those eyes are still on you, and you don’t think they’ve blinked at all. You are aware of how difficult it would be to evacuate this area. Deeply aware.

“Can’t have any guests overhearing the unlicensed use of another company’s character, now can we? Well, we’re alone in here, so I suppose I could let it slide…” The voice gives a dramatic hum as the stranger stands up, eyes rising to a height that towers over you.

“And I did like the joke... Alright, we can overlook this one. But you should be more careful, you know. I’m sure it would be a terrible hassle if Nintendo tried to sue the company again.” There’s a creak of metal and plastic as the figure seems to lean to the left, chuckling to itself. A few bells ring from the light source as its shoulders bounce with the laugh. Then, you hear a gasp.

“Oh- Now where are my manners? This is no way to welcome our new guest!” It speaks with a completely different energy, standing upright again. 

“Do forgive me, and allow me to introduce myself properly!” There’s a tap-tap-tap of steps as those luminous eyes get closer. You shuffle backward and tense at the sudden approach, arms raised defensively. This thing sounds kind enough, but hearing a massive metallic creature approach you from the dark and seeing nothing but its glowing eyes is pretty fucking scary.

Seeing your reaction, it comes to a stop. Now that it’s closer, you can see its eyes flash with a concerned look that darts around your face before landing nervously on the ground. It almost looks like it’s deflating, the way the lights seem to shrink in on themselves. You hear quiet, rapid taps from where you imagined its hands might be held, fidgeting.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry! Did I frighten you? Goodness- that’s no good, no good at all-” It keeps stumbling over its terse apologies, slowly backing away. Its body language makes it seem so much smaller than you, even though this colossal silhouette is obviously anything but. Those eyes are squinted in what might be the start of panic, or dejection. Oh great. We gave the poor robot anxiety.

“No, no, it’s fine- I just got a little, uh... Surprised because I can’t really see what’s happening and I don’t know what-” You’re cut off by the sound of a whack sound coming from the animatronic’s face. You realize it just facepalmed. 

“Of course! Oh, how silly of me, how ridiculous! I can’t very well introduce myself if you can’t even see me, now can I? Here- Give me just a moment-” It turns and disappears into the daycare, its muttering growing distant. You notice that, despite the bells you heard before, it was nearly silent as it left. After a moment of wondering if you should be worried, a click reverberates from above as the lights buzz to life. This causes you to squint for a minute, feeling just as blind as when you were in the dark. You blink until your eyes adjust and look into the now-illuminated daycare. The entire space looks much more inviting in the light; everything popping with color and life. Now, you can finally get a good look at the animatronic who’s approaching, more sheepishly this time. 

It’s easy to tell that they're at least 8 feet tall, even though they bow their head to appear less intimidating. It folds its hands together in the same way that an old lady might when she’s saying something sweet, except this colossal robot has four arms to work with. Double the gesture, double the sentiment, I guess. You think those fingertips might be pointed, but you’re choosing not to look too close. Its face is round with a crescent shape on the inside and two rows of triangles on the outside. You get the impression of one of those sun/moon theater masks: one that might be happy on one side, then sad on the other. There’s a large nightcap sitting at an angle on its head; the end of it rests on his shoulder and sways slightly with each step. All of the robot’s clothing look soft and flowy, giving it a very gentle and elegant appearance. Whatever plastic its face is made of, it’s clearly malleable, allowing the animatronic to make minute shifts in its expression for a precise demonstration of emotions. You have to admit, whoever designed the animatronics here is some kind of genius.

“There. Let me try one more time.” It sighs with an apologetic smile.

The half-sun, half-moon character stops before you and gives a dignified bow, the motion smooth and practiced.

“My name is Eclipse, I am the caretaker of the Superstar Daycare. It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome, and sorry again for the poor first impression.” They address you. Their smile is so genuine that you can’t help but mirror it as you return the greeting, introducing yourself in turn. 

“Come in, come in! Make yourself at home! Here, allow me to get you a seat-” They respond, visibly straightening up now that they know that there’s no hard feelings. You know that they literally glow, but they still seem so radiant with their rejuvenated spirit. That smile of theirs definitely got wider, and they move with a skip in their steps. They pull up two of the few adult-sized chairs and set them by a small, plastic table. It stands by one of the chairs and gestures for you to sit, intending to push in your chair for you. It’s pointedly gentle with this, too, even speaking slightly quieter because you were closer. You have to admit, this Eclipse is quite a charming host, and a fascinating character. After you are seated, they sit in their own chair and rest their upper pair of arms on the table between you, tapping their fingers rhythmically. The anxiety from before is gone, but an excited energy still dances behind those eyes.

“We don’t get a lot of guests, so it truly is an honor! Is there anything I can help you with, my dear guest?” He asks, tilting his head a little. 

“Yes, actually,” You begin, “I’m the tour guide for the museum area along Rockstar Row, and two of the exhibits disappeared last night. The cases were broken, so it looks like they might have been stolen. I tried to ask one of the nearby security bots about it, and it sent me here to learn more.” You point at your faz-watch and Eclipse looks truly enraptured by your every word.

“I see! Terribly sorry to hear about the exhibits, but that does explain a thing or two. I just got a request to authorize someone’s security clearance to come in here. I didn’t know what it could possibly be for, but I guess that must have been you!” 

“Yeah! Though I still don’t get why they wanted me to come here. Especially when there’s a dedicated security office for this sort of thing.” You admit. Eclipse chuckles at that and rests its chin in one of its hands, its eyes narrowing with a cheeky flaire.

“If I had to guess, that would be because I’m the head of security, here at the Pizzaplex.” His grin seems to widen at your surprise. He titters briefly before continuing, each laugh lighter than the flutter of a moth’s wing.

“Yes, funny how the head of security isn’t in the security office, isn’t it? Well, there’s rarely anything that requires my input down there. Though, I wonder why they didn’t just show you the camera footage when you asked, even if you aren’t security personnel-” He trails off, closing his eyes for a moment. His brows furrow and his smile slips for just a moment.

“Ah. So that’s why… But surely it would have…” They go quiet for a little longer, eyes flickering about beneath their eyelids. They hum quizzically as they open their eyes and look back at you with an unreadable expression.

“It looks like there are no recordings from the Rockstar Row’s security cameras from last night… But I’m certain I was able to see through them at the time, and I didn’t receive any kind of notifications about them malfunctioning later… That’s…” It gives a defeated laugh.

“It looks like I’ll have to investigate a bit more thoroughly, then.” They conclude, shrugging with their second pair of arms. 

“Well then! I’ll be in contact if I find anything, but you should go get ready for today’s tours.” He waves a hand and you feel your faz-watch buzz in response. On the screen, you see a message from Eclipse that just says “Hello :)” from a messaging app that management occasionally contacts you with. On the time above the notification, you can see that there are only 10 minutes until the first tour starts. Oh shit. You need to get moving. Eclipse springs to his feet and motions you to the door with a flourish of all four arms. 

“Feel free to message me if you need anything else, we’re always happy to help. It’s truly been lovely meeting you, and good luck with today’s tours!” They conclude with a showman’s poise. You thank them as you hurry out the door, to the stairs. Before leaving the daycare, you turn to give the grand play area one last glance, hoping to wave to Eclipse on the way out. You aren’t able to spot them, just a metal cable unfurling from the ceiling, falling to a point behind one of the play structures. Then, the lights go out, leaving you in a little hollow of light around the golden sun and moon statue. It’s a bit sad that you couldn’t say another goodbye, but you decide you’ll make up for it when you aren’t possibly running late for work. You are very grateful for the reminder, but you’re certain you never told them when the first tour was starting.

- - -

You return to Rockstar Row with 7 minutes to spare. Thankfully, your favorite staff bot has been kind enough to clean up the broken glass around the missing exhibits while you were gone. You make a mental note to thank them later, then make a physical note to place by the exhibits: 

“This exhibit is temporarily absent for routine maintenance and repairs” You write with your best handwriting and hope that it sounds official enough that the guests won’t interrogate you about it. You are so caught up in thinking about excuses you can give people or where you might find a temporary replacement that you don’t notice the heavy footsteps that stop right behind you.

“Hey, heads up. Somebody’s gonna walk right into ya if you’re spacing out in the middle of the walkway.” A voice snaps you out of it. You turn to see a pair of nonchalant, red eyes looking down at you over a pair of star-shaped shades. The legendary Montgomery Gator himself stands in front of you, with one hand on his hip and his head tilted like he’s somewhere between casual and completely uninterested. 

“Right, yeah. Didn’t mean to get in your way, sorry.” You take a step back, out of the way, shaking your head once to clear your mind like an etch-a-sketch. 

“Don’t sweat it.” Monty adjusts his sunglasses. You expect the animatronic to keep walking, but he’s still looking at you, so you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, you’re the museum guide, right? Not that you can call this handful of trinkets much of a museum... I heard you got hired a while back, but I never got the chance to see for myself. So, I’m Monty.” It seems he’s landed on casual over disinterested as he holds out his hand for a handshake. You return it, both of you giving a firm couple of shakes and feeling some mutual respect for it. It isn’t every day that someone returns a nice, solid handshake with the same amount of gusto. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you! I was trying to find the time to properly introduce myself, but this works, too. And yeah, we lost two exhibits last night, so the museum’s looking even more sparse than usual. Not really sure how I’m going to fill the tour time I usually spend on those, but I’ve only got 5 minutes to figure it out.” You say, shaking your head and shrugging in exaggerated defeat.

