#so we can at least have that... as comforting as that is... not very comforting yeah. the communities arent exactly very good

[barnacles34]

Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down. 

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?' 

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moans so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluids spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

[gossipgurlingursht]

@nagillim79

In the UK we used to call this theoretical leftist activism "sixth form politics", ie politics as conceived of by 16-18 year olds who have never had to be self-supporting and have an overly rose-tinted view of human nature because they've been protected from reality by parents and teachers all their lives. Generally it tends to shatter when it bashes up against reality and the fact that most humans don't give a damn about each other and can't be forced to care. Not even by socialist governments. What you're asking about is praxis but the left in the west avoids praxis. They prefer utopian delusions and theories to actually having to sacrifice their personal comfort on the altar of getting things done.

Ignoring what any movements are currently doing, I think these unrealistic expectations can be held by any age group or ideology. I think on average, people just don't understand how democratic politics works, at least in the US. People get mad that Democrats don't fix everything immediately after winning a razor-thin majority, but

They've never gone to a meeting of their local party. They don't understand how freaking hard it is just to get a room full of people WHO SUPPOSEDLY ARE ON THE SAME SIDE to agree about literally anything.

They don't like when politicians take speaking fees or donations from companies. But they've never donated themselves, and don't have any idea how much it costs to run a campaign.

They don't canvass. They don't understand that the average American A. doesn't want to talk to ANYONE B. doesn't want to talk to anyone who calls themself a Democrat C. just wants to know how jesus fits into all of this.

They don't like when politicians "lie" to them (and some straight-up do). But they don't want to vote for someone who tells them a realistic goal of making incremental to moderate change within the limits of the current political climate & with (or against) the other democratically elected reps.

They've never READ and advocated for a bill or policy proposal before. They think medicare for all (which I support!) is as simple as "$2000 < $8000". They don't think about what to do with all the people currently working in the health insurance industry, how employers will act when their contribution is removed, how this affects the tax system, and how to build an entire freaking government agency. "It doesn't matter, M4A is about saving peoples lives!" Yeah, so we need to make sure we're smart about it & do a good job.

To be very very clear, I don't hate leftists, we agree on a lot of points, and I don't think they were responsible for 2024. I am just begging, BEGGING, Americans to do something, ANYTHING, to get involved. Never tell me you're bored if you've never volunteered in politics!

The left SUCKS at recruiting people. And so many of you are part of the problem.

The talk about centrists and moderates being the literal devil I see constantly in online leftist spaces is one great example of the left's failure. Yes, it sucks when the people don't see how horrible the right is. But centrists are some of the most open people to discussion- and some already lean left!!

You can't demonize moderates to such an extent that you close yourself off to them and then wonder why you're losing swing states.

Centrists aren't even always people with all the privileges- you will find plenty of people who are part of marginalized groups who are concerned about politicians on all sides.

You can be a smol radical leftist bean all you want who only talks to other smol socialist and communist beans, but you're never going to make the difference you want to in the world that way. It's the cold, hard truth. It doesn't mean you have to engage in discourse with everyone- some people have no real hope of changing and are emotionally draining- just more than your bubble.

I am tired of the left eating itself alive and deranged people like Trump winning.

[sucodelaranja86]

I saw ur recent post n dw I got u w the requests💪🏽

Could we get a Cho Hyun-Ju x f!reader where we know each other before the games n are already friends? We wake up w the rest of the players n get close to Dae-ho who quickly becomes one of our best friends n Hyun-Ju noticed n becomes jealous of how quick we got along w him which causes tension w her that the rest of the group can feel except us cuz were so oblivious to the point that we have to be pushed to Hyun-Ju n ask her whats wrong which leads to her spilling n some suggestive stuff?

★ : jealous girl＂

featuring: hyun-ju cho x reader, mentions of dae-ho x reader.

summary: you and your best friend hyun-ju were both at the mercy of this horrible game in order to pay your debts. However, in the middle of the game, you found comfort in the presence of another person, which sparked some unwanted feelings inside hyun-ju's heart.

warnings: none.

A/N: I sneaked a mouthwashing reference in the middle of the text, can you find it?

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

➤ Staying at this hellish place was not for the frail or for the weak, both physically and mentally. You had already finished 3 games, and you simply couldn't wait to go back to your precious home, as you finally realized how much you missed it.

But things weren't completely lost, at least you hoped so. You still had your precious friend with you, and that eased your spirits. She was mature, collected, and always knew what to do. It was like she had a natural leadership. It gave you a comforting sensation knowing that you had her.

Well, you had some other idiot too.

Dae-ho was like an useless ray of sunshine. His positive humor and personality were a contrast with the harsh reality of this dark place. You quickly found a good relationship with him. Before you even realized, you were spending time with him, sharing food and starting conversations. His presence, albeit childish, calmed you down a lot more than you would expect.

And that didn't go unnoticed by hyun-ju.

She had formed a nice, small group with her former partners. An old lady named Jang geum-ja, with her son, Yonsik, and a small girl named young-mi kim (who you managed to save last second in mingle by pulling her to your room). You grew very found of them, but that didn't mean Hyun-ju felt the same with your former partner. Quite the opposite.

She couldn't stand the overgrowing jealousy inside her. You two only were friends, her feelings didn't matter on this situation. She shouldn't get jealous of a partner she didn't have.

She just wished you spent more time with her. She just wished you spent less time with him. She just wished you paid more attention to her. She just wished-... Dang it.

Her feelings didn't go unnoticed by people, anyone could notice her bold feelings. Anyone but you. Everyone in the room could read her growing jealousy, everyone could notice her gentle stares at you and the not-so-gentle glares she sent in Dae-ho's direction. Again, everyone but you.

-

You, Jun-hee (a friendly pregnant player who you had grow really protective of.), Geum-ja and Hyun-ju were at the female bathroom. After a couple of minutes, both ladies had left the bathroom, but not before wishing goodnight and to take care to both of you. Leaving only you and Hyun-ju alone in the immense bathroom, full of multiple cubicles painted a nice shade of pink.

You could notice her not-so-friendly stare to her own reflection at the mirror. You knew she was having one of those insecure moments were her dysphoria was hitting her like a ton of bricks. But before you could protest any further, you heard her quiet voice mutter to you.

"... What is your relationship with him?"

The silence that invaded the room was so heavy it could be cut with a knife. You were half confused and half in shock. You two were friends, sure. And friends talked about crushes right? Right. But this... This didn't seem like the case. You, after a few seconds of contemplation, finally managed to get a response out.

"What do you mean, Hyu-" before you could even finish your sentence, you were harshly pinned to the wall of one of the cubicles. Her bigger frame towering above you.

"Do you know how you make me feel? Can't you feel it? Can't you notice it?" your confusion was quickly shattered as you finally could connect the pieces together.

Hyun-ju cho liked you.

And, at this moment, she was jealous.

You mentally facepalmed as you didn't have the capacity to realize it sooner. On one side, you felt like a stupid, idiot buffoon. On the other, your insides felt like melting at the realization that the love of your life felt the same way too.

You almost forgot the situation you were on as a quiet grunt pulled you out of your daydreams. Ah, right, she was still mad.

You gently put your hands on her cheeks, her expression softening almost immediately. You slowly start pulling her face down, and her body immediately obeys your subtle command.

"I love you, Hyun-ju."

It was the unasked, but obvious reassurance that she needed at the moment. Her body immediately bends to you, laying her face to your neck and snuggling her body as close as she could manage to yours.

"now, let's go back, we need to-" she again interrupted you. But this time, you could say you were more pleased than offended.

"don't think i can simply let you go after everything." she says, gently biting on your shoulder after a few seconds.

"uh...?" you silent question was quickly aswered by a harsh grope to your butt.

"i know you more than you know yourself, my dear. Don't think i don't realize how you used to stare at me before we entered here."

You were dumbfounded, unable to do any movement due to shock and a hundred of other feelings you couldn't describe properly.

But none of them were bad.

Your small paradise was quickly interrupted by a loud banging agaisnt the door, followed by a harsh voice.

"player 120, player [number], back to your dormitory, now!"

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

A/N: i suck so bad at doing suggestive themes. Sorry.

[just-a-itty-bitty-kitty]

Voice of the Smitten is a coping mechanism. (and so are the other voices)

The same thing applies to the rest of the voices, yes. But for my sanity, today, let's just talk about Smitten[I am ill about him].

Smitten is fixated on the Princess and on appeasing Her because he's born out of a belief that She's their only way to happiness and safety.

In Damsel's chapter 1, LQ establishes for themself that the Narrator is not a safe nor trustworthy person, but unlike Prisoner's ch1, instead of learning to be generally cautious and adopting an idea that there's no one they can fully trust, Quiet puts all of their trust into the Princess.

I strongly believe that, in order to shield themself from a dangerous, unclear, and scary reality, LQ dives into a sort of... 'fairytale' scenario. And that scenario, by extension, becomes the backbone of Smitten's whole worldview. He, just like the rest of the voices, is born out of a need for safety and control, and he knows of it as his purpose and his yearning. His mindset works as a mechanism that protects Quiet from a state of intense stress and discomfort.

So then, what is this mindset, exactly?

Well, for Smitten, expectations of certain roles appear. Roles that everyone has and needs to uphold: The Shining Knight, the Helpless Damsel, the Villain that's keeping them apart.

"Then you should know that we and the Princess are in love and the four of us will be foiling any and all assassination attempts you've got in the works."

These roles bring a sense of comfort. He has this vision of what the world is supposed to be, of what he's supposed to be. Fairytales always have happy endings, so with this vision, there comes a promise of everything working out.

"If he just makes everything go the way it's supposed to, then they'll be safe."

It gives Smitten the role of a protector, someone who controls the situation and wants the best for Quiet, as opposed to the Narrator who has an ulterior motive and clearly just wants to hurt them.

It gives him a sense of control.

So when something goes wrong, it feels like that control is yanked away, and that threatens his and LQ's safety. It takes away his happy ending that he tries so hard to keep.

"We'll get our happy ending, even if it damns each and every person who's ever lived!"

Another thing worth remembering is that the voices and LQ are at least under the impression that they haven't been living for very long. The only experiences they have to go off of, to learn from, are the ones we see in Chapter 1 and then on. To Smitten, the last time things went awry, they died horribly.

So it's no wonder he freaks out and feels like he has to push back for control. And that is also why he sees no problem with killing Quiet's body or even detaching himself from them entirely.

"Don't mind my sacrifice. It's a fair price to pay to give her everything she doesn't know she wants."

He places the responsibility for taking care of everyone on himself. Smitten is firmly under the impression that he "knows better". And he's even proven right a fair amount of times, which only solidifies the idea in his head.

"I told you! There's no life more worth living than that of a true believer!"

"I told you our love was insurmountable!"

But that also means Smitten unintentionally traps himself(and everyone around him) into a box, limiting his potential to just that, a shallow role. And that creates the feeling of inferiority.

His role is all there is to him, so if he can't uphold it, then it means there's something fundamentally wrong with him. It means he's failed.

In fact, Smitten seems to be laser-focused on his own shortcomings, at least when it comes to the Princess.

If She's somehow unhappy with anything Smitten has to offer, then it's not because She did something wrong, or because of some outside factor out of their control(he doesn't want to accept anything being out of his control, even if it would seemingly benefit him). No, it's because Smitten wasn't enough.

He idolizes Her while putting himself down.

"That's because she's perfect!"

It's a bit more complicated with The Long Quiet. On one hand, they are technically one person, but on the other, the voices like to distinguish themselves and seem to have a sense of their own identity.

If we take a look at one of Damsel's third chapters: The Burned Grey, Smitten is very distraught and angry at Quiet, and yet also berates himself at the same time.

"Ah, yes. The mirror. So we can see the monster we've become."

"No, my love! You did nothing wrong! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY, NOT YOU!"

So I think we can assume that it's a mix of both. He may feel angry at LQ but will ultimately blame himself.

Because it's his job to make sure everything went smoothly. It's his job to make sure that She was happy, because if She's happy – they're happy and they just threw all of his work away, but he was supposed to stop them. He was supposed to keep them happy.

He was supposed to keep them happy.

[sulumuns-dootah]

This might not be very good request but it seems adorable in my mind…falling asleep on the kings? Maybe watching a movie or something and we just conk out. This may come from the fact that I’m a hardcore Leviathan hater but I feel he’d push us to the ground 😪

Falling asleep on the WHB kings

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The moment Satan notices you're out, he looks down at you and can't help but smile

You look so peaceful which is a welcomed change from the constant stress of angel attacks

He'll try to lay still for you, but can't promise anything

If he needs to move, he'll first try and test to see how deep asleep you are before picking you up and moving you either to bed or back where you fell asleep

       ༺☆༻

This man is as comfortable as a rock

I know we technically slept on him in the main story, but c'mon... just by looking at him you can tell his muscles could cut glass

So if you happen to fall asleep on him, he'll remain unmoving

A part of him is giddy that you feel this comfortable around him and that you see him as your protector

       ༺☆༻

Now, Leviathan pushing you to the ground depends on how close you are

And since he even considered to allow you to watch a movie with him, I'm guessing you're kinda closer

Okay so, if you fall asleep on him, he probably won't mind right away

But he won't try to be still for you either

He'll pretty much ignore you

At least until he has to get up or something

Only then he'll push you off and whether it's gently back onto the surface you're on or the floor depends on how close you are

       ༺☆༻

Another one that I'm not sure how you fell sleep on

Staying still is damn near impossible for Beel

And honestly, 0/10 would recommend falling asleep on him even if you could

Like the jokester he is, the moment he sees you're asleep, he's getting the marker out and doodling on your face

Honestly, I'd say the only time you're safe falling asleep from his shenanigans is after getting your insides rearranged and Beel feels all lovey-dovey

       ༺☆༻

Let's be honest here

Belphegor is the first one to fall asleep

So you can safely fall asleep too

And if do happen to beat Belphie to it, he'll just chuckle

'Who's the slothful one now, huh?'

All in all very wholesome ♥

       ༺☆༻

Watching a movie?

It maybe started that way, but you surely don't end the evening that way

Over the course of the movie transitioned you from sitting next to him to cockwarming him and to making you bounce on his lap

So the only way you could pass out is from all the action

At that point when your body slumps down against his chest, he'll just continue fucking up into you and groping your body

Only after he finishes for the nth time, he'll check if you're okay and slip out of you to set you down to rest next to him

       ༺☆༻

Writing these last four kings is always funny bc of how they usually go back and forth :D

Lucifer is the exact opposite of Asmo

When you fall asleep on him, he'll try to move without waking you up so you don't have to sleep in such an awkward position

In moments like these, he also allows himself to get a bit more clingy and cuddles up with you more

Too bad you're not awake to feel all his affectionate touches and gentle kisses all over you face :(

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

"You really have thought a lot about me, haven't you, Ems? I...didn't think anyone cared about me that much, let alone thought about me very often. But, yes, at least let me help. It's the least I can do." Remus nodded as he stepped inside and headed to the guest bedroom. "Yeah, gotcha. What? Ems, no, this is your house. You should sleep in your own bed. I'm fine on the couch if you ever get bored of me during the night. It's more important that you sleep well considering you're...kinda gonna be taking care of both of us until I get better. You're gonna be our caregivers, so sleep is more important for you, mister!"

Remus settled Patton down gently on the bed, then he helped Emile get Patton comfortable. "Really?" He snorted, "Probably cause if it scars badly from poor care we'll have evidence to sue them with. But we have no proof that they weren't giving him pain medicine. Alright, sounds good. Hungry? Hm... Not really, but I could munch on some snacks. Ah, yeah, I don't know when's the last time he's ate... If you have some of that soup leftover we could just reheat that, right?"

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[cherie-doll]

I have this brainrot for a while now

Which cod man would be the most husband material, who waits for the shortest amount of time before getting married? And who would be the one who would be fine with not getting married at all? And where are the rest of them?

How many kids would they want if they want?

I don’t need sleep, i need answers!😭

sorry for the delay my wifi is so slow, we just got a new batch of snow down here and tbh it might be affecting my internet

✧ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᰍᩚ Price... he's PERFECT husband material. Cut from the finest cloth I'm SO normal about him. You've just observed his behavior closely and he doesn't do annoying things like leaving his clothes lying around on the floor or leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He def want to get married, but doesn't wait too long nor asks you right away, he'd time it just right. As for kids? Maybe he could convince you to have one or two...

ᰍᩚ Ghost... he doesn't realize he can lowkey be a good husband. He thinks he's not willing to adapt to anyone, given how much stuff he's been through. A relationship isn't the worst thing he's had to go through, he's gone through worse, so why is he thinking about it so much? He doesn't want to enter a relationship with only half a heart, not mindlessly. But he knows his feelings towards you don't come from nothing. His feelings would have to be resolved before you even started dating, so that afterwards everything progresses pretty smoothly. And after marriage, kids? Maybe idk.

ᰍᩚ Soap... he probably had your entire life planned out before he confessed. He knew he loved you, was convinced he wanted to marry you and needed to have kids. So, he waited the least amount of time to marry you. There's lots of things he could improve on as a partner but the good thing is he's willing to make any and all of those changes for you. His respect will never run dry, he won't let desperation take ahold of him, always letting you know one way or another he still cares. It was up to you to decide how many kids you'd be okay with but if it were up to him... yk what better not go there.

ᰍᩚ Gaz... Perfect boyfriend AND husband material. He loves showing affection with the little things, a cup of coffee or tea and cuddling when you feel down or taking care of chores when you need a break. Simple things that he does on the daily that in the long run fortify your relationship. The amount of time he waits before asking you to marry him depends and it's all on how you want your relationship to progress. He's surefooted in his decisions so after the initial stages of the relationship when he's gotten to know you very well, your faults and what he loves about you, he just lets you know that if you want to take that step, he's more than ready to do so. He def wants kids, at least three.

ᰍᩚ Roach... oh my sweet boy ToT. He's such boyfriend material and in time will no doubt grow into a loving husband. He very deeply cares about your connection and how deep it runs between you both. The topic of marriage comes up at a very proper time in your relationship, it's when all he can think of is holding your hand every day, how comforting your presence is to him and how this couldn't ever revert into something casual. Marriage is a definite yes for him. Kids are something he wouldn't think of right away. Maybe a few years down the lane, and maybe one.

ᰍᩚ Alejandro... you made him wish impossible things. How you've made him feel, the sensations not only running smoothly over his skin but finding a way to penetrate deeply, to make him desire nothing else but a life with you. Marriage was the ideal way to continue living in that daydream. How he wishes the days were endless, so he can rejoice for eternity with you. If this was what made him wish to be better, then he was surely husband material. In time, he'd want to start a family with you, to create life, to have little ones to take care of. Three or four kids would occupy his days.

ᰍᩚ Rudy... is THE blueprint for all husbands out there to follow. He's very patient, his voice soothes you, could lull you to sleep. Always listens to you even if you rant, if you point out a flaw of his he works to be better. Never pushed you into doing anything, even when he could already hear the wedding bells ringing, he wanted you to make this decision on your own. In the back of his mind, he most likely already had baby names planned and asked if you wanted kids. He def did and wanted three. He thought it was the perfect number.

ᰍᩚ Phillip Graves... husband material at its FINEST. He's not only charming and a gentleman as a boyfriend but also as a husband. He just couldn't wait to put a ring on your finger so he did want marriage very soon. There is no way he'd NOT want children, he's just as much father material as he is husband material. I've said it before but he was made to father children and I will die on that hill. He loves going everywhere with his son, showing him how to run a company and then he gentles when his daughter is born, doing everything she wants.

ᰍᩚ Makarov... husband material at the core. Deep on the inside he can be genuine and want to care for someone. He likes having someone to depend on him, under his care, leaning on him for that strange affection that isn't found anywhere else. It would be hard to refuse him with the amount of gifts he sends to sweeten you up and coax you to accept his proposal that came too soon for your liking. But look at it this way, he'll always provide everything you'll ever need and want and in exchange you only have to agree to marry him, live with him and... kids. Yes, he wants kids. A numerous family preferably.

ᰍᩚ Keegan... is quite levelheaded when it comes to relationships so he's fine with staying your boyfriend and living with you or becoming your husband when you marry. He could improve on becoming peak husband material but you're lucky if he picks up his clothes from the floor and places it in the laundry basket instead. He thinks having no kids is better until you get a scare thinking you might be with child and he gets excited until you call false alarm. He felt disappointment and then realized he did want kids after all. Would be fine with just one but wouldn't completely be against having another one later on.

ᰍᩚ König... it's not him you have to worry about when it comes to marriage. He's got to watch out for himself because YOU'RE going to wife him up, otherwise he'd never get around to asking you to marry him. Not that he wouldn't want to but he's thinking when would be the perfect moment to ask and he's always thinking, "I'm going to ask them next date", and another date comes and goes by and then another and another... He'd learn to be so loving with kids you just gotta convince him he CAN be a good father. I don't know how many he could handle though.

ᰍᩚ Horangi... he's fun but he's prob best as a boyfriend. Not that he could never be a husband because he can, but he'd be completely fine with not marrying. If you're expecting him to bring up the question and get down on his knee for you... then you're probably setting yourself up for disappointment. It'd take him a while and you'd have to hint at wanting marriage, because otherwise he wouldn't mind just moving in together. I know I used to say he'd want marriage quickly but idk man my perception of him changed. He might get baby fever (rare) and he might ask for ONE kid them, but don't think he's the type for them much.

ᰍᩚ Nikto... if he does open up to wanting a relationship you've got to work with him on the long run. He might be closed off to certain things simply because he might not see a point in progressing in that field, but once he sees that you respect him and don't force anything, he'd def want to marry you. I'm not exactly sure how long he'd wait before proposing to you, honestly it all depends but once he grows attached to a person he wouldn't want to be apart from them so I'm guessing he'd tie the knot pretty soon. The topic of kids is something he's very hesitant of, he rarely gets baby fever, like ever. It'd have to be a lot of convincing on your part. But he might be okay with one or two at most.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #57: Indulgence

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, comfort, starvation, body image issues, fear of torture, whumper turned whumpee

sorry for the long wait! i really do want to write more this year :)

-

Before Kane could get a single word out, he was tackled.

He just barely managed to keep his balance and stop himself from toppling to the ground as Bellamy’s arms wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him in warm and tight.

“You were dead.” His voice came out squeaky, thick with quick-forming tears. “There was that incident last month, but everyone thought that must have had to have been an impersonator. You’re truly here! Truly!”

“I’m here.” Kane hugged him back, but they only stayed like that a moment before Bellamy pulled back to see his face, still looking quite as though he couldn’t believe Kane were real.

“Where on Earth were you?” he asked, hands still clutching Kane’s arms with the grip of a man who imagined those arms would vanish if he let go.

“It’s a long story.” Kane took a deep breath. “Bellamy, I’ve wanted to say this for a long time. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I know–”

“Oh, don’t worry about that right now,” Bellamy did free one hand then, requiring it to gesture flippantly and then wipe the tears from his face. “Appreciated, to be sure, but there will be plenty of time for that after more pressing matters. Please, do come in, darling.”

A soft smile grew on Kane’s face. Bellamy wasn’t angry with him, at least. “Thank you. I would love to.”

It was only after he’d crossed the threshold of the doorway that Bellamy dared to let go, though he didn’t let his eyes off Kane for a moment as he made his way to sit on a plush couch in the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, all politeness, though Kane knew exactly what he must look like. What Bellamy must see. Perhaps if Bellamy had seen him months earlier, he would have been unable to maintain such composure.

Not that Kane really minded at all. He was being offered food. “Yes, please.”

Before he knew it–Bellamy having dashed the whole way to the refrigerator and back–there was a pack of cold blood in his hands. “I’m able to warm it up for you, of course, but I do recall that when we were boys, you’d always said the pre-packaged never tastes as good reheated.”

“I don’t mind either way, nowadays.” Truthfully, Bellamy could have tripped and spilled the blood all over the floor and he would have gladly licked it up without much thought. He had before.

He bit into the soft plastic casing and drank. The cool blood was a bit stale, though nowhere approaching spoiled. He wouldn’t have cared if it was. It was delicious nonetheless, and after he’d exhausted what he could suck out through the holes, he tore the packaging apart and licked up every remaining drop clinging to the sides.

“It’s ethically-sourced,” Bellamy commented. “From free, willing, paid humans overseas.”

“It’s really good! Can I have another?” Kane asked before he could stop himself. He’d never been able to indulge before, not since his capture. He was grateful for what Jim had given him, of course. Grateful would be the understatement of the century. But Jim was one human, and he could only give so much at a time.

