#that sounds awful to say but u don't know the context

[tarkenee]

not to be pathetic on main but i feel like just a while ago everything was going great life was literally amazing and now everything sucks i just wanna be in my bed forever

[astraystayreblogs]

MY GOOOOOD I REACHED TAG LIMIT BUT I CAN'T COPE

the whole breakup, it's perfect, very sad AND MY HEART HURTS but it's so in accord to her character, like it would be foolish to expect another outcome, your reasoning for the twin flames and it being too intense, too scary to face a mirror of yourself with the good, ugly and bad IS SO RIGHT and well thought. they both love each other, but they're scared of what revealing themselves would entail- having to face their own shortcomings and take their own advice. chan is so self-giving because he feels as if he has to, or else she'd leave AND THAT THOUGHT HURTS, and her feeling as if she's taking too much from chan and not wanting history to repeat itself, like, you've created such deeply well thought characters with so many layers that show through brilliantly in their actions and words. i hope you're proud of yourself because you're a phenomenal writer.

and the phone convo with Iseul, how everything came crashing down, HOW SHE NOW FEELS COLD AFTER LEAVING CHAN'S APARTMENT AND NOT COMING BACK I WILL CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP

and then Chan's breakdown just really twisted the knife inside me,,, the good boy bit, the way he sobbed i am unwell. and Minho!!!! he was just trying to protect Chan because he knows firsthand the consequences of what his ex did to him, but he doesn't realize that he just further cemented the ugly ideas yn has of herself. the way everything crashed down was so perfectly written, just THIS IS PHENOMENAL WRITING I'm kissing your brain rn

I CAN'T WAIT FOR BB5 MY BELOVED I HOPE SHE'LL FIX MY HEART CAUSE YOU SHATTERED IT, BUT BEAUTIFULLY SO.

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 04

note: this is part 4 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, self-sabotaging behavior, self-loathing thoughts, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, lots of crying (sorry), brief mention of blood

word count: 16.9k

“Do you believe in twin flames?” 

Chan’s question hung in the air for a moment, changing the atmosphere so drastically that you weren’t quite sure how to react. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a less-than-appropriate giggle.

“You don’t?” his voice came quieter this time.

“It’s not that,” you tried to contain your amusement. “It’s just…what a very Bang Chan thing of you to ask.”

Even through the dim light of your living room, you could tell that the smile he flashed you didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was being serious, you realized with a start, at least to some degree. 

“I mean,” you paused, searching for the right answer to such a heavy question—if there even was one. “I guess it’s something you can only believe in once you experience it for yourself, right?”

It was Chan’s turn to hesitate, nibbling on his lower lip in silence. Whether he was holding back what he really wanted to say, or simply lost in thought, you couldn’t decide.

“Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” he said slowly. “Just wondering.”

“Huh. Really?”

It was a vague explanation, and you knew better than to accept it at face value. Knowing Chan, he wouldn’t have even raised such a topic with you if it hadn’t been weighing on his mind for some time now, longer than he himself may have even been aware of. The concept was more or less a mystery to you; a special sort of relationship that, judging by name alone, was brimming with intensity, if not defined by it. You wondered just how deeply Chan had immersed himself in its ideals, if it was one of those philosophies he’d adopted into his heart and spent sleepless nights thinking about, despite the superstition of it all, just as a way to understand the world around him—the people around him. Maybe, even, to understand himself. 

“I’ve just never really felt like this before,” an awkward chuckle escaped him, as if to lessen the gravity of what he was implying. “I feel like you can see right through me.”

See right through me. 

Your heart leapt in your chest. Immediately, you understood what he meant; the exact same phenomenon you’d been trying to wrap your head around since the day you’d first met him. You’d been so caught up in your concerns over how effortlessly he seemed to read you—seeing past every carefully crafted guise you could conjure up like it didn’t even exist—that you hadn’t ever considered he might be experiencing the same feeling on his end. The feeling of knowing each other long before you’d ever crossed paths. 

It had a strange effect on you. Elation. Dread. Had you felt like this before? In a certain sense, you knew that you had. 

The familiar foolishness of being prepared to give someone your all—of stubbornly believing that, somehow, you would never run out of things to give. At the same time, though, it couldn’t be more different. Chan couldn’t be more different. For the first time, you were faced with an unexpected obstacle in your efforts to trudge mercilessly down the path to your own detriment. He wasn’t there to usher you along like so many had before, feeding off your every step until your legs inevitably gave out from under you. He was there to guide you down a different path—one that was infinitely more pleasant, and one that you were infinitely less acquainted with. 

It couldn’t be more different because now, with every drop of yourself that you so willingly offered up to him, you fretted over what you might be draining from him in return. Chan was, after all, every bit as self-sacrificing as you, and then some. 

That didn’t even begin to cover everything else that surrounded your relationship. The magnetic pull that drew you to him wherever you roamed, the burning sensation that consumed your body any time he so much as crossed your mind, the insatiable desire to open him up and witness him in his entirety—to know every part of him like it was your own. 

If those were the kinds of things twin flames entailed, then, yes, you believed in them. You’d believe in anything that connected you to him. 

It dawned on you, suddenly, that you hadn’t spoken for what was probably an unsettling amount of time. The slightest bit frantic, you combed your brain for an answer, overtaken by an urge to reassure the boy next to you before he made the decision to never share an even remotely personal thought with you again. You didn’t doubt that he would. Despite his seemingly endless levels of understanding, Chan was sensitive. He wouldn’t forget.

“Did I say something wrong?” he chuckled again. It wasn’t even awkward this time, just bordering on defeated.

“No, no,” you cursed yourself for even giving him the chance to second-guess such an idea, for giving him any more reason to believe that opening up to you could ever be a mistake. “I was just caught off guard. Sorry, Channie.”