“Yeah, I noticed the empty cases. That’s tough. Someone should probably remove the broken glass, though; some kid’s gonna get hurt on that. So, did somebody steal ‘em?” He asks. He’s nonchalant about it, but he seems genuinely interested. Maybe there’s a secret passion for gossip and drama under that rough exterior... Or maybe he’s just concerned for everyone’s safety. Either way, his eyes are still locked on you.

“That’s what it seems like, but I’m not sure. I asked around and nobody seems to know what happened- the staff bots were even saying that they can’t access the security footage from last night… Well, I’m sure this incident has already been reported or logged in whatever system, so it’s probably out of my hands. Still, I’m gonna ask around for any signs of a break-in. Oh, speaking of, did you see anything weird last night?” You realize just how little you know about the situation as you recount everything, it’s all so odd. Monty immediately shrugs and shakes his head at your question, which is only a little disappointing. 

“Nope, I did a little patrolling around the atrium last night, but I spent most of my free time playin’ the bass.” He says, making air guitar motions for emphasis. Suddenly, he flashes a playful smile, then gives you a suspicious side-eye.

“Hey, you think I’m a suspect or something? This is startin’ to feel like an interrogation- I do have an alibi if you’re not convinced by my testimony, detective.” He makes sure to bitterly enunciate every syllable of the word. If he wasn’t smiling, you might think he was being serious, but you play along.

“Hmm, I really can’t rule it out… Anyone could be the perp- even me! No one suspects the detective, after all!” You dramatically wiggle your fingers at him, to which he feigns a shocked gasp. It’s incredible how these guys can make such realistic breath sounds with their voiceboxes. 

“We should’a known it was you, you connivin’ little punk!” He really hams up the act, pointing at you and everything. You laugh a couple times, internally commending his dedication to the bit. Even though you just met, he’s joking around with you like you’re old friends. It’s nice to be treated like you’re a cool dude without having to prove anything, and Monty immediately gives you that respect. You appreciate it.

“Seriously though: I don’t think you could wear the tophat with that mohawk of yours, and god knows what you would even need an old Chica arm for. So, I think you’re off the hook for now.” You gaze off towards your desk and the exhibits nearby it. There appears to be a small crowd gathering over there. You’re wondering what that’s all about when it strikes you.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be late for the tour.” You say, deadpan. After a beat, you start running over to your desk, dodging a kid. You don’t turn around, but you briefly look over your shoulder to say goodbye.

“See ya later, alligator!” Which works doubly well because he really is an alligator. You catch an amused Monty in the corner of your eye, and it seems like he gets the joke when he barks a single laugh.

“In a while, crocodile!” He shouts after you.

[empressofdiamonds]

I'll repeat it again

If you find yourself having to type out whole thick paragraphs, going on Spiels to explain yourself in your relationship with someone, THAT by itself is a sign it needs to be examined more and simplified more. Your relationship shouldn't be bible thick, and you shouldn't feel confused, unsure, uncertain about it. Keep it simple. Don't assume things, take things as they are, as objectively as you can.

I get lots of anons that are incredibly thick and reading about halfway I already know what's the issue. It's right there in the text. Often it's plain disrespect but the asker is explaining it away, minimizing it, instead of facing it upfront. I just don't answer those sorts of anons because it's always the same thing every time. I suggest you read my content and take a good ole fashioned step back, breathe and hard look at your own situation.

[sleepyperefix]

The barbie movie isnt perfect but I am kinda confused as to how many people think it's anti-men. It is a feminist movie and as such among other things, it holds a mirror up showing how we as men do ourselves a disservice by relying our self worth (and by proxy form our identities) on manhood and capabilities, instead of just who we are as individuals who exist. The movie is incredibly on the nose, which at first I thought was a flaw, but then I remembered that I have seen discussions where it was obvious that those sentiments actually need to be said out loud as they not obvious to everyone. On the other side apparently it should have been more clear with how it is not anti-men but also a commentary for all genders about growing and building an identity and self worth outside your designated role and question your world.

This ended up way too long but I hope it is understandable nonetheless. I am going to generalize a lot. Obviously people are not card boards and most men who are secure in themselves have an identity beyond manhood. I am broadly comparing toxic masculinity and gender hierarchies in reality to Barbies and Kens in Barbieland. Also spoilers.

The movie touches on how men, in order to hide their insecurities, lean into their role as man and acquire/max out object-focused (esp. male connotated objects and topics as cars, STEM and technology) knowledge and skills. This is to conform to the capability and providing standards for men, to find an identity within good role fullfilment and also a place in the united/uniform male experience (perfectly seen in 'push' and in men vs. women memes) since diverging from it devalues the own claim to manhood. The good ol' toxic masculinity spiel. Men in the patriarchy cope with the responsibility of power with misogyny, highlighting the perceived gender-dichotomy and how they are just biologically more [insert positively connotated attribute, men have claimed as part of their biology]. Then they assert the claim by 'proving' to be more capable than women. They decide the rules of the game and what a worthy skill is (and for whom), which they then get trained on as early as they are toddlers through toys. It is a lose-lose cycle.

And the Barbies do something similar at the beginning. They celebrate and are named after their professions/capabilities, believed they saved girls in the real world (legacy), and let the Kens worship them. They have more natural self worth and security as Barbies by virtue of being Barbies (just like men build their individual self worth on being man and their object-focused capabilites) but are somewhat empty because they are captives of their own system and habits, never really questioning it. They deserve power and to be worshipped, because they are Barbies. However Kens, at the beginning, are supposed to be empty on the inside and focused solely outwards on Barbies. It is not even that the Barbies want them, but this is how it is supposed to be. They are accessories. Their role inherently doesnt offer worth outside of Barbie, not even in capabilities (just as the women's role often is described as worthy only in relation to men and family). When the positions switched you then see how the Kens still not having the same natural self worth the Barbies had. It is socialized and fundamental, a casualness of design in Barbie society and the Kens are just copying the structure without understanding it and still having their old socialization internalized. Leading to Ken still being unhappy, chasing the same dream, and still insecure as a prestige role needs to be nurtured into natural self worth and with that a belief of deservingness and worthy capabilities to provide and be desired.

The movie then shows how men hold themselves captive in patriarchy, in the real world this is leading to sentiments such as: "Only women, children, and dogs are loved unconditionally. A man is only loved under the condition that he provide something" (Chris Rock), which was discussed as if feminism was to blame for the transactional nature of love and not the patriarchy. But then the movie also shows them that they are enough and how to escape the cycle. Accept yourself and fill yourself with self-worth by virtue of existing as an individual. It is an extremely timely message for men in a time when hustling, grinding and becoming a "high value man" is taught to young boys by influencers.

And most importantly it shows that we as humans can all be equal offenders if we have power but are emptily reproducing, insecure, and not reflecting. Ken is not an evil character. At first he is suffering from being oppressed. Not because Barbie doesnt want him, but because he isn't allowed and able yet to be anything other than the unloved and eternally competing and unsure accessory. His fault lies in going 'eye for eye' instead of for equality. Barbieland is said to be perfect but subtextually we are supposed to see that it is not. However, the Barbies are not evil either, they just don't know differently, they reproduce instead of question. This inherent human flaw is seen in them not establishing equality immediately but wanting to ease into it over time. They also are brainwashed in "seconds", because - an this is just my interpretation - they were just reproducing a (more prestige) role and an identity build on profession + role. Our main Barbie did not want to question anything either. In the real world then, men are also not inherently evil, but complicit in evil by naivety or ignorance, and with festering insecurity and lack of self-identity we have the very real potential to become toxic and alt-right. That's how they get you. They pick insecure men and give them a manual: (1) support the patriarchy and right-winged/conservative parties, (2) become capable and able to provide (dont worry, the path has been eased for you), (3) base your self worth on that, you will apear confident. Then women, who in this system have limited options, will want them and they will be powerful and worthy individuals. All in all, this message is as pro-man as feminism usually gets and supported in the movie by the men in the real world. They don't have an evil scheme to hurt someone, they even try to save Barbieland but ultimately cannot let go of their habits (almost like the Barbies) as they are ignorant and reluctant to lose power.

So no, Barbie (2023) is not anti-men. In fact, I felt more understood by this movie than by any other that sugar coats the lose-lose cycle of patriarchy. Barbie leaves at the end and that makes perfect sense. Like Frodo she has been irreversibly changed too much and and Barbieland has not. The Barbies might be capable and secure, but they are also just learning to question their world and changing it and themselves only slowly. The Kens are just starting to become secure and to find themselves outside of Barbies. The stereotypical Barbie on the other side has to go to a place where life might be worse but in the end as complex and full as she now is.

[koumeowkami]

Reread through the notes I made and to sum it up, I do think the pararai anime is neat! I knew spoilery stuff about Nayuta since way back when and had a general grasp of the character's trap reactions, but not so much about the general plot (aside from the winners and all) so I don't think I have much thoughts about it?

As a story in of itself though, I like that each group gets their time in the spotlight but apparently TCW doesn't get a full performance?— My notes kept mentioning it and I seemed a little annoyed—

Also live love laugh Ryu being a menace. It was enjoyable enough but given BAE and Cozmez seemed to be in the spotlight, it sort of left TCW and Akanyatsura behind in terms of development (Although they seemed developed enough, if that makes sense)

Stuff from my notes

Hell yeah this is what I've been waiting for! (ep 1)

The phantometals' effects look so good and I really like the look of the animation

Second instance (as far as I know) of Gakuto Kajiwara being the lead protagonist in a music franchise anime adaptation <- the other one being ACTORS: Song Connection..

I REALLY DO LIKE MURASE'S RANGE AS HAJUN

He's a mood (Allen)

Paradox Devil thing reminds me of Grim

Ryu-kun!

HANAEEEE

I did praise the animation but why does the stamen in that flower look so stiff

Cozmez? Cozmez!

Why is Kanata so pretty

I never really got into the how or why phantometals connect to their users other than making it from their trauma, this anime makes it digestible

(Allen drawing on Hajun's apron and shouting "Inspiration!") Leo Tsukinaga is that you

Hajun pretty boy antics

Bae oversleeping on opening night huh..

Hajun flying them in!

Trauma!

Cozmez is drawn so ethereal

The OP is really nice (ep 2)

Not Kanata gatekeeping hiphop?/lh

Kanallen! ..Nevermind, he was robbing him

..Mouse as big as a dog? Isn't that like a rat.. come on we have a song called rats and nobles..

Kanata gatekeeping!

Ryu-kun having fun! (the tcw vs akanyatsura battle)

—Not showing TCW & Akanyatsura's performance? Foul

Old man yaoi

(Has stopped keeping track of the episodes)

Time to see TCW performance. or not...

Ryu is a menace and I am INTO it

Reo is adorable

ep.5 and this OP still is a banger

Not Kanata and Nayuta both having their own spiels about "I can't let you stay here" <- since.. yeah, does that mean that this is how Kanata thinks subconsciously?

When are we gonna look at TCW performing

Allen working part-time throughout the Ryu episode...

HILARIOUS

Allen "little dapper man" Sugasano

ep.7

Nayuta...

Nayushiki duet at the end?!?@??@?

ep.9 - Sweet ol kanalller contend <- watched the scene and was writing at the same time while laughing hysterically

NAYUTA READ THE ROOM

(end of notes)

omg aeri... pls read the drama tracks when you can cause 😭 once you do you realize how much this anime is missing (or even got wrong)...

you're right abt akyr and tcw not having enough screentime and to be honest, i'd say the same abt cozmez since they didn't explain anything abt their backstory – nayushiki thing aside – and completely ruined the ending... bae got so many useless scenes 😞

so yeah, even if the characters seemed to have gotten any development, no one knows what caused it anyways (or at least, i talked abt the anime with my irl friend who's anime-only, and she genuinely didn't understand some stuff that happened cause they didn't explain shit lol).

replying to the stuff from your notes

the effects are really one of the only things i'm willing to defend abt this anime cause they were truly SO GOOD!! i was so scared of how bad the cgi would've been but i was proved wrong, the performances were all really cool <3

i'm not sure if you're into fragraria memories but gakkun voices the lead protagonist there as well! and hallritt has red hair too... curious...

paradevil is truly our grim... they'd be great friends

the flower symbolizes tsubaki, saimon's late wife (i'm pretty sure no anime-only fan understood that cause they never mentioned her LMAO; that's also why they keep showing that damn flower)

they "skipped" the justice performance but it's only cause they showed tcw with 4 real later! each group had one battle performance :D

yes, everything nayuta says is part of kanata's subconscious!! phantom nayuta is literally the personification of kanata's deepest thoughts, the truth under millions of layers 👍🏻

i loved kanallen in the filler episode, that's what youngsters would call "my roman empire" nowadays. also yeah notice kanata cockblocking himself (through nayuta)

i support you saying "why is cozmez so pretty" every few notes. relatable

[the-land-of-eternal-winter-novel]

I'm working really intensely on worldbuilding right now (which I'm also conveniently illustrating into a 9×9 political compass).

And there is this overarching theme of the Old World vs the New World, aka the world before a cataclysmic war 1000 years prior and how it changed afterwards. (So if you stretch the meaning of the label really hard this is a post apocalyptic novel lmao). Some people are indifferent to it as they are indifferent to history and politics in general, but some base their whole life philosophy on it, whether they see the Old World in a good or a bad light.

_______

But now that they celebrate precisely the 1000 year anniversary of the Peace Treaty signed after that war, everybody talks about it. Oh, it was better back then because it was more technologically advanced and socially progressive. No, it was horrible back then because the old regime murdered the old royal dynasty and changed the country for the worse. Well, the world has always been bad even before and will long continue to be so.

The old capital city was completely wiped off the face of the earth, which was due to an abnormally powerful type of weaponry which existed back then but was since banned and made impossible to rebuild. It's irrelevant what the source of the fire was, the city being burned to the ground is highly symbolic of punishment from God, akin to a second Sodom.

They celebrate the anniversary, but the tensions feel oddly high, instead of enjoying the current period of peace. It's as if they, whoever this "they" might be, want there to be a large scale war again. Or they might think that this period of awareness is their only chance to change the world. But oh, can the world ever really change?

King Afanasiy dies, presumably from the illness he had been suffering from for a few years, only 3 days after the celebration ended. Anatoliy, his middle child and only son, is now certain that the conspiracy he had suspected had been real all along. And he promptly took his revenge. On the wrong person. The neighbouring king no less.

Whoever this "they" might be, it was all they were waiting for. Or were they behind this?

_____________

On a less serious note, now I was drawing a panel for a type of villagers that live near the ruins of the old capitals, which are for various reasons "restricted zones". And this group especially (but not only them) idealises the old world and mythologises it. They seem attracted by the revolution, because its leader, Evgeniy allegedly came from a similar region and also believes the Old World was better. But Evgeniy is also lowkey an untrustworthy figure, having some sort of hidden agenda besides "workers' liberation" and bringing back liberal values of an era past.

The joke Old World Order could not escape me of course. But then I tried to make a NWO type acronym and ended up with OWO. Yeah this says a lot about society.

_______

To answer a possible question: this is not really fantasy, although not really pure Sci-fi either. The world is kind of the real world but at the same time very much not the real world. The gist of it is that many things in our society are the exact opposite there. Including the whole past=backwards and future=progressive spiel. I really wanted to play with intentional anachronism here, because it's a trope I love and I'm fascinated with this topic in general (retrofuturism would be a concrete example). It's not the case that time literally goes the opposite way and people are old then young or whatever. I'm not experimental enough as a writer for that. But think of it as the good ol Atlantis trope.

[kulemii]

ya know, i was thinking about the differences in temperament between y5 opening aizawa and y5 closing aizawa. yakuza 5 spoilers ahead.

opening- he's quiet but if you look at him, you can see how much he's biting back until eventually he gets tired of kiryu's shit and it sets him off so much that not even morinaga can stop him. like, sure you can say that we saw him act in a way that morinaga didn't approve of near that lil riverbank with a rando but i would argue that that was only because the whole situation had everyone acting out of sorts. ya know, with ol' dude missin and him knowing that aoyama would have their heads for it. but for the most part, he's silently at morinaga's side until kiryu does or says something that riles him up and then he's ready to lunge at him just about lol.

closing- he's speaking his mind without hearing "aizawa!" in the background (tho, morinaga might've been yelling it on his shoulder from the afterlife, rip lol) and he seemed so much more calm and at peace. maybe it's because he knows that in a few short minutes he'll finally be able to really get his hands around kiryu's neck? i don't wanna say it's because he thinks that he's already won, cuz i don't think so. i genuinely doubt that- i think he really did think he was gonna win (not for the underhanded shit but by pure strength) but he was still open to chance which it why he tossed his sword. he just seemed so much less agitated in the closing. you might say that it's because of his whole 'training in the shows' spiel but idk... the game didn't span over that much time, did it? enough for him to change his entire temperament? like, the only time he really seemed to get annoyed/agitated by kiryu was when he was scolding him for stepping down in the first place....

i always say that there's a difference in black suit silver tie aizawa and white suit purple shirt aizawa and it's mostly because of this. and something that it always leads me to is the analogy of being of & off the clock at work.

black suit silver tie aizawa was supposed to keep his mouth shut and play along because he was working. he was in uniform. and kiryu was agitating the shit out of him but even so, he knew that he couldn't quite say what he wanted to say. (yeah, he did say stuff but we saw exactly how much he really had to say in the end) and perhaps that's why he was like that?

white suit purple shirt aizawa was off the clock, caught that same customer in the streets and was finally able to say everything he had on his chest from the moment they met. then dared the bitched to do something about it- no lmao jk but no-- but like since he didn't have to hold back anything, there was really no need for such agitation?

sure, we can also argue 'that he was in on the plan so that's why he was different' but like.. when you think about it too hard, for too long you're left with the question: where does the plan begin and when does the act begin and end? i'm sorry, i love him with my whole entire everything but it's a whole year later and i still don't believe he's a fucking academy award worthy actor because that's what we would have to say if we were to go with the whole, 'it was ALL an act argument.' i also think that's boring. so.

this way gives him layers, and fleshes him out- at least to me. it makes him feel more whole than not. anyway, idk. i was thinking about all that and want to make a serious post about him for once 💜

[icanthocusfocus]

Chapter 9 of my Gonachrov Fic

A Summer’s Fruits

It is a brisk night, nippy even. Joe can feel the breeze against his nose, and it makes him shiver. He grips his ice pick within his coat. “You know, Joseph sometimes I think you’re smarter than you let on.”

”Then you must think me some kind of genius!”

”I do, in fact.”

They keep walking.

“Hey Val,”

”Yes Joseph?”

”Did’ya really mean that genius spiel? I never even finished school.” Joe itches his head with that same old pick. It’s never even rusted. He cleans it too often.

”Yeah, Joe, I did.” Valery slows, “By my figuring, you have to be. How did you know?”

”Know what?”

The view really is stellar here. Joe could imagine himself growing up here. If he’d been a child in Naples, everything would’ve been easier. Valery follows his gaze.

”It’s a nice view. A good last sight.”

”I wish I’d been born in Naples. I wouldn’t have been ice pick Joe, then. I’d just be… a Morelli brother.”

Val grips his shoulder, continuing to stare at the horizon. “How did you know where she’d be that night?” He turns to Joe, grabs his other shoulder, and pulls the man close. “How the fuck did you know!” Spit flies onto his cheeks, dripping down Joe’s face like tears.

“Buzz off, Val. Im thinking!” Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even resist when his head is pulled back.

”Was it Andrey?” The question is quieter than the accusations.

“…Na, it wasn’t Andrey. You wanna know how I found her?” He gets louder, “I didn’t even have to look. She wanted me Michailov! Thought we’d run off.”

He’s kneeling now, laughing too. Val’s first punch makes him shake and sway. The kick leaves him on the ground. He holds himself up with shaking arms. “She was a real good time, Ol’ Luce. Wish I’d kept her around a bit longer, but she swam so pretty!”

”I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

It’s true. Joe was never going to make it home that night.

“Fucking do it, but for God’s sake, stop whining.”

He closes his eyes when his head is placed up against the curb. He screams when Valery peels off his nails and places them in a neat pile. He cries when he takes the rest of one finger, and that sits besides the nails. He vomits at the site of bone, something he’s seen so often before. He giggles, just a bit, when he imagines his brain spread out on the pavement.

Valery pauses, hands quivering, and lights up a cigarette. The red end is like a beacon in the night. He leaves wet red streaks on his lighter. Joe wails when he reaches into his pocket and the fabric scrapes his naked nails beds. He clenches his fingers around his ice pick, sobs as he pulls it out. Val doesn’t notice. Doesn’t stop smoking. He can see the tears that meet the corner of his mouth. That turn the cigarette paper gray and damp. Val’s eyes, he knows, are blurry. He holds up the ice pick until he blinks away his tears.

Joseph Morelli is on his knees, one arm hanging loose to his side. In a world where he survived, his shoulder would never have been the same. Neither would his broken smile. He looks like a whole new man. His working arm is holding out the handle of his ice pick to the man that will kill him. His pockets are empty. He played all his cards just to survive past 20.

“You’re pathetic.”

He tries to nod. He tries to smile too, and he can feel it distort his broken features. His smashed nose shifts. His split lip spreads. He’s choking on the blood.

Val nods. Grabs it from his hands and shoves him over. Maybe, Joe thinks, he will reach that place inside that has always been broken. That spot no one else could ever reach. Perhaps this time the ice pick would finally do its job.

He does not float. Michailov makes sure he does not float.

A/N

I know the audio cut out at Goncharov’s line about Ice Pick Joe, but I’ve always heard it as ‘Anyone he wanted to’ rather than ‘anyone WHO wanted to’. Until Mr Scorsese says otherwise, I’ll be sticking by that interpretation.

Prev

[creative-anxious-soul]

another October on tumblr

what can i say....? where can i start? i sure as hell don't know! one thing i DO know for the first time in a very long time is that i am... happy. which is wow who knew? me? little ol 'hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me' me? but yes.

its shocking because its almost as if i don't know how i got here, but i actually do (again, for once!) I worked so hard and went through so much to get exactly where i am now. idk where my life's past events will lead me to next, but i have major faith in the unknown.

i am so smart, capable, dependable, and beautiful.

I have so much to say about the amazing love of my life Nash, and how much growth and abundance he has chosen to give to me. how we've worked together from day one to acquire things we both want out of our lives, and also helping one another acquire those things we want that have nothing to do with each other or anyone else, simply because seeing each other happy makes us feel the same. I cant wait to see every thing more we accomplish together, the first step being getting cozy in our brand new home <3

enough about him though - because thats not what this is about. i have transcended past the point of being happy and fulfilled only by the state of my current romantic relationship (feeling very secure and golden in mine definitely helps im sure)

over the last year or so i have noticed such deep and enigmatic change within myself, i dont quite understand it but i do know that it feels good. ive spent so many years now battling and thinking about my old self and how i can get back to her but i slowly learned i am never going to get her back. because i am going to get so so so much better than that.

i am going to get the girl whose spirit is curious beyond compare, and realistic to a fault. who dreams very large and has goals so big they could be delusions. i am going to get the girl that used to be those things PLUS the girl that was hurt along the way. plus the girl that was used, abused, tarnished, robbed, raped, and drained. plus the woman that was used, abused, raped, and drained. plus the woman who loved so hard she couldnt see. plus the woman who refused to settle and made plans to break free. plus the woman who sits here now typing this spiel.

i will never be the person i was again and i am so so so grateful for that. she had a lot more about life to learn, and unfortunately the hard way at times. but also the great way. the unbelievable, magical, i will persist no matter what way.

whats next for me is....ME! and a lot of it.

[chocosvt]

love café

⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 17.6K ⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess! ⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you. 

✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not. 

✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!

It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.

You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.

But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?

Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.

Even if it meant going to the Love Café.

In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.

You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.

The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.

“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”

Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.

Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.

“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”

“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”

“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”

At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.

You couldn’t believe he was here.

No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?

His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.

Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.

“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”

He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.

Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”

Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”

Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”

“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”

It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.

“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”

“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.

Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”

Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”

“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”

Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.

To a degree, you were correct.

Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.

And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.

Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.

You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.

Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.

“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”

Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.

Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.

“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.

“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.

“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”

“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.

“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.

One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.

Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.

Except, you needed access to a computer.

Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.

He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.

“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And I didn’t expect to see you.”

He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”

You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”

“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”

At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.

“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”

“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”

“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.

“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”

“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.

Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.

In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.

While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.

Tired. Aching.

Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.

An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.

Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.

Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”

The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.

Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But  this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.

Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.

“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”

He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.

“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”

Swallowing dryly, you nodded.

“Alright.”

The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.

Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.

You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”

Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.

You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.

He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.

“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.

You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”

Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”

“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”

The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”

“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”

Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”

Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.

It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”

“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”

“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”

“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.

At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”

Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.

As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.

“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.

You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”

“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”

“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”

“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”

“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”

“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.���

You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”

Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.

“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”

Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.

“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”

“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”

Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.

“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”

For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.

“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.

“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”

Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”

“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”

“The Shower what?”

He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”

When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.

But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.

“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”

His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.

“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”

He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes,  as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.

“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”

Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.

“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”

Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.

“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”

You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.

“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"

At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.

“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.

He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”

“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”

He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.

“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.

Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.

“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.

“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.

He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”

“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”

“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.

“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.

Twelve am.

Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.

However, tonight was different.

Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.

“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.

You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”

Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”

“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.

And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.

“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”

“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”

At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.

The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.

“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”

“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”

Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.

“I figured that.”

Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.

After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.

“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”

Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”

You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.

“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.

It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.

Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.

“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”

Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”

“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”

Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.

“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”

“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”

“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”

“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.

Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.

However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.

“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”

“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”

Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.

“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”

For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.

Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”

“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”

It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.

You raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”

“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.

Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”

“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.

“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”

His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”

The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.

“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”

You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”

“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”

The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.

“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.

“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.

Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”

“The red velvet cake?”

“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”

“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”

“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”

He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”

While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.

“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.

As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.

You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”

He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”

The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.

“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.

Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.

“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.

You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.

Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.

“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”

Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.

Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.

“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”

“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”

The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”

Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.

“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.

You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.

“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”

Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.

You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).

As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.

After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.

But you didn’t want to stop yourself.

In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.

[  9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but

[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?

Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.

[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.

Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.

However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.

And he was holding a drink.

You unlocked the door.

“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”

He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”

“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.

“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”

“You’re lucky that’s correct.”

Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.

“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”

“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”

“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.

He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”

“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”

Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”

Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.

“Later!” He’d called.

Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.

How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?

Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.

Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”

With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.

Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.

After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”

“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.

Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”

Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.

His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.

“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”

“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.

And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.

Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.

“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.

The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.

“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”

He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.

The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.

“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.

“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”

You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.

Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.

Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.

That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.

An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.

“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”

Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.

“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than  fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”

At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.

And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.

You told him you’d changed your mind.

When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.

Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.

“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.

Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”

“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”

You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”

Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.

“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”

The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.

Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”

“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”

He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.

You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”

Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”

Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.

And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.

Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.

She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.

They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.

Joshua bumped your elbow.

“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”

With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”

“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.

He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.

Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.

“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.

The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”

You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”

“Just shush up and try this.”

He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.

Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”

After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.

“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”

“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.

“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”

Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.

At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.

His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.

“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was  able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.

“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”

You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.

Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.

It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”

“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”

Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”

At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.

“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”

He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”

“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”

“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”

“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.

“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”

And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.

You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.

It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.

Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.

Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.

On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.

“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”

“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.

Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.

But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.

After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.

“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”

For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”

Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout  sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.

“Well,”  you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"

“I love you.”

“… What?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.

Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.

Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”

“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”

Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”

Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.

“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”

He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.

“I guess we do.”

You grabbed it politely.

Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”

“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.

As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.

“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”

You looked at your alarm clock.

“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”

Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.

“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”

Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.

No, you could not stay here.

Not when your future was with Jeonghan.

✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!