“Of course!” Bellamy clapped, just once, delighted. And when Bellamy returned, he had two.

Kane downed both, in the same manner as the first. Three meals, just like a human.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Bellamy started slowly, despite that it was very obvious he quite badly wanted to pry. His voice got a touch lower, gentler. “But Kane, my dear. Have you been… eating well?”

Kane crinkled the empty casings, something to do with his hands. He’d really been very proud of the progress he’d made. When he’d first seen himself in Jim’s bathroom mirror, he looked almost like a skeleton, every available bit of fat and muscle his body could spare cannibalized in its attempt to find something to keep him going, until there was nothing left.

He did look better now, after six months of regular meals. He was still far, far skinnier than he was before the hunters, but he had some meat on him now. His cheeks only sunk in a little bit. His collarbone jutted out in a way that just barely bordered ‘passably normal’. You could see the bones of his arms from the inner arm, but not the outer, so as long as he took care to hold his arms just so, no one could tell. Not that he ever really made an effort. His hair didn’t have bald patches anymore, didn’t shed every time he touched it. If he wore layers, which he always did–and not even for that reason–you couldn’t see his ribs. So long as one didn’t look too carefully, he could pass as a regular man.

But Bellamy always looked carefully.

Bellamy didn’t look starved at all. He didn’t have to try not to, of course. His skin was smooth and his face was full. His hair was thick and lucious and styled. He had the figure of a healthy man, one who had food available to him every single day of his life. He only wore one shirt and his abdomen didn’t fall inward from under his ribs like Kane’s did. He smelled like lavender cologne. He practically glowed.

“I… went through a period where I hadn’t been eating very well at all. But as of the past few months, I have,” he answered honestly.

Bellamy sat beside him. “Truth be told, I do mean to pry this time. On account of my increasing worry, you see. Where have you been all this time?”

“Human territory.” Kane looked down at the empty packaging in his hands. The label used the same phrasing Bellamy had–Free, willing humans! “I was captured by vampire hunters when I’d, I’d, ah, hunted f-for a new human. Things were not, um, good there. I wasn’t fed, as you’ve gathered. Then Jim, you remember Jim? He came and got me out. I’ve been living with him for the past seven months. Not owning him!” he clarified hastily, looking up then. “As roommates.”

“I see.” Bellamy’s eyebrows had slowly drawn together in concern more and more the longer Kane had talked. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re out of there now, dear. I did always like that Jim boy.”

“And I’m sorry,” Kane tried again. “You were right about everything. About humans, about me, about our families, all of it. And I was a bad friend. Even before we parted ways, I always acted like I was better than you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I really am sorry.” And then, before he could stop himself: “Do you think we could try again?”

Bellamy smiled. “Well, I really am right about everything,” he mused. “I’ll admit, it’s all true. It took me a time to see as well, that you really were dreadful, though I never imagined I’d hear an apology from you.”

Though Kane had expected worse to start, it still tore a hole in him to hear Bellamy call him dreadful. Even if he knew it was true.

“That said,” Bellamy continued, “We were children. I was never the one bearing the brunt of your wrongs, and you’ve clearly turned over a new leaf. If even Jim has forgiven you, I see no reason not to. Absolutely, we can rekindle a friendship.”

Jim has not forgiven him: he’d made that clear. But he moved forward anyway. Maybe he could do that himself, too.

“I would love that.” Kane let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, like a weight had been lifted from him after a century. “Maybe–maybe you could visit sometime. If you want to. I’d have to get permission. Do you ever go to human territory? I mean, you shouldn’t, but if I got permission, Jim’s sister is a hunter, you see, so it should–”

“Oh, yes, the sister! Elizabeth, if I recall? Yes, I’ve spoken with her, though well over a decade ago,” Bellamy cut in. “I do imagine she’s quite pleased to have her brother returned.”

Kane blinked. “You know Liz?”

“Oh, Jim and Caroline had exchanged phone numbers that night we met, you see. Caroline and the young girl had had a few conversations, but the girl had stopped at some point when she’d realized we had no way to affect Jim’s situation. I do not mean to imply I know her, I’d merely answered the phone and handed it off to Caroline a time or two. She’d always sounded frightened when I’d been the one to answer, so I did not linger,” he explained. “My, she must be grown by now. How time flies!”

“Oh. That’s–she never mentioned,” Kane stammered. “Is Caroline still…?”

“Alive and well, I assure you, though she has moved on to greener pastures. She’s found love, you see. She lives with her boyfriend nowadays, though she’s over often enough that my kitchen is still stocked with human food.” Bellamy reached to collect Kane’s empty packages, which he reluctantly released.

“So she’s back in human territory?” he asked.

“No, just across town. Her boyfriend is no human.”

Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Oh my.”

He supposed he shouldn’t be too scandalized by the thought of a human and a vampire together. Humans were people, he knew that now, he’d accepted it long ago. Still, it felt… odd, in a way he could not adequately explain.

Bellamy laughed. “You must get with the times, darling.”

-

They sat there chatting for hours, and Kane had almost never felt lighter. It was like he was someone else, a version of him he’d never been before, where he was not horrible to anyone and no one had ever been horrible to him. Bellamy didn’t know what happened, not really, and with him, it was like he could forget, too. Just for an evening.

Just until he happened to glance at Bellamy’s clock and notice the time.

He startled out of nowhere. “It’s late,” he gasped. “I’m not–am I going to be able to get home in time?”

“Well, I’m not sure, as I’ve no idea where you live,” Bellamy points out. “Will you?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Kane grabbed Bellamy’s sleeve, terror striking his heart. “Please don’t make me go out there,” he begged. “I can’t–please, Bellamy, please.”

“What?” Bellamy put his hand over Kane’s, though he made no effort to remove his hold. “Of course, dear. You may spend the day if you wish. Why on earth would I force you into the morning?”

It was all crumbling apart. Of course he couldn’t be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Kane squeaked out, tearing up, but before he could say more, he found himself enveloped in a hug.

“It’s alright.” Bellamy held him as he struggled to collect himself. “You needn’t explain. Or you can, if you’re ready, or once you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Kane breathed.

It was silent, then. He didn’t want to explain. Not yet.

When he’d stopped crying–not that long after, by Kane’s standards, to his pride–Bellamy pulled back. “You know,  I was wondering… how you’re getting blood? Is it still Jim?”

“Oh, yes,” Kane sniffled. “He’s very generous. But he’s actually just recently stopped, and I’m to provide my own from now on. I was meant to go to my parents and clear my status as deceased, but at the last second I decided to come here.”

“I’m flattered,” Bellamy said haughtily, a hand on his chest. “You’d mentioned my going to visit you. What if I were to bring you blood? The kind you’d ‘sampled’ tonight.”

“You’d really do that?” Kane asked. The idea was beyond tantalizing–he could have all the blood he wanted, and not have to run across human territory, even the part with friendly hunters.

“I do. I would so like a chance to visit human territory without scaring the locals, besides!” Bellamy enthused. “A win for us both!”

The next night, Kane returned home with a bag full of blood packs. For once, he could see a future for himself.

-

…

He reviewed the grainy VCR footage captured by the security cameras at the de Sang estate. It was the strangest thing: he just ran up to the gate, stood there for a moment, and ran away. And everyone else was ready to write it off as if it had never happened, all hush-hush. The boring lot of them.

Anton smiled. “Well, look who’s not dead.”

-

taglist in reblogs

[utilitycaster]

I am curious if you think the campaign wrap up will perhaps address some of the campaign shortcomings or challenges the cast faced in trying to land this campaign narratively, especially in comparison to previous campaigns? Not that they would disparage the whole campaign - but like a little “yeah this didn’t work as well as we wanted at times?” 

It’s odd because I find myself weirdly optimistic about CR as a whole despite this campaign’s possible lackluster ending, so I guess I’m hoping the campaign wrap up acknowledges that this campaign didn’t always play to their strengths in hopes that their next long form venture does more, idk.