You shifted in your spot, turning inwards to get a better look at him. He wasn’t making eye contact—nothing new there—but it wasn’t just his usual timidity at play. It was something you could only describe as akin to shame, the expression of someone who had overestimated his importance and was now berating himself for ever having the audacity to assume he mattered. You decided, instantly, that it was a look you never wanted to see cross his face again.

“I think it’s the same for me.”

You didn’t think, you knew. You knew it better than anything else. Still, it was difficult to say out loud, even when Chan was sitting before you, looking ready to bare himself to you with a sincerity that you may not entirely deserve. 

He perked up a bit, and you relaxed the instant that fog of uncertainty cleared from his face, brightening it once more. “Really?”

“Do you…” you prayed that you wouldn’t sound completely insane in what came out of your mouth next. “Do you feel it, too? That weird sort of heat?”

His eyes widened, fingers flexing where they rested on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I feel it. When we first met, I thought you had a fever or something.”

A wave of sentimentality crashed over you all at once. You thought back to that day; that horribly clumsy first encounter that had you certain Chan would tell Changbin to please keep his strange friend far, far away from him in the future. The encounter that had ignited something you hadn’t been able to explain—something you still couldn’t explain, even six months later.

“I thought you were a human pressure cooker.”

“A pressure cooker?” he grinned, actually taking a moment to consider it. “I kinda am.”

That ever-present tug found your heartstrings again. But you knew he’d intended on it being light, a playful jab at himself that was truer than he seemed to understand. So, you didn’t dwell on it.

“Guess we’ve got the flames part down, then,” you joked.

“I’ve been reading about them.” His eyes twinkled, now encouraged. “They’re not exactly soulmates—more like two parts of the same soul. Kinda like you’re holding up a mirror to yourself.”

“Sounds poetic,” you murmured. He was speaking so earnestly, like he’d been longing for the opportunity to share these thoughts with someone all his life. You might’ve accepted anything he said in that moment as an absolute truth. “So, how do you know if you’ve found yours?”

“Lots of ways.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Shared experiences, for one. Uncanny similarities, and that feeling of…” he trailed off briefly, features softening. “Like you’re a part of each other, y’know?”

Each example stirred something deeper and deeper within you, rattling the windows and doors of your mind. Shared experiences. Uncanny similarities. A part of each other. Memories from that night two weeks ago swarmed you, demanding all your focus and ripping you away from the present conversation all at once. Chan’s flow of tears, his vulnerability, his dependence on you. How the cracks you’d caught glimpses of in just one of the many, many walls he’d put up finally spread far enough to send the entire structure crumbling unceremoniously to the ground. 

Not only that, but his uncontainable guilt the next day, and every day that followed. His profuse apologies for allowing you to see him like that, his promises to make it up to you, and, most heartbreaking of all, his subtle spike in attachment, as if he was afraid that now that you’d discovered a side to him that dared to be anything less than accommodating—anything less than convenient for you—you’d pack up and leave without a second thought. No matter how many times you’d reassured him that it was fine, good even, to allow himself to lean on you, he was nevertheless determined to return the favor. As if it was transactional, as if you couldn’t possibly have been there for him simply because you wanted to be. Because you loved him.

You were all too conscious of the fact that your promise to him back in July hadn’t been forgotten. The clock was ticking, with each passing second serving as a wrench to the bolts you’d kept so tightly wound up all these months—all your life, really. If Chan’s feelings were anything like yours, you knew he must be hungry for it, the opportunity to loosen the bolts himself and peer into what was buried inside. 

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. The fear of being known, the comfort of being understood.

“A part of each other,” you echoed. “That’s…

“Kinda scary, yeah?”

“A little,” you admitted. “But I think my parts are in pretty good hands.”

Chan beamed, eyes crinkling and teeth peeking out under heart-shaped lips, flooding his face with a glow that washed away any remaining trace of his earlier reservations. Despite yourself, you smiled back, choosing selfishly to fall into his warmth. It wasn’t in short supply—not in the slightest, it was limitless—but inexplicably, you always held yourself back just a bit. 

Even now, you couldn’t escape that survival instinct, that pesky voice in the depths of your brain telling you to take him in moderation, to keep a distance before you grew accustomed to something you weren’t sure you’d be able to go back to living without. But it was a losing battle from the start, and it was far too late to fight it now, anyway. 

Chan’s hand brushed against yours, sending a gentle ripple of heat through your skin and pulling you out of the hole you’d been digging in your head. Before he could ask what you were thinking about—and he was going to, you could feel his flicker of curiosity—you spoke up again, throwing out a question of your own.

“How about you? Do you like your reflection?”

He studied your face, and the lapse in his reply might have made you panic if you weren’t so taken by the fact that, miraculously, he was holding your stare for longer than just a precious few seconds. Your fingers twitched against his, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush them over the tip of your nose.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “For once, I do.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October’s pleasant chill came to an end, leaving behind a harsher cold spell for the incoming winter months. Bright orange leaves, once providing a golden canopy of light overhead, now littered the ground, dead and dull. Still, it was a sight to admire in its own way—a paper sheet shielding the grass from November’s sharp winds and more frigid temperatures, like the leaves had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of protecting everything else. 

You tried not to think about it, how dangerously close graduation was drawing. The view of the finish line on the horizon wasn’t exactly a comforting one, not when it led right into another race—one that would be even more critical than the last. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean for you once your final semester was complete; what it would mean for your studies, your home, your friendships, Chan. The question of where you would go from here was always lingering in the back of your mind, and no matter how much it haunted your thoughts, you still hadn’t managed to find a sufficient answer. All you knew for sure was that whatever path you walked next, you wanted to be side by side with him, matching your steps and feeling your hand brush against his with each swing.

On a less cynical note, the uncertainty of where the future might take you made days like today all the more valuable, reminding you that, regardless of the tricks nostalgia might play, there were always new memories to be made and cherished. You shoved your hands into your pockets with a shiver as you entered the bowling alley, longing for Chan now more than ever. Just one touch from him, and all the cold nagging at your bones from the walk there would dissipate in an instant.

You felt his warmth begin to spread through your skin as soon as you spotted that familiar head of curls near the front counter. His hair swayed with the rest of his body as he rocked back and forth on his heels, looking absentminded. If you drew close enough, you had no doubt you’d catch a snippet of whatever melody he was sure to be humming. 

Before his presence could fully relax you, however, you registered who was standing there next to him, effectively countering his heat with a sharp chill down your spine. You hadn’t known he was coming. Changbin hadn’t told you he was coming. If he had, you surely would’ve found some excuse to stay home, or, at the very least, prepared yourself to deal with the guy who had so diligently been playing the role of bane of your existence these past months.

Channeling all your strength, you forced a smile and called out a greeting to the group. 

Two pairs of eyes lit up, and one pair narrowed.

“You’re here!” Changbin piped. He elbowed Chan lightly, a self-righteous look crossing his face. “See? I told you we weren’t late.”

You kept your expression calm as you approached them, but it did little to ebb the unease steadily piling up in your stomach. Without a word, Chan’s hand reached out for yours, and you wove your fingers together, barely suppressing an exhale when warmth kindled in your palm.

“I’ve just learned to give it an extra ten minutes before leaving to meet up with you, Bin,” you teased.

It was lighthearted, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t entirely joking. You exchanged an amused glance with Chan as Changbin’s smug look dropped into the frown of someone whose peace had been disturbed, suddenly reevaluating every occasion where he’d so gleefully believed that he was becoming more punctual.

“That’s messed up,” he huffed. “Maybe next time I just won’t show up at all.”

“You say that like you haven't done it before.”

“And as soon as I did, you stole my best friend.” He looked dramatically off to the side, passing your bowling shoes to you. “On second thought, I’d better stick around.”

Half-embarrassed, you cleared your throat and hooked your fingers under the cuffs of the shoes, surprised to find that he’d chosen the right size for you. Just as you opened your mouth to question it, you found your answer—or, rather, you felt it, in the palm of your other hand. You kept quiet to avoid setting yourself up for more playful jabs, but the affection that buzzed to life in your chest was too much to ignore altogether, instead manifesting as a grateful squeeze to Chan’s hand. It was something you weren’t quite used to, something you weren’t sure you’d ever get really used to: care down to the last little detail.

You’d made it a point thus far to stay focused solely on Chan and Changbin, not keen on confronting the source of the tension looming behind your smile. It was probably best not to utter a word to him, anyway, given the direction your conversations veered into every single time without fail. Regardless of which approach you took, regardless of how tightly you gripped the steering wheel, it always spun into something uncontrollable.

But as your eyes wandered casually over to the empty lanes further inside the building, you made the grave mistake of locking them with his—fleeting, but just enough to make your gut twist. You tore your stare away as soon it landed on him, bracing yourself for that inevitable surge of frost, a glare that spoke a thousand scornful words. 

“Hey.”

You wondered for a moment if you’d imagined it, or if Lee Minho was really speaking to you on his own accord. Granted, it was just a simple greeting, but strangely void of his usual disgust when addressing you.

It put you at a complete loss, thoughts scrambling to decipher what his angle could possibly be. You had half a mind to not even respond, but you knew that wasn’t an option when Chan and Changbin were right there, well within earshot. Instead, you settled for nodding at him with a quiet “Hello.”

“You look cold,” he commented.

“Well, it’s cold out.”

Not your most eloquent response. In your defense, you were still trying to make heads or tails of why he was bothering to acknowledge you. His words felt like a taunt in your paranoid mind, like somehow, he was fully aware of the chill that gripped you every time he so much as glanced your way. Mistrust bubbled up inside you, threatening to burst through the surface when he shot you a half-smile that was sickeningly sweet—far too sweet to be natural. To anyone else, it was nothing but friendly, but you knew better than that by now. The closer you looked, the more reminiscent it became of his usual sneer. 

“It’s a relief you’ve got someone to call on if you get sick, then.” He cocked his head towards Chan.

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in your head, making it very clear what Minho’s intentions were. You might have found it admirable, how seamlessly he put on the act, if not for the minor detail of it being positively infuriating. 

“I make a pretty good galbitang, didn’t you know?” 

Minho’s smirk faltered just barely, but before he could say anything else, Changbin finished up with the cashier and clapped his hands together with a bit too much force, startling everyone in the vicinity. 

“We’re all set!” he announced, turning to you.“Hope you’re good at bowling, ‘cause you’re gonna be carrying Chan.”

“Hey, hey!” the boy in question protested. “I score the most out of any of us!”

“A whole eight points,” Minho quipped.

Chan gritted his teeth, still, good-natured as ever. “That…was an off day.”

You willed yourself to chuckle in spite of the bad taste Minho had left in your mouth, for Chan’s sake, if nothing else. It was difficult to envision him not immediately excelling at anything he put his mind to, especially in the realm of sports. Given Changbin’s snickers, though, you had a sneaking suspicion that the jeers held some truth to them.

The four of you made your way over to the first open station, slipping on your bowling shoes and splitting up into two teams: you and Chan versus Changbin and Minho. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors, and it was decided that you and Chan would go first. Chan wiggled his hand to push back the sleeve of his jacket and picked up a ball from the rack, testing its weight a few times before deciding on it.

You figured Changbin would be able to hold his own on his team, but, as always, Minho was more of an enigma to you. Even if he didn’t exactly seem like the athletic type, anything you thought you knew about the guy could be taken with a grain of salt these days. He was the complete opposite of Chan in that sense, so unreadable that even the most sensible, the most intuitive of assumptions could turn out to be dead wrong. You could feel Chan’s emotions like they were your own; Minho’s emotions were ones you weren’t sure you’d ever felt.

“What do you think?” You gave Chan a nudge when he approached you, admittedly endeared by the competitive gleam in his eyes. “Do we stand a chance?”

“We’re the better team, no doubt,” he grinned. “But Minho’s got this insane luck. So, we’ll see.”

You tried not to let your own smile dim. Of course he did. It was all in good fun—on the surface at least—but the mere possibility of losing to Minho was one you didn’t even want to consider. He already had enough snarky remarks lined up in his arsenal without you adding to the ammunition.

Chan took a deep breath, lifting the ball up to his face, swinging his arm back in a low arch, and releasing in one fluid motion. It hit the polished ground with an impressive speed, but your glimmer of hope was crushed just a split second later when it rolled directly into the gutter.

Countless sounds exploded all around you at once, so loud you worried you might have to issue an apology to anyone nearby who had the misfortune of being subjected to them. Changbin’s delighted cackles, Minho’s wild laughter, and Chan’s mortified shout of dismay. You covered your mouth to avoid letting your own amusement show, but it made no difference considering that Chan’s face was buried shamefully in his palms as he shuffled his way back over to you, ears already beginning to tinge red.

“Another off day!” Changbin threw his arm over Minho’s shoulder, as if their victory was already guaranteed. “Guess the experience of age is worthless, after all.”

“His old man bones just can’t keep up,” Minho clicked his tongue wistfully. 

Chan peeked out from between his fingers, any attempt at a glare rendered harmless by the wide, hopelessly embarrassed smile plastered on his face. “One year!” he cried defensively. “This is your future, Lee Minho!”

Minho’s smirk stayed intact, unfazed by the prospect of such a sad fate awaiting him. You gave Chan a sympathetic pat on the back as soon as he was within reach, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Channie,” you encouraged. “Can’t have our ace giving up so soon, can we?”

He managed a shy chuckle, hand reaching up to fiddle with his piercing. Whether it was the other boys’ provocation that had him so flustered, or the fact that you’d been there to witness the pitiful display, you weren’t sure, but you were determined to boost his morale before he had the chance to beat himself up over it. Even for something as frivolous as a game of bowling among friends, you didn’t want to leave any room for Chan to doubt his abilities. You couldn’t help it; you’d do anything to see him shine.

As expected, Changbin was a force to be reckoned with as the game carried on, managing to score steady points for him and Minho’s team with a consistent flow of spares and strikes—that was, when he wasn’t stepping over the line and fouling himself. You were positive it wouldn’t have even been an issue if Minho didn’t point out his mistakes every single time, eventually spiraling into a full-blown argument between the two with Changbin loudly demanding to know whose side he really was on. 

Between their bickering and Chan’s bubbly laughter, emitting fondness with every squeak, it almost felt like old times. You almost felt light, just as you had during those spring days spent studying in their apartment. Bumping your shoulder against Changbin’s to keep him focused as you listened to Chan ramble on about thermodynamics with thinly-veiled adoration, taking more and more frequent breaks each passing week just as an excuse to snack and chat with each other, laughing quietly to yourself every time Minho would, inevitably, disturb the study session and antics would ensue between the three boys—more often than not, pulling you into an ambitious new cooking experiment or an hour long tangent to debate the strangest existential topics known to man. In retrospect, it had been the closest to carefree you’d felt in a long time. 

“Just throw the ball like a normal person!” Changbin shouted, snapping you back to the present.

Minho sniffed, not breaking eye contact with him once as he bent forward, spread his legs, and tossed the bowling ball carelessly through them. To your astonishment, it rolled down the center of the lane; steady, and by some miracle, steering clear of the gutters all the way to the end. The incredulous sound you let out was only rivaled by Chan’s stunned yelp, half-impressed, half-horrified as the ball managed to knock over a respectable five pins.

It became clear, in that moment, that Minho’s aforementioned luck was very much real, and it operated just as erratically as his own mind did. With each increasingly bizarre stance and tactic he implemented, he was scoring dozens of points before you knew it.

Chan never quite seemed to recover from his initial fumble, and, as much as you wanted to win, it was undoubtedly adorable every time he sank into a crouch, wailing miserably into his knees after yet another failed attempt at gaining some momentum. He was trying to be a good sport about it, even with Changbin and Minho’s taunts making the task near-impossible, but you could still feel the fire of frustration behind his every awkward glance at the monitor and apologetic smile sent your way. 

Fortunately, you were able to score enough points to keep the gap between your teams from growing too wide, even pulling a few strikes here and there. It was a bit silly how seriously you were beginning to take the game, but you were fueled on by the desire to lift Chan’s spirits—and, on a pettier note, a desire to see Minho lose. By the time you reached the final round, you and Chan were only behind by nine points.

“Hope I haven’t been too heavy for you,” he remarked, sheepish as he picked up the ball for his last turn.

“I don’t like hearing such defeated words from Bang Christopher Chan,” you frowned. “C’mon, show me some of that showcase confidence!”

He ducked his head with a puff of laughter, thumbs gliding over the sleek surface of the bowling ball. “That was different.”

“That was in front of a crowd of strangers,” you agreed. “This is just me.”

“Exactly,” he hummed softly. “It’s you.”

It took you a moment to understand what he was getting at, only fully registering it when you spotted the rosiness of his cheeks flushing into something deeper, something much more noticeable. Acutely aware of Minho and Changbin’s eyes on you, you tried to keep a straight face, even if every cell in your body called for you to cup Chan’s face and press a kiss to his pouty lips right then and there. He was unreal. It was unreal how, even now, he could charm you so effortlessly—accidentally, even.

“Alright,” he sucked in through his teeth, seemingly reaching a verdict. “Do you think you could turn around? Just this time?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. When you said nothing, he lifted his gaze to give you a look that, despite the absurdity of his request, was resolute as ever. That was all the convincing it took for you to indulge him. 

Changbin watched curiously as you turned your back to the lanes, but you made no effort to explain yourself, figuring it would only be all the more embarrassing for Chan if his plan ultimately failed. It was too easy for you to picture his concentrated expression in your head as you waited patiently for him to make the shot—eyebrows furrowed with a striking intensity, but lips twitching in a way that betrayed his excitement underneath.

The heavy thump of the ball against the polished floor met your ears, and shortly after, the crashing of pins, followed by a chorus of disbelieving shouts. You spun around just in time to see Chan rushing back over to you, beaming so wide that his cheeks eclipsed his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious,” your voice turned up into a squeak as he pulled you into a triumphant, bone-crushing hug. “No way that worked.”

“Told you,” he sang into your ear. “It’s you.”

Any disappointment Changbin might have felt over losing was crushed by sheer delight when it became apparent to him what had just happened. “Oh, this is too much,” he howled with laughter, leaning against Minho—who, you were surprised to find, had a faintly amused smile on his face, as well. You looked away as quickly as you caught it, driven by that feeling of alienation, an understanding that it wasn’t a sight for you.

In honor of your victory against all odds, Chan decided to head over to the concessions stand he’d been eyeing since you’d first arrived at the bowling alley. Changbin jumped at the chance to tag along, setting panic off in your mind the instant you realized what that meant for you. You stood a bit too quickly, offering to join and help them carry back the snacks, only to be waved off with a reassuring smile from Chan.

Despite your discomfort, you relented, deciding it’d be best not to rouse any suspicions. You slumped back down in your chair as the two walked away, leaving you and Minho sitting directly across from each other in silence.

It wasn’t long before you began to run out of points of interest to look at other than him. Your eyes shifted awkwardly from your shoes to the monitor, from the monitor to the ball rack, from the ball rack to the distant lanes, and right back to your shoes. The cycle repeated for a good few minutes, and just as you reached into your pocket to fish out your phone in a last resort to quell the awkwardness, Minho decided to speak up. Oddly chatty today, you noted. 

“Didn’t see you at Chan’s birthday party.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

“Just thought it was interesting,” he pointed out. “Since you care about him so much, and all.”

There was a laughable irony there, that the person who was the sole reason why you hadn’t shown up to celebrate Chan, was now questioning why you hadn’t—an irony that, you were willing to bet, he was well aware of.

“I didn’t think I was exactly welcome,” you said plainly. 

“Showing up uninvited is nothing new to you, is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Look, Minho, I’m really not in the mood,” you hissed. “What exactly are you trying to gain from all this?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you, too,” he bounced off you with ease. “I’m kinda curious—did it make you feel better about yourself when you visited him? Felt like you proved something with that soup?”

“Proved something?” You didn’t bother to watch your volume this time, thoroughly set-off in a matter of seconds. “If you think I have anything to prove to you, you’re fucking delusional.”

Even as you spat the words with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint—and decorum—a wisp of doubt brushed past your mind, the same way it had the day you’d confronted him after checking on Chan. Why did he sound so sure of himself? Why did you even allow yourself to entertain his accusations?

What did he know that you didn’t?

He leaned back in his chair, whatever harsh retort that was on the tip of his tongue immediately being cut short when he spotted Changbin hobbling back over with an armful of snacks.

“Someone go help Chan out!” he called. “I don’t think he can carry everything himself.”

Minho rose from his spot before you had the chance to, eyes glinting as he shot you one last look. “You should get that temper of yours checked out,” he suggested under his breath. “Chan might like it, but others won’t.”

At that, he slunk off, leaving you with nothing to do but fume in frustration as Changbin made his way over to you. He dropped his stash on the table with a self-satisfied whistle, picking up a bag of chips and passing it to you.

“Here,” he offered. “Chan got these for you.”

You caught a glimpse of the brand—your favorite. It brought a smile to your face just in time, wiping away your scowl before Changbin could get a proper look at you, but even the warmth glowing in your chest wasn’t enough to erase the residual tension left behind by Minho. Changbin squinted as he settled down next to you, popping open a bag of his own.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly. “Thanks for the snack.”

He crunched down on his shrimp chip with a suspicious hum, not convinced by your dull tone in the slightest.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course,” you smiled, only half-feigned. “Chan and I just won, didn’t we?”

Changbin chewed thoughtfully a few times, breaking his inquisitive stare to shoot a glance over his shoulder, exactly in the direction Minho had disappeared to. When he turned back to you, his expression was more solemn; knowing.

“Is it Minho?”

You couldn’t find the will in you to hide it, picking uncomfortably at the plastic bag in your hands. “I guess I didn’t expect him to be here.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Did you ever end up talking to him?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “He just doesn’t like me, simple as that.”

You tried to keep your voice casual, unaffected, but Changbin’s reaction to the news made it difficult to maintain. The fact that he seemed so genuinely puzzled almost rubbed salt in the wound, like he’d had the utmost faith that a simple conversation was all it would’ve taken for the two of you to sort things out. Amidst all the complicated feelings you had on the issue, a new one joined the fray: guilt. You hadn’t been able to make it work. If anything, your efforts had sent the situation spiraling into something much worse. All you could do now was ensure that a problem as ridiculous as this wouldn’t reach anyone else—Chan, most of all. 

“I don’t get it,” Changbin muttered, brows scrunching together. “I never got the feeling that he doesn’t like you.”

“You definitely would if you saw the way he talks to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you nearly cringed over the self-pity laced in them. You didn’t want to be a victim in this situation, especially not if it meant pressuring Changbin to pick a side between you and Minho like you were children fighting on a playground.

“I can have a chat with him, if you want. See what’s really going on.”

“No, no,” you dismissed it like a reflex. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? It’ll be easier for me to get through to him.”

“No, Bin. Seriously,” you paused, not having intended it to come out so sharp. “Sorry. I mean, thank you, but it’s alright. I’d rather handle it myself, y’know?”

It had been made abundantly clear to you that you were, in fact, doing a terrible job at handling it yourself, but Changbin didn’t need to know that. The last thing you wanted was to grant Minho the satisfaction of Changbin revealing just how much his behavior was affecting you—or, even worse, the very real possibility of Chan catching wind of it. You could already picture Minho’s scornful stare, voice dripping with mockery as he ridiculed you for needing to call on Changbin to protect you, for not being able to fight the battles that, in his head, you’d instigated with your mere existence. The thought alone made you shudder in your spot, visibly enough for Changbin to notice.

A strange look crossed his face, one you’d only ever really seen on a few rare occasions before. It was grounded, mature; a side to him that, oftentimes, you tended to forget existed because he traded it out for something less intense. Without him even needing to say a word, you knew that his attentive instincts had kicked in, and once they had, they would be difficult to shake. 

“You just seem upset,” he said at last.

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Sometimes people just don’t get along. It’s not worth stressing about, so, please don’t say anything to Minho. Or Chan.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer, and briefly, you worried that he may actually let his stubbornness get the best of him. It was comical, in a sense, how you’d grown so accustomed to disregarding your own emotions in all facets of life, that being faced with a shred of compassion felt more like a hindrance than anything else. Fortunately, the concern was short-lived. With a grunt of agreement, Changbin popped another chip into his mouth. 

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

The relief you felt upon hearing those words increased tenfold as you spotted Chan returning with Minho from the concessions stand, loaded with snacks and drinks that even his long arms could hardly contain. He was smiling, no doubt still giddy over your unexpected win and the victory meal that was lined up for him. That was all it took to make you absolutely certain of your decision.

“I’m sure. Thanks, Bin.”

You wanted to be the reason for Chan’s smile. If it meant securing his happiness, then you could deal with it, no questions asked. 

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The shrill ping of your laptop—a sound you’d come to despise in recent weeks—rang out to notify you of a new email in your inbox, breaking your focus so that you lost your place in the article you’d been reading.

Huffing to yourself, you clicked off the page begrudgingly and switched to your email tab, reluctant to see what academic horrors were lying in wait for you. As expected, it was a followup message from your lab instructor. With the fall semester drawing to a close in just under a month, the pressure was on for you to complete your research paper in time to have your findings included as part of the final study. Having your name on a published academic paper was an essential goal you had set for yourself as an undergraduate; something to give you an extra edge in the fiercely competitive field of astrophysics. The only problem was, (save for the grueling amounts of time and effort it took to reach that point) you had to get your draft approved before it was too late, a task that was beginning to seem impossible with every new response you received from your instructor.

Today was no different, a fresh wave of stress washing over you as you read the contents of her email. Another extensive list of revisions, a reminder of your approaching deadline, and, most troubling of all, another order to have your progress peer reviewed by at least one other student as part of the physics department protocol. Alarm spiked within you. You didn’t have a lot of time.

Before you’d even finished reading the email, you reached blindly for your phone, fumbling with the passcode in your haste to unlock it and open up your messaging app. 

you (9:23 p.m.) hey! sorry to nag about this again but have u had the chance to look over my paper?

You tried to get a grip on your impatience, telling yourself that it was just the incessant desire to be done with the process already that had you so on edge. But all it took was a few minutes of waiting for you to start tapping your fingers anxiously against your desk, debating whether or not you should try calling instead before you succumbed to the unreasonable levels of foreboding stacking up inside you.

Then, at last, a reply. Any reassurance it might have brought you instantly dwindled as soon as you read it.

iseul 🪷 (9:34 p.m.) omg… omfg no i totally forgot

You pressed your lips together. In a way, you couldn’t exactly say you were surprised. Not in the slightest, actually.

you (9:34 p.m.) okay no worries are u still able to? the deadline’s pretty soon

iseul 🪷 (9:39 p.m.) i’m not sure tbh i’m kinda busy rn so i’ll lyk later on a date ;P

Your heart sank, panic shooting through the roof. It’d been well over a week since you’d first asked her to look over your paper, and you’d made a conscious effort not to press the subject too much to avoid coming off as pushy. Now, you wished desperately that you’d been firmer from the start. Surely, then, she would’ve realized how important it was to you. Surely, then, she would’ve prioritized it.

You took a deep breath, mind frantic and scrambling for a solution. It found one almost immediately, like second nature, but you pushed the thought away as soon as it came. You didn’t want to bother him. Absolutely not. 

As you continued to wager the possibilities, however, it became more and more evident to you that there may not be any other option on such short notice—or, maybe, you just felt a selfish need to reach out to him in that moment, knowing you would be met with nothing but that certain warmth. It was a foreign desire, completely unlike you, and you weren’t sure you liked how often it wormed its way into your brain these days.

You’d consulted a handful of other friends before Iseul, all of which shared your major; a double-edged sword in this case. While it made them reliable candidates for peer review, the issue lied in the fact that they were all preoccupied with their own capstone research. Even without the added weight of having to complete an extensive documentation by a strict deadline like you had, the amount of work their labs required was more than enough to keep them busy. 

Changbin was no exception. You’d already been hesitant to ask him from the start—which was, frankly, a bit ridiculous considering he’d demonstrated time and time again how dependable he could be if the situation called for it—so when he’d apologetically told you that he wouldn’t be able to get to it before at least another week, you’d dropped the subject without a second thought. It would be too far late by then, and bringing it up a second time would only put an unnecessary pressure on him. Even if you got a response in a timely manner (a pipe dream in itself), his answer would be the same, and your paper would more than likely end up falling into Chan’s hands, anyway. 

You tapped your thumbs together indecisively, trying to approach it with a clear mind. Maybe it was okay. Maybe it wasn’t wrong to allow yourself to rely on him just a little bit, to lean into that warmth you’d been so determined to ration for reasons you couldn’t fully grasp.

Maybe, it wouldn’t be so unforgivable to take your own advice, just this once. 

Steeling yourself, you hit Chan’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. All it took was a matter of three rings, and you heard the other line pick up. That was another detail you’d noticed lately, another subtle shift in attachment that made your chest tighten when you lingered on it for too long. He was much more responsive ever since that day in October, texting back uncharacteristically fast and calling uncharacteristically more often compared to the usual, comfortable periods of absence between the two of you. It was as if he was on standby for you at all times, ready to jump at the opportunity to meet your every beck and call in case there was something—anything—he could do for you.

“Hey, you.”

In spite of everything, his melodic lilt soothed your nerves. It always did. 

“Hi Channie,” you couldn’t mask the stiffness in your voice. “Are you busy?”

“I’ve got time,” he chirped. He didn’t say it, but you knew what he meant; he had time for you. “But first, guess what I’ve been working on.”

Fondness tugged at the corners of your mouth. “What?”

“Not telling,” you could practically hear the dimples carving their way into his cheeks. “You gotta guess.”

“Hm. Could it be what I think it is?” 

“Dunno,” he giggled. “You’re the one who can see right through me, yeah?”

You let the pull at your lips form fully into a smile. “In that case, you’d better not break your promise.”

It wasn’t difficult to envision the look on his face, the pure giddiness it etched into his features to know that you’d caught on with ease. Speaking in riddles because he could; a language only the two of you could understand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hummed. “So, what’s up?”

You faltered, having nearly forgotten your reason for calling him in the first place. The cheerful rhythm of his voice and the charming tune of his laughter had almost been enough to sway you, to change your mind and shield him from the academic nightmares that he was no stranger to. But anxiety spiked within you all over again as you were reminded of your looming deadline, providing all the push you needed to latch on to him with an embarrassing speed.

“Actually, I…” you began slowly. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Anything,” he said it without an ounce of hesitation, ready to comply before he even heard your request. It made your heart swell—with affection, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“So, Iseul was supposed to review my research paper draft before I submitted it for the final publication but…but I don’t think she can anymore,” you hoped to sound nonchalant, not wanting a single drop of your unease to spill on his conscience. “I know it’s a lot to ask on short notice, so it’s absolutely fine if you can’t, but—”

“Of course, I can.”

“Really?” you swallowed. “Thank you, I…”

A critical thought crossed your mind, bringing the sense of calm that Chan always enveloped you with to an immediate halt. You felt stupid for not considering it sooner, for allowing yourself to be so short-sighted, even for just a moment.

“Your project,” you said suddenly. “Your mentor gave you an extension, right? Did you finish it? Because you need to work on that instead if—”

“Nah,” he assured you. “It’s all done, don’t worry.”

You paused. It was just your inner saboteur making excuses, probably—grasping for any reason at all to pull back before you committed to burdening him with your troubles—but why was it that every single time he told you not to worry, it only worried you more?

Still, you forced your reservations to the side. Maybe he sounded so terse because it was still a sensitive topic for him, something he couldn’t think back to without the guilt that surrounded that night plaguing his mind all over again. It made you soften with sympathy, and a faint hope that, just maybe, your gentle words as you’d bathed him had pierced through the fog of doubt in his mind—enough to compel him to be honest with you about this.

“O-okay. Then, yeah, I’d really appreciate your help,” you exhaled. “Thank you, Channie.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “The least I could do, really.”

You nearly laughed out loud. The least he could do. As if he owed you something, as if he didn’t do more for you than you could ever express simply by being himself.

He could read you with such ease—could catch on to your every thought and sentiment, however fleeting, like it was the most natural thing in the world—but the view of him from your eyes? The sight of himself from a lens of pure, unadulterated adoration? That was one thing he’d never be able to truly comprehend.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I didn’t lose it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Lose sounds so…so harsh,” Changbin protested. “I just happened to put it somewhere and can’t remember where that somewhere is.”

“That’s a relief,” you snorted. “You had me scared for a second.”

“It was an accident, seriously!” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You gave him a good-natured shove as the two of you shuffled down the hall side by side, a sight that had become commonplace for anyone who frequented the physics building. “But if I were you, I’d get to searching.”

“C’mon, it could be anywhere!” he complained. 

“I’m saying this for your own good, Seo Changbin. Do you really wanna suffer through finals without your lucky charm?”

Changbin’s face dropped, a horrified look of realization parting his lips and widening his eyes.

“I’ll find it,” he mumbled, so serious that you couldn’t hold back a snicker. “For you, of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Uh-huh,” you said plainly. “Once you do, custody of Cinnamoroll is going right back to me.”

You weren’t upset about it, not really. It was honestly a miracle that he’d been able to keep track of something as trivial as a pencil for so long in the first place. Though, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an undeniable feeling of wistfulness there, to think that the prized possession that had initially brought you and Changbin together was now missing. You weren’t exactly the superstitious type—well, maybe that had changed just the slightest bit as of late—but it almost felt like a bad omen of sorts.

“That’s too cruel,” Changbin whined. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again, I swear.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you in anticipation of a response; but you were lost in thought. A sea of inhibitions that, funnily enough, had inched further and further up the shore in recent months, months where you’d been objectively happier than even your highest points over the past few years. 

You were certain your change in demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed by Changbin—he’d tapped far more into his observant side as of late, ever since he’d come to learn that you and Minho weren’t nearly as in harmony as he’d led himself to believe. Between his added scrutiny, Minho’s pointed, all-knowing glares, and Chan’s ability to tune in to even the finest shift in your emotions, you didn’t think you’d ever felt more uncomfortably seen in your life. You felt like you were being watched from all angles; nowhere to hide, no way to maneuver yourself so that your loose seams weren’t visible.

“Wanna go bowling tonight?” Changbin suggested, breaking your stream of consciousness before you were completely pulled out to sea. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re so into it these days because it’s the only sport you can beat Chan at?”

“I can beat him at billiards, too!” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll just be you and me. Pretty sure Chan’s busy with makeup work.”

You froze.

“What?”

It took Changbin a second to realize that you weren’t walking beside him anymore. He stopped in his tracks, turning to give you a strange look.

“Y’know, that big project with his mentor. It’s due tonight, I think.”

Your stomach dropped. All at once, dread consumed you, at such an alarming rate that it felt akin to plunging into ice cold water on a hot, sunny day. You didn’t want to believe it; you wanted to tell yourself that Changbin had to be mistaken, that Chan had finished his work days ago like he’d told you, and that he certainly hadn’t taken on the burden of reviewing over twenty pages of scientific jargon for you when he still had a very crucial, very future-defining project of his own to complete.

Even as you tried to convince yourself, even if you wanted to cling to the faith you’d put in him more than anything, even though you knew Changbin was notoriously bad with dates, deep down, you already had your answer.

Changbin’s expression grew heavy with concern. “What’s with that face?”

You cleared your throat, praying that your words would come out steady. “Nothing,” you replied quickly. “I just thought he’d already finished.”

He opened his mouth to say something—most definitely to question you further on why you looked like you’d just seen a ghost—so, you spoke up again before he had the chance.

“Anyway, yeah, let’s go bowling tonight. See who the real ace is.”

The playful challenge, strained as it was, seemed to ease Changbin’s misgivings a bit. He flashed you a smirk, taking the bait immediately.

“Haitai Bbasae shrimp chips are my favorite, by the way.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “So you know what to buy me when I win.”

You rolled your eyes. “Forgot about your pencil debt so soon?”

Your joking did nothing to seal the pit of apprehension that had opened up inside your gut. In fact, it deepened with each step you took, as if your body was physically rejecting the idea of you walking anywhere other than directly towards Phase 8 of the campus apartments; directly towards Chan.

You all but forced the muscles in your face to relax, solely to avoid rousing Changbin’s suspicions again. Already, you were regretting your decision to meet up with him later that night. Spending even an hour or two pretending like the thought of Chan—cooped up in his room, undoubtedly running on minimal sleep and an empty stomach, bloodshot eyes locked on his laptop screen as he struggled to meet the most important deadline of his academic career, all because of you—wasn’t eating away at your insides wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for you. 

You told yourself it was just an overreaction. You were jumping to conclusions. Maybe taking your mind off of it tonight was exactly what you needed; enough time for Chan to finish his work, and enough time for the fog that always seemed to cloud your rationality when it came to him to clear up.

You’d mull it over properly, and then you’d talk to Chan. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

As it turned out, subjecting yourself to a constant back and forth argument for two days straight—a trial where you were playing the role of judge, jury, defendant, and prosecutor all at once—served no real purpose other than to drive you to the brink of madness.

The more you’d tried to reason with yourself, the more convinced you’d become that the situation was, in actuality, far more dire than you’d initially believed. It appeared so simple on the surface, a harmless white lie that was said only with the intention of easing your worries, to displace some of the weight from your shoulders to his. You loathed the fact that you’d managed to spin such a kind, loving gesture, such an authentically Chan gesture, into something so unpleasant. But knowing what you knew, knowing Chan, it went deeper than that. You never would’ve allowed yourself to shift that weight over to him if you’d known he hadn’t been relieved of his own first. 

It was for that reason that when Chan had called you earlier in the day to see if you were free to meet up—a timing that only spurred on your paranoid thoughts, given that he was no doubt reaching out to you because he’d finally submitted his work—you’d all but jumped at the opportunity. You needed to see him, his crinkled eye smile, his face well-rested and bright. You needed to be certain that you hadn’t ruined everything for him.

Each step up the stairwell to unit 8-325 added another layer to the anxiety piling inside of you. It was a sensation you’d experienced once before; that strangely chilly day in April, trudging your way up alongside Changbin, completely oblivious to what the universe had in store for you. Completely oblivious to the warmth you would be met with, the part of yourself that you hadn’t known you were missing until you found him.

You gave the front door a few knocks, a bit harder than usual, just in case Chan had his headphones in. Before the gusts of wind blowing through the hallway could even begin to chill you through your clothes, the door swung open. Despite everything, your heart sang at the sight of him. Eyes sleepy, and, as predicted, accompanied by those dark bags he carried around far too often for your liking, curls ruffled, hoodie wrinkled, smile lazy—just prominent enough for one of his dimples to peek out. 

You wondered if he’d been napping. The idea both calmed and unsettled you; the comfort of knowing he’d gotten some rest, the fear that he’d needed to catch up on sleep because he’d been pulling all-nighters to complete his work. Because of you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi, Chan.”

You hadn’t even noticed the issue with your greeting until he tilted his head curiously.

“Scary,” he giggled. “Am I in trouble?”

You padded through the doorframe and slipped off your shoes, keeping quiet long enough for his grin to waver. It nearly made you grimace. Two words in, and you already couldn’t tolerate the idea of speaking to him with anything but the utmost care. 

“Sorry.” You chided yourself for being so pointlessly intense about it. You didn’t even know the full story yet; there was no need to stir unease in him like that. “How are you, Channie?”

“All good, now. I missed you,” he added.

You knew he must be wondering why you hadn’t hugged him yet. So, you leaned into his arms the very instant they outstretched. You took in his scent, his body heat, the peaceful beat of his heart. You wished the tranquility that he washed over you would last. You wished you could fall fully into him and just pretend like nothing was wrong. But then, where would you go from there? How many more times would he do something like this? How many more corners of himself would he cut until, before you knew it, you were doing the exact same thing to him as so many others had done before? The question itself was enough to scare you, let alone what the answer may be.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured. Mustering all your willpower, you pulled your head from his chest, taking a few steps deeper into the apartment with Chan following suit. 

You braced yourself, and then you tested the waters.

“So, did you finish your project?”

A heavy pause, then an awkward laugh.

“Oh, yