#someone is probably going to make art based on this I am not ready for that lol

[n0t-evenhere]

Happy Birthday Ray! I’ve never celebrated a fictional birthday before but you know what? Today is a great day to start. So, without further a do, this is (Adrianna) OC x Ray, birthday fic. Funny enough this story is legitimately based of a real life occurrence. 😂 @shoyastars for looking it over and helping me out!

“Birthday blues”

OC (Adrianna) X Ray

April 30th, a day of utmost importance to Adrianna. The day was a day of celebration! Today is Ray’s birthday. Adrianna had already planned it all out. Unfortunately, the day would be…mostly Rayless but she was determined to make it work. even wrote it in her notes. The plan for the day.

Ray’s birthday plan : )

-6:00 am, Ray leaves for work. Make coffee by then.

-decorate the house while he is gone

-bake cake wait

-decorate cake

-wait for Ray to get home around 9:00

5:00, Adriannas phone alarm went off, a loud enough alarm to wake her up with a start. With a groan she grabbed her phone and pressed the stop button. It only took a moment before she sat up, with a groan. “I am sooooo not a morning person.” She says to herself aloud. She scratched her head and stretched, shifting her maroon tank top to sit properly on her body. She sat at the edge of the bed trying to give herself another minute to wake up.

Welp, that didn’t work well so she washed her face with cold water, that was enough to jumpstart her wakefulness. With more energy, she couldn't help but feel excitement in her heart. The day was planned and planned well. It’s been a long time since she had been able to throw a sort of celebration for someone she was romantically involved with…well, technically, she’s never gotten the chance to do this sort of thing, given she's never even been in a relationship. Only yearning and giving advice to others who ask for her council. The coach, but never the player. It’s almost like she had so much unspent love that it exploded onto Ray sometimes, not that he seemed to mind.

Putting her black sandals on, pulling on a green pullover hoodie jacket from her college days. Took her keys and headed out the door of her apartment. Making way to Ray’s home. The sun hasn’t risen yet, the city still decently quiet, and the streets are relatively empty. It felt better that way anyway. It only took about 10 minutes of driving to get to Ray’s skyscraper apartment.

Parked and ready to go, Adrianna heads for the elevator. She felt the usual pit in her stomach. A mix of excitement for seeing Ray, the nervousness had many purposes for setting in her belly. Even though she had known Ray for a long time now, about a year and a half, she still gets nervous seeing him. The other reason is much less desirable, heights. She still had not gotten used to having to go so high just to get to his apartment. Heights always made her stomach churn. Made her think how horrible it would be if the elevator suddenly dropped, or the building suddenly fell apart. “You're overthinking it girly. Chill out.” She chastised herself.

Ray had given Adrianna the code to his house a long time ago. She’s committed it to memory quickly, quicker than other numerical things she memorized. Committed it to heart. Punching in the number Adrianna put great effort into slowly opening and closing the door to not create any noise or let Ray know of her presents. Probably with more caution than necessary. Adrianna headed directly for the kitchen after placing her purse and keys quietly on the table by the door.

Rays home had always seemed bland compared to her home. His home was a mix of grey and blue colors. Nothing vibrant except for a few abstract art pieces. It was sad, Adrianna had been made aware that Ray doesn’t really get to live in his home. Most of the time he’s away. It’s only a home by name. He was also very clean. He likes things neat and clean. Adrianna was clean but her own home matched her Brain. Opposite of his. Not an unclean space but papers stacked neatly in different spaces, unfinished projects sat in random spaces, pencils and pens near any given space. The only unclean thing was laundry.

Ray would sometimes try to “clean up” her papers to which she chastised him for it. “It’s not lost, it’s not there for no reason you know. I know everything that is in that stack of papers! It’s where I keep it so I don’t forget it!” It was true, her home truly matched her mind.

Adrianna crept to the kitchen and began to quietly open cupboards to get the coffee grounds to start the coffee. He had a nice coffee maker, half a pot will do. After all, she'll be hanging around after Ray leaves for work. With prescribed ease, she puts four scoops of coffee grounds, that’s one of the things her and Ray had in common. A serious love for strong coffee. It didn’t take long for the coffee to start. She felt proud of herself, she got up, like, actually got up early to do this. She was thrilled.

“Goodmorning.” A rough sleepy voice snapped Adrianna out of her thoughts with a yelp hand flying up to slap whoever snuck up on her. “Easy there Ms. Jumpy.” He said softly with a crooked smile taking her still raised hand. “Ah, hi, goodmorning.” Adrianna said the fear left her body instantly when she saw him. “Hi.” He repeated. “Happy birthday Ray!” Adrianna exclaimed throwing her arms around his neck. Giving him a tight squeeze. She heard a soft laugh. “Thank you Star.”

Adrianna pulled away reluctantly. “Okay, so, I have made you coffee, I didn’t plan on you waking up but, that’s okay, we can have a little coffee together eh? Sounds good?” Ray hums, taking on a teasing tone. “I don’t know Adrian. Seems a little-“ Adrianna pursed her lips. “Okay Ray, let me rephrase that. You ARE having morning coffee with me.” He smiled, “how could I refuse.” The coffee had just finished, the coffee made three beeps. Adrianna collected two mugs. Ray had gotten Adrianna into drinking black coffee. It wasn’t bad, however after the second time she prefers black coffee with sugar. “There you are my love!” She said, passing the mug to him which her took.

Much appreciated, so…knowing you, I imagine you have a plan? You know I have a work shift. The day shift. I probably won’t be off till-“ Adrianna couldn’t help but interject full of excitement and energy, and oddity for her usual feeling in the morning. “9:00pm I know, but don’t worry, u have it all planned out! Don’t you worry bout a thing. I can work it. Well…work with it. I mean I can work it but, I can work with what I got.” Ray quirked an eyebrow. “You can work it huh?” Adrianna shrugged. “Yea I don’t know why I said that.”

The rest of the early morning passed with conversation and coffee. Ray even got to drink two cups. With a kiss goodbye Adrianna wished him well for the day. Giving Ray an excitement in his chest. A warmth. One Ray left, Adrianna headed straight for his room and flopped on his bed, going back to sleep. She could definitely catch a nap.

—————————————————————

10:12 am

Adrianna took some of Ray's strawberries for breakfast before getting to work. “I will turn this melancholy house into a warming welcome for a birthday. She started by hanging the “Happy birthday Ray!” Sign she made, decorated with drawings of space. Going off one of his favorite movies and shows, Alien and Bake off. Not a great mix but still space themed with something else he liked. Had a Xenomorph eating a piece of cake. Silly but she thought it was funny and she knew he’d appreciate it.

The next few hours were spent hanging ribbons by standing on counters. Adrianna shouldn’t have been surprised he would have a ladder. He can just fly or use his telekinetic ability to change light bulbs or reach high places. She moved chairs to hang things, even decorated the stairs. Had a few near falling experiences but no one had to know about that embarrassment. It didn’t take long for the decor to be done, about an hour and a half. 12:42, she felt unsure what to do now. She wasn’t going to bake the cake yet. She wanted it to not sit too long. Planned on starting the baking around 7.

Adrianna spent the next few hours watching some tv, cleaning up the space, roaming around. She even went to his workout room to attempt a “work out” before shortly leaving the space. She looked through his clothes for any holes, maybe she can sew them up. No luck with that, Ray took good care of his clothing. Even his old frumpy maroon sweater. She spent her time doing random things trying to hold her attention long enough but the wait was agonizingly slow.

—————————————————————

7:00pm

As soon as the clock struck seven Adrianna leaped from the couch and straight to the kitchen. Heating up the oven she began to mix the cake batter. Easy stuff, two eggs, some vegetable oil, and water. Thank goodness Ray had a 13x 9 glass container for the cake. Not that she doubted he would. She felt the excitement build up again in her chest making herself feel ancy. So she jumped up and down a minute until the cake was put in to cook. Now more waiting. 45 minutes.

Forty five minutes was just the right amount of time for the cake to cook completely through, the knife coming out clean from stabbing it in the center. Now more waiting game, she honestly wished she could just poof it into existence for him, the perfect cake. She could barely contain herself. However, with will power, the 30 minute wait for the cake to cool was worth it. At least if she remembered correctly it was thirty minutes.

A bit more tv to fill up the time until it was back at it again. She cut strawberries into thin slices before opening up the frosting. Adrianna lays the strawberries down neatly across the cake, this was gonna be great. She had 20 minutes to decorate it. Layering the icing was the second step, it melted a little but she didn’t think it would cause too much of an issue. Then came the writing, she wanted to write a nice message in red on the cake. “Happy Birthday My Love.” Her writing was a bit shaky which made her feel bad, she didn’t have the nicest handwriting. Started second guessing herself. It was until a minute later that the red letters started to melt. “No. Ooooohh no. No. No. No. no!” Adrianna started to panic.

—————————————————————

9:00 pm

Ray moseyed on over to the elevator, man was he tired, birthday photoshoot, birthday interview, and the screaming crowds that begged for his attention, just even a glance from him. He’s seen a lot today. People threw gifts at him, some of the gifts none too appropriate. Some people don’t know how to keep their undergarments on. Thank the stars it was over though. He stepped into the elevator, thinking about Adriannas I spoke plan. A new sense of energy building him up again.

Once Ray stepped into his high rise skyscraper apartment he looked around taking in the decor. All very nice, making that warmth in his chest increase. Then he realized something, crying? That warm feeling was suddenly snuffed out with worry. “Adrianna?!” He called out rushing to the source, the kitchen. He didn’t even take a glance to notice the decor. Rounding the island in his kitchen there she was. Sitting on the floor, head in her hands. Sobbing.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He asked, sitting on his knees beside her. Brushing hair out of the way of her face before moving her hands. She looked up at him with red rimmed puffy eyes before quickly looking away. What she called an ugly cry face he found to be quite the opposite of ugly. “Are you hurt?” Ray cooed, asking again. “No.” Adrianna whisperers. Ray moved his head to try and maintain eye contact with her. “What’s the problem then? Why are you so distraught?” Her lip quivered.

Her words spilled over in a rush. “I…I tried to make cake and it was fine because I cooked perfectly for the forty five minutes then I took it out to cool for thirty minutes and then I put on the icing and it melted a little and I thought it was fine but it wasn’t fine because when I wrote my message on the cake it didn’t even take long before heat melted to then I tired to put more icing on top but when moved the icing bit started mixing with the red and turned it pink and then I tired to write the message but my handwriting suck and I could see through the tear and I make it worse.” She sobbed before dropping her head.

Ray was quiet for a moment, his lip twitched, then he smiled, and then he laughed. A rich sound that filled the space. Adrianna’s head snapped up to look at him. A scowl on her face. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s not funny I ruined your cake!” She said, ripping her hands from him to cross her chest with sniffles. “Oooh, don’t be like that.” Ray said through chuckles. “You're being mean.” That only made him laugh more, which clearly upset Adrianna further. He snagged her, pulling her close. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop laughing. Just- why does it matter if you “messed” up the cake? We’re just going to eat it anyway?” He inquired. “Because, I wanted it to be special. I wanted you to love it but I screwed it up.”

With a sigh Ray held her even tighter. “You know-“ he started, “I’m just thrilled that you make me cake.” Adrianna looked up at him with her still wet eyes. He looked right back into hers. “I haven’t had a birthday cake since I was twelve. So what you may have made a messy cake, I’m just happy you made me one. It’s such a sweet thing to do. I don’t expect perfection from you. Because as you are, you are my personal version of perfection.” Adrianna managed a smile. “You're sweet.” She compliments.

After Adrianna had completely calmed down she felt the second hand embarrassment of crying over a cake. While Ray explained it wasn’t about the cake, it was more than likely about how it was special to her because it was for him which brought out the emotional feeling of failure when she “messed up” the cake. The decor was great, the nicest thing he’s had in a long time from a loved one, the cake yes messy but entering. Tasted even better. The rest of the night was filled with movies, board games, and quality time things. Before the night ended with Adrianna staying over to sleep. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday with me.” Adrianna kissed him softly. “I think it will be one of my favorites.” He said isn’t a smile.

[kvroomi]

you don’t even look at him when he inches up beside you. instead, you keep your gaze locked onto the canvas: an abstract slather of purple and blue paint, vaguely resembling the essence of regret.

fitting.

gojo leans in with the social awareness of someone who has never once read a room.

“i see you’re admiring asymmetry of want,” he murmurs the words deliberately and amused, inches from your ear. the art gallery is filled with nothing but the squeaking and shuffling of shoes, and the warm press of his presence at your side sets your nerves thrumming. you don’t turn. you don’t breathe. your jaw is tight enough to ache and your lips purse even harder when he continues to run his mouth. “i’d say the title’s a little on the nose considering you’ve been ignoring me all night.”

you clench your jaw. “go away—you’re being a nuisance.”

“i prefer the words ambiguous or esoteric, but hey,” he throws his hands up in mock defence, his expression wide-eyed and smug. “i don’t control your vocabulary.”

“you crashed my dinner with my coworkers and my boss, told them i talk in my sleep—specifically about work emails—and then suggested they let me take mental health naps in the supply closet.”

gojo blinks. “i was looking out for you! you can't seriously be mad about that.”

“oh but i am, actually.”

his mouth opens, ready to spill a witty reply before your finger is raised in a silent command—do not even think about talking, i'm not finished.

"not only that, but you tried to squeeze into a seat next to me and knocked over a glass of water onto my boss’s lap! i mean fine, accidents happen but did you really need to scream bloody murder in the middle of the restaurant when it happened?"

“alright, fine—maybe i overreacted a little bit—but it's ancient history now!"

“it was three hours ago, satoru!”

“time is relative,” he says, serene as a monk. there is not a single trace of urgency emanating off of him, as if he believes your fit of anger is all just a passing storm he can easily sunbathe through. “and besides, i charmed her by the end of the night anyways so she's probably forgotten about it.”

“yes, because charming someone over means insulting their crystal collection.”

“making every decision in your life based off of a couple rocks is brainless!”

you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to let your volume rise in the echo-prone, white-walled hell of pretentious lighting and overpriced wine. “i am this close to shoving you into that installation piece behind us.”

“i’m 90% sure it’s just a trash can with a lumps of yarn in it.”

“and i’m 100% sure i don’t care. you'd fit right in.”

he grins, impossibly calm as his eyes follow the arches and curves of your face. you want to recoil at the intensity of his gaze, but it's difficult when it holds a fondness in it that you can't help but mirror in your own eyes. “you get this intense, cute, little wrinkle right here when you’re mad.” he reaches up and tries to smooth the furrow between your brows with his thumb like it'll erase your irritation along with it.

you slap his hand away. “do not touch me with your grimy hands right now.”

he has the gall to pout. “but they’re so gentle... like doves... or—" you turn to walk away from him mid sentence, overwhelmed with the feeling of frustation. "yikes, you must be really mad.”

whirling back towards him, eyes blazing, your words are sharp and low enough to kill gojo a man. “you think this is funny."

before he can even think about butting in with another word, you continue. "you think you can just breeze in, flirt and woo your way out of this—but let me make this clear: you are not entertaining anyone. in fact, you are irritating the ever living fuck out of me. newsflash, satoru: being noticed is not the same as being wanted."

and as if gojo couldn't get any more insufferable, he places a hand over his heart as the other wipes an invisible tear from his eye in faux appreciation. “that last bit was art—but i must point out...”

you are absolutely enraged now.

gojo on the other hand? he has the nerve to lean in like he’s about to tell you a secret in some intimate moment and not the brink of your moral collapse.

“you’re still talking to me,” he whispers. “mad? sure. but you' re still standing here, and you're still giving me that look like you want to kiss me or kill me though i haven’t quite yet decided which.”

you glare. “do not flatter yourself.”

he smiles, though softly this time, eyes flickering with subtle regret and you know better than anyone that he genuinely does feel sorry. you also know that once you're both home—maybe when you're both in bed—he'll whisper his heartfelt apologies to you, and contrary to your long monologue, he will woo his way out of it.

“i don’t have to,” he says. “you’re doing it for me.”

you stare falters and your mouth falls into a subtle gape, proof of your stunned silence.

it’s not that he wins, because he never quite wins with the way you scowl at him for hours after he's done something wrong. but he’s infuriating in the way that he knows you, really knows you—which means you don’t get to stay mad at him for long without him successfully saying something corny or cheesy that makes breathing feel that little bit harder.

a gallery attendant walks by and throws you a politely, concerned glance, probably wondering if you’re about to cause a scene in front of the painting.

you sigh through your gritted teeth. “you’re lucky i don’t want to ruin yuki’s art show.”

“which is why i waited until we got to the quietest, most echo-y part of the exhibit to approach you. see? i’m being considerate.”

“you're such an ass.”

he's already hooking his fingers around yours in the most arrogantly casual way possible when he pulls you in and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “you still love me.”

you stare at your linked hands.

then at his insufferable, perfect face.

then, dropping your head, you groan—loudly.

it echoes, obviously, and lands you a plethora of confused stares.

“i’m going to kill you,” you mumble.

“I’d probably be into that.”

you look up.

he grins.

you don’t unlink your fingers.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE

[mtkay13]

Gonna post TWO hoboxus today because I CAN! (still desperately trying to catch up with my twitter posts LOL help I'm terrible at this)

From a meme based on art by KOTTERI, the author of Veil (among amazing other things). Find them on twitter @_K0TTERl_!

More musing below, as per usual! (Be ready it's a LONG one again)

I really hesitated with how I wanted to do this. The original had this gorgeous red poster that seemed like a perfect fit for WKX:

(@_K0TTERl_)

Either I went for the imagery of ZZS wistfully gazing upon the mysterious and eccentric WKX, which would definitely have been more aesthetic and undeniably fitting, or I went the semi-humorous route of channelling the "WKX fell for that ugly hobo and his gorgeous shoulder blades" meme-ified side of their dynamic.

Well, clearly that's where I ended up going, but I feel like explaining a bit.

For me, this picture was three-folds:

First part is the meme; it's kind of funny, kind of ridiculous, and sets the tone of what TYK starts off as; rather absurd, with its reasonable dose of dark humor, and the (at first seemingly improbable) meeting and love story between a silly dying hobo and a strange, suspicious, hedonistic gentleman. It felt thematically appropriate for TYK to twist the original image and put the obviously uglier one on the poster since TYK relies heavily on genre subversion to begin with.

Secondly, there is WKX. So, controversial opinion (/jk) but I don't think WKX was necessarily convinced or even really thought that ZZS was "a beauty" underneath his alleged mask. It was probably a mix of various feelings and teasing/provoking which lead to this joke. First, everything he expresses throughout the book and in extra 4; the fascination for this man who seemed too hide great strength and was of no known identity--who was probably more than what he seemed.

(I'm gonna push it just a little bit ((but isn't that the fun of literary interpretation)), but the "beauty under the mask" is not only physical. It could be a way to say, I think that beneath your raunchy, ridiculous attitude, beneath your gross appearance, beneath the pretense that you're a nobody, that you're a peasant, you're probably someone of great importance and great accomplishments, someone much stronger than you pretend to be--someone like me, perhaps, even. The shoulder blades references are, besides of course WKX *actually* noticing them, the observation of how ZZS moves, of how agile his body is, etc...)

Anyway-- the entire point of this intro is to say that to me, this isn't actually referring to that whole side of their dynamic (or not entirely), but rather to that passage that I am STILL OBSESSED WITH where Wen Kexing recognizes ZZS just from the way he's sitting in a restaurant, and that makes him feel things not entirely positive:

Zhou Zishu stepped into an inn alone. He chose a seat by a window, ordered a few side dishes and a jug of mulled rice wine, and drank it slowly while soaking in the sunshine. As soon as Wen Kexing walked in, he saw Zhou Zishu from behind. He didn’t know why, but he thought that this view was quite special—he could always pick it out of a crowd. Zhou Zishu did not sit with his back straight. Most of the time, he lounged indolently at an angle that looked exceptionally comfortable. Wen Kexing thought that it seemed as though nothing weighed on him; seeing him was enough to ease the heart. Wen Kexing unconsciously halted his steps. He stared at Zhou Zishu’s relaxed silhouette for a while, with no trace of an expression in his face or eyes. His heart swelled with some strange feeling—strange, in that it was no feeling at all. He felt as though this man was mocking him with this wordless posture; he who rushed around for one thing or another, who was burdened with so many cares, yet obstinately put on a devil-may-care persona. Zhou Xu—as carefree as duckweed, he thought, with a body like willow catkins. In all the world, with its boundless perspectives, where could you find someone who walked their path alone and never allowed anything to trouble them? Yet he was not apathetic—he had his joy, his anger, his sorrow—and they came in a flash as quickly as they went. Within the blink of an eye, he had forgotten it already.

(Tian Ya Ke, chapter 18, TL by Lianzi) (have I quoted this already??? If not I should have I love this passage so much)

AND THEN QUOTING ANOTHER PASSAGE (LOL), TL by me this time:

From the moment he'd noticed his shoulderblades, felt this rush of excitement, to when he'd started liking who Zhou Zishu was, when he'd thought——so this is the Commander of Tian Chuang. Suddenly, he'd felt as if he'd met his other self. Both of them, lone wolves caught in a hunter's trap, struggling for freedom to no avail, until they had resolved to coldly gnawing off their own legs in the end. He'd felt compelled to follow him around, watched him, until he suddenly realised—if Zhou Zishu could live like this, then surely, so could he?

(Full passage in this other post LOL)

So yes, THIS. Those two things. That's it. Need I say more? HAH OF COURSE I DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO (help)

More seriously--the way WKX is captivated by ZZS' apparent carefreeness and freedom, all the different feelings (or absence thereof, as he puts it, which I interpret as so distant from what he's used to feel that it almost feels like nothing at all) is what I was going for here.... By not showing his face at all LMAO

The envy, the frustration--the impression of being mocked, but also the longing, how it inspired him to follow along and try to be free like he was.

-cough- yes, so that was point 2 out of 3.

Now lastly, about ZZS himself and my representation of him as hoboxu. I think (?) I've written enough about him that I think I can keep this succint. I love how priest often makes a point of expliciting, in the book, how he's so often smiling, and how he's always incredibly energetic in the morning, as if the night of pain had never happened. I like to think that hoboxu is both a carricature of a ridiculous character that ZZS has fun embodying---but also a liberated expression of his deeper self.

WKX feels like he's mocking him, but ZZS is also mocking himself relentlessly, when he feels like the outside resembles the inside finally, when he feels ridiculous in these new robes, when he allows himself the most outrageous behavior---and then there's mocking life itself, mocking jianghu, mocking everything that he nonetheless deeply cherishes. It's almost... gently mocking, affectionate mocking of everything because his own life has become a joke yet he's still going to enjoy it to the fullest--drinking to his heart's content, rolling in the mud and visiting touristy sites (or so he intended).

In the end... the world is still in his own hands. He chose everything, chose the way he lived, the way he (would have) died and still has the power to dissappear at will--but he stays. Stays and endures what he pretends annoys him, because he can't help himself, because he's ridiculous and is aware of it and may as well have some fun while being so.

I can't seem to ever have enough of this, of this vibe. I wanted to have him laugh at and with WKX, at and with the people seeing him, at and with himself, at and with the narrative.

SO YEAH HAH THATS HUM THAT'S IT. You know what they say, it's only a fun meme if there's an essay behind it (noone says that help 😭😭😭😭)

I hope you had fun reading it and have a nice weeked 🤪

[faeruy]

Tarot Time - Agatha All Along, Episode 7 - "Death's Hand in Mine" Part 1

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS EPISODE. There's so much to talk about with regards to the Tarot used in this episode. I had to take a couple of days and watch it a couple of times to catch everything. First off, all of the kudos to the writers - their use of tarot is inspired, the way they connected it throughout the show was BRILLIANT, and I honestly didn't see the reveal that Lilia was seeing her final reading coming. I am legitimately in awe of these writers.

So lets talk about it, as this is mostly going to be me trying to wrap my head around everything that happened. As always, I'm an amateur, so I may get things wrong. I'm also splitting this up into two parts because there's A LOT. First part is Lilia's Reading, the Second part is going to be all of the other cards drawn in the episode.

First up; Lilia's True Reading. I'm starting with this one because I've already talked about a number of the cards and what they mean, although even they take on some new aspects now that they are revealed to be part of the final draw. If you haven't read my earlier posts, there's links at the bottom of this one. This is also going to be tough for me, because while I have a decent familiarity with what each card symbolizes, I've never been particularly strong when it comes to layouts, and how to take in the cards as a whole reading instead of individual pieces. But also, someone can correct me if I'm wrong, "Safe Passage" is a layout that - while visually is based on the Celtic Cross - is made up for the show.

The Traveler is The Queen of Cups - Lilia. She described this card in the show - Full of intuition, but also calm, compassionate and nurturing. Warm hearted in tune with those around her - though in this case not consciously, since earlier callouts of the cards were done involuntarily and out of time. She has some aspects of a Reversed reading; her gaps and out-of-time phasings indicate a bit of emotional insecurity, and by her own admission she's bottled things up so she doesn't have to deal with the pain of seeing the future. But the Upright has been stronger with her by far. The fact that she put a sigil on Billy to give him time to come to terms with who he is speaks volumes about her compassion. It's a card that fits her to a T. I also love the modified card - for the most part, they're using a bog-standard Rider-Waite Deck, but most of the cards are in this drawing are modified. The Queen is usually depicted sitting in a throne, but this deck has her in front of a table - ready to divine and interpret and intuit. Less above her people than the normal card, and more of an equal.

What's Missing - Three of Pentacles - The Coven. I talked in depth about this one before. The only thing that changed is who the reading is for - in the first episode it showed up, the reading was for Agatha. But she wasn't the only one who lost her original coven, Lilia lost hers too. She needed them as much as Agatha did; after all, what is a witch without her coven? And as much as they bicker and lack trust in each other, they have become what they've been missing. This card is modified by making the figures standing in a group look like the Coven - Lilia, Agatha, Jen, Billy, Alice, and yes, even Rio. Oddly enough, not Sharon, suggesting either a) the art department didn't have enough room to fit her in, b)she was never a true witch, therefore not part of the Coven, or c) she was close enough to death even before the Road that Rio was essentially following her - metaphorically.

Path Behind - Knight of Wands - Alice. I talked a lot about this card in episode 5, and I don't know that there's a lot to add here. Lilia goes for the simple definition; a knight full of fire and energy. She leaves out the impulsiveness, but probably has to do with sentimentality and choosing to remembering her heroism. Path behind is obvious; her death was significant, and affected the Coven strongly. Since this is Lilia's reading, I think Alice's death is maybe the catalyst for her to start really confronting her own mortality, and her own Path. Again, the card is modified, depicting a knight holding a staff (interchangeable name for Wands) in the same stance Alice was using to save Agatha. Normally it's a knight on a reared-up horse, with the staff held upright. Both versions of the card indicate a very aggressive, action-oriented person, which Alice very much is.

Path Ahead - The High Priestess - Jen. This one is making me FERAL. So the card here is barely modified - the only difference is the High Priestess looks like Jen. And I've talked about what that means in the first post I made about tarot in this show. What it means HERE, however, is super interesting. First of all, Lilia uses the phrase "unwilling or unable to use it" which specifically refers to a Reversed reading, even though the card itself was drawn Upright. And we know that while Jen succeeded in her Trial, all it really did was help her feel confident in her knowledge of the craft; her origins as a root-worker. It didn't remove her bindings. So in some ways, she's not yet the High Priestess Upright, But given that this is the Path Ahead, I think it means she will be. But what does it mean that she is the Path Ahead? I have a guess, but stick with me here. First of all, The High Priestess is the master of the unconscious and spirituality. Secondly, the Path Ahead is for the Traveler, meaning it's specifically LILIA'S Path Ahead. Also, There's a line in the Ballad about "Spirits as our Guide." So my guess, is at some point, Jen is going to be unblocked, and when she is, she's gonna call on the spirits of those who died on the Road - including Lilia. There's a reason Lilia was okay making the sacrifice she did, and why she was so insistent on Jen specifically getting out of there. I could be wrong, but I think the signs are there, and I cannot wait to see if I'm right.

Obstacles - Three of Swords - Agatha. Interesting, this one probably has several implications. Three of Swords represents heartache and grief. For Lilia specifically, one of her biggest obstacles has been her grief over seeing everyone she knows and loves die well before they do, and being unable to stop it. It's stopped her from using her power to it's full potential and kept her from connecting with and caring about people. She's needed to let that go, accept that Death comes for everyone, and that her visions having meaning and purpose, even if she can't change them. The card is mostly the same, they've just put a figure in the foreground that doesn't normally exist, aka Agatha. So it also kind of implies that Agatha, specifically Agatha's own heartache, has also been a giant obstacle to Lilia, and probably the coven as a whole - continuing the theme that actually, Agatha is her own worst enemy, which tracks.

Windfall - Tower Reversed - William/Billy/Teen. I've already talked about how this relates to Billy, but this reading is for Lilia. So the personal transformation is HERS. Violent and disruptive, but she'll become something new. What will she become? A spirit, maybe? Something else, something more? Or is it that in her final moments, she becomes the strongest, most complete version of herself? I'm inclined towards something beyond - she looks almost ecstatic when she draws it, and tied together with her Path Ahead being The High Priestess, I think she realizes while she may die, she's not done, and she's gonna be GLORIOUS. The card here isn't significantly modified, I believe it might be, but it was so quick I couldn't catch exactly how.

Destination - Death - Rio. And we get the (highly telegraphed) reveal that Rio is Death. Normally the card is Black Knight on a White Horse, but here it's just Rio in Grim Reaper guise. Makes sense, given that in this universe she predates Tarot, so in this deck, the card is based on her. Reading superficially, it's just that all roads lead to Death. But the card is more complicated than that and Lilia knows it. Because the Death card isn't just about physical death. It's about embracing the endings and accepting fate so that something new can begin. The personal transformation promised as the Windfall cannot happen unless one is willing to let the old self end. And Rio is the original Green Witch. A flower cannot grow without nutrients, and soil is enriched by what dies in it. So Lilia knows at this point she has to die. But it's okay now, because it's not an end, it's a new beginning. And I'm crying as I'm writing this. And I think the writers were SO CLEVER that the last shot we see of Lilia is of her as young girl, with her mentor saying "Let's Begin".

I think overall the writers have been very good with their use of tarot, and their layout is very cool. I also think it's very smart that they've associated certain cards with certain witches, and that the words Lilia was using in association with the cards were their basic definitions only. It makes sense; we're talking about a visual medium, and the way she did it was punchier, and more dynamic than doing an in depth interpretation of the cards. But what it didn't do was give us the reading as a whole, and almost tricked the audience into forgetting or dismissing the idea that the reading was for Lilia alone instead of the coven, and that the cards are working together to paint a fuller picture. But this episode has also shown that somebody on the writing staff knows their tarot, or at the very least did a lot of research. And I think there's a deeper interpretation to be had; Lilia's died, but she is not done.

I'm so excited for the last two episodes. I don't know if we'll see more cards after this, but I'm not ruling it out as a possibility. I also have the rest of the cards that were drawn this episode, which I'll go into in Part 2 of this (maybe 3, who knows, there were a LOT of cards). It should be up soon, but I need a bit of a break after writing this one. hope you all enjoyed it!

Here's the Links to Past Episodes

Episode 1-3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6 Episode 7 Part 2

[kirikiristar]

I Don't Understand But I Love You

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × Lee Jihoon

Trope: Homophobic bestfriend is actually just gay

Warning: referenced homophobia, not beta read

Chapters: 1 + extra

Total Word Count: 14.7k

Synopsis:

Jihoon gets all bothered by his roommate suddenly deciding to show up with remnants of his night.

He shouldn't be bothered. He really shouldn't. But...

Author's note:

This is my first time writing a fic and I'm honestly so nervous since this one is pretty long >w<

I plan on writing a sequel to this going more into Myungho's plotline with Vernon if this does well and I hope it doesss

I do recommend listening to instrumentals from My Dearest and My Liberation Notes (both K-dramas) during the kiss scenes as they really did help me get into the mood.

Honestly don't know what else to say,,,

please enjoyy :D

—

Chapter 1

Running into him the first time was a coincidence - nothing Jihoon wanted to see and nothing Soonyoung meant to show.

At 5 am on a Sunday Jihoon heard the front door rattling slightly against the keys, tilting his head back to watch the man shuffle around, and the multiple layers of clothing he had on slowly being discarded off. Jihoon almost thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, maybe the multiple all-nighters finally hit him someplace deep. He did a dramatic double-take to scan Soonyoung's neck littered with reddish-purple marks and bruises, the latter still not having noticed him.

He knew what the marks - hickeys - implied, but decided to ask anyway,

"Uh, your neck- uhm are you- you're good right?" Outstanding delivery, multiple points to Lee Jihoon.

Soonyoung flinched a bit at the unexpected sound before tripping on one of his discarded shoes and almost falling face flat. "Oh, uh, is it that bad? I mean, he did let me know beforehand, but-"

Jihoon didn't really register much of anything after that. 'He' was clearly the word that came out of Soonyoung's mouth.

When did Soonyoung start liking guys? Who was this guy? Why hadn’t Jihoon heard about this sooner? They were best friends, after all. He deserved to know.

"- Jihoon-ah, are you listening?" Soonyoung snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts with a slow hand brushing his dishevelled hair back.

"I didn't know you were seeing someone..." Jihoon whispered, mostly to himself but clearly loud enough for soonyoung to catch on to. "Oh, uh- I'm not actually. We're not anything, I'm probably never meeting this man again," his words flowing out with nonchalance as if he wasn't dropping bombshells of his sexual escapades onto Jihoon.

"Cool", Jihoon finally replied, shifting around on the kitchen island where his impromptu art station was set up.

He fiddled around with his brushes, causing soonyoung to look up from his hands onto the canvas. "You got a lot done, huh? Did you get some sleep? Had something real instead of instant coffee?" Jihoon signalled to the wet paint on his palette and the coffee mug with multiple rings near the rim, indicating the multiple refills the mug had been subjected to. "Take a guess"

Soonyoung snorted silently, a tire to his voice, "well I sure do need some sleep" he said throwing his head back and letting the joints at the base of his neck pop with a satisfying crack. He's now making his way towards his room slowly mumbling to himself "I've been up all night.." jihoon finds himself cringing at those words, against his better judgement.

"...right", he sighs before saturating his brush with the paint on his palette.

Jihoon really did not like where this was going.

—*** —

Soonyoung and Jihoon almost never crossed paths during the week, thanks to Jihoon's demanding student life and Soonyoung's endless part-time jobs.

And so, with Soonyoung now regularly indulging in one-night stands with customers from the bar he worked at, a new pattern began forming between the two. Soonyoung always bought him a meal-or a semblance of it-and Jihoon always made sure an extra cup of coffee was ready for him.

Jihoon never judged him outwardly, nor did he pass unwarranted comments (not like he ever does) but his body language gave away more than he intended to with the way he tensed up and got all rigid every time Soonyoung mentioned any of the guys he had slept with

So Soonyoung had learned not to push him too much, he was grateful enough for the fact that he wasn't being shooed away at first glance, given the fact that the person in front of him was the most antisocial person he had ever seen.

— *** —

The real nail in the head that sent Jihoon spiralling was when Soonyoung brought a guy home for the first time.

It was a night Jihoon had decided to gift himself a few hours of sleep before a jury presentation at the university and a staggering zombie wouldn't have made for the best first impression.

So at 10 that night he had popped a sleeping pill and dropped dead.

A well-calculated dose almost guaranteed that he would be up by 10 am the next day, a comfortable 12 hours of sleep that allowed for enough room to prepare for the 2 pm jury. Or at least that was how it was supposed to go.

He wakes up at eight instead - disappointing - he's slept all wrong and now his body is sore - irritating - the clothes that were supposed to be dry by now to be dropped off at the dry cleaners were still damp - simply devastating - and then he hears it.

Soft humming from outside the door. By a voice he didn't recognise.

He quickly grabbed an Exacto knife and hid it under the sleeve of his hoodie before slowly opening his door in tense anticipation.

"Jihoon?" The man on the sofa asked. Hair dyed a soft peachy pink, multiple piercings dotting his ears, and a teacup in his hand, the man sat with a leg over the other. He was dressed in a shirt at least 3 times over his size and hopefully, a pair of boxers - jihoon wouldn't dare think otherwise.

Looking way too comfortable in the space for someone who never met Jihoon before

Jihoon didn't reply.

He couldn't.

The gears in his head were already turning, putting pieces together. What could he have said anyway - 'Yes, hello, this is me - Soonyoung’s homophobic best friend who's currently extremely uncomfortable in your presence and wishes you would leave now'

"Is that not you?" The man asks, tilting his head slightly and sipping his tea.

Needless to say, Jihoon wasn't the most polite during this interaction either.

"Aren't you supposed to leave when you're done?" He mumbled under his breath, putting down the knife on the kitchen island.

The man looked to the side to hide his laughter. Well, an attempt was made.

"I'm Myungho, by the way. Figured you'd want to know," he paused for a second,

"Or not"

"Soonyoung's out. Said he wanted to make me breakfast before I left…" he turned his head, sight returning to its place out the window.

Jihoon grumbles a bit under his breath, and then he hears the door pin being entered, the familiar rhythm indicative of Soonyoung.

He raises his eyebrows and nods his head towards Myungho as a greeting and then turns to walk towards the kitchen, where Jihoon's getting started on 2 cups of coffee.

Like clockwork, he's carding his fingers through the other's hair, tucking strays behind his ear and smoothing the cowlick that seems to have formed in his sleep.

"You should've slept a bit longer... I wanted breakfast to be ready for you when you woke up "

To this, Jihoon unknowingly looks back at Myungho, only to find him grinning back at him.

What's this guy's deal? Jihoon thinks.

The entire conversation is had facing away from Soonyoung. Jihoon really doesn't want to make it that obvious,

"I definitely would not be up of my own will, not at this ungodly hour" he huffs out.

He hears Myungho step around him towards the sink. "Half the world is probably up right now" he says turning behind to glance at Jihoon.

"Half of them probably never slept, to begin with"

He's been stirring the coffee for way too long now.

Myungho chuckles and walks over to soonyoung placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll take you up on the breakfast some other day, gotta get going now.

I'll see you soon" he says before heading back to Soonyoung's room.

"You're so dramatic. I'll see you tomorrow anyway!" He laughs and Myungho simply shrugs.

Then he's facing Jihoon, standing there in awkward silence.

"I took half the day off to help you with your jury prep" he bends down slightly and puts his face into Jihoon's line of sight.

He's beaming.

Jihoon lets out a low laugh and looks at soonyoung for the first time since he's come home.

"You proud of me or what?" He says. Half-baked seriousness to his gloating.

"Sure if that makes you work faster. I'm starving "

He's grinning now, sliding the cup over to soonyoung and pushing him towards his bag of groceries.

— *** —

Myungho leaves a while later and Soonyoung's left to explain the situation the best he can.

"Well, when was the last time you checked your phone?" He asked instead.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. "10 pm last night probably. I took a pill and killed myself after that"

Soonyoung scrunches his nose at his choice of words but continues "Right well, I'm sorry for bringing someone over without making sure you were informed"

Jihoon nods, internally grateful for the consideration of thought.

"I thought you said you don't see the same people twice," he says, referencing their earlier conversation.

Soonyoung's fingers return to his hair, arranging strands aesthetically to his liking.

"Uh, Myungho's a friend from school, I kinda see him every day and I can't just-" he jerks his hand open with a **poof** sound.

"You're fine, you don't need to justify anything. I'm just curious as to how this plays out generally"

Jihoon lies.

On the other hand, was Jihoon’s pickiness just another outlet for his homophobic thoughts to seep out?

Jihoon hated himself for it. He hated seeing Soonyoung with a guy and he hated the way they left marks on him.

He hated the fact that he had to be the one to see all of it at the end of the day.

Unfortunately, there were tasks more pressing at hand that warranted Jihoon’s attention.

— *** —

True to his word, Soonyoung helped around for the duration of his leave, going as far as to drop him to the university.

And when the crushing weight of the jury had been lifted off of his shoulders, Jihoon decided to go pay his therapist-his best friend-a- visit.

He shoots him a quick text before he barges into his apartment.

"Am I homophobic?" He nearly wails.

"...good evening to you too"

Seungcheol replies.

"People usually text before dropping by, by the way," he says with an annoyed undertone.

"Check your phone I did"

"1 minute ago when you were probably standing outside my door jackass"

Guilty.

"Anyways, what are you on about"

Seungcheol says clearing the bed for Jihoon.

"I think I'm homophobic and I hate myself for it," he says again, minus the dramatics.

"well okay genius, but I need context if you want me to do something about it" Seungcheol shoots back.

Jihoon groans and lands face-first on the bed, ignoring seungcheol's accusations about his hygiene.

"A, Uhm, a friend of mine is into guys and I can't say I'm healthily dealing with the revelation"

"Soonyoung right?"

Jihoon whips his head back to face Seungcheol with wide eyes. "How-"

"So, what—did you meet his boyfriend or something? That made you feel weird? Like you didn't want him around?" he continues

Jihoon's jaw is on the floor by this point. But he has a mind enough to correct him, "Not his boyfriend" he says jabbing a finger in his general direction.

"maybe look a little less happy next time you say that" he huffs.

Jihoon goes a little red at that, like he's been caught.

"I did not," he says snarkily.

"Yah- Lee Jihoon, are you dumb or just dense?"

Jihoon stares back at him with a defensive expression prodding him to explain further. "...what"

Seungcheol sighs and leans back in his chair to prop his legs up on the coffee table of his one-room apartment. "do you feel disgusted when you look at Soonyoung?"

Jihoon's face contorts into something that spells 'offence taken'

"Of course not! now you're being homophobic. He just likes guys-" he stops himself mid-sentence and stares blankly at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol stares back at him smiling slightly with a raised eyebrow. "that answers your questions I hope"

"But that doesn't help anything.." He trails off. "why am I being like this then?"

Another groan from Seungcheol.

"Alright mister, let's go step by step" Jihoon nods enthusiastically.

"he's not disgusting"

"no"

"him liking guys isn't an issue"

"Right"

"he's never brought guys over"

"...yes"

"but he did yesterday, and that set you off"

"uh, yes? I think?"

"so the possibility of him actually dating someone instead of just, I don't know, fucking around is the problem"

"Perhaps,"

Jihoon is smart. Smart, but dense. also stupid. and so he slowly figures it out.

"So you like him"

"I like him"

"God, I'm gay, not homophobic"

Seungcheol sounds a party popper going off, "Congrats"

— *** —

He ignores his newly discovered feelings for a good while. The facade of a good friend is steadily maintained and soon Jihoon is set to be stationed at Jeju-do for a site study.

he's sprawled out on the couch listlessly watching a video about the cultural hot spots in Jeju-do zoning out every once in a while when the video gets too factual.

"Oh~ Jihoon-ie, what're you doing?" Soonyoung says, holding up Jihoon's head to slide his thigh under. Jihoon's heart almost combusts and he hopes his face isn't too red.

Soonyoung's been less bruised recently and has been home more than before. Jihoon is staring at him, and the video is now aimlessly playing in the background. His hand instinctively reaches up to rub at one of the fading marks on his jaw. He pulls back just as suddenly.

Soonyoung doesn't react. his jaw clenches slightly for a second before he clears his throat.

"I quit my bartending job, a tutoring gig one of my seniors suggested pays more. And it's only like 3 hours on the weekends surprisingly"

Jihoon hums thoughtfully. "That's great," he says, because he now gets more time with soonyoung outside of school and he's also not around drunk horny men all night.

"I'm going to Jeju during the break... it's for a site visit from the uni" he says.

"you booked a hotel yet?"

"not yet, I was planning on looking around in the next few days"

"I've got a friend in Jeju who's been asking me to come over for ages, if you want it, I could give you his number and you could hit him up" soonyoung says.

"You can't come along?" Jihoon asks, his tone on the edge of a whine.

Soonyoung's hand in Jihoon's hair stalls and he laughs, a slight flush to his face. "Why? you want me there?"

if his face wasn't beet red then, it definitely is now. "what the fuck, Kwon Soonyoung.." he sputters under his hand covering his face.

Soonyoung's hand drops down on Jihoon's stomach and he pats him a few times for good measure. "I'll come along if you want me to. there's no reason why I won't want to see Seungkwan again either"

"Seungkwan?"

"The friend"

"ah, okay."

Later that day, an obligatory text finds its way into Seungcheol’s phone.

— *** —

Jihoon counts the days down with excitement. His heart starts beating out his heart and his face gets flushed every time he imagines it.

"Keep your imagination in control Jihoon" Seungcheol laughs lowly.

"I don't think art history should be making your ears go red"

Jihoon shoots him a glare and covers his ears. "Shut up"

on the day of departure, Jihoon packs the last of his supplies into his overhead luggage and pulls his beanie down low. He's never fared well with the plane's dusty, musty air.

"Are you all done Jihoon-ah?" Soonyoung asks from the living room where he's tagging up the last of their luggage.

"Yeah I just need a minute I can't find-"

"I've got your headphones and your power bank with me" Soonyoung calls out.

"Thanks," Jihoon says as he shuffles out with his hands extended.

He was suddenly painfully aware of the domesticity between them that was blissfully ignored earlier. The subtle intricacies of their involvement in each other's lives that were otherwise taken for granted under the guise of friendship.. and now, Jihoon could ignore it no more.

"I'm sorry let's go"

His headphones sit snug around his neck, possibly the only semblance of warmth he's getting with the way he's dressed in an oversized tee and knee-length shorts.

Soonyoung on the other hand, gets cold easily and prefers hoodies and sweatpants instead.

— *** —

They're mostly silent till they board, working wordlessly together in perfect harmony, years of silent cues and unspoken signals allowing for the smooth completion of pre-boarding procedures.

"Oh, Hyung here! I see you. Look for the orange sweater that's me,” Seungkwan spoke across the line.

Soonyoung whips his head around a million times before Jihoon grabs his sleeve and pulls him in Seungkwan's direction. "He's there dumbass, where are you even looking? " he laughs.

The weather in Jeju-do is perfect. The sky is clear and the air is fresh. If they weren't excited already, they sure are now.

"This is Jihoon, the friend I told you about," he nods to Jihoon, "and that's Seungkwan"

Seungkwan holds his hand out and smiles brightly "Hi! I'm Seungkwan, it's really nice to finally meet you. Hyung told me a lot about you Jihoon-ssi"

"Only good things I hope" he laughs and directs a side-eye towards Soonyoung, to which he only shrugs. That asshole.

"Also you don't have to be so formal, you can call me Hyung, or Jihoon if that's more comfortable”

"Well then hyung, let's get going"

— *** —

Seungkwan drives them to their residence for the week while they catch up along the way.

"We're here hyung! This used to be my grandma's house but she lives with my sister now because of her health conditions"

And the house is gorgeous.

Deep navy tiles slope off of the roof with windchimes facing the veranda, a winding cobbled walkway leading up to the front gate, ornamental bonsai that have been neatly trimmed and maintained and the multiple trees that dot the periphery of the complex.

"Are you the one maintaining the place Seungkwan-ah?" Jihoon asks awestruck as he walks around examining the bonsai collection.

"Yes I am, I can't say I'm very regular with the upkeep but it's a great way to unwind once in a while... plus it always makes my grandma happy when she sees that her plants are safe with me" he smiles.

He begins placing the bags and suitcases inside one of the rooms while Soonyoung joins Jihoon in his field trip around the house.

"Jihoon-ie hyung! What time do you need to leave for the site visit? Me and Hoshi Hyung will go get the groceries for the barbecue an hour before you get back then" Seungkwan calls out from inside the house. 

'Hoshi', he's heard of the nickname before, but it's mostly just used by his childhood friends. Some reference to his teenage phase of being obsessed with tigers. It's cute regardless, so Jihoon doesn't complain. 

He doesn't really have a set schedule he's meant to follow. But the sooner he leaves, the better the lighting and the more time he gets. 

He should probably leave after lunch.

"I'll be back by 7" he shouts back, his voice dragging at the ends, reconsidering the numbers he's giving. "Yep 7" he confirms.

"Wow, that late? Are you going back to Seoul or something?" Soonyoung scoffs beside him.

"Oh, shut up you can't even draw a person without giving him rickets"

Soonyoung gasps and shoves Jihoon lightly, just enough to tip him off balance. "Jerk" 

"Yes you too" but well, he doesn't really mean it. 

In fact, his heart has been performing somersaults in his chest ever since he found out that Seungkwan won't be staying with them. 

He's been imagining all sorts of scenarios and after being a 'good friend' and keeping his feelings at bay for god knows how long, he just wants Soonyoung to notice him. To think of him as anything but a brotherly figure and give him the hypothetical chance he needs.

— *** — 

Soonyoung and Seungkwan spent the day visiting places from their childhood - the mart that they frequented after school, the road that sloped downhill and was their idea of a makeshift stunt ramp, the cat cafe that fostered Soonyoung's favourite Bengal kitten (he cried after she got adopted), and the tangerine farm that Seungkwan's parents ran.  It was nostalgic and wholesome and Soonyoung lived to see how well Seungkwan had grown up. 

He had decided to start working earlier than the others and was simultaneously juggling his degree with his career, which Soonyoung honestly respected.  Seungkwan had saved up enough to not only rent a flat with his roommate Jeonghan but also to buy a car to save on travel expenses. All this without the financial support of his parents.

"so Seungkwann-ie, are you seeing anyone nowadays? how's the dating life?" Soonyoung asks him as they're on their way back home.

"Hyung, I'm literally married to my work. How can you even ask me that?" he replies with a scandalised gasp. 

Soonyoung snorts and clears his throat "Well then, tell your work I said hi"

"I will"

the rest of the walk home is filled with aimless chatter and impromptu skits that come rather naturally to them.

"what about you hyung?" Seungkwan asks as they put back the meats in the freezer.

"what about me?"

"Are you seeing anyone?" he's almost grinning, as if he knows of some mysterious partner that even Soonyoung doesn't.

"Uh, no. Not currently"

Seungkwan's face drops at that. 

"I thought you were dating Jihoon Hyung?"

"Wait what-?"

"I'm back! I hope you didn't start without me" they hear Jihoon's voice from near the gate.

Seungkwan gives him the 'we're talking about this later' eyes before he frolics out to greet Jihoon.

"We just got back too, you're fine Hyung" he says.

Seungkwan brings out the cooler box by the time Jihoon begins grilling the meat and the sparks and embers of the fire add life to the symphony of cicadas in the backdrop. The air here is much cleaner allowing the stars to shine through and the moon to glow bright.

It's a heavenly sight and even Jihoon, who avoids drinking on most occasions is feeling up for a drink. "Jihoon-ie Hyung, do you have plans tomorrow?" Seungkwan asks.

"Not until evening," he says giving him an understanding look.

"Cut some up for me Jihoon-ah" Soonyoung says leaning over his shoulder with his mouth wide open. Seungkwan sighs and takes a swig of his beer, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

Jihoon deems now a time better than any other to be bolder with his feelings, high on the feels and drunk on emotion. He carefully cuts a bite-sized piece of a cut he's grilling and blows on it for good measure, knowing Soonyoung would have gobbled it up hot, cold or flaming. With a hand under his chin, Jihoon feeds him the piece, an indirect confession, if he might. 

"Careful, it's hot" he whispers, close enough only for Soonyoung to hear.

He looks intently and gauges his reaction, searching for any signs of repulsion or disgust on his face. A cue for him to reel it in. But Soonyoung's reaction says something different, almost eager. Almost reciprocating. 

He chews on the piece in silence, his ears red, face approaching a flush. His jaw aches with the way he's clenching it so hard and he's really, really trying to look away. The tension between them is suffocating and the space between them, though large enough feels like it's reduced to centimetres, oddly intimate.

Seungkwan's grumbling snaps Soonyoung out of his trance and he sputters out a semblance of a response.

"Oh uh- it's, yeah it's good. As always, of course. Sorry uhh, you'll burn it. Jihoon-ah"

Jihoon peels his eyes away with much effort, Seungkwan is now lost to the background and the meat on the grill is slightly overcooked. "Fuck- uh, hand me the plate," he says, finally forming new thoughts on his blank slate of a mind. 

Soonyoung runs inside to grab a plate and Seungkwan turns to Jihoon. "Hyung. What's going on, seriously? Am I delusional or am I actually seeing something here?"

"What" 

"Oh my god is that all you guys can manage!?" He huffs. 

"Quiet down, will you? A little louder and the dog next door is gonna want this gossip" 

Jihoon acts nonchalantly as if he doesn't get it. As if he's as blissfully unaware as Soonyoung probably is. But this is new, this is scary and Jihoon is scared. He really is.

"I'm not dense, I get it. But he's also his own person, someone whose decisions I can neither control nor live comfortably with. So this is what I'm resorting to. Let me be Seungkwan-ah”

Seungkwan gives the liquid in his bottle a few swirls before he downs it. The look in his eyes is easily mistakable for pity. But Jihoon knows it's something closer to empathy, some sense of understanding.  "Right, I'm sorry hyung." 

"You're fine, I get where you're coming from" 

As if on cue, Soonyoung rushes outside with a bunch of plates and three big bowls. "I figured you'd have grilled more"

"Good job" Jihoon says holding out his fist to which  Soonyoung bumps his fist back. 

"Seungkwan-ie are you proud of me?" He beams at him.

"Hoshi hyung, let's not forget humility, yeah?" He jokes back and soon with the number of empty bottles piling up and the meat supply dwindling,  it's time for Seungkwan to leave.

No amount of alcohol could keep him calm in this situation. Whatever tipsy state he was in reduced to a slight flush and thoughts surprisingly clear for someone who probably drank half his body weight in alcohol.

"Don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow Hyung" Seungkwan whispers to Jihoon half-jokingly. 

"Hoshi Hyung, come walk with me" 

Jihoon considers tagging along for the briefest of seconds, scared of Seungkwan spilling something to Soonyoung, scared that Soonyoung despite his drunken state, might end up remembering something tomorrow. But honestly? with the pace at which Jihoon is progressing, he might need some alcoholic intervention. 

— *** —

He moves sluggishly to his room to get his sketchbook, hoping the cool wind on his face and some task to concentrate on might sober him up. The bonsai collection calls to him. Nimble fingers capture delicate curves, and shapes find new being in his hazed state. He's definitely bringing home a bonsai of his own, he thinks. It's so pretty it's like a work of art. Jihoon loves art. 

The gate creaks open and Soonyoung walks in, drawing a flinch out of Jihoon.

he's quiet. unusual. 

Jihoon wonders what they spoke about. He wouldn't dare to ask anyway. 

"What are you doing Jihoon-ie?" he asks, sitting beside him. Soonyoung's fingers in Jihoon's hair feel grounding, keeping him from floating away with the way he slightly applies pressure at his fingertips, tugging lightly at his hair every once in a while. Jihoon could fall asleep right here.

Through half-lidded eyes he watches Soonyoung single-handedly open a can of beer, the other now resting on Jihoon's nape. 

It's a particularly cloudless day and in the serene silence of the night, Soonyoung is drenched in moonlight. His lashes cast wispy shadows on his cheekbones and his face glows. He looks like a dream. 

"Be still Soonyoung-ah" Jihoon whispers. Soonyoung's breath catches slightly at the way Jihoon says his name but he ultimately relaxes into a comfortable position.

This is the first time Jihoon has shared a space this personal and definitely the first time he's taken Soonyoung as a model.

"Is there a theme to this?" He asks wondering what brought the sudden change on.

Jihoon stays silent for a good few minutes. The sound of the pencil scratching the paper, the cicadas in the background and their timely breaths are the only sounds that fill the space between them.

He finally looks up at Soonyoung. Staring intently, as if to look deeper.

If only it could help Jihoon understand Soonyoung's feelings.

He sighs low.

"You really.."

He's looking right into his eyes, and he wouldn't forgive himself if he looked away now.

"You look so pretty right now"

Soonyoung's eyes go wide, and the tips of his ears are bright red. The night doesn't allow for much of anything to be obvious, and Jihoon, in turn, only stares harder.

Soonyoung whips his head away from Jihoon to focus instead on his fingers fiddling with the edge of his fraying shirt.

And Jihoon sees that his neck and shoulders are flushed, too.

Soonyoung's got to be a fucking liar to deny anything now.

"Yah, Lee Jihoon" Soonyoung finally speaks scratching the back of his head.

"How much did you drink?"

Jihoon huffs at that. He nearly considers backing off and calling this null and void.

Soonyoung doesn't take him seriously and as far as the situation could possibly go, Jihoon doesn't see a future for them outside of Soonyoung's bed the next morning.

He's seen firsthand the disinterest and apathy with which Soonyoung talks about the people he's slept with. He's scared he's going to end up as one of Soonyoung's many one-night stands and he's scared he doesn't have it in him to hold back.

"Jihoon-ah answer me, please"

And then there's the change of tone. As if it matters to him whether it's the alcohol talking or if Jihoon actually means the words he's said.

It's not even a confession. Jihoon thinks.

It's not.

"I'm pretty much sober right now"

Soonyoung's fingers tremble slightly and at this point, Jihoon can't tell whose heartbeat it is that he hears in his head.

"Tell me more," he says taking Jihoons hands in his own. "what else?"

The pleasant evening air has turned lightly humid making Jihoon flinch at the action. His palms are sweaty from the nerves and this isn't the most ideal situation to fall prey to Soonyoung's otherwise soothing touch.

"Your ears are red," Soonyoung says now kneeling in front of him, peering at his face from down below. Jihoon grumbles and attempts to pull his hands out, only to be held tighter. Soonyoung chuckles nervously before giving his hands a slight squeeze. "Sorry"

They spend a few minutes like that trying to fight the nerves before Jihoon speaks, his voice somewhere close to a whisper. 

"you're loud... and you drain me sometimes. But I can't imagine my day without you in it anymore"

"I like the way your hair gets all spikey after you shower and I think it's cute how you eat every meal like it's your last meal"

Soonyoung lowers his head onto Jihoons lap and his fingers guide Jihoons' to his hair. 

"I like that you always got me a burger no matter how tired you were and I like the way you play with my hair"

His fingers slide down to hold Soonyoung's chin in his hand and he tilts his head up to face Jihoon.  "Do you need more?" 

Soonyoung's eyes move dazedly across Jihoon's face taking in every plane, line and feature.  

"How about you answer a question for me instead?" 

Jihoon tries to gulp down the fear rising in his throat and nods meekly.  

"Will you let me think more of this?"

god, he's not ready for this. He looks away for a second and mumbles under his breath "I don't know..."

"then can I do something?"

He doesn't reply and Soonyoung doesn't wait for an answer either.

Instead, he tugs at jihoon's hands pulling him closer till their faces are mere inches away. His thumbs repeatedly smooth over the expanse of Jihoon's hands and Jihoon can see how Soonyoung's Adam's apple bobs nervously with the way he gulps. 

Jihoon's eyes flit across his face. His cheeks are tinted red and his pupils are blown wide, the adrenaline of it all getting to him. 

He knows for sure that Soonyoung isn't drunk. He knows for sure that whatever happens today won't be lost to the night and get washed away with the alcohol. 

He knows the permanence of their decisions and the weight of their actions, but he's come too far to give a damn about anything except Soonyoung right now. 

Soonyoung licks his lips lightly and clears his throat, fingertips thrumming with life.

He looks into Jihoon's eyes for any signs of rejection but Jihoon, though apprehensive doesn't show any. 

With one last shaky breath, he shuts his eyes and presses his lips to Jihoons'.

Their kiss lasts only a few seconds, but to Jihoon, it feels like ages. Years of unnoticed feelings finally come unravelled, and he sinks into the grounding, comforting weight of the situation. 

Jihoon melts into putty in Soonyoung's hands, and all inhibitions leave his body. He slowly moves his fingers to interlock with Soonyoungs, hoping to feel more of him than he already can. 

It's soft and light, and it conveys their feelings better than words ever could.

Jihoon can only hope he's not misunderstanding. 

Soonyoung pulls away after a second to stare at Jihoon, who licks his lips and stares back.

Jihoon's lips are chapped and raw from the night air and from how he unconsciously bites them when he's nervous. 

Soonyoung runs a thumb over his lips and rests his hand on Jihoon's jaw. 

"Don't your lips hurt?"

"Because you kissed me?" Jihoon laughs almost involuntarily.

"Oh my god, shut up," he says, dropping his hand to shove at Jihoon's shoulder lightly.

Soonyoung lowers his head back down on his lap and hugs his legs tightly. He lets out a long sigh and groans quietly before he relaxes his grip. 

"You good?" Jihoon asks, fingers fiddling around the cuff of his ear.

"Thank you," Soonyoung says after a pause. "For saying all that, I mean."

"It's nothing you don't already know" Jihoon replies, giggling lightly. 

"Oh trust me, it is"

"I don't think I've ever not thought of you this way. It comes naturally to me I guess"

Soonyoung hums absentmindedly and turns his head to rest his chin on Jihoon's thigh.

"Can I kiss you once more" 

With Soonyoung pressed so close to him he can feel how hard his heart is beating and he's only thankful Soonyoung can't do the same. 

He's laid himself bare in front of the other and honestly feels like flesh and bones under him, too aware and too exposed. 

Running away is the best he can do, he decides.

"What's wrong with you all of a sudden..." he says laughing nervously while pushing Soonyoung's face away. 

He stands and stumbles a bit around Soonyoung before he starts putting his sketchbook and pencils back in his bag. 

Soonyoung rushes to his feet, his arms flailing with confusion and eyes wide with surprise. 

"Don't go to bed without washing up. I'm gonna go to sleep now. Uh. See you. Goodnight." Jihoon says while clumsily trying to move past him. 

Soonyoung moves quickly to grab ahold of Jihoon's wrist. He moves both hands to cup his face and speaks low and steady.

"Don't you dare act like nothing happened today."

Jihoon turns his eyes away.

"Or I'm gonna kiss you in front of Seungkwan and run away."

His eyes shoot back to glare at Soonyoung and eye him with disapproval.

"I'm pretty shameless when I need to be, Jihoon-ah" he laughs.

Jihoon huffs loudly and nods his head.

"words please"

"I got it already"

"Promise me"

"yeah okay, now let me go. This is really embarrassing" Jihoon's going redder by the minute and his brain is drawing closer to total disfunction when Soonyoung starts laughing.

He lets go of his face and bends down to hug him tight. His face rests comfortably in the crook of Jihoon's neck and he breathes in lightly, squeezing Jihoon tight.

"Don't forget me Jihoon-ah" he mumbles, warm breath fanning over the nape of Jihoon's neck. 

"I won't" he replies, palms drawing soothing circles across Soonyoung's back. 

"I've waited far too long for this." 

Jihoon's breath hitches and he's tempted to pull away. 

What was he implying? 

What was **this** anyway?

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, he feels Soonyoung slightly tilt his head and kiss the nape of his neck. 

"Goodnight. Sleep in tomorrow if you need to" he says before pulling away.

With one last ruffle of his hair and a pat on his shoulder, Soonyoung turns him around and guides him inside.

Not that he needs the guidance but nor is he opposed to it.

It's Kwon Soonyoung after all.

— *** —

Unlike his expectations, jihoon passes out the minute he hits the bed. The fatigue of the day and the mental stress he's been under catching up to him. 

Left alone with his thoughts, he's sure overthinking would consume him. So immediate exhaustion is more than welcome.

Without a clue about what was happening behind the doors of his room, Jihoon decided that he could process Soonyoung's feelings after he had worked through his own.

When your one-sided crush is suddenly thrust into motion, one can only be so prepared for what comes after.

— *** —

He wakes up the next day to the sound of excited chatter from the veranda and groggily checks the time on his phone. 

'1 unread message from Soonyoung' 

is what he sees instead.

The sharp pain in the back of his head coupled with the awful ache in his body really don't help the state of involuntary sobriety he's in.

and then it all comes back to him. 

The drunken rambling, the absolute lack of personal space, the raw unfiltered emotion and the kiss. 

Oh god, the kiss. 

The phone in his hand is lost to gravity as his hands dramatically come up to cover his increasingly reddening face. 

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Lee Jihoon" he groans to himself and flops back onto his bed. 

for a moment, he considers acting like he doesn't remember anything from the night before. Blame everything on the same alcohol that he borrowed courage from. 

Be an ungrateful little shit. 

But then he remembers his promise to Sooonyoung.

_'gonna kiss you in front of Seungkwan'_

He cringes at that.

Ultimately he decides there's really no point in hiding from Soonyoung.

He tidies himself up the best he can making sure he warms his throat up just enough to not sound squeaky. 

With much reluctance, he finally opens the door and tiptoes outside. He wishes he were invisible honestly. 

The absolutely uncharacteristic way in which he acted yesterday made Jihoon question his willingness to drink in the future.

"Hyung! Come have breakfast when you're up for it. I made some hangover soup... I'm sure you'd appreciate some right now." Seungkwan spots him trying to sneak around out of the bathroom.

"You walking like that makes you seem more suspicious than you probably want to be seen as, Hyung. Just walk comfortably" he supplies, laughing.

He silently observes Jihoon stumble to stability and walk shamefully up to the spread Seungkwan’s prepared. His eyes wander about until Seungkwan finally clears his throat and speaks. “Hoshi Hyung isn't here.” Jihoon narrows his eyes at Seungkwan and speaks slowly, cautiously. “I didn't ask” “Didn’t say you did.” he shrugged. He quietly ladles the soup into a bowl for Jihoon, all while smirking to himself. Only when Jihoon’s halfway through breakfast does he speak next. “Hyung, be honest. Something happened yesterday after I left, right?” He’s only met with sputtering and coughing from the other end before Jihoon finally speaks

“...no”

“...Right. Sure” and some judgemental slurping follows. 

Jihoon keeps nervously glancing at the gate every few minutes and gets multiple looks of worry from Seungkwan. “Please don't tell me you got drunk and slept with him.” his eyes widened at Jihoon’s silence.

“I literally told you not to do anything you’d regret Hyung!” Jihoon listlessly picks at the rice in his bowl and mumbles under his breath “... It's not that.” He tries his best to come up with a sensible way to explain his predicament, but honestly, he can't.

How’s he supposed to explain to Seungkwan that his roommate, whom he has a painfully obvious crush on, kissed him last night. His roommate, who sleeps with people casually. His roommate, whose feelings he has no idea about. It sounds stupid even to him to assume that Soonyoung acted the way he did without any basis of emotion. Jihoon just needs to know he’s not a quick fuck. “Well, hear me out then I suppose”

“Thank fucking god”

"Oh my god, okay. That's kinda messed up."

"Maybe I need to tell him it was all a mistake-"

"Hyung. The messed up part here is you letting things go this far without trusting Hoshi hyung."

Seungkwan sighs heavily and finishes the rest of his soup. 

"Think about it, hyung. Your worries are valid, I don't doubt it. But honestly I wouldn't be going into something like this without having some level of trust in my partner. And as far as I know, Hoshi isn't the type to sleep around, so that in itself being true is somewhat of a shocker to me."

Jihoon looks at him stunned, like he's been hit with a thousand bricks all at once. Bricks of realisation Perhaps. 

"Right."

"Hyung. You're okay. Hoshi hyung is a good guy. Don't doubt your gut." 

As if on cue, Soonyoung walks in through the gate humming some children's cartoon show intro. 

"Don't overthink hyung" he whispers one last time before the worry fades and his cheerful exterior is back on.

The moment Soonyoung's eyes meet Jihoon's he falls silent, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His eyes look deep inside Jihoon, trying to pick up hints and signs. 

It's endearing to Jihoon the way he cautiously tilts his head and the way his gaze holds an amalgamation of emotions. 

He smiles to himself and speaks. 

"Hey, Soonyoung-ah breathe. I still remember" 

"How-"

"Try using your brain instead of your face when you think." He laughs, making Seungkwan snort.

"That scared the shit out of me you idiot" he grumbles 

"Grow a pair, dumbass" Jihoon responds, laughing. 

"You and your flowery language, seriously.." adds Seungkwan before clearing the plates and carrying them over to the kitchen. 

Jihoon finds himself mindlessly staring at Soonyoung while he does his cool-down post-workout routine. 

Defined, lean muscle makes itself obvious when he twists and stretches and Jihoon should really be looking away now.

"you're all done, right?" Soonyoung rounds the corner of the veranda to lean over Jihoon. 

Jihoon in turn brandishes his empty bowl at him.

"Guess."

Soonyoung holds out his hand and makes grabbing motions at him, asking him to follow.

"What are you doing?" 

"Come with me, let's go somewhere," he says.

This earns him an eyebrow raise from Jihoon who answers back just as quickly. 

"Seungkwan is like-" he motions inside the house, "-right here."

"He's not dense Jihoon. You are" He huffs.

Jihoon glares at him and without breaking eye contact, he calls out to Seungkwan.

"Seungkwan-ah! I'll be out for a while. And I'm taking this guy with me."

Seungkwan momentarily pops his head out to nod at them before he heads in again. 

"Why're you being so cute today?" Soonyoung laughs leaning down to match Jihoon's level. 

"You just say anything, don't you?" Jihoon stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and trods out the gate. 

"Ah, Jihoon-ie, wait for me! Why are you so fast?" he grumbles, sliding his arm through Jihoon's as he leads the way. "You don't even know where you're going."

"Why do you have so many questions today?"

"No idea"

The break is almost over and ultimately, so is this dream-like Jeju escapade. The city life awaits them again and Jihoon can only hope it’s going to be a bit more fulfilling with soonyoung and their… Arrangement. They’ve been walking for a while now and Jihoon’s losing patience. Refusing to walk on his own he’s pretty much being pushed by Soonyoung up whatever hill they’re walking.

Soonyoung heaves behind Jihoon, each breath coming out a little more taxed than the one before. “You’re such a baby Jihoon. Noone’s going to push you up and literally make you walk,” he says through huffs and heaves. “But you will.” It's a rather simple statement to make, easy to miss and easy to ignore. But it's not. It's really not. Soonyoung feels the way Jihoon’s heartbeat speeds up in his palms and he only slows down a bit. “I will.” —***— After much of Jihoon’s grumbling, Soonyoung finally pulls away the hands that cover Jihoon’s eyes as they reach the summit. Its quiet, serene and beautiful. 

He’s seen multiple such scenes with how often he works with large-scale paintings. Carefully calculating the time of the day to ensure optimal lighting and the best visuals. Yet this is special. It’s different, and Jihoon is filled to the brim with love and adoration. A hearty laugh spills out his lips despite himself and he tips his body weight forward to rest his palms on his knees. He wants to say something honestly, compliment Soonyoung, maybe. Thank him for this trip, for his help with Seungkwan, for reciprocating his feelings, for - fuck if he knows - existing? 

And yet, he doesn't. He wouldn't dare waste his words on these complicated, unexplainable feelings. Staring at Soonyoung, however, seems to provide some form of solace. In true Soonyoung fashion, he’s already staring back. Eyes shiny with pride and love, he looks intently at Jihoon. Taking in every little shift in his expression - the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he pushes his hair back every time it gets in his way, refusing to cut it and the way he licks his lips while he tries to catch his breath. Soonyoung’s left staring.

Jihoon’s smile widens as he slowly turns to face Soonyoung. “What? What is it?” he asks. He’s met with a pout and a sigh from Soonyoung who reluctantly answers back. “You know what it is, don't you? Always so mean for no reason Jihoon, seriously..” He’s about to turn around to go sit on a nearby bench when he’s abruptly turned around by Jihoon grabbing his wrist. “Don't be such a baby, now Soonyoung-ah. Are you really going to throw a tantrum?” Whatever he’s holding against Jihoon melts away with the way he says his name and the tips of his ears slowly go red. 

With a short breath, he tugs at Soonyoung’s arm and shifts on his tiptoes to kiss him. Quick, short and chaste, completely inadequate for Soonyoung, who, despite the shock, wraps his free arm around Jihoon’s waist before he can go back down, turning his head for a better angle before he meets his lips, to once again, kiss him deeply, making Jihoon sigh at the contact. 

He finds himself involuntarily turning his head for a better angle, and the hand on his wrist snakes its way up and around Soonyoung’s neck. After what seems like ages, they part for breath and Soonyoung lowers himself one last time, to plant a short peck on Jihoon’s cheek. 

“That’s better,” he says, thumb swiping over Jihoon’s lower lip. Jihoon stares back in shock, still panting slightly, pupils blown wide and mouth agape. “You’re crazy.” he says, flushing pink as he lowers his face into Soonyoung’s chest, the latter's arms moving just as quickly to wrap him in a hug. “Thanks,” he says, laughing. 

—***—

“Jeonghan was here about an hour ago. Said he wanted to meet you.” Seungkwan says with mild annoyance. “But what could I possibly have said? ‘That’s right Hyung, the two of them left me all alone here and decided to-” he abstractly flails his hands around “-I don't know, go make out, or something’” Jihoon’s eyes go wide and he answers back almost instantaneously “That did NOT happen”

He looks at Soonyoung to prompt him to hopefully provide his part of an explanation. “It should've” he grumbles. “Honestly, kill yourself. Please.” Suddenly a high-pitched voice calls out from inside. “Yah, Boo Seungkwan. Did you die out there?” “Ah Jeonghan-ie Hyung! What the hell?” Soonyoung shrieks out. “I missed you so much!”

Seungkwan’s loitering is forgotten within seconds and a soap opera reunion ensues, all of which Jihoon decides to skip out on. As far as introductions go, he’s content with simply giving out his name, adding a handshake and allowing soonyoung to do the rest of the honours. What reason to try otherwise? It’s worked well enough till now.

With their return to the city steadily approaching, he’s got a lot of things to finish today. Unfortunately, the entirety of yesterday and Soonyoung’s impromptu escapade this morning has made things entirely too difficult for Jihoon. 

A barrage of thoughts flows through his mind and he finds himself reliving the past 24 hours all over again. The feeling of his lips against Soonyoungs’, the way his breath fanned against his neck and the raw, unfiltered emotion lacing his voice— a million words threatening to spill out and over. He goes red because that's all he can do.

He's eternally grateful to Soonyoung for his otherwise annoying personality and the seamless way he incorporates humour where Jihoon's rational brain wouldn't dare to. 

Soonyoung is adorable, and hot. Very much so. It's hard enough for Jihoon to maintain his stoic front otherwise with Soonyoung practically floating around him as his watermark. 

But then he decides that's insufficient, and he gets all up in Jihoon's personal space—each detail of him in all its glory.

And then comes the uncertainty of it all. Is this the right thing to do? His friendship of multiple years and his cohabitation at risk. Seungkwan's words, while they do provide some tether to reality, unfortunately, don't seem like much help to someone as stubborn as Jihoon.

“Hyung. Are you done packing yet?” Seungkwans voice pulls him out of his thoughts. 

“Almost. Didn't really have to bring much for a 2-day trip” he sighs. “Right, well Jeonghan brought some kimchi for you so be sure to take it with you.” Seungkwan smiles. He’s about to turn to leave when suddenly Jihoon feels a pang of guilt shoot through him. He wonders why. “Seungkwan-ah,” he calls out. The latter turns behind just as quickly, eyes sparkling with life and vigour—ever the positive bubble. “Hm?” “Thanks, and sorry” Seunkwan’s cheeks fluff up with unreleased laughter before he says, “Hyung, are you good? All I did was tell you not to overthink.” Jihoon simply shrugs before he returns to his room to finish the rest of his packing. 

Before they leave they’re showered with a waterfall of ‘be careful’s, ‘call me’s and ‘be alert’s. All in good intentions of course, so Jihoon doesn't complain. Not as much as he wants to, anyway.

And then, they’re back. 

Back to mundane life, back to assignments, back to part-time jobs, back to struggling to survive. But of all that Jihoon could possibly endure, the only thing he doesn't want to go back to is his dynamic with Soonyoung before this whirlwind of a trip. 

He feels jittery all throughout their ride back home. All throughout unpacking. All throughout getting ready to go meet Seungcheol the next day. “You look fucking awful for someone that spent two days cooped up in a house with their crush” “Good evening to you too, asshole”

Seungccheol merely laughs before he slides Jihoon’s cup of Americano over to him. “So? Why do you look like—” he motions vaguely at Jihoon. “That?”

“I think I'm just an ungrateful little shit honestly.”

This time, however, he doesn't need much prompting to spill forth. “He literally kissed me and I'm still doubting whether the guy actually likes me or not.”

To provide some relief to Seungcheol’s wide-eyed expression, he supplies, “Stuff happened, the mood was kind of, right, and then I said some things, and then he said some things, and then hooray.” he claps soullessly. 

“Did any of those things include ‘I love’ slash ‘like you’?” 

Jihoon’s head droops down in disappointment. Seungcheol sighs. “Do you always need me to spell things out for you before you realise?” 

“I knew that already.” 

The ice in his Americano is lost to the afternoon while Seungcheol is already on his second cup. Only god knows the secrets to his vitality. 

Without much questioning from Seungcheol’s end, Jihoon voluntarily spills the events from their stay in Jeju. “Whatever Seungkwan said is valid, honestly, there's no denying that. But as someone who’s been observing in the third person for so long, it's also reasonable for you to feel the way you do.” Jihoon looks out the window and nods in Seungcheol’s general direction to signal him to keep going. 

“I wouldn't encourage the ‘let's have a talk’ at this early of a stage, but you honestly look like you need the closure. Maybe you need to do this first. It's either that or waiting for Soonyoung to realise.” Jihoon scrunches his nose slightly at the sound of that. Days, months, and possibly years of Jihoon living with this insecurity. All while Soonyoung remains blissfully unaware. No thanks. 

With some semblance of comfort from Seungcheol’s end, he makes his way back to the apartment. 

He routinely punches in the door code. There's an unexplainable buzz in his ears. Nervousness, adrenaline and some mysterious queasiness in his system. 

He’s clearing this up today. His indecisiveness doesn't need to affect every other person around him. 

And then he sees it. A second pair of shoes beside Soonyoungs’.

Shut the fuck up, Jihoon.

There's laughter coming from deeper into the room.

Stop making shit up.

Myungho sits there, beside Soonyoung. A cup of tea in his hand. That damn tea. Laughing, smiling. His free hand extending occasionally to touch Soonyoung’s arm. 

For whyever the fuck?

And then almost knowingly, his gaze draws up to meet Jihoon’s own bewildered eyes. 

Oh-kay, fuck that.

Soonyoung’s eyes fly up to follow Myunghos’ and his instinctive grin drops from his face at Jihoons heart-wrenching expression. “Jihoon-ah what-” he calls out before he’s cut off by the person in question.

“I’ll leave.” it's curt, it’s hurtful. Jihoon regrets it. Face hot, blood roaring in his ears. 

He turns on his heels and almost dashes out of the apartment. 

“Wait Jihoon-” 

“Let me talk to him. Please” Myungho says, looking meaningfully at Soonyoung. 

“Myungho I swear to god if you say some bullshit to him-”

“Please.” he tries again.

It works because Myungho rushes out of the apartment hoping to catch Jihoon before it's too late. 

Jihoon doesn't think to wait. The humiliation and embarrassment fuel his legs and drag him out. He’s overthinking this, he’s sure he is. Every little effort at trying to reel in his insecurity is lost and honestly, he’s ruined it.

There’s no realistic possibility that Jihoon sees where he can fix things with Soonyoung again. His heart hammers in his chest and his head throbs in confusion. 

“Jihoon!” Myungho calls from behind him. “Can you just—” voice faltering, out of breath.

“Jihoon stop. Here me out, for like, 5 minutes” 

“Not you of all people” he snarls at Myungho, just as out of breath himself. His voice comes out raw and rough and before he can continue, Myungho cuts in. 

“WE’RE NOT–” Jihoon startles. “We’re not, involved. Or whatever you think it is.”

“Give me one reas-” 

“Jihoon, from the beginning. Never. I swear.” 

He throws his head back to breathe at Jihoon’s eventual acceptance of his attempt at a conversion.  

“The first day you saw me. Soonyoung rejected me that night.”

Jihoon’s anger slowly bleeds into confusion and his face gives away more than he wants to. 

“He said he couldn't. He refused to sleep with someone else knowing he had feelings for someone else. That someone else being  you  Jihoon.” 

“...what?” His face feels hot, His eyes hurt with the pressure behind them. A trembling hand pushes back his hair and he closes his eyes in concentration. 

“And he hasn't been with anyone after that night. Jihoon, that man is in love with you and he honestly doesn't deserve this. From me or from you.” 

Jihoon stares back at him. Myungho’s words play through his mind like a broken record and Jihoon doesn't know what to feel. 

That man is in love with you

Than man

Soonyoung 

Slowly the confusion takes a sturdier form into realisation. 

His doubt. Soonyoung’s silence.

His desperation. Soonyoung’s compliance. 

He’s taken everything for granted and suddenly he’s the hypocrite. 

“You know, if you really need someone to blame, I’m here. And I honestly deserve it. Now are you going to waste your time here or do something about this?” Myungho cries out desperately. His own anxiety and frustration seeping into his words. 

Jihoon’s knees buck slightly as he’s snapped out of whatever spiral he’s going down and almost instantly he turns back towards the building. Looking back at Myungho one last time he slowly turns back to pick up speed.

Myungho’s eyes fall shut as he nods at Jihoon encouraging him to do what he needs to. 

And then he’s gone. 

—*** —

“Soonyoung-ah?” 

Jihoon’s voice sounds uncertain. He’s not sure if he deserves this moment with him. All rational possibility seems to have left him. 

He almost bursts into tears when he sees Soonyoung’s face. Hurt eyes stare back at him, his phone is in his hand mid-ring, and that's when he glances down to see his own phone silently waiting for him to swipe to accept. 

“I was trying to call you…” he trails off, voice slightly shaky, and Jihoon can only guess why. 

Jihoon tries to gulp down the emotion in his voice before he finally speaks up. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“You’ve done nothing Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s hand falls on his nape as contemplates what to say next. 

“I promise.”

“I don't know…”

Soonyoung looks at him with some deep-rooted understanding and finally speaks, slowly.

“Can I say something?”

Jihoon catches a hint in Soonyoung’s tone and his heart twists painfully while he waits, not breaking eye contact. 

“I love you. So much.”

The tears Jihoon’s been trying to keep in finally rush past the dam of his eyes and he throws his head back, desperately trying to blink back the tears. 

“I love you Jihoon. I should’ve said it sooner, I’m sorry” he takes tentative steps towards Jihoon, arms outstretched, voice thick with emotion. 

Jihoon slowly lets himself settle into Soonyoung’s arms, mumbling out an occasional apology that Soonyoung hushes.

“Myungho told me, about…”

“I’d never forgive myself if I let  go that day.”

“But you didn't,” Jihoon soothes.

Soonyoung hums back in agreement, pulling Jihoon closer. 

They spend the next few minutes taking in each other’s presence, calming themselves down, reeling their spilt emotions back in, and then Jihoon hesitantly speaks. 

“I love you too, by the way. More than you think. More than I make obvious,”

Soonyoung gently pushes his hair out of his face and moves his hands to cup his face. Sighing with a slight shudder. 

“I really want to kiss you” Jihoon grins in his hands and answers back, “And what’s stopping you?”

With a beat to spare, he lowers himself, slotting his lips against Jihoons’ in a kiss so charged and electric. Jihoon lets out a small gasp at the contact. His shoulder’s fall relaxed as Soonyoung kisses him with more fervour making Jihoon play right into his actions. 

He feels malleable in Soonyoung’s hands, all meaning being lost to time as he pushes himself up on his toes to wrap his arms around the other’s neck. 

“Ah, Jihoon, seriously—” he gasps when he pulls back for air, almost instantly being pulled back in by Jihoon, who presses one hard kiss against his lips. 

“Sofa, please.”

Soonyoung has little to no time to steady himself before he’s pulled to the sofa by Jihoon. 

A heavy hand presses down on his chest urging him to lie down while Jihoon leans over him to place soft kisses from the base of his ear to his collarbone. 

Jihoon sits back up, straddling Soonyoung as he looks down to take in Soonyoung in all his glory. He’s panting hard, eyes glassy and lips parted and the words spill out of Jihoon’s mouth almost involuntarily.

“Wow you look—” “Don't say anything” Soonyoung whispers back before he flips their positions setting Jihoon down with a soft thump. 

“I’ve imagined this for ages.” he sighs, forearms nestled around Jihoon’s face, his own face hovering inches above the other’s.

“You showing up with those hickeys got me all bothered honestly. That’s how I even realised I was gay.” Jihoon laughs, looking back. 

“I genuinely thought you were homophobic, I decided to get a little petty then.” he winces at his own words, realising how crude they must sound. 

Jihoon scrunches his nose but then bursts out laughing. “Well guess what, me too.”

“I’ve probably been in love and oblivious for ages” 

Soonyoung purses his lips and stares at Jihoon wordlessly

“I love you so much I could die,” he says finally.

“Alright, portion-control please—” Jihoon manages before he’s tackled back onto the sofa, Soonyoung dropping the entirety of his weight onto him. “I love you,” he says again, leaning down to kiss his lips briefly. 

“I love you” then his cheek,

“I love you” and his nose. 

“I-” Jihoon leans up to kiss him deeply, before parting to whisper low into his ear. 

“I love you too” 

And Soonyoung is a giggling mess. 

Of all possible ways their story could have ended, Jihoon finds this a way better than any other. 

The reassuring weight of Soonyoung on him, his fingers playing with his hair, the hum that escapes his lips as he adjusts his position to accommodate him better, the meaningless nagging that urges him to get a hair-cut and finally the constant melody of Soonyoung’s profession of love to Jihoon.

Truly— Gay, Homophobic, nothing or everything in between. Jihoon doesn't care.

For nothing matters if it’s Soonyoung he’s going back to at the end of his day. 

[weekendpassrevoked]

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 16

I love projecting onto Isabella — which is honestly hilarious considering I majorly based her on myself. She’d definitely have a stash of funny farm stories, just like I do. (Can you guys tell she’s a self-insert? LMAO.)

Something a lot of you might not know is that almost all the original characters Isabella interacts with are also based on people from my own life. And while Isabella and I share a name and many other things in common, a lot has been changed — but the heart of her is still very much me.

As user @bitter-post-millennial once pointed out in an ask, Isabella shares a lot of DNA with The Hunger Games’ Lucy Gray Baird — and that’s very intentional. It was Lucy Gray who inspired me to write this fic in the first place. I wanted a Band of Brothers fanfic that stood apart from the usual — where the main character wasn’t a hardened badass built for war, whether she was a medic, a spy, or a soldier. I wanted a character who was the anti-thesis of war. Someone raised in a world of survival but who used her talents — in music, art, and love — to heal rather than harm.

Someone gentle, in a world swallowed by violence and bitterness and thrown into the fray. That’s what Lucy Gray Baird was. And that’s who Isabella is trying to be.

I hope this story has lived up to that vision — and maybe even exceeded your expectations. Thank you, truly, for the love and support you’ve shown. It means more than I can say. I hope you continue to enjoy this journey with me.

Please enjoy!

song: bei mir bist du schon by the andrews sisters

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ogLZLI24Z8aiIKRYiGQdK?si=UGvy7--mRHqP_elLtBASVw&pt=9c9b16e8f348fed463101bf6aa74c8f9&pi=cMRbZGSWQNm1U

‘March 20th, 1943

Dear Journal,

Today is the day we finally put all of our training to the test. In retrospect, I'm not as tall as the men and I sometimes miss the clipping of the static line , so I’m slightly scared that something wrong will happen, but I’m sure that won’t be the case (at least that’s what Winters said when I told him.). Our first official jump out of a C-47, how exciting!

When I think of jumping out of the plane, I think of my father. I think my father would probably enjoy it if he had had the chance to do the same. He loves crazy things like that. On the other hand, Michel Alejandro would probably prefer being dragged by a horse on a public road than jumping out of a plane at 1,500 feet.

I think Lucas would have loved this too. He’s always been a daredevil, always looking for the next thrill. I bet he’d have joined up with Easy in a heartbeat if they let him. Cameron? He’d be up there, sure, but only after making a whole dramatic speech about how this was definitely how he was going to die.

I wish they were here.

Not just them—Sina, and Darren. I keep picturing what they’d say if they could see me in full gear, ready to jump into nothing but open sky. Sina would probably fuss, telling me to be careful and checking my straps three times over. Darren would just shake his head, muttering something about how crazy I am. 

It’s funny. I thought I’d be more nervous. I was nervous last night. Couldn’t sleep, kept thinking about everything that could go wrong. But now, standing here, watching the others joke around, adjusting their gear, it feels... different.

Despite this, if today happens to be the day God has decided I should die, I’d like to say I wouldn’t have it any other way.

-Isabella’

She shuts her journal sharply when the sergeant calls her name and the names of eleven other poor souls who have to jump off the plane with her. 

Next to her on the plane is Shifty Powers, who she doesn’t really talk to often since they’re in different platoons, but he’s always been nice to her so she couldn’t complain. They usually spoke about his home in Clichco; a tiny town in Virginia. She found that he brought a quiet calm to Easy Company, something quite rare considering all the different personalities that made it. A steady presence.

Shifty seems to notice her anxiety and speaks up over the roar of the plane. “You okay, Birdie?”

She nods, offering a tight smile. “Yeah. You?”

Shifty smiles, calm as ever. “Yep. We’re all in it together, I guess.”

The plane shakes slightly, a few rivets in the wall rattling above them. Isabella tightens her grip on her static line, eyes fixed ahead.

They sit in silence until Isabella’s nerves get the best of her again, and she begins rambling.

“Hey Shifty, have I ever told you how I got kicked by a horse?”

Surprised, he turns toward her. "You did what now?"

She grins, eager for a distraction. “Well. It was my own fault, really. I was twelve, trying to wrangle one of our more temperamental mares. Didn’t have a rope, didn’t have a plan—just thought I could walk right up and lead her in.”

Shifty, bless his heart, humored her. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

“Oh, it went great—right up until she kicked me straight in the ribs,” Isabella says dryly. “Knocked the wind clean out of me. I thought I was dying.”

“And you just walked it off?”

Isabella grins. “Hardly. My brothers had to drag me back to the house while I swore up and down that I saw the gates of heaven.”

Shifty snorts. “That explains a lot.”

“Does it?” she muses, adjusting her gloves.

He tilts his head. “How did you even survive growing up on a farm like that?”

She flashes a quick grin. “By being too stubborn to die.”

Lipton, who was sitting in front of them, spoke up dryly. “Don’t encourage her, Shifty.”

Isabella leaned forward just enough to catch his eye. “Too late, Sergeant. He’s already invested.”

Lipton shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Just focus on the jump, Birdie.”

“Can’t. Trying not to vomit,” she replied cheerfully.

Shifty chuckled under his breath. “She’s fine, Lipton. Just burnin’ off some nerves.”

A voice shouts over the roar of the engines, sharp and commanding. “Listen up!”

Instantly, they straighten.

“Stand up!”

The shift is immediate. Boots scrape against metal as everyone pushes to their feet. Isabella steadies herself, feeling the familiar weight of her gear pulling against her shoulders.

“Hook up!”

Her hands move without thought, standing on her toes and securing the static line. The moment it clicks into place, she inhales deeply through her nose. Behind her, Shifty does the same, rolling his shoulders.

“Check equipment!”

This had always been the most awkward part for her. Usually during training, Isabella was lucky enough to be in front of Gene and behind Luz or Liebgott, but this time she had been placed with men she barely knew. 

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus. ‘It’s just another step, just like training.’

Shifty reaches forward, his hands expertly checking over her gear with practiced efficiency. She could feel the brief tug of the straps as he grabbed them, ensuring everything was secure. Isabella carefully checks over Lipton like she was trained, making sure he was good to go.

“Sound off for equipment check!”

“Twelve okay!”

The call traveled down the line, each voice sharp and steady despite the roaring wind.

Isabella tightened her grip on her harness as the response passed through the men before her.

“Six okay!” she called out when it was her turn, her voice steady, though her fingers twitched slightly.

The red light above the jump door glowed ominously.

Almost there.

She flexed her hands, shifting her weight slightly as the plane vibrated beneath her boots. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her mind stayed clear. ‘You’ve trained for this, Isa. Nothing new. Nothing different.’

The call rang out.

“Stand in the door!”

They shuffled forward as one unit, boots scuffing against the metal floor. The rush of wind howled through the open door, the world outside vast and waiting. Isabella watches as the person in front, Bull Randleman, walks up to the edge of the door. Shoulders squared, his body tensed like a coiled spring.

The red light flickered—then turned green.

“GO! GO! GO!”

Bull disappeared, and one-by-one so did the others in front of her. 

Then, it was her.

‘Virgencita, te pido que me arropes en tu santo manto y me guies en el aire a llegar a salvo a la tierra.’

As she prepares to leap off, she adds another line to her prayer.

‘Y si no, pues, no te preocupes. No puedo estar amargada si estoy muerta.’

She swallowed hard.

And then she jumped.

The rush of air stole her breath, her stomach lurching violently as she plummeted.

‘One-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand…’

Then—

A brutal snap at her shoulders. Her whole body jerked as the chute deployed, catching the wind and slowing her descent. The world came back into focus all at once.

Her breath left her in a sharp gasp, adrenaline still surging.

‘Thank you God…’

Isabella finds herself in awe as she looks down toward the ground. The world stretched wide beneath her, the fields and trees shrinking as she drifted, the ground illuminated by the glow of the afternoon sky. The hum of the plane engines faded, replaced by the distant, scattered voices of the other jumpers maneuvering their chutes. The wind tugged at her, but she barely felt it—her body was weightless, the moment suspended in time.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

It was beautiful.

It almost made her forget that in a few seconds, the ground was going to come rushing up to knock her flat on her ass.

She angled her chute, shifting her weight slightly as she eyed the landing zone. She had practiced this dozens of times, but she hoped the real thing wouldn’t hurt too bad.

She heard a distant, almost indignant “Jesus Christ!” and turned her head just in time to see Malarkey, who had been behind Bull, struggling with his own landing a few yards away. He hit the ground hard, tumbling in a way that was definitely not part of their training.

A snort escaped her lips.

Then—

The ground was suddenly much closer than before.

Isabella braced herself, bending her knees slightly as she made contact with the earth. The force of it rattled through her, but she moved instinctively, rolling with the momentum until she came to a stop.

The world was still again.

A sharp ache spread through her side where she landed, but aside from that, she was in one piece.

She exhaled, tilting her head back to look at the sky, her parachute billowing softly behind her.

A second later, a loud groan came from Malarkey’s direction. “That sucked.”

Isabella let out a breathless laugh, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “You alright, Malark?”

Malarkey rolled onto his back, glaring at the sky. “Yeah, yeah. Just reevaluating all of my life choices.”

She grinned, finally getting her bearings and starting to gather up her chute. Around them, the rest of the jumpers were touching down, some landing more gracefully than others. A few excited cheers rang out in the distance, a clear sign that some of the guys had managed a near-perfect landing.

Lipton and Shifty, having landed a few feet further up, jogged over with their chutes already bundled in their arms. Lipton nodded approvingly at her. “Good jump, Vega.”

She smiled at the praise, but before she could say anything, the distant bark of an instructor’s voice rang out across the field, calling them in.

“Alright then gentlemen. Four more to go!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, Isabella found herself in the Officer’s Quarters. 

After her 5 successful jumps, it had been announced that there would be a celebration later in the evening in commemoration of them passing their training. Meaning that they would be required to wear their Class A uniforms. For the men, this was nothing out of the ordinary. But for Isabella, this meant only one thing.

Looking dolled up.

While the men of the company celebrated, Isabella found herself panicking. She didn’t have allotted bathroom time during the day to properly get ready without the men seeing her (and vice-versa) and she sure as hell wasn’t going to dress in front of them if she had anything to say about it. 

Thus, she turned to Lewis Nixon. Her saving grace.

“Sir,” she had pleaded earlier that afternoon, gripping his arm with desperation that he had, frankly, found hilarious. “Please. I just need your room for, like, an hour.”

He had raised an eyebrow, smug as ever. “What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t embarrass you in front of Winters.”

“You’re bluffing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Try me.”

That was how she found herself in Lewis Nixon’s room, the soft overhead light illuminating the small space as she adjusted her uniform in the mirror. The wool material of the Class A’s felt stiff but presentable, the fabric structured in a way that, for the first time since enlisting, made her feel like an actual soldier.

Much to Nixon’s amusement, she had spent a significant amount of time getting ready. When she had first arrived to Benning, yes, she had been wearing the same uniform. But the difference was that she hadn’t filled it properly.

What does she mean?

Well, she wasn’t a paratrooper then!

When Isabella had first worn her dress uniform, she was un-confident. Completely at will to her feelings of insecurity and anxiety. This time around, she found herself in the complete opposite situation. She felt proud of wearing it, happy at her accomplishments and proud of herself for overcoming what she had.

Isabella sat at Nixon’s desk, using a small mirror she had borrowed from the infirmary to do her hair. She wasn’t very good at styling it, usually pinning it in a bun or leaving it in a braid, but she wanted to look good at least once while she was at Toccoa so she would put in the effort.

Using the mirror, Isabella carefully styled her curls, making sure she was in regulation. Unlike many women, Isabella had been blessed with natural curls, albeit wild ones, but curls nonetheless. Taking her comb, she gently organized a side section of her hair into a victory roll. She didn’t have the advantage of having pinned it properly the night before and didn’t have a heat source, so she was putting her hope into damp hair, pins, and ridiculous amounts of backcombing to keep it in place. She worked meticulously, fingers deftly tucking and smoothing, ensuring every curl was secured into place. It wasn’t perfect—her hair never quite did what she wanted—but it was good enough. And for tonight, that was all that mattered.

Isabella exhaled slowly, setting the comb aside before reaching into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against the familiar metal of her mother’s earrings—the small, delicate pearl studs with flower detailing that complimented the uniform nicely. A birthday gift she appreciated immensely. She hesitated only a moment before fastening them into place, her reflection softening just slightly at the sight.

Isabella was determined to keep one of her mothers main teachings honored and she would not leave this room looking under-dressed.

She leaned closer to the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection. She reached for the small cosmetics kit Sina had sent her, a treasure trove of luxuries that had arrived with her birthday letter. Inside was a small bowl of cream rouge, pink and red lipstick, and eyeshadow. “War paint.”  Sina had written on behalf of her friend Maggie. Isabella smiled at the memory, carefully opening the small compact with brown eyeshadow inside. She usually only wore makeup when she performed, but tonight qualified if anything did.

Usually, it was Sina or Cameron who did her makeup when they went on stage, but she tried her hardest to mimic their movements, clumsy. She dabbed her fingers into the cream rouge, applying it in small circles on her cheeks, hoping she wasn't overdoing it. The brown eyeshadow came next, applied with hesitant strokes over her eyelids.

She paused when it came to the lipstick, examining both options. The red was bold—too much for her taste. She never thought it suited her when Cameron tried to put it on her. She opted for the softer pink, carefully outlining her lips before filling them in. It took three attempts to get it right, and even then, she wasn't entirely satisfied with the results.

"This is why Cameron always did this part," she muttered to herself, blotting her lips with a handkerchief as she'd seen her brother do for her countless times.

She leaned back, studying her work with a critical eye. It wasn't perfect—slightly uneven in places, certainly not up to Cameron's standards—but it would do. The makeup transformed her, not into someone unrecognizable, but into a version of herself she hadn't seen in months: Isabella the performer, not Corporal Vega the project.

For tonight, that felt right.

A small knock at the door broke her from her thoughts.

“You done in there?” Nixon’s voice carried through the wood, laced with impatience. “Some of us have whiskey to drink.”

“Almost!” she called back, glancing at herself once more in the mirror. 

‘Good enough!’

Gathering the few things she had strewn across Nixon’s desk, she tucked them into a small pouch before stepping to the door.

Swinging it open, she was immediately met with Nixon’s raised brows and a slow, knowing smirk.

“Well, well,” he mused, arms crossing lazily. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Isabella scoffed. “Oh, shut up.”

But Nixon, ever the opportunist, leaned against the doorframe, giving her a once-over. “Not bad, Vega,” he said, the teasing in his voice subdued for once. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this well.”

She rolled her eyes, though a small warmth crept up her neck. “Should I take that as a compliment, sir?”

Before Nixon gets the chance to answer, a familiar voice cuts in.

“Why don’t you give Vega a proper compliment, Nix?”

Isabella turns, finding herself faced with Winters coming out of his own room. 

She straightened instinctively, though her stomach flipped slightly at the way Winters’ gaze flickered over her. His expression remained neutral—typical—but there was something considering in his eyes, like he was taking in a new detail he hadn’t noticed before.

Nixon, ever the menace, grinned. “Well, Dick, if you’re so eager to step in, be my guest.”

Winters exhaled, giving Nixon a look before turning back to Isabella. “You look very pretty, Vega.”

Her ears warm at the compliment, not actually expecting one from him. “Thank you, sir!” she beams.

Nixon, watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, snorted. “Jesus, Winters. That’s the best you got? ‘Pretty?’”

Winters shot him a flat look but didn’t take back his words. Isabella, to her own surprise, actually laughed. “I’ll take it.”

She adjusted her sleeves one last time before exhaling sharply. “Alright. Let’s get this over with before I actually start getting nervous.”

Nixon smirked, gesturing toward the door. “After you, Birdie”

With that, the three of them begin walking out. As they reach the exit of the Officer’s Quarters, Nixon speaks up, curious.

“What’s with the victory roll? Didn’t think you were that type of gal.”

She grins, excited. “Well, sir. I’m not. But if you really want to know, let me show you!”

When the three of them leave the building, they reach for their service caps. She turns herself toward Nixon as she puts hers on, gently placing it at an angle like many of the men did for themselves, victory roll on the other side of her head accentuating it. 

“Ta-da!”

Nixon blinked.

Then, slowly, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Winters, watching the exchange, exhaled through his nose—somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “You really planned that out, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, straightening her cap. “If I’m gonna put in the effort, might as well make it worth something.”

Nixon let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re more dangerous off the battlefield than on it.”

She smirked. “I like to keep things interesting, sir.”

They continued walking toward the bar, the muffled sounds of laughter, music, and conversation growing louder as they approached. The atmosphere was alive—a rare moment where training, exhaustion, and the looming war were momentarily forgotten in favor of celebration.

Winters opened the door first, stepping inside as Isabella and Nixon followed.

Inside, she was faced with very happy, drunk men. Now, despite Isabella having performed in a bar for a very long time back at home, that didn’t mean that she herself had ever had a drink, and she wasn’t going to start now.

The atmosphere was lively, men laughing, shouting over one another, the clatter of beer mugs and boots against the wooden floor filling the air. The scent of cigarette smoke and cheap beer hung heavy, but there was an undeniable warmth to it all—the kind of camaraderie that only came after months of shared suffering.

Eager to join the fun, she politely excuses herself from Nixon and Winters, heading to the bar where Luz was speaking with Toye. She slides onto the stool sneakily, eavesdropping into their conversation.

She leaned in slightly, just close enough to catch Luz mid-sentence.

"—I swear to God, Joe, you wouldn’t believe it. This guy takes one look at me, right? And he says—”

“Says what?” Isabella cut in smoothly, propping her chin on her hand.

Luz choked on his drink.

Toye, not as easily rattled, barely blinked before turning toward her. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning her face like he wasn’t quite sure who he was looking at.

“…Birdie?”

She smiled. “Present.”

Luz blinked once. Twice. Then let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.”

Toye let out something that was half a laugh, half an incredulous scoff. “Jesus, kid. What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing happened,” she quipped, straightening slightly. “This is what I usually look like.”

Luz shook his head, setting his drink down. “Nah, no way. You don’t just walk around looking like that—” he gestured vaguely at her, eyes still wide. “I mean, kid, Christ.”

Toye smirked, taking a slow sip of his beer. “Never thought I’d see the day you outshined every man in this damn room.”

Isabella rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the amused twitch of her lips. “Oh, please. You all are just dramatic.”

Before they could retort, Malarkey appeared, beer in hand, looking thoroughly confused as he took her in. “Wait—hold on—what the hell?” His gaze flickered from her victory roll to the neatly pressed Class A uniform, as if his brain was struggling to connect the dots.

Luz grinned, smacking Malarkey on the back. “I know, buddy. It’s like seeing a whole new species.”

Isabella couldn't help but laugh at their reactions. "You're all acting like you've never seen a woman before."

"Not one that usually spends most of her time covered in mud and wearing the same uniform as us," Malarkey countered, still staring. "Damn, Birdie, you clean up nice."

"What's all the commotion about?" Gene's voice came from behind her.

When she turned, she found him frozen mid-step, his normally composed expression giving way to genuine surprise.

"Gene?" she prompted when he continued to stare.

He cleared his throat, catching himself. “You look very pretty Isabella.”

Coming from Gene, who was typically so reserved with compliments, the words carried extra weight. She felt her own cheeks warm.

She smiled brightly. "Thanks, Gene!"

Luz, never one to let a moment of sincerity linger too long, clapped his hands together. "Well, this explains why you weren’t in the barracks. You were getting all pretty.”

"Which brings up an important question," Liebgott said, materializing beside Malarkey with his usual impeccable timing. "Who are you trying to impress, Birdie?"

Before she could retort, Skip appeared, sliding a drink across the bar toward her. "Leave her alone, Lieb. A girl's allowed to look nice without an ulterior motive."

"Exactly," she said, gratefully accepting the soda Skip had procured for her, knowing her preference for avoiding alcohol. "Maybe I just wanted to look different than the rest of you for one night."

Liebgott raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk remained firmly in place. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Just making observations."

"Your observations can take a hike," Guarnere commented as he joined their growing circle, though his own approving glance wasn't exactly subtle. "Looking real nice, Birdie."

Isabella sipped her drink, hiding her smile behind the glass. Their reactions were genuine in a way that warmed her from the inside—not leering or uncomfortable, but appreciative and almost... proud? Like watching their kid sister get all dressed up for a special occasion.

"Alright, alright," she finally said, setting her glass down. "Enough about how I look. This isn't the first time I've worn makeup, you know."

"Yeah, but it's the first time we've seen it," Malarkey pointed out. "Cut us some slack for being surprised."

"Fair enough," she conceded. "But if any of you start treating me differently because of it, I'll personally ensure your next shots are extra painful."

That earned her a round of laughter and mock groans of horror.

"There's our Birdie," Luz grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Pretty face, same old threats."

The evening continued, and Isabella found herself relaxing into the moment. The men's initial shock gave way to their usual camaraderie, though she noticed they were perhaps a bit more attentive than usual—making sure her drink was refreshed, pulling out chairs, listening more closely when she spoke.

It was subtle, not patronizing, just... gentlemanly. Like they'd suddenly remembered she was more than just another soldier in their unit.

As the band struck up a slower tune, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Several couples moved to the small dance floor, officers with local girls they'd managed to charm into attending.

"So, Birdie," Malarkey began, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "What was it like, back home? When you performed, I mean. You've mentioned singing at a bar, but what was that actually like?"

Isabella smiled, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. “It was a local bar—The Swamp. Not even remotely fancy, most of the patrons are from the rural part of town where I live. Working folk. It has a stage just barely big enough for me and the band. We all play a variety of instruments, so we’d switch off based on what song it was and who wrote it.”

"You weren't nervous? Performing in front of people?" Skip asked, genuinely curious.

She laughed. "Performing? No. That’s the easy part. It’s like... stepping into a different world where nothing mattered except the music. Lucas says it was like I flipped a switch when I got up there." She shook her head. "Now, talking to people afterward? That terrified me. Cameron used to have to practically drag me off stage to mingle."

"Wait," Luz interjected, looking incredulous. "You're telling me the woman who jumped out of a plane without so much as a whimper was scared of small talk?"

"Different kind of fear," she shrugged. "Jumping is just physics. Talking to strangers is... unpredictable."

Skip leaned back, considering this new information. "So what you're saying is, you'd rather jump out of a plane than dance with someone?"

Isabella narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious of his innocent tone. "Why?"

Malarkey's grin widened. "Because that song they're playing? It's perfect for dancing."

"Oh no," she said firmly, shaking her head. "No, no, no. I don't dance."

"Everyone dances," Luz countered.

"I don't."

"You've never danced?" Gene asked, his usual quiet observation giving way to genuine surprise.

Isabella fidgeted with her glass. "I didn't say that. I said I don't dance. As in, I choose not to, because I'm terrible at it."

Liebgott smirked. "Now this I've got to see."

"No, you don't," she shot back. "Trust me, it's better for everyone if I stay right here."

"Come on, Birdie," Skip coaxed. "One dance. You've faced worse."

"Yeah, like Sobel on a bad day," Malarkey added.

Isabella glanced toward the dance floor, feeling a flutter of anxiety that seemed ridiculous given everything else she'd faced. "I'll step on your toes," she warned.

"We've jumped out of planes together," Luz said, standing and offering his hand with a dramatic flourish. "I think I can handle a little toe-stepping."

She hesitated, looking around at their expectant faces. Gene gave her a small nod of encouragement, his eyes warm with understanding. Even Liebgott seemed more curious than mocking.

With a resigned sigh, she took Luz's hand. "Fine. One dance. But I warned you."

Luz led her to the edge of the dance floor, his usual confident swagger in full force. "Relax, Birdie. It's just like marching, but with music and less shouting."

"That's... not remotely true," she muttered, feeling suddenly awkward as he placed one hand lightly on her waist, keeping a respectful distance between them.

"Just follow my lead," he instructed, guiding her into a basic step. "See? Easy."

Contrary to her warnings, Isabella wasn't actually terrible—just stiff, overly cautious, and clearly overthinking every movement. She kept her eyes fixed downward, watching their feet as if expecting disaster at any moment.

"Hey," Luz said softly, drawing her attention upward. "Eyes up, Birdie. Trust your feet."

She met his gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her anxiety. "That's what they teach us in jump school."

"Same principle," he grinned. "Stop thinking so hard and let your body do what it knows how to do."

As she gradually relaxed, her movements became more natural. She was by no means graceful, but there was an earnestness to her efforts that was endearing.

"Not so bad, right?" Luz asked as they completed a turn without incident.

"I suppose it could be worse," she admitted.

From the edge of the dance floor, she could see Skip and Malarkey watching with matching grins, while Gene observed with his usual quiet attention. Even Winters, standing near the bar with Nixon, seemed to be hiding a smile behind his drink.

As the song drew to a close, Luz executed a playful spin that caught her by surprise. She laughed as she came back around, the sound bright and genuine.

"See? You're a natural," he declared as they returned to the table.

"I wouldn't go that far," she countered, but her smile remained.

She was about to sit back down when Skip exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Luz.

"You know," Skip said casually, "there's something else you could do to really make this celebration special."

Isabella narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious of his innocent tone. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like what comes next?"

Luz grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Because you're perceptive, Birdie. It's what makes you such a good medic."

"What are you two plotting?" she asked, looking between them.

Malarkey joined in, leaning forward. "We were thinking... since you've already danced, maybe you could—"

"Sing for us," Gene finished quietly, surprising everyone with his contribution to their scheme.

Isabella's eyes widened. "What? No. Absolutely not."

"Come on," Luz pressed. "You sang during that whole march to Benning. We know you've got the pipes for it."

"That was different," she protested. "That was just... to keep everyone moving."

"And this would be to celebrate," Skip reasoned. "We earned our wings today, Birdie. That deserves a song, doesn't it?"

She glanced toward the small band in the corner of the room, currently taking a break between sets. "I don't even know what they can play."

"What about 'Bei Mir Bist Du Schön'?" Malarkey suggested. "I heard you humming it once while organizing supplies."

“You need to stop being so nosy.” she remarked.

"Hard not to," he grinned. "Besides, who doesn't love the Andrews Sisters?"

She considered it. The lively tune with its Yiddish origins and playful melody was one she knew well. She'd performed it back at the bar more times than she could count, the audience always responding to its infectious energy.

"I don't know..."

"What's this?" Nixon appeared behind her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Someone finally convincing our songbird to perform?"

"We're working on it, sir," Luz reported with mock seriousness.

"Good," Nixon nodded. "I've been wondering if all those stories about her performances back home were exaggerated."

Isabella shot him a look. "You too?"

He shrugged, the picture of innocence despite the mischief in his eyes. "Consider it intelligence gathering."

‘Traitor!’

She glanced around at their expectant faces, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach. It had been so long since she'd performed properly—not counting the impromptu singing during their march. What if she was rusty? What if her voice cracked or she forgot the words?

As if sensing her hesitation, Gene spoke up again. "You don't have to if you don't want to, cherie."

His understanding actually made her reconsider. These weren't strangers—these were the men she'd trained with, jumped with, suffered alongside for months. If she was going to sing for anyone, it should be them.

"Alright," she finally agreed, straightening her shoulders. "One song."

The table erupted in cheers, drawing curious glances from around the room.

"But," she added firmly, "you all have to promise not to laugh if it's terrible."

"Scout's honor," Skip declared solemnly, raising three fingers while Malarkey nodded vigorously beside him.

"I was never a scout," Liebgott drawled, "but I promise not to laugh. Much."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile at his typical commentary.

Nixon clapped his hands together. "I'll go speak to the band. 'Bei Mir Bist Du Schön,' right?"

She nodded, stomach tightening with a mix of anticipation and nerves as Nixon strode toward the musicians. This was really happening.

"Here," Gene said softly, offering her his glass of water. "For your throat."

She accepted it gratefully, taking a small sip. "Thanks, Gene."

He nodded, a quiet encouragement in his eyes that steadied her more than any words could have.

From across the room, she caught Winters watching, his expression curious but supportive. Beside him stood several other officers, including—her stomach flipped slightly—Lieutenant Speirs, who had appeared at some point during the evening without her noticing.

Nixon returned, looking pleased with himself. "All set. They know the song and they're happy to have you join them for a number."

"Great," she said dryly, hoping her voice didn't betray her sudden spike of nerves.

"Showtime, Birdie," Luz grinned, giving her shoulder a gentle push.

With one last deep breath, Isabella made her way toward the band. The conversations around the room gradually quieted as people noticed her approach, curious glances following her progress.

The bandleader smiled warmly as she reached them. "Lieutenant Nixon says you'd like to sing 'Bei Mir Bist Du Schön'?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling very aware of all the eyes on her. She gulps. "If that's alright."

"More than alright," he assured her. "We've been looking for an excuse to play something with a bit more swing to it. Just give us a nod when you're ready."

Isabella turned to face the room, feeling a moment of surreal disconnect. How had she gone from training as a paratrooper to this—standing in front of a crowd in her dress uniform, about to sing?

‘Oh God…maybe I should’ve just left when they started asking about singing.’

She spotted her friends watching expectantly from their table, Luz giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Gene's steady presence beside him. Nixon and Winters standing near the bar, attentive. And scattered throughout the room, other faces she recognized from Easy Company, curious about this side of their medic they'd never seen.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded to the band. The musicians launched into the familiar introduction, the lively, swinging melody immediately catching the attention of everyone in the room. Several heads perked up, recognizing the popular tune.

‘Of all the boys I've known, and I've known some

Until I first met you I was lonesome

And when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew light

And this old world seemed new to me

You're really swell I have to admit, you

Deserve expressions that really fit you

And so I've racked my brain, hoping to explain

All the things that you do to me’

As Isabella began to sing, her initial nervousness melted away, replaced by the natural confidence that came from performing a song she knew by heart. The playful, upbeat melody suited her voice perfectly, allowing her to showcase both her technical skill and her charisma as a performer.

‘Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain

"Bei mir bist du schön" means you're grand

Bei mir bist du schön, again I'll explain

It means you're the fairest in the land

I could say "bella, bella", even say "wunderbar"

Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are

I've tried to explain "Bei mir bist du schön"

So kiss me and say you'll understand’

The Yiddish phrase in the chorus rolled off her tongue with surprising ease, her experience with multiple languages evident in her pronunciation. She added small, subtle movements as she sang, just enough to match the energy of the music without being overly theatrical.

Around the room, feet began tapping, heads bobbing to the infectious rhythm. She saw Luz nudge Malarkey, both of them wearing matching expressions of amazement. Even Liebgott looked impressed, particularly at her handling of the Yiddish phrase.

‘"Bei mir bist du schön", you've heard it all before

But let me try to explain

"Bei mir bist du schön" means that you're grand

Bei mir bist du schön, it's such an old refrain

And yet I should explain

It means I am begging for your hand

I could say "bella, bella", even say "wunderbar"

Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are’

As she reached the bridge, Isabella fully embraced the performance, her voice strong and clear as she hit the higher notes with precision. This wasn't just singing to pass time on a march; this was Isabella in her element, the performer she'd been before the war called her away.

‘I could say "bella, bella", even say "wunderbar"

Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are

I've tried to explain "Bei mir bist du schön"

So kiss me and say that you'll understand’

When she finished the final notes and the band played their closing flourish, the room erupted in enthusiastic applause. Men were standing, whistling, cheering—a level of response that caught her completely by surprise.

Flushed with exhilaration and a touch of embarrassment, Isabella thanked the band and made her way back toward her friends.

"Holy shit, Birdie," Luz exclaimed as she reached them, his eyes wide with genuine amazement. "Why didn't you tell us you could actually sing?"

"I did tell you," she replied, still flushed from the performance and the reception. "You just didn't believe me."

"There's a difference between 'I can sing' and... that," Malarkey insisted, gesturing emphatically toward the band. "That was incredible!"

Liebgott, leaning against the table with a newfound respect in his eyes, nodded. "The Yiddish wasn't half bad either. Where'd you learn that?"

"I have a good ear for languages," she shrugged, though she was clearly pleased by the compliment.

Skip was shaking his head in disbelief. "You've been holding out on us this whole time? While we've been suffering through Luz's terrible impressions?"

"Hey!" Luz protested, though he was laughing too hard to be genuinely offended.

Gene didn't say anything, but the pride in his eyes spoke volumes. He simply handed her his water again, which she accepted gratefully.

"I'm a bit rusty," she admitted after taking a sip. "It's been a while since I performed properly."

"Rusty?" Winters had approached their table, Nixon close behind. "Corporal, if that was rusty, I can't imagine what you sound like in practice."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, genuinely touched by his praise.

"I think you just elevated the entire tone of this celebration," Nixon commented, gesturing to where several couples had moved to the dance floor, inspired by the energetic performance. "Good job, Vega."

As the band struck up another swing tune, the atmosphere in the room had completely transformed—more lively, more celebratory, perfectly matching the significance of the day. Isabella found herself surrounded by her friends, fielding questions about her performances back home and requests for other songs she knew.

"How about an encore?" Luz suggested eagerly.

Isabella laughed, shaking her head. "Don't push your luck."

As she finishes her words, the door opens loudly. Somebody calls the room to attention, music halting and somehow everyone forgets about their drink or partner and stand rigidly. Her confusion dissipates at the sight of Colonel Sink walking up to the stage, Major Strayer behind him.

“Well, at ease, Paratroopers. Good evening, Easy Company.”

“Evening, sir!”

“Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand new concept in American military history. But, by God, the 506 is going to forge that brand new concept into victory!”

As he speaks, Grant walks up to the stage, beer in hand.

“I want you to know that I’m damn proud of each and every one of you. Now, you deserve this party.” Sink happily takes the beer from Grant, taking a quick taste. “Thank you, Sergeant Grant.”

Sinks eyes quickly scan over the bar before they land on her, proud.

“Along with Parachute Infantry is another new concept, one I’m more than proud to say we have taken a part of.”

Sink paused, smiling warmly as the room fell completely silent, everyone hanging onto his every word.

"Project Blitz," he continued clearly, eyes still fixed on Isabella, "a groundbreaking initiative that's given us the privilege of welcoming Corporal Isabella Vega, Easy Company's very own medic. The first female paratrooper in history."

A loud cheer erupted around the room, whistles and applause echoing off the wooden walls. Isabella felt her face flush deeply, warmth radiating through her chest as the men around her clapped her on the shoulder, nudging her playfully and smiling widely.

Sink raised his hand to quiet the crowd, still smiling warmly. "Corporal Vega has shown us all exactly what determination, strength, and courage look like. She's set a new standard, not only for this regiment, but for the future of our military. And I dare say, she's become one of Easy Company's finest."

Another cheer surged, louder this time. Isabella couldn't help but smile, deeply moved by the sincere pride radiating from Sink and her brothers-in-arms.

Sink lifted his glass high, voice booming proudly. "So here's to you, Easy Company. Currahee!"

“Currahee!”

Isabella felt Winters gently pat her shoulder, his quiet pride evident in his warm smile.

"Congratulations, Vega," he murmured softly. "You've earned this."

She took a deep breath, heart swelling with pride and gratitude. "Thank you, sir."

For a moment, she stood frozen, overwhelmed by the significance of it all. The journey from that scared girl who'd left Florida with a letter from the War Department to this moment—recognized not just as a curiosity or an experiment, but as a paratrooper, a medic, a member of Easy Company.

Luz appeared at her side, grinning from ear to ear. "Looks like you're a celebrity now, Birdie."

She laughed shakily, blinking back the unexpected moisture in her eyes. "Hardly. I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah, well," Skip chimed in, slinging an arm around her shoulders, "your job happens to be making history. No big deal."

As Sink made his way through the crowd, stopping to speak with various officers and enlisted men, Isabella found herself surrounded by her friends, their genuine pride in her accomplishments making her throat tight with emotion.

Nixon raised his glass in a small toast as their eyes met across the room. Even Speirs, standing near the back wall, gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment, something that might have been respect glinting in his usually unreadable eyes.

Gene, quiet as always, simply stood beside her, a solid presence amidst the chaos of congratulations and backslapping. "You okay?" he asked softly, noticing her slightly overwhelmed expression.

She nodded, taking a steadying breath. "Just... didn't expect all this."

"You deserve it," he said simply, with the quiet conviction that made his rare compliments all the more valuable.

Before she could respond, Sink appeared before them, his smile warm and genuine as he regarded her.

"Corporal Vega," he greeted, his voice carrying the familiarity of their shared history, though tempered with professional respect in this public setting.

"Colonel Sink," she replied, standing a bit straighter.

"That was quite a performance," he said, nodding toward the stage where she'd sung just minutes earlier. "Didn't know we had such talent in Easy Company."

She smiled, a light blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you, sir."

"You've come a long way since that first day at Toccoa," he observed, a hint of pride in his voice. "Proved a lot of people wrong. Myself included, in some ways."

The admission surprised her. "Sir?"

Sink's expression turned thoughtful. "I always believed in your capabilities, Isabella. But I underestimated how completely you'd integrate with the unit, how much you'd become a part of this company." He glanced around at the men surrounding them, many still celebrating, others watching their interaction with curious respect. "These men would follow you anywhere now. That's not just about training or skill—that's about character."

She felt a swell of emotion at his words, at the validation of everything she'd worked for these past months.

"Thank you, sir," she said again, the words inadequate for what she wanted to express. "For giving me the chance to prove myself."

Sink nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The chance is all I gave you. What you've done with it—" he gestured to the wings on her chest, to the men celebrating around them, "—that's all your doing."

With a final nod of approval, he moved on, leaving Isabella standing with her friends, processing the magnitude of what his words meant.

As the night continued, the celebration returning to its previous lively state, Isabella found herself in a moment of quiet reflection. Looking around at these men—her comrades, her friends, her brothers-in-arms—she felt something settle deep in her chest, a certainty she hadn't allowed herself to fully embrace until now.

This was where she belonged. Not because of a letter from the War Department, not because of Project Blitz, but because she had earned her place here, jump by jump, march by march, day by grueling day.

Tomorrow, they would return to reality, of preparation for the war that waited across the ocean. But tonight, with her wings on her chest and the memory of Sink's words in her heart, Isabella allowed herself to simply be proud of how far she'd come.

And of how far she might yet go.

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translations: Virgencita, te pido que me arropes en tu santo manto y me guies en el aire a llegar a salvo a la tierra. - Virgin Mary, I ask that you wrap me in your holy mantle and you guide me through the air to reach the ground safely

Y si no, pues, no te preocupes. No puedo estar amargada si estoy muerta. - And if not, well don't worry. I can't be mad if I'm dead.

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taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @darling-heffron

[yannaryartside]

SYD DEREVES AN ACTUAL MENTOR

One of the funniest excuses Sydcarmy deniers use to say the relationship will not make sense is because Carmy is supposed to be a "mentor" for Syd. The reason why I think that is funny is because Carmy has not been her mentor for a whole second in the series. I speak about this as someone who had art mentors and teachers:

A mentor is supposed to be able to see the raw talent in their students and guide them to polish it and discover their artistic voices. The key to the whole situation is the word "guide." They are an external observer, providing clues, instruction, and evaluation but not pushing their voices so the students will become like them instead of following their own artistic impulses

Now, if I am honest, I don't think Carmy has been a mentor for a single character in the show. Maybe he recognized Tina and Richie's potential by sending them to places where they could learn new skills based on their previously displayed talents. But the only one actually supporting Marcus in his journey is Sydney, it is not like Carmy ever stopped to ask Marcus if he had any doubts about the fancy pastries he was making. Sending Marcus to Coppenage was Sydney's idea, which makes me wonder if he ever thought Marcus was ready for an experience like that or if he just approved it because he trusted Sydney's judgment. Besides recipe overview and leader of the kitchen flow, Carmy is not a teacher, and certainly not someone who has invested time in guiding people through individual creative processes.

Carmy has acted more as a counselor/motivator. He comforted Marcus on his mistakes. He has encouraged Sydney on her menu ideas (s2 only, we will talk about that later). He showed his belief in Tina's talent by gifting her the knife.

But he has not been a mentor, in the sense that Sydney's artistic voice is forever silenced by his lack of interest in deep collaboration or exploration of Sydney's unique talents. She provided a couple of recipes of her own creation, with some of his suggestions. But all of it has more the tone of a partnership than an actual mentorship. They were supposed to have equal weight on the menu before Carmy called it quits; he even let her suggest ingredients and finishes. He values her opinion. He is not trying to teach her things, if anything, he hired Sydney with a solid idea of her talents and used them to put keep his shaky shop afloat.

In season 1, she had to put all of her energy into guiding a staff that Carmy had previously failed to dominate, and it is not like it was easy, but she managed to put everyone on the same page. When it was time for her to show her skills in providing a simple and efficient menu idea, Carmy made a whole effort to introduce a complicated plate to the staff. It is almost like he is competing with her, but again, we will talk about that later. Needless to say, nothing in s1 was mentorship at all in my opinion. She managed with all the skills she already had. Even Carmy mentioned that managing the staff was something she had previously done but didn't like to do, and Carmy never provided them with support or advice, is almost laughable. The story repeats itself in 2 when he ignores how much she needs her presence at the restaurant; he was supposed to be a leader, and he wasn't.

Probably the thing that Carmy has taught Sydney the most is how much he believes in her, wich helps her to belief in hersef, even if his behavior rarely provides her with support for her to flourish as an artist. In 2, she picked up Carmy's work like crazy, which is not a space to create; she was merely surviving and going through a real creativity crisis.

All of this to say is that I really hope she gets the opportunity to shine in another place, even for just a bit, and maybe get another mentor, someone who recognizes her knowledge of chemistry and encourages her to explore her voice, a resolution to her creative block in s2. This is not something bad or something to think Carmy failed Syd; artists and mentors can be a rare match, and maybe because Carmy never wanted a student, he wanted a friend/partner, and ironically, he is not very good at that dynamic either. God, when defining their relationship, Syd is the first to say "partnership," I don't think she expects him to "molde" her or mentor her. Equal creative weight.

They have introduced other chefs that I think could be the mentor Syd actually needs. I am partial to Olivia Coleman's character because I think they have a lot in common. But these other two will be cool, too. Or any other chef they could introduce.

To finish here, I will say the only type of "teaching" I will like Carmy to give Sydney, will be of this nature:

Anyhow, thank you for reading. Nor credited gifs in order: @chefkids, @songkangsbottomteethcirca2020

[jungkoode]

I love how your JKs story revolve around some sort of very emotional based denial, like "i am vulnerable with you and find a landing place with you but ill never fucking admit to you nor myself bc i got too much shit going on to let someone in that close again rn (lets bang) " and your hobi story are more self or sex denial oriented ? Like OL is like "fuck is he doing this for real does he see i like this for real does he see how it affects me for real ??" (while hes "hue hue i am having fun making her pretend she doesnt know what im doing :). Wait she actually doesnt ???? oh my god. oh god I am such a asshole and an idiot and- oh shes aware now ? and completely and openly willing to play and test me ? Game is on and im winning by even warning her brother she wont be home and plan with her friend so she knows shes safe :)") and WGU seems " oh shit do they know i like this for real and it affects me for real and not just the joke ?? What do i really know about myself ??? Am i hiding behind ridiculousness and the self i was expected to be as a child/teen because i dont know who I am as an adult ?" (i am predicting based on what you answered and how I know you work after like 3 months of readings your art lol) Idk if it says something about you or about them or what they project but it's super interesting and i would love to have your theories about it. Interesting pattern here. If i were to proposition a theory, I would say it is because JK has a romantic intensity to him that suits the "burned before but will inevitably and tragically burn for someone again" and Hobi has more duality between his gentler sides and his more intense sides where even when he tries to hide himself anyone who pays attention sees through it. He cant lie, so what he did was built an image people didnt even want to look past anyways. No need to lie when you can make people just not want to look further.

Idk, what you think ?

Roo. Roo my beloved. Roo with the cracked-out brain-to-brain Wi-Fi connection. You clocked me harder than my psychiatrist last Thursday and she has a PhD. First of all, the fact that you even noticed these patterns across completely different stories?? That’s not just reading—that’s psychic connection. You’ve basically published my unconscious writer manifesto before I even knew I had one.

And what’s funny is… I wasn’t even aware of this pattern myself until you pointed it out. Like, I didn’t set out thinking “JK = emotional denial via sex, Hobi = denial of self through narrative control,” but when you laid it out like that I was like. Oh. Shit. Wait. That is what I keep doing. But I promise it’s not copy-paste personality reuse—it’s more like each character is a vessel for a very specific wound or unresolved tension, and sometimes that intersects with how I interpret their real-life energy.

So I think what I mean to say is, I don’t think I assign them a personality so much as I accidentally build archetypes from how I perceive their energy, and then spiral from there. Because like… FMU!Jungkook is not IRL Jungkook. Not even close. He’s way too chaotic. Too goofy. Too prone to saying “you mad?” while knowing full well why (lmfao that’s why I both hate and love him). IRL Jungkook seems a lot more serious to me—maybe a bit more reserved, definitely more intentional—but the core kindness? The oblivious sincerity? That’s the part I latch onto. That’s the seed.

Meanwhile, KGP!Jeon is straight-up cold steel. He walks like he’s ready to kill a man at any moment and then just shrug about it. He’s intimidating, calculating, a phantom limb of who he used to be—and none of that is Jungkook in real life. But there’s a sliver of smugness in real JK’s competitive side, and my brain went “okay, but what if we dialed that to eleven and gave him trauma with a knife?”

So you’re probably right even if the characters are fictionalized to the extreme, I think my brain is latching onto those glimmers of real personality and building alternate universes around them.

Same with Hobi. In my brain, he’s just someone who knows. Like he has the emotional fluency of a therapist and the performative warmth of a first son who’s been performing “good boy” his whole life. That’s why OL!Hoseok is weaponized sunshine. Menacing kindness. Plausible deniability king. He knows what he’s doing—but the second he realizes reader wasn’t playing, he gets sick to his stomach. Because he was. And now it’s not a game anymore.

But then there’s WGU!Hoseok who’s SO different. Like, he leans FMU!JK in a big way. That man is out here with childish dramatics, “I missed you :)” texts, pretending it’s all a joke until he realizes it isn’t. It takes him hours to catch up to his own feelings. He doesn’t even realize he’s vulnerable until he’s already handed you the knife and turned around. I think he’s sincere in a way OL!Hobi refuses to let himself be.

Also—25H!Yoongi is a whole other flavor of grief. He’s grumpy, yes, but not apathetic. He’s sharp-tongued, deeply observant, and exudes that constant low hum of “I’ve seen too much and I’m so tired of pretending I haven’t.” He’s someone who cares profoundly but treats that caring like a debt he resents having accrued. The weight of knowing and feeling is what wears him down, not the absence of it.

And yet—IRL Yoongi doesn’t come across to me like that at all. To me, he feels more “can’t be bothered” in the most peaceful, elegant way. Still waters, full control. He doesn’t seethe, he shrugs. But then you get flashes of that inner softness—the red string soulmate tattoo idea, the way he talks about art and people when his guard is down—and you realize: oh. He’s not grumpy. He’s romantic. Not in a performative way, but in the quiet kind that’s soaked into his bones.

So 25H!Yoongi isn’t IRL Yoongi—but maybe he’s a mirror of what that gentleness might turn into when poisoned by systems, by grief, by memory loss and erasure. He’s not a sap. He’s a simp—but only for Noma. The kind of man who will quite literally accept annihilation if it means the person he loves might finally find peace. There’s nothing cute or fluffy about it. It’s desperate. It’s painful. It’s pure emotional devotion buried alive under resignation. He’s done with the universe’s bullshit and the only thing keeping him tethered is the fact that he loves her more than he fears vanishing. That’s not softness. That’s devastation, honed sharp.

So in some sort of way I think it ends up being me taking a vibe, a shadow, and saying “okay… what if that impulse went this direction instead?” if that makes sense??

AND Jimin, too—oooh, Jimin. I think he’s where it’s most obvious that I don’t have a single version of anyone. Because FMU!Jimin is like the softest marshmallow in the bag. That man wants to help you alphabetize your bookshelf and make you tea. He is emotionally literate and slightly anxious and I love him. Meanwhile, 25H!Jimin? That’s a whole different man. He’s petty. He’s tired. He’s angry, and not just at the reader—but at the world that put them in this position. His bitterness isn’t because he lacks compassion—it’s because he has too much. He’s the kind of person who would risk everything for the person he loves—and he’s doing exactly that. But they’re stuck in this loop, hunted, erased, helpless. And the one person who could stop it—she—isn’t doing it. Hasn’t done it. Keeps failing to.

So he lashes out. Because he sees himself in her, and that makes it worse. Because he would do exactly what she’s trying to do—for Hobi. Because he gets her. But he doesn’t have the luxury of being noble. He’s been forced to be selfish. And now the thing standing between him and freedom, between him and living openly with the person he loves, is the very girl who keeps hesitating. And he wants her to know it. He wants her to feel it. He doesn’t hide his irritation. He weaponizes it.

And again, it’s not out of cruelty. It’s out of despair. He’s reached his limit. He’s so close to peace, and she keeps yanking him back into survival mode. And yeah—he’s emotionally intelligent, but reactive. Not calm. Not soft. He has jagged edges because the world gave him no other shape to be. One version of Jimin is a mug of chamomile tea. The other is the side-eye incarnate. One would rub your back until you fell asleep. The other might genuinely sell you out for a promise that Hobi gets to keep breathing.

And weirdly? Both are true. Because Jimin does radiate that duality to me. He has this softness—this celestial, breath-of-spring gentleness—but he’s also sharp. There’s fire under there. He can be sassy, exacting, acerbic. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to drag you. And I think both kinds of characters—25H!Jimin and FMU!Jimin—are real, valid mirrors of what he could be, depending on how much he’s already lost. Or how much he’s still trying to protect.

So yeah. No one gets boxed. No one gets recycled. They get rewritten, refracted, repurposed—depending on what kind of damage I’m writing through that day.

And okay ALSO ALSO. Now Joon. Whew. In real life, Namjoon doesn’t strike me as someone trying to be nice to everyone all the time. If he doesn’t fuck with you, you’ll know. He’s got boundaries. Intellectual confidence. A little bit of menace, but mature menace. So C:E!Namjoon is that, but cracked. Sadistic, unhinged in a controlled way. Like KGP!V but more clinical. Less chaos, more “I’ll destroy you with a logic puzzle.” He’s smart in that terrifying way where you know he’s ten steps ahead but he’ll never show all his cards unless it serves his purpose. And he’s not like IRL Joon. But that edge, that restraint, that tension—I pulled that from somewhere.

So all that to say: yes, patterns exist. Yes, energy bleeds into the character base. But I’m not assigning fixed roles to any of them. I’m making freaky little people with whole internal universes and saying “you, go suffer aesthetically.” I don’t think of them as “this member = this personality.” I think of them as: “what if someone with this energy was dropped into this trauma loop—what would that turn them into?”

Anyway. This was SO fun. I’m obsessed with your brain. Don’t stop watching me work. I might be feral and unpredictable but you clearly see me and I love that. Keep the theories coming.

You’re clearly a member of the High Court of Jungkoode Lore. <3

[otiksimr]

Watusi anon again apologies for the spam i just want your opinion on this idea i have of the reason nergigante having their silly spikes like a small prey animal would when they very much aren't small prey could be as a place to safely carry their babies :)

Baby nergs wouldn't be able to be born with spikes ready to go and couldnt have horns yet so mommas spikes would be a safe warm place like the spiderlings on a wolf spider moms back or a gharial carrying their hatchlings. (I have barely played any mh games outside the mhs games so. There's a lot of species info im missing but like. I thought it was cute and would love hearing if you have any similar ideas that you think would be a fun explanation of some of the monster traits!)

Again apologies for the spam and no pressure to answer these but i absolutely love your stuff and am very happy to find someone who's into the spec evo art parts of mh and pokémon like i am. It's just so amazing to see the love you put into it and god idk. It's just. It's helped me realise nothing is stopping me from doing similar things? Why not make a poorly drawn series where i dont let myself get swamped down by my urge to spend hours upon hours on even the simplest design sketches?

I know how overwhelming and kinda. Unsettling? It can be to have ppl fawn over what you make so im sorry if any of this made you uncomfortable and i hope you have a good day. Happy hunting :)

Nergigante canonically have no gender and reproduce asexually. And it also takes a lot of energy for them to produce offspring, because of how much it costs for them to have children I can imagine them being very doting parents. They would be, extremely attentive to that one child probably.

Definitely not carrying them on their back though, that's where all their spikes are! Nergigantes literally slam themselves into the ground to fire off their spikes, and I can imagine if something where to attempt to bite it the spikes are going to shatter upon pressure. The spikes are both their defense and attack, baby should not be in there.

Maybe baby is instead under the parent at all times of holding onto momma's neck or chest 24/7 like a little koala.

I'm not very good at biology, so me spec evo tends to be a bit fucked. Heh. I based my things based off what sounds right, not really what is um. "Realistically correct." So, some things may not be sound, but hey. Um. It's fun though!

Love it when me little critters are just. Critters.

[trashboatprince]

Here we go again, another one-shot of Fourteen in retirement!

And this time it's about them and their retirement squish~

Warning: anxiety issue for the Doctor that makes them too nauseous to eat (Don't worry, this isn't going in a specific direction, this is just general anxiety making someone feel sick)

As always, I use they/them for Fourteen. Also, at this point, I'd like to think that Fourteen is keeping in contact with some of the companions, like Tegan, Ace, Martha, the Fam, so if you're wondering about the mention of Ace or their friends, it's that.

Also, the art is mine. I know I've posted it before, but this fic is based on the doodles.

On with the fic!

--

"Oi! Spaceman!" Donna's voice carried from somewhere beyond the bathroom door. "Hurry up! Breakfast is almost ready and I am not saving you a plate!"

The Doctor scoffed, shouting back that they were finishing up with getting dressed.

"Yeah, yeah, just make it quick!"

They rolled their eyes, smiling as they grabbed for the button up hanging from a knob on a cabinet in their personal bathroom. Ah, it was such a nice thing to have now that they owned their own home, not having to share a bathroom with Rose like at the temporary home UNIT gave them.

They hadn't expected to meet someone as high maintenance as themself when it came to getting ready in the morning, but Rose was a worthy opponent for races to the bathroom.

They hummed to themself as they got the buttons done up on the shirt with an unconscious ease, their attention mainly on their reflection in the mirror. Did they need to shave, they thought as they grabbed for their favorite vest.

Hmm... probably not, it wasn't anything serious. In fact, they thought they looked rather-

Huh?

The Doctor frowned, tugging at the vest, trying to get the button into its hole, but noticing that it... wasn't quite making it. That's odd. Had this shrunk in the wash? Oh, they told Sylvia how to wash it specifically, she better not have just tossed it in!

This is why the Doctor usually just did their laundry in the TARDIS, she always did their clothing perfectly in her machines. For the most part. Sometimes there was a hiccup or two.

Looking down, the Doctor struggled to get it through the hole before finally succeeding. But it wasn't a perfect victory, it was... it was a really tight fit.

"This is... tighter." They frowned, tugging on the vest, and noticing something else.

It wasn't the only thing that felt a bit tight.

The button up fit fine enough, not yet tucked into their pants, but the pants themselves? Well, they felt a tad bit tighter around their waist, and the Doctor wasn't exactly liking that. They tried to adjust them, but it wasn't much.

"Did you shrink in the wash too?" They asked their clothes before lifting up the shirt, eyes widening a little.

Oh, that's new.

There was a slight difference to their waist, a bit more to it than they really remembered. Actually, when was the last time they really checked out this new-old body? Hmm... probably not since their first week of retirement, when they finally sat down and did a self-check over all of their body.

Same face and teeth, same eye issue which required the glasses to be worn a bit more often because it was slightly more annoying now, same minor issues that the old face had. Except there wasn't a mole on their back, it was actually up on their left hip, which was interesting.

There was also the fact that they were much thinner and a bit more worn down this time around, which Donna have pointed out a few times.

Oh, and more freckles, but that was more for the Doctor to be excited over, they liked the freckles. Freckles were cool.

Uhg, Chinny was still an influence, wasn't he?

Still, this was different. The Doctor poked at their stomach, feeling the softness when it had been a bit harder before. What was going on?

How had they not noticed this before? Had it happened overnight? Was it something they ate? Had it happened when they got into that drinking challenge on Sebvie 4 with Ace last week? They hadn't been sure of some of the drinks the Sebv had challenged them with...

Or was it from eating that biscuit they found in the TARDIS library yesterday?

"DOCTOR! Hurry your arse up!" Donna's shout snapped the Doctor from their worried thoughts and they quickly bolted from the bathroom, tossing off the tight vest. They'd deal with it later, best not to keep the family waiting.

"What took you so long?" Donna huffed as the Doctor rushed to the table, jumping into their favorite chair at it.

"Oh, you know." They grinned, gesturing at themself. "Takes a lot of work to be this beautiful."

Donna scoffed, then handed them a cup of coffee, perfectly measured to allow them to pour as much flavored creamer and sugar into it as they'd like.

Breakfast was a full spread, as it always was on Sundays, and the family tucked in. The Doctor decided to distract himself with conversation and tasty food, ignoring the slight, unexpected weight gain.

However, while they were washing dishes, it came back to them as they shifted where they stood. The pants were still tight, and it was bothering them. They felt tighter.

They'd need to run some tests, look into whatever this was. If it was dangerous, it could affect his family! Can't have that! Maybe it was a strange side effect of being on Earth this long?

No, no, they'd been on Earth for ages before, several times. They never had this issue.

But then again, the Doctor had been quite active. Running about, solving problems, not staying in one place like this. Even working in the Black Archives now wasn't anything like working as the Chief Science Officer before.

"Somethin' on your mind, son?" Wilf asked and the Doctor turned to look at him, as he pulled the milk from the fridge. The Doctor held out the mug they had been washing, might as well let him use that if he was getting himself tea.

"Oh, it's... nothing. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Wilf took the mug and grabbed for the kettle that had been on the stove, pouring himself hot water for his tea. "Work stuff? Aliens?"

"Uhhh..." The Doctor didn't want to trouble him with this issue. "Thinking about this video that Rose showed me the other day. Really interesting stuff, it was this guy playing video games and talking over them. She said I should do it, would be really funny."

"Oh yes." Wilf laughed. "I don't understand any of that nonsense."

"Yeah, neither do I." The Doctor grinned, once more distracted, probably for the best.

--

"This might be a problem." The Doctor muttered to themself as they stood in their bedroom, looking at the mirror before them.

It was Thursday now, just days after the discovery on Sunday, and the Doctor hadn't done much to look into what could have caused the softness around their middle.

But it seemed to be in other places as well.

They knew their body well, it was Time Lord nature to do so. They could tell that there was more of this softness in other places. Just barely there, nothing to be noticed by anyone else but themself. A tiny bit in the arms, the thighs, and maybe just the slightest bit in the chest and face, but it was mainly there in the small pudge around their middle.

They stood in front of the mirror in their boxers, and watched as their reflection pinched the squish. They wracked their brain over what caused it, but nothing came to mind.

Well, except for one thing. Which should have been obvious from the start, but their instincts didn't really... click for that.

It was just weight gain. Perfectly, ordinary weight gain. A normal thing for normal species, right? Well, not for the Doctor. Because the Doctor always ran, always forgot to eat, always did this and that and didn't eat much except for nibbles and such.

But being with the Noble-Temple family meant living by their schedules. Three meals a day, Donna made sure of it. With tea (or in the Doctor's case, coffee) time, and some snacking through the day as they worked on projects at home, in the TARDIS, or on the days they went to work.

Was this normal?

To gain weight like this?

They'd been retired for about six or so months now, was this supposed to happen? Were they doing this thing right? Or was this a bad sign, that they were not doing this correctly, that this was a step in the wrong direction?

The Doctor turned away from the mirror, they needed to stop looking and get back to getting dressed. They grabbed a t-shirt from the closet and some jeans. No work today, they were going to fix the old box TV in Wilf's sunroom so he could watch programs from another galaxy.

They smoothed their shirt down and bit their lip, an uncomfortable feeling was in the pit of their stomach, twisting itself in knots. Uhg, they hated when they got themself so worked up like this. Maybe fixing the TV would help with anxiety.

--

Donna watched her best friend at the dinner table. They had spent most of the meal chatting with Wilf and Rose about the TV in the sunroom, and how it could get access to over nine thousand channels.

She had noticed that the Doctor hadn't really touched much of their dinner. When dinner was done, she helped them with the dishes, where she washed and they put away. "So, not hungry tonight?" She asked as casually as possible.

The Doctor paused while drying off a bowl. "Huh?"

"You hardly touched your dinner tonight. You like curry, you told me my mom makes delicious curry, you typically ate two helpings."

They looked at her, frowning just a little, before putting the bowl in the cabinet. "Just... not hungry tonight."

She pulled the plug from the sink and turned to face them completely. "Bull, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me that nonsense, Doctor. I know you." She jabbed a wet finger against their chest. "You have been troubled by something lately. You think you're so good at hiding that, but you're not. I'm your best friend, I know you inside and out. Literally. Your mind was my mind for a while."

The Doctor squirmed where they stood and they looked a bit pink in the cheeks as they glanced around. Then they sighed, leaning in close. "I... I think I'm failing this retirement thing..."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I just... I noticed something. On Sunday. And I think it's a sign that I'm doing bad at this, that the calm life isn't working for me."

She felt the pricklings of worry as she listened, and she touched their arm. "Go sit down, we're gonna talk about this."

"Do we have to?" They asked, a whine in their voice.

"Yes, you knob. If it makes you feel better, we're do this in your weird study." The Doctor nodded and left the kitchen for said study, which was more of just a room full of weird books and things they had collected over the years, and a couch that looked uncomfortable but was the complete opposite.

That's where she found them sitting when she entered the room, two mugs in her hands. One with coffee with just a dash of milk, the other one mainly that nasty candy bar creamer with a dash of coffee, just as the two of them liked their drinks.

The Doctor took the offered mug, looking at it with a complicated stare. Donna rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side of the couch, taking a long drink from her mug. "Start talking."

"About?"

"What you think is the matter."

With a small, weird noise from their throat, they set the mug aside to adjust how they were seated on the couch. They leaned back and grabbed at the hem of their shirt and slowly pulled it up. "I've gained weight."

Donna stared at their torso, where there was a bit of pudge there, nothing to really write home about. "Really? That's it?"

The Doctor looked at her, confused. "What do you mean 'that's it'? Is this not... I dunno, a bad sign or something?"

"How?"

"I-" And then they stopped, giving this some thought. "I don't know. I mean, is it normal to gain weight when recovering and taking the slow path?"

Donna groaned, slapping her forehead. "You're the smartest person on Earth, and yet you are a great, big doof! Of course it's normal!"

"It is?"

"Yes! It's a perfectly good sign, actually! Lots of people gain weight when recovering from stress, trauma, and PTSD! My granddad did after the war, told me so himself. Said he came back a scrawny thing and had felt bad about things, but when he started to get better, he ate right and put on weight. It's perfectly normal, and it means you're adapting to a calm life."

The Doctor looked at their stomach, poking it. "So... this is a sign I'm recovering?"

Donna nodded. "Yep! Just like how you look less exhausted. I know the nightmares still come and go, but you've been sleeping better, right?"

"Of course! I've been able to sleep for several hours without a single nightmare waking me up for the past two weeks!" The Doctor stated, waving their hands.

"There you go, this is working. You just being here, not running around, trying to ignore your problems like you had been doing. You've got your friends hanging out with you, you have a job that you actually like, and you still run around, but without having to save the day all the time cause the beautiful Doctor is out there doing it for you."

"Oi! I'm beautiful too!"

"I'm not going to call my pseudo-brother beautiful." Donna made a face and they laughed. "You're starting to enjoy the slow, Doctor. And there's nothing wrong with this." She leaned over and tapped at the softness they had gained. "In fact, it's nice to see you with some meat on your bone."

The Doctor nodded, taking this in. "So, retirement squish is perfectly normal?"

Donna wanted to question the Doctor on their choice of describing this as that, but decided not to. "Yep. Means you're relaxing and doing well."

They perked up a bit. "Oh! Brilliant!"

The Doctor grabbed their coffee mug, taking a long drink. "That's good, cause I was worried and kinda freaking out about it. A lot."

"Please don't tell me you didn't eat dinner because of this..." She winced.

"What?" The Doctor blinked. "Oh! No, no! I actually got myself so worked up with worry that it made me nauseous. Actually, now that I feel better about this, I could do with a nibble. I didn't have my afternoon snack today for that reason too."

"Oi, go make a sandwich or something then!" She shooed the Doctor off the couch as they laughed, getting up and fixing their shirt.

They turned to look at her, smiling. "Thanks, Donna. Sorry about this, I didn't know what to make of it, I'm not... I'm not used to taking it slow. I don't know what to expect, what's a good sign or a bad sign."

She stood up and looked at her best friend, smiling just a bit. "I get it. Trust me, I do. After losing my memories, it was hard to get back on track. After Rose came out, it was an adjustment to knowing if I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. I'm here to help you along this one, spaceman. Don't ever forget that."

The Doctor grinned and gave her a hug. "Thank you. I'll come to you for things like this, I promise." They pulled back. "You really think it's a good look for me though? The retirement squish?"

"Oh yeah." Donna grinned back. "Also, are you really going to call it that?"

"Of course! That's what it is!" That's one way to call it that.

--

I hope I wrote this right, I have my own issues with weight that I'm working on, but I felt like the Doctor did when I was younger after I had lost a lot of weight due to medical stuff and started gaining it back when I was healing. I hadn't been sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but it is a good thing.

[imthepunchlord]

So how do you feel about the winners of the last 5 bugettes polls?

Over all good and happy. Some I'm not surprised and some I am happy to see they won.

Like, that first poll, while I was most intrigued with Ladybug!Kagami, I was getting ready for the real possibility that it was going to be more Ladybug!Marinette, which I wasn't thrilled to do more of Tikki and Marinette's dynamic and was starting to think on how I was going to address the big issues of Marinette and Tikki.

Thankfully, Kagami won.

I don't have to get myself ready to do more Marinette-Tikki working off each other, I got something fresh to do. I actually started to do some doodles exploring ideas for Suzaku, with the initial idea of maybe doing a kendo based attire.

But I'll be looking up some other attire for Japanese martial arts and see what else stands out to me. Initially I do like the idea of basing her attire around what they wear for kendo, but I should give it some more looking into.

Alya having Firefly I am not surprised. Between Alya or Lila, Alya's going to be the preferred. Lila could be fun, but for an idea of the Bugettes being a hero team all working together and being more harmonious vs the discord of Calamitous users, Lila does have that option to become a villain, and is more set up to go the villain route by default of how she is.

So Alya makes the most sense, though I will say, given that sometimes orange can be close to yellow and Lucee has some yellow on her, I kinda wonder if I should've included Chloe and Zoe on the Firefly poll, but I thought it best to stick to the most orange coded characters.

Either way, with Alya, it'll be interesting. From what I see of her, she is someone who naturally takes up a position of leadership, when she's with friends, she's the one who calls the shots. And she's someone who is pushy with her agenda, and she is eager to enjoy the merits of being a hero and having the limelight, and this sets her up to be in conflict with half the team so far, though some of this can vary depending on how I go about identities and secrecy, especially as there's a lot of strong personalities so far that don't easily make compromises.

Aurore was a delightful surprise as I was expecting it to be Chloe in full swing. So I am happy to do more Miss Sting.

Alix I am not surprised. She does have a good design to work off of with Greenhopper, and probably was the biggest stand out for plausible Grasshopper. I also think her and Clovrr could be really funny to explore given the Clovrr is chill and lazy but Alix is high strung and leaps into action.

Sabrina I am also not surprised. The few times she came up in topic, she seemed the most popular for Dragonfly, and she does have the diamond theme, and was originally the Dragonfly. So I am intrigued to make plans and see how its going to go. I think the most intriguing is that, depending on how dynamics go, initially I think her and Alya will be tight but could also feed into each other growing and how they work off others, as I think Sabrina's dynamic with Chloe would manifests here, given that Alya aims to be the leader and Sabrina is a quick yesman and servant. It just kinda adds onto Alya and Chloe has foils to each other.

And tomorrow we'll start the Mantis poll. I know Mantis!Marinette comes up quite a bit in my asks and comments and tags in reblogs, so we'll see if it comes into fruition.

[thevindicativevordan]

Comics this week ?

Action Comics #1076 - I’m out. I can’t justify buying a weekly series that I’m not enjoying, the cost is too high. Waid delivers at least one good character beat an issue, for Clark anyway, but his plots are terrible. Henry simply doesn’t have enough time to make the art look good. Waid’s Kenan/Kon voices are seriously off-kilter, although Kon becoming Space Emperor of the Khunds is the first interesting direction for him since his return. I continue to enjoy the Kara backup but hopefully I can get a trade of it somewhere. What a disappointment this turned out to be from Waid, serious possibility that LDoLL is the final Superman story from him I buy. I genuinely believe that the election shredding his belief in Silver Age storytelling conventions might be the best thing that has ever happened to him as a writer. It’s time for him to evolve or retire.

World’s Finest #33 - Almost dropped this too but I’m holding off to see if that Jimmy story next issue can hold my interest.

Jenny Sparks #4 - I liked it. Glad Jenny got shocked when Carla actually killed Ronald, she’s been fairly smug and cynical about everything and that can get annoying if it’s never undermined. I’d say contrasting Obama bragging about how killing Bin Laden makes Western civilization safer with Jenny setting up one of the CEOs responsible for causing the Great Recession which basically destroyed millennials chances of upward mobility and revealed the hollowness of American capitalism is pretty heavy handed… except people seem to think King is writing an America Fuck Yeah story so maybe it’s not heavy handed ENOUGH. The point being that the methods of Obama, and Jenny who previously shared them, wherein you kill the “bastards” and use violence to make the world better is completely worthless when the world you’re aiming to protect is rotting from within.

Wonder Woman #15 - For a run that didn’t plan to use the WGs at all initially, King has done more than anyone else in recent memory to make me like them. Diana trusting Cheetah enough to interrogate someone did feel like a stretch, I dunno if I buy that she’d be that quick to trust Barbara to hold back. Great issue, and I loved the backup with Steve. I really am eager to see more of a deep dive into him as a character.

Ultimate Spider-Man #11 - Read this first and it’s probably why I’m harsh on Waid because this might be the platonic ideal of a Spider-Man issue. Perfect mix of superhero action and organic drama. Spidey gets to snark back at the civs who give him grief, show how much he’s grown as a hero via taking down a bunch of henchmen single-handedly, and when he loses it’s not because of incompetence or “Parker Luck”, but because Peter is too compassionate for his own good and doesn’t want to hurt the brainwashed people. Even gets some respect from the villains with Negative immediately recognizing that Spidey is someone he can’t control.

Meanwhile on the drama side, MJ reveals she’s freaking out beneath her mask of calm because seeing Peter arrive home all beaten and bloody hammers how serious the stakes are. Peter and MJ get a heart to heart conversation where they talk about their concerns like adults, and then they get horny because they love each other! With Ben at the end we get the reveal that he knows Peter is Spider-Man, and Ben again drives home how serious the danger is by asking Peter if he’s ready to die, which Peter answers in the negative. It’s great stuff! It’s Hickman deftly predicting every complaint people might have about this slow burn and responding accordingly! The first year of USM has been “the good times”, but now as we enter the second year the story is setting up Spidey for a fall. Someone is going to die, that much is clear, only question is who. Ben is the obvious choice, he even thinks it will be himself based on his talk with Peter, but right now I think it’s going to be Jonah who bites it.

[ocean-lilypad]

I wish to know your ideas for Ancient Mekhanite foos customs. I am curious.

YAYYAY!

Oki, so, before I start this I want to say I AM NOT VERY SMART!!! I don’t read a lot of old Mekhanite stuff, and I will probably redo a LOT of this once I know more. I don’t know a whole lot about cooking, I took two culinary art classes, and that’s about it. I also remember nothing from those. I also don’t know a lot about Ancient Greece in general!!! I will research more, and probably improve these head cannons, but this is just what I have for now. Please correct me (politely) if I get anything wrong, and if anyone knows any sources I should look at pls let me know! (Or any Mekhanite tales/SCPs :D) I want to learn!!!

Also, these head cannons are based around the Broken god cults in Mycenaean Greece, not the Xia Dynasty ones.

SO:

Food was not necessary that big of a deal in the church, however, the Mekhanites had to make their food a little bit different than typical Ancient Greek food due to the need to avoid liquids or small bits of food getting in those with partial mechanical parts that still needed to eat. So, they used methods to avoid runny liquid in the final product, and avoided using recipes that would make food that crumbled while eating. Typically, in the kitchen, there would be either someone without adjustments, or someone wearing special equipment and coverings so they could still work with ground food and liquids before it was fully ready for the table. Meats were typically avoided, but still eaten. If they were eaten, they were paired with several other things. I have a few ideas for possible dishes, but not that many:

A loaf of bread specifically designed to not crumble easy, top cut off, and inside hollowed into a space that is filled with a few different pastes, made to be dipped without any crumbs or liquids getting into machinery. A very typical meal, and very common.

A mixed combination of cut up and dried root vegetables stored in little bags that could be taken for travel because it wouldn’t really go bad that fast (a few months from my understanding). Salt could be added as a preservative, but would make the taste less pleasant. The vegetables were not cut into very small pieces so they couldn’t get stuck in parts easy. It was just kinda a snack food. Like trail mix to us.

There was also a nut and seed equivalent. It was like the vegetable one, but more so JUST a snack and not a travel food. Nuts go bad quicker because of natural oils I think.

Small balls of goat cheese. These were used with bread mostly, but could be eaten alone. Sometimes rolled in nuts or seeds, but not often. I like to think that the kids would make these because they, from my understanding, didn’t have as much or any metal, so the parents would instruct them while the child felt helpful. Of course, cheese takes a while to turn from milk, so I imagine kids got impatient and sometimes ruined it while checking the containers left in the sun.

Pastes were common, made with a variety of things, and kinda like soup. Not in texture, but in variety. They weren’t as runny, obviously, so they weren’t as messy. Families had recipes, people would try making new combinations, it would be paired with bread for a full meal, etc..

Again, if I got anything wrong, let me know. And I would love to hear if anybody else has other ideas. 

[helloceci]

So like side rant: it’s my birthday (I want a bunch of Lasko fans lol) and like it’s 4:00 AM and now I’m thinking

Actual rant:

I’m like looking at the timeline and everything and just following order but like I have done Jack shit recently… but might I digress I keep going back to the idea of what if Gavin didn’t get freelancer… cause (I saw from another post) if Freelancer was initially supposed to be with Damien… would Gavin end up with Lasko? I mean I see it then what would happen with Dear? Like no way they would end up with Huxley?? Cause like how though? I mean I feel like Lasko and Dear would be friends and then they’d find out Lasko is with someone else and would like Dear be single at that rate?

ALSO INVERSION I FEEL LIKE DAMIEN AND HUXLEY WOULDNT CHANGE! But Gavin and Freelancer?! I feel like they would but my mind is making up that Lasko would help him and freelancer made the speech… but like idk

Ngl I want Ivan back like he was interesting like I was in a similar situation and like ever since I watched his first couple audios and then slowly I was like “Oh god… Oh god!… OH GOD!”

I don’t know about you… but like I want to know more about Dear ngl… like like who would dare say that just because they are a water elemental they have to be strong?! Like nah man I feel you but like no don’t believe them. I’m wondering why move to Dahlia is it like JUST for business or is there a deeper reason? Or are they a latent or empowered human or human born? What is their family like do they have siblings? Like I have too many questions!!!

Also I want to just ask for personal opinions on if IF The redacted universe wasn’t magic and like all college based: what would the boys majors be?? I am in college I study Kinesiology with a minor in Nutrition For me it would be:

Huxley: Architecture and Design (I don’t know if there’s a major in construction) that or something plat science and he got scouted for a D1 team

Damien: Something that involves Social Justice since like he stands up for a lot of people

Gavin: PSYCHOLOGY!! Demons and Daemons know how to feel peoples emotions! I like see Gavin having notes only on specific things. He’s also the type that’ll hardly go to the lectures

Lasko: He’d be an undeclared but he’s do something in Education… he’d also be a TA

David: Idk I am getting stumped but something in Culinary or like some criminology major

Asher: Criminology with probably a minor in some form of Art

Milo: Another Criminology lol but like he won’t do what his dad does

Sam: Probably a form of health sciences. Either something in like lab pharmacy or like rehabilitation. Probably started his career early

Vincent: I am ngl I’m stumped on Vincent… he’d probably use to be undeclared in like a Liberal arts but he’d then switch to Culinary

Caelum: NO BABES YOU ARENT READY! He’d definitely do a psychology and because he has to do something fun do some art

Elliot: He’d be Psychology based with a minor in Visual Computer Art or something along the lines of that

I know Ollie and Guy has a degree. Guy having a degree in creative writing but I don’t remember what Ollie’s degree was… I’m pretty sure Aaron and Ivan have some degree

Anywas sorry for the long ass rant that I have a 4 in the morning have a good day yall

[burnwater13]

Concept art from The Empire Strikes Back, depicts a rider on a Taun-Taun on the surface of Hoth during daytime. Image from STARWARS.com (If you know the artist, tag me and I will update).

All About Character

Grogu didn’t know what to do. His dad hadn’t stopped laughing until their friend simply walked away from them. He thought that she was probably going to find a place where she could clean the mask of Mandalore the Ultimate. He hoped that’s what she was going to do. He really didn’t want her to leave without saying goodbye.

He chirped at his dad and hoped that would snap the Mandalorian out of whatever strange humor had possessed him to laugh at Ta’lan like that. Sure, the Mandalorian could be rude at times, but this was uncalled for in Grogu’s opinion. 

“Buddy. I’m sorry. I am. But what she said was ridiculous. Why would anyone stick something like that in the base of a fountain? Who could do it, anyway? Plus, the mask of Mandalore the Ultimate is in the palace in Sundari. It is more precious to Mandalorians than the Darksaber and the Rally Master Lance, and just about any other thing that has ever been created or worn by a Mandalorian.”

Grogu could understand his dad’s laughter a little better. If someone told him that they had just retrieved Master Yoda’s lightsaber, he wouldn’t believe them either. How would they have gotten it? Why would they hold on to it? Why wouldn’t they just give it to you if you were the only person left who was a Jedi and Master Yoda’s species? Oops. In his defense, Grogu hadn’t laughed at Luke. He just didn’t believe that objects that important should be bartered over like a droid at a Jawa swap meet.

Still, Ta’lan was their friend and she didn’t deserve to be treated that way. He said as much to his father.

“Fine. I see your point. I’ll go look for her and you can examine the ships here. This might be a good place for us to pick up one that has a carbonite unit and a privy.”

Wow! That would be great! No more sitting on his dad’s lap, listening to him snore or worse, being lectured about things he already knew all about, like astro-navigation, armor polish, and the pros and cons of various ration pack manufacturers. Grogu watched as his dad went off to look for Ta’lan and then clapped his hands softly. He was happy to set the Mandalorian on a task that involved him being thoughtful. That meant that Grogu would have plenty of time to look over all the ships and make his pick. 

As he began to walk through the hanger, he really wished the ships had been parked there in some sort of order. There were tiny fighters parked right next to large freighters and weird, kind of bulbous transports, next to lean, sleek, luxury yachts you expected to find on Coruscant or Chandrila or Naboo. 

He hadn’t thought to bring his datapad with him because he hadn’t needed to do lessons with Ta’lan. She hadn’t quizzed him about galactic history or even Jedi history. The lessons they had worked on were all about character. Did he trust himself? Did he know his own worth? Could he solve a problem based on his experience, rather than based on how other people would have told him to do it? He had done pretty well at all of those tests. And… he’d also managed to be a good leader for Ta’lan, because he had trusted himself to be who he was and follow his training. All of his training. 

Which made him think for a moment. Would Ta’lan have really brought them somewhere well known to her that didn’t have some sort of theory of organization controlling it? Of course not. As he had observed, the Brethren were deliberate people. They thought about what they did and always had a reason for their choices. They were also practical people. Hmmm. 

What would a practical person do if they were arranging ships within a gigantic hanger?

First, they wouldn’t park the best ships way, way inside the space. Nope. The deepest ships would need the most work to bring into some sort of operational readiness. They would be more like rooms in a house. They weren’t going anywhere, but they had utility. 

Second, they wouldn’t mix up ship’s that had different problems if they could avoid it. Tools were limited and it made sense to have the ships that needed certain tools or equipment closer to each other. Then repairs could be done to all the ships that needed that particular repair by the same team and in order. Good. 

Finally, the ships that were near the entrance probably all worked, but Grogu was pretty sure that they also had limitations that would keep people who weren’t knowledgeable from just taking the best one without a lot careful consideration. Maybe some weren’t completely fueled. Other’s might have homing beacons or tracking sensors… he laughed at himself. They would all have tracking sensors. It would be silly to not install them first as each ship became part of the fleet. 

Grogu sighed. The Brethren, as he imagined them, were even more thorough and documentation oriented than the Jedi or the Mandalorians. And if that were true, then he needed to work his way back toward the entrance and locate Ta’lan’s ship. It was sure to be next to a ship that was in excellent condition and had everything that Grogu might like, including real food and a functional privy. 

As he began to trot in that general direction, his bladder now a bit more insistent than it had been before he thought about functional privies, he could sense that Din Djarin must have come to the same conclusion. He could hear voices and they roughly sounded like Ta’lan and his dad. After all, who else would be on Dantooine? They hadn’t seen any other workers. They hadn’t even seen any other people or even the heat signature of any dwellings. 

Hmmm. That still seemed strange. Grogu had been to Hoth. That place was cold and miserable and the Imps seemed to be in love with it because the Rebellion had a base there, once upon a time. It had all sorts of people hidden away on it and it still made no sense to him. Would people really stay away from Dantooine because it was haunted? Or cursed? Or just hidden by technology that they didn’t understand? Okay. That last one might work. If you thought that there was nothing there would you bother going back? He wouldn’t be going back to Hoth or Jakku if he could avoid it. He didn’t like ship graveyards because they were still graveyards, and the only thing he’d liked about Hoth was the wampa and there was no way his dad was ever going to let him have one of them for a pet. 

With that in mind, Grogu continued to work his way forward through the hanger. He’d have to ask Ta’lan if things would change for Dantooine now that the Mask of Mandalore the Ultimate had been recovered. He knew what his dad thought about that, but he hadn’t seen the room flip upside down or fill with water backwards or any of that. It seemed to Grogu that it was far more likely that Mandalore had a fake mask and their friend had recovered the real one, but only time would tell and he was running out of time if he wanted to get to a privy without embarrassing himself. Dank Farrik!

To be continued…

[oscconfessions]

Feels a bit odd to be told to 'enter' someone, makes me think of Cars universe logic, etc.

Speaking of, would objects based on buildings/structures have their own etiquette/culture from other objects? At this point, I'm just expressing my need for an object show that's mundane day to day, where it's an exploration of normal object lives.

Whenever I say that, I think of the possibility of objects having some kind of racism lol.

Uhm, that's not what I'm here to confess, though, so here goes. When I first watched ONE, I shipped a not so good ship that you probably know, and I still sometimes think about a redemption for one of those two and then a romance. If I ever say I ship it again; firstly, tell me to touch grass or shoe store myself, and secondly, I mean it in a post-redemption way, not a dead dove way. Generally, I enjoy ships with complex/unhealthy dynamics (stares at my Batjokes Board), but I'm very conflicted about it. I DON'T SUPPORT RELATIONSHIPS LIKE THAT IRL!!!!!

This is turning into a bit of a personal ramble, I do apologize for that. Back to the topic of confessing object show things!!

I'm very close to 1,000 pins on my 4x board (Pinterest), and generally, I love shipping algebraliens sm!! If the earlier stuff I said taints your opinions on ships like that, remember a broken clock is right twice a day.

I still don't know what the creator of CFMOT did to make people hate him, so keep that in mind, but I can't wait for the release of the final episode.

I am not ready for post fixation clarity once I get over the OSC. I am going insane. At the same time, being in the OSC is stopping me from actual art pieces. All I can draw rn is silly household items kissing.

I was going to ask this un-anon, but I don't want this on my main blog, and I can't figure out how to make it my priv AUGH.

Love you and many hugs to anyone reading, remember to drink water, 'n if you're feeling bad, take a break 'n shower !!!!

That's it. Sorry!

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