I don't know if it will but. that's precisely the tenor any question I send will have: I don't think the fundamental concept is the issue - hell, I don't even think killing the gods is actually a problem if you appropriately set up a scenario where killing the gods has a motivation other than "mortals were mean to me in their name" [thing that happens irl all the time in a world with zero proof of divinity, in my religiously observant ideologically agnostic and skeptical opinion] or "I have issues with my parents I never worked towards so I've projected this onto The Ultimate Parents instead of like. being fucking normal." But it needed a lot more scaffolding at the VERY least in the prep for this campaign, and actually, to be blunt, if you want to make this a balanced issue you needed to seed this concept through prior campaigns in a meaningful way. There's a reason pretty much everyone who defends this campaign as Extremely Good, Actually is either doing some form of wildly revisionist history of the fandom and the past campaigns that's demonstrably false if you were like. there; or else they started with C3 and decided they were an expert despite being of below-average literacy and deeply below average personality and have to resort to such miserable efforts as "arguing that canon isn't real" and "posting an out of context Le Guin quote over and over in the hopes we won't notice they're actually 511 mice in a trenchcoat who can't actually read". So yeah I hope Matt is like this was an ambitious project and I'd have done many things differently.

I do wonder what's next for CR, because as I mentioned, it feels like the cast is stronger in shorter form; that even the other longform shows are moving to shorter form right now; and that WBN and C3 kind of show the limits/failings of longform. I hope they do another longform campaign at some point in the future, but it might make sense to take an extended break and play in the space for a while. They only took about 4 months between campaigns for the past two and maybe it would be good to take longer and focus on Daggerheart, Candela, and EXU for much of the year and if they do longform wait 8-10 months, especially with the comparatively extensive touring schedule this year.

I also hasten to add, and I mentioned this briefly in talking about CRPGs, but I think there's a Third Campaign Dip that's not inevitable (NADDPod didn't really have it; TAZ switches systems enough that it's not an issue) but definitely hit here, that doesn't apply to a fourth one. Like, for CRPGs (girl who's played Veilguard twice and gotten through the first day of Disco Elysium voice) it feels like the first run is following what seems most fun to you and then the second is playing around with other choices that maybe aren't as appealing just to see what happens, and then for the third and future runs you kind of know the full lay of the land and what you'll like while still allowing for a range of choices. For class-based TTRPGs, the first is the self-insert/thing that's fairly comfortable and easy/character you've dreamed of; the second is what you do now that you know how this works; and then the third can be...an overextension, shall we say. I think after that you figure out, again, the bounds of your comfort zone, how much you can stretch it, and what you don't like, you're in a much more consistent footing.

[remstrrs]

Potential Rebel Robin -> S4 Parallel and (potentially) S5 Parallel

I feel like as a fandom, we don't really talk about the Rebel Robin book/podcast enough, especially about it's implications for the series in general, so i wanted to look at one specific scene that parallels a scene from s4, and that i think would be rlly cool if paralleled in s5:

{CC:

Robin : There's something wrong with me. There's something inside of me that's just, like, rotten, and there's nothing I can do to fix it.

Wait - Wait why are you stopping?

Mr. Hauser : Robin, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you.

Robin : You have to say that.

Mr. Hauser : No, I'm serious. Hey - hey, look me in the eye and trust what I'm saying, okay? There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing rotten inside of you; you don't need to be fixed. }

For further context, Mr. Hauser is Robin's English teacher at Hawkins High in her sophomore year (podcast is set in winter of 1983) who she becomes very close with and, in this scene, is giving her a ride home.

This is episode four of the podcast, but in the final episode, Robin finds out that Mr. Hauser is a queer man who is secretly dating another man in Hawkins.

In aforementioned scene, Robin asks him if he's happy, and if living in Hawkins while queer is really worth it for him - to which he says yes, but reminds Robin that she doesn't have to make the same choice as him, saying, "There are places where you don't need the armor"

Now, firstly, I want to start by talking about how this scene between Robin and Mr. Hauser is a pretty close parallel to the scene in s4e08, where Jonathan is comforting Will after he watches the painting scene go down.

(Also, keep in mind that the Rebel Robin book was published in 2021, so it's writing coincided with the writing of s4)

Jonathan knows that Will is queer, and heard Will mention that he felt like a mistake back in the van, so he tells him that he loves him and,

"There is nothing in this world, okay, absolutely nothing that will ever change that."

Although not a perfect parallel, I couldn't help but notice the word choice used and the repetition of 'nothing' in both examples. The overall exigence of these two scenes is almost a perfect match, too:

Mr. Hauser hears Robin call herself wrong and rotten, so he comforts her by telling her the exact opposite.

Jonathan hears Will call himself different and a mistake so he comforts him and tells him that he loves him no matter what.

Now.... how do I think something similar could play out in Season 5?

Alright, so there's been a lot of talk on Byler tumblr about having scenes with Mike, Will, and Robin together - or Robin mentoring either one of the boys - but personally, I'd like to see the scenes above paralleled in a Robin/Mike conversation over anything, and here's why.

Out of the two boys, Mike is the one who is most isolated from his queerness and what it entails. Whereas Will is possibly starting to come into his own and accept himself a little bit more with Jonathan as a stronger support system, and has known about his queerness, Mike is much more lost. Will has already had a heart-to-heart with Jonathan, and knows he isn't alone with his queerness.

In my opinion, it's inevitable that Mike will have a heart-to-heart with one of the adults/older teens in Season 5, and I honestly believe that it has to be Robin, Nancy, or (preferably) both.

In Season 5, Mike is a high school sophomore. He's very clearly insecure, and is probably seen as more weird or different because of his previous involvement with Hellfire. Likewise, in her book, Robin is also an insecure high school sophomore who is seen as an outsider/social outcast.

Plus, in Season 5, Robin closely parallels Mr. Hauser from the book:

They both have accepted and come to terms with their queerness, and came out to at least one person, and they both have partners of the opposite-sex while living in Hawkins (assuming that Rovickie is canon after the 1987 time skip, which i believe it probably will be.)

In my opinion, this sets up an almost perfect opportunity for a Robin/Mike moment where Mike either:

In relation to his queerness, talks about feeling wrong and rotten to Robin, who sympathizes with him (and potentially comes out to him) helping him know that he isn't alone or broken.

or

Mike finds out about Robin's queerness by accident, (which is Robin's case when finding out about Mr. Hauser's) and he asks her if she's happy in Hawkins, which gives her the opportunity to convey to Mike that his idea of a 'family' isn't the only one, and that there "are places where you don't need the armor" just as Mr. Hauser said.

I think the second would be especially impactful, because Mike grew up in a white-picket fence, nuclear, traditional, and conservative household (something that is actually openly criticized by Nancy and Jonathan in season 1). He sees his parents' loveless relationship (which is paralleled to Stancy and Milkvan) right in front of his eyes, and thinks that its the only way because it's all he's known. Robin could open his eyes to the possibility of something else, and this is what could make him realize his feelings for Will.

Also! We have confirmation of a potential Robin + Mike scene (or at least a scene where Finn and Maya are filming together) by none other than Shawn Levy himself (pic posted on his insta)

If you don't know, Shawn Levy notoriously directed both of the scenes below, which show examples of Mike struggling with potential internalized homophobia during angsty fights with Will

Also, based on Shawn Levy's reply to this person on twt, it's very likely we get a similar scene in St5:

I think that another Byler fight could be the perfect lead-in to a heart-to-heart between Mike and Robin, too. Seeing the two boys fighting could lead her into asking Mike what's going on between them, which could then turn into a deeper conversation where Mike realizes exactly why his fights with Will are so different from his fights with anyone else.

This has gotten way too long and spiraled a bit out of control, and I need to actually write an essay for school now, so I'll leave it here.

Please let me know if you have anything to add or anything you agree or disagree with! I love theorizing with other people, too :)

[solena2]

as someone who’s read far too many isekai, i feel a need to chime in here

“transmigration” does not actually refer to a specific type of isekai as the original comment suggested - rather, it’s an alternate term for essentially the same concept. transmigration is when you go to a different world through any means, not just through rebirth/reincarnation. the reason transmigration remains in use despite being a very similar word to isekai in definition is because while isekai is generally a real-world term we use to describe the genre, transmigration is often used as as in-universe term, especially in settings where people get isekaied with any regularity. there’s also a lot of people who use it in place of the word isekai in all contexts including when referring to the genre, simply because it’s an english word and therefore much easier to - uh, what’s the word, i’m blanking - when you use a word to make similar words. like verbing it only not always specifically turning it into a verb

“transmigration” for referring to the abstract concept becomes “transmigrators” when referring to people who have actually done it, something that’s difficult to do with the word “isekai”. (at least in english, no clue how they refer to it in japanese) the past tense becomes “transmigrated” which takes to the -ed ending a lot more comfortably than “isekaied” which just kind of looks weird.

basically, it’s replacing the japanese loan word with something more latiny.

“cultivation” is a concept that shows up a lot in xianxia. (basically the chinese versions of swords and sorcery, though that is of course a gross oversimplification) to my knowledge it has its roots in religious concepts (not naming the religion because i woke up an hour ago and my brain is goo) relating to the “cultivation” of the soul towards enlightenment, or something to that effect. in xianxia (which can also be isekai but not always, it’s a chinese genre that has no inherent overlap but a lot of people mix them) it’s more of a “meditate until you get awesome magic powers and learn to fly on swords and split mountains in half” type thing. so again to grossly oversimplify, it’s wizards but chinese and also they have swords. “cultivation” is just the word for that specific flavor of wizardry.

I do not know if you're looking for comic recommendations at the moment but as a big fan of the greatest estate developer I wanted to recommend some stuff that struck me as similar:

Unlucky is as lucky does (weird name, good story, weird faces galore. Fantasy but not transmigration)

Love advice from the great duke of hell (comedy, weird faces slightly to the left, kinda isekai if summoning counts? Fun demon guys in there)

Vainglorious is... admittedly the weird one out here for having less weird faces but the shenanigans at times feel similar.

Princess Hurricane is two isekais for the price of one and although there isn't much out yet I would say it does hit some of the greatest estate's good spots, both comedy-vise and weird faces-vise.

That's all, have a good day, big fan of the normal spaceship, peace and wellfishes!

So I get that an isekai is a portal fantasy with Asian characters but what the fuck is a transmigration

I spent too long working in biology and I can only imagine a flock of wild Protagonists heading closer to the equator for the winter

[russellsppttemplates]

Loooved your latest Franco piece! Buy now I can only think about y/n being Brazilian...u know Brazil and Argentina are hermanos up until football, right? It's an crazy old "beef". Imagine Franco and y/n bickering about football like Pierre and Kika, and George and Carmen...but with a ton of history to back them up. I'm sure it would be chaos🤣

“Franco, you know Flamengo is going to crush Boca Juniors in the next Copa Libertadores, right?”, Y/N teased, lounging comfortably on the couch, wearing a vibrant green and yellow Brazil jersey, "but don't worry, amor, I'll comfort you after".

Franco rolled his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "you dream, Y/N - Boca is unstoppable. The Bombonera will be a fortress!”.

Your banter was a ritual as much as the sport itself. It all started when you had to cover for one of your colleagues in the factory right on the day of the game, so your negotiation was simple - you'd cover if they let you watch the game on your break.

What you didn't know is that there was also another person who not only shared your passion for racing but also for football, finding Franco focused on the screen as the game was about to start. What began as a quick exchange of words evolved to a never-ending match of words, neither willing to concede defeat as the rest of the team gathered to watch two football fans argue, too lost between their engineer and their driver to even witness the monumental match happening.

“Remember 2004?”, you fired back, referencing that unforgettable Copa America final, "Adriano, last minute goal? Ring any bells?”.

Franco groaned dramatically, "you had to bring that up, didn’t you?", he retorted, pointing fingers, "but don't forget 1990, when Caniggia silenced the Maracanã! Not a peep after that one!".

The atmosphere in the apartment was fully charged, the air crackling with playful hostility, but beneath it lay an undeniable camaraderie for the sport.

You cherished these verbal sparring matches because they bridged the cultural divide, transforming rivalry into steadfast friendship that had grown into the beautiful relationship you have now.

“Okay, but what about our World Cup titles? Five. A full hand of them! Count them!”, you grinned widely, your eyes twinkling with challenge.

Franco feigned a sigh of defeat before responding with a grin of his own, "maybe so, but we have Maradona. That's worth more than five titles!”, he said, wiggling his fingers.

As the day unfolded, your spirited competition continued, seasoned with laughter and mock-serious arguments. The television flickered with highlights and historic moments, each pause generating another round of passionate debate between you.

Dinner was a mixture of cuisines as well, with Franco insisting on empanadas while you insisted on adding feijoada to the menu.

As you settled down to watch a replay of an old Argentina vs. Brazil match, the laughter softened into something more profound. Your rivalry, no matter how vehemently expressed, was just a surface layer over your deep bond.

In the world of racing, you both pushed towards the same goal. In football, you were rivals, igniting each other’s passions.

“Franco", you mused as the game played on, “I think we might argue forever about who's better...”.

He leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, "Maybe. But that's what makes it fun, right? Besides, I think when our kids come around we might be able to make you switch", he spoke unabashedly as he saw you gulp, "or at the very least, there will be more of us to argue!".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[dojimuse]

'Are you dumb?'

[MINGYU X MALE READER]

Scenario : You and Mingyu are assigned a duo project together in their college history lecture. You quickly realizes Mingyu is an idiot, as well as realize something about yourself in the process.

18+ RATING : [1/5] — very tame!

THEMES : College, Mororomantic content, Fluff

A/N : First post on tumblr! I apologize if this isn't the best, I'm not used to tumblr just yet but hopefully you still enjoy!

— • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • —

"M/N and Kim Mingyu" The professor drones out, snapping you back to reality. You had been focusing on anything But your current lecture, having been scratching a cat drawing onto the corner of the table when your name was called. Mingyu, your supposed 'partner' now, had been paying even less attention than you were, evidenced by the way he exclaimed "HUH?" out loud upon hearing his name.

The professor sighs in a jaded way, looking at the taller man with exhaustion. "The project, Mr.Kim. A presentation on the History of Korea involved wars." He reminds, his unenthused tone hinting that he's explained this project once before at least. Mingyu makes a loud noise of realization, as if he's figured something great out. "The project! Right right..cool" He mutters, nodding calmly. You can't help but let out a small chuckle of amusement over Mingyu's spacey response, finding it oddly endearing. That's my partner? We're screwed...

You don't pay much mind to the rest of the lecture, your mind focused on the project and your less than bright seeming partner. As the class files out of the lecture hall you finds Mingyu still sitting down, looking down at the taller who's currently sitting lazily with his feet on the table, staring at the wall like it's talking to him. "Hey, you're Mingyu right?" You ask rhetorically, Mingyu's first impression leaving a stain on your memory too big to forget him. Mingyu turns to look at you slowly, nodding casually. "Yeah that's me..who are you?" he replies slowly, staring with a dazed expression. You have to fight back a laugh as you stares at Mingyu's zoned out look, speaking steadily. "I'm M/N? Your partner for the project" You replies, raising an eyebrow curiously at Mingyu.

"What project?" Mingyu asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. Your stomach seems to flip at Mingyu's ridiculous question, your heart rate picking up pace slightly. "The....the history project? Korean wars? Ring a bell?" You remind him, trying to jog Mingyu's lackluster memory. Mingyu's mouth forms an 'o' shape as he realizes what you're about, nodding softly. "Right! You're my partner?" He asks, earning a small nod from you. "So, what do we do?" Mingyu asks, looking at you cluelessly. You chuckle softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I get your number..and we work on the project. Are you free on Saturday? We can work at my house" You suggest, hoping Mingyu will have some sort of intelligent input. "Cool with me" he replies plainly, standing up and looking around, finally noticing the empty lecture hall. "Oh is it over?" He asks, turning back to you who's now laughing loudly, physically unable to hold back the laughter that's been creeping on you.

"Yes, it's over. It's been over for like 5 minutes, Mingyu" You tease, though it goes right over Mingyu's head. "Oh..whoops" Mingyu chuckles softly as he shrugs. "I'll text you my address. See you Saturday" You mumble, earning a firm nod from the taller before he walks away, whistling aimlessly as he exits the class.

Saturday

Mingyu arrives at your house at 7pm, only holding his phone and a pencil as if that would help with a computer based project. You let him in and head up to your room, getting comfortably seated on your bed while you pull out your laptop. You're already prepared to do most of the work, not having much confidence in Mingyu's abilities. You begin to get your slides prepared, glancing occasionally to Mingyu beside you, the taller looking around the room curiously like it's the first time he's been inside a building. "So, we have to put together slides detailing each war and their impact on Korea" You explain, making sure Mingyu is following along. Mingyu nods softly as if he understands, though his tight facial expression tells a different story. "What's the history of Korea's wars?" He asks suddenly, making you scoff out loud. "Well...we have to research it to find out" You reply, chuckling a little. You should probably find Mingyu's stupidity frustrating by now, but somehow you find it surprisingly charming. "You're really lucky you're handsome because you're not very smart" You state bluntly, expecting Mingyu to take offense.

"You think I'm handsome?" Mingyu replies, smiling at your comment and ignoring the negative connotations. You can't help but stare at Mingyu in surprise, mouth slightly agape. "That's what you took out of that????" You asks, feeling your heart race in his chest once more and an odd tingling in your lower stomach. "What else would I take from it?" Mingyu asks curiously, tilting his head to the side in confusion. "You'd...take offense to it?" You reply, feeling heavily confused as well as...attracted? Were you really attracted to Mingyu's stupidity? That couldn't be right..

"Oh...Do you want me to redo my reaction?" Mingyu suggests softly, trying to make you happy. "No, your reaction was fine..let's just focus on the project, ok?" You reply, turning back to your laptop and taking a grounding breath. Your mind was racing, as well as your heart, but you just try to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. Mingyu makes a soft humming noise of acknowledgment but doesn't do anything, causing you to look at him expectantly. "Are you not gonna research?" You ask, preparing mentally for whatever stupid excuse Mingyu has. "Was I supposed to research too?" He responds, looking surprised.

You stares at Mingyu in pure shock at his level of idiocy, his heart going wild in his chest. "Can I kiss you?" You ask before you can stop yourself, surprising yourself with the question. Mingyu blinks softly in surprise for a moment before replying. "Uh...sure?" You don't waste time once Mingyu agrees, nearly slamming your laptop shut and leaning in to press your lips against Mingyu's. The kiss starts off slow, mainly because of Mingyu's surprise over your passion, but slowly it increases as Mingyu gets into it.

Your hands find Mingyu's hair and Mingyu's find your waist, you two naturally drifting closer the longer your lips are connected. As you pull away the room is quiet except for the sounds of your soft panting, your eyes locked on each other. Your eyes search Mingyu's, trying to read him in any way. "You're really stupid, you know that?" You comment, making the taller chuckle softly. "Yeah, I know...but you don't seem to mind" He remarks, causing a soft blush to form across your cheeks. "I can't tell you why..I really don't know..but it's like when you do something dumb it makes you more attractive" you admit quietly.

"I think I've heard about that...I don't know what to call it though" Mingyu mumbles, shrugging a little. "So..what now?" Mingyu asks, earning a soft laugh from you. "Well..I like you. Clearly. Do you like me?" You ask, staring hopefully at the taller. "I think so" Mingyu responds, smiling back at you like an excited puppy. "Ok...Will you be my boyfriend?" You follow up, your hands finally dropping from Mingyu's hair as you notices they're still there.

"Yeah, I want to be your boyfriend" Mingyu responds happily, not letting go of your waist despite you letting go of his hair. "Then we're dating" You state firmly, sounding serious but playful. "Sick..what now?" Mingyu replies shortly, earning another soft laugh from You. "Now we go on dates and do couple things" You say lightly, smiling brightly at your new boyfriend. "Oh no I meant like for the project" Mingyu clarifies, gesturing to the now closed laptop beside them.

"Oh! Uh...I have no clue." You chuckle, Mingyu following suite with his own laughter. "Well I don't have anything..so do we just pray?" Mingyu laughs out, you nodding in agreement. "Something like that...orrrr we could watch power rangers?" You suggest with a mischievous smile. "Hell yeah" the other replies, already moving your laptop off the bed.

Not a single ounce of work was done that night, you two watching episodes of power rangers together and forgetting all about your responsibilities. "We should probably work on that project now, hey?" You suggest lazily after hours of watching tv, rested against Mingyu's side, already nearly asleep. Mingyu hums in acknowledgment, feeling just as tired as you. "Are we gonna?" He asks, tilting his head to look at his boyfriend.

"Not a chance?"

"Not at all"

"Cool"

[tevanbuckley]

"I think one of the reasons that I am so comfortable with you is 'cause you're so comfortable with you."

okay, hear me out, but i think coming out in your 30s probably should be at least a little uncomfortable. figuring out your sexuality is weird and awkward! and buck was deeply closeted for decades, that doesn't just happen. even if it's as simple as him never considering men were an option there's clearly been a big old psychological roadblock preventing buck from understanding himself.

something we very explicitly see buck's discomfort with, only for him to not actually unpack any of that outside dating tommy. so he ends up in the ridiculous scenario where he's floating the idea of getting gay married before he can actually say the word bisexual.

and fwiw i don't think that's all on buck. i think you could argue tommy got so caught up in making sure he wasn't pressuring buck and letting him set the pace, he maybe avoided having some harder conversations about the coming out of it all.

[astrologicaldreamin]

The Duality of Synastry

Stemming from my own personal experiences, there is this very stark and compelling similarity between prominant 4th-7th house synastry and 8th-12th house synastry, which touches upon karmic intent and purpose of the relationship. It is also the reason why I think so many people begin to get swept up into dissociative connections, assuming it is the premise of something entirely else. Which, I have a ton to say about.

Everyone understands or at least has heard of the compel of 8th house synastry and the illusive nature of the 12th house. It creates this profound, cosmic-level idolization and fascination within a connection. It is something that typically starts or begins as an intense spark or form of recognition. The person brings out a side that is contrasting to your usual self because of the weight of the connection. Within the 8th house, it brings out more transformative and destructive/intense qualities and events surrounding your life. You meet your recognition through there. However, within the 12th house, it brings out more unknown yet familiar qualities and events surrounding your life. It reminds me of the poetic imagery of two physical manifestations constantly circling around, but never yet reaching. You meet the recognition through whatever you feel you are seeking or lacking; the longing of something. However, nobody understands that the 4th/7th house creates, in another form, that same "profoundness." As someone who attracted a ton of relationships with 8th house dynamics, I thought I had to build a life of adhering to the occasional destructiveness of those connections. I was used to the upheaval and rebuild, never quite fully being able to encounter another one's space. It isn't always good or bad, but it is almost entirely sacrificial. Meanwhile, 4th and 7th house synastry can be described as walking into a place that has a scent that peaks your interest, making the place feel more welcomed and at home to you, and then leaving to discover that it is because that scent reminds you of something so closely intertwined to your own soul. 4th house synastry mimics the call of comfort and the home dynamics that you were raised upon, touching both the good and bad. Meanwhile, 7th house synastry touches upon the romanticization of those comfort qualities. This can also be good and bad, which is why the 7th house is also linked to open enemies - because the discourse of wanting something so much, of being assembled into the picture of desire, can be so overwhelming and bitter. Therefore, the duality of it all, invites an entirely different reason but all these houses stem at the core of a person.

The trending reason of finding the one is through the words, "when you know, you know." Which, in this case, I think is very valid. There is an innate soul calling, but there are a multitude of soul callings that we do actually experience. In the 8th house, it is in the space of our darkness. In the 12th house, it is in the literal space. In the 4th house, it is our soul. Meanwhile, in the 7th house, it is the accumulation of our soul's desires.

One thing I had to finally come to terms with is that 4th House and 7th House synastry is triggering. In some forms, I may even want to open the argument that it is more so than the 8th and 12th house, because those houses are feeding and bonding with the "ego." Therefore, we feel more at ease despite the instability. Meanwhile, the 4th and 7th house cannot have the ability to feel the ego because it goes beyond surface-level desire and manifestation. It is, entirely, triggering to the core and within equal balance/intensity to yourself. Unfortunately, we are also predominantly an ego-driven society and have been trained to necessitate those responses and needs. Therefore, when encountering the opposite, the 4th/7th house synastry, we feel off-guard and unfiltered and become triggered because we believe we should be a filtered society. It is not feeding or giving into the satisfaction of a higher game or goal - it just is. There is often a hard time of accepting what just is and we either stray away from the predictable, comforting, and peaceful to equate onto a higher need to always pursuing more - the 8th house/12th house.

We turn down or hate on the things that we exactly want, because there is a collective drive to never feeling adequate enough to have or be exactly "it." We "always" have to be in some form, progressing, which is why so many seek the constant movement of those alternative forms of synastry. Depending on who you are, there isn't a right or wrong answer, but simply just an understanding of what you individually are searching for. It is the breakdown of our belief systems that bring us the most peace and space for awareness.

[beef-brisket]

Adam groaned as he tried to reposition himself. The cage floor was about as comfortable as he remembered.

The room was eerily silent. Only Adam's breathing could be heard. His body still ached from the blood, letting Seth do to him. Thankfully, his chest was mostly fine.

He wasn't sure how long he had been here. It felt like weeks, but each passing second, Adam missed Lucifer more and more.

At least with him ruling Hell, Adam shouldn't be able to do anything that'll put him in danger.

Adam: Or ruin his life... I'm such a fucking idiot... s-should of let him kill me in that basement...

Michael: Already with the self-pity? Oh, Adam. You haven't even been here for a day yet! Though, it is fun watching you struggle~.

Adam jumped when Michael started talking. He looked out into the room but couldn't see anything. The darkness was too thick.

Michael: I, for one, am glad you're still alive. After thousands and thousands of years of watching you abuse your power, I finally get to see you at your weakest, your most pathetic. Which was a very low bar for you to reach, by the way. You could have benefited Heaven, Adam. If only you didn't get on your high horse when that offer was made to you.

Adam groaned as his shoulders started cramping: I-I'd never would have said yes to you-.

Michael laughed: And there's that pride again. Even when you're nothing but a useless ape, you still think you're better than us. Do you know my official title, Adam?

Adam: I don't give a fuck.

Michael: I am the Right Hand and Sword of God. The Greatest Enemy of Hell. I protect Heaven from all dangers, and that would usually include you, but look at you. Captured by Satan of all demons and humiliated by a sinner. Ha! Even my father couldn't write something so hilarious!

Adam: ...The fuck do you want with me?

Michael: Hm. Good question. Retribution. Have fun, Adam. I will return shortly~.

Adam squinted as a bright light filled the room. It was only for a few seconds, but it was strong enough to blind him long after the light had died out.

The cell's door creaked open, but by the time Adam registered it, there was a hard kick to his face.

Adam: F-Fuck...

Raphael: Easy, you almost broke his jaw.

Cas: Like I give a shit.

Raphael rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. A chair appeared in the far corner of the cell. Sitting down, Raphael smiled at Adam.

Raphael: Don't mind me, I'm here to heal you. Wouldn't want you dying yet, would we?

Adam heart clenched. He never thought he'd be terrified of Heaven's healer. But here he was.

Cas: That would really ruin the fun, but-.

Adam gasped as the angel grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.

Cas: It would be a sight to watch your corpse he paraded around the streets of Heaven~. Who knows, maybe we'll do that while you're still kicking.

Raphael: Please do, we don't need the smell of death polluting the streets again.

Cas rolled their eyes and dropped Adam, unfolding his wings. They made sure to stand where Adam could see them.

Cas: Do you know how many angels you've killed? The destruction you've caused? With that fucking axe of yours?!

Raphael: Language~.

Cas: Seriously? I'm about to torture a dude.

Raphael: Hm. Fair enough, continue.

Adam: Y-You captured me- locked me away- I wanted to fucking leave.

Cas was silent for a moment before looking at Raphael: Oh, so he can swear, but I can't?

Raphael: He's Adam. Who cares about him?

Cas rolled their eyes. Adam winced as they snapped their fingers, and an axe appeared in their hands.

Cas: Oooh FUCK yeah-! Such my ass, Raph, I. Swearing while I do this. Recognise it, Addy~?

Adam jumped as the axe slammed into the floor next to his head.

Cas: I can see why you liked this thing so much! How many have you killed with it? How many have you ruined? But you don't need an axe to do that, do you?

Cas knelt down in front of Adam's face and leant against the axe that was buried into the floor.

Cas: You're the worst of us, you know that? Worse than every sinner in Hell, worse than the commander of our army. I'm honestly surprised you didn't turn this thing on yourself!

Raphael: Oh, now that would have been funny! Hunting you for so long, only to find you with your axe embedded in your chest!

Cas: Exactly what was thinking!

Adam stayed silent as Cas grabbed the axe and pulled it from the floor. He could hear the angel walking around the cage. What Adam didn't expect was a sickening pain shooting through his arm and back.

His ears were ringing, and warmth flooded through him in the worst way. He's not a stranger to pain, but dealing with his weakened state and his body trying and begging to run from the pain was something horribly new.

Adam could hear the angels talking and was that laughter?

His whole body lurched, his muscles tensed, trying to fight for an escape. His mouth watered, drool mixed with tears he didn't know he was shedding.

Cas: Don't heal him, not yet.

As his eyes slowly started to focus, he weakly watched Cas kneel in front of him, but something else was in his hand other than his axe.

Cas: Look, bud! You're waving!

Adam would feel sick, but it felt like his whole body froze as Cas smiled and waved a disjointed arm in front of him. It looked so familiar but foreign at the same time.

He flexed his fingers, and he felt sick all over again. Only his right hand responded.

Cas: Hm, we don't want him running again, do we Raph?

Raphael chuckled: It was a real waste of resources, not to mention angels. We could all tell how much you loved killing them, Adam. It was... despicable. No, Cas. We don't want him running again.

Cas grinned and dropped Adam's arm. The bloody limb landed in front of his eyes. Adam wanted to watch Cas, but he couldn't. His ears throbed as the sound of his axe dragged along the cell floor released a piercing noise. He could only focus on the arm.

Over the next hour, Cas removed Adam's legs, taking at least three hits to cut through his femur. He doesn't know if it was mercy, but he left him with one arm. Maybe it was more of a joke than anything.

Even as his whole body was feeling nothing but blinding pain, Cas continued to insult him. Reading a letter from the new Devil that sounded so much like Lucifer. Demanding his death and his head as repayment for a life of hiding and fear Adam had forced him in to.

At first, he thought it was fake. He wished it was fake. But Raphael was turning a black ring around in his fingers. Adam recognized it immediately. It was Lucifer's ring.

Even now, he hopes it is a trick. A trick that made him cry till he had no tears left.

He didn't acknowledge any angel that came in. Only Raphael was a constant presence. He healed his wounds but only to the point where he stopped bleeding. And he only started to heal him when Adam was starting to lose consciousness.

Adam wasn't sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that his skin and the cage floor were soaked in his golden blood. His had long gone hard and cold, drying and clumping together on his skin. The feeling only added to his frustration.

He heard another voice enter the room, but he couldn't focus on it, even if he tried. But he did recognise it.

Michael.

Maybe he was he was here to end him. It would be mercy at this point. He couldn't beg Lucifer for pity, not after everything he's done to him, not after those letters. And the ring Raphael didn't even have the courtesy to show him.

He was speaking to someone, though Adam couldn't completely focus on what he was saying.

Michael: He was meant to be an angel... oh, please, he's a fool. He wasn't even meant to be created. It was only by accident that his soul went to earth... I don't care what he is now or what realm he's ruling. He's nothing... powerful, yes. He nearly gained his true form when he had this fool raided Heaven thirty plus years ago... True. Now leave me, I have a guest to see to~.

Was he talking about Lucifer? He had to be. He was the new Devil, so it would make sense. And if what Cas read was true, Lucifer wasn't communicating about him, which stung.

Michael: My my. Look at you. Looking a bit light, aren't you~?

Adam couldn't respond, only being reminded of the situation again.

Michael: Raphael. Leave.

Raphael looked hesitant, but he walked out without saying another word.

Adam screamed as Michael kicked him, pushing him onto his back, and his missing arm and the deep cut into his back.

Michael: I know about you, Adam. About your little... affliction. And, now that you're officially divorced-.

It happened so quickly, and the next thing he knew, his wedding ring was pulled off his finger and thrown somewhere in the cell.

Michael: You're free to fuck around~. Well, not that you have a choice. This is what you were made for.

Adam wanted to kick Michael away as he pulled off his pants off.

Michael: You must be begging for it at this point! And you're lucky I'm so merciful~. It's not often someone gets an archangels cock~.

He wanted to beg for Lucifer, but he's doing better without him. He won't be able to hurt Lucifer from here.

He deserved the worst of whatever Heaven did to him.

I miss our God!Adam Au

Sequel 👀

In Canada Eh! Lmao

CANADA FOREVER

Yes plsss! I miss our stupid, power-hungry boy 😫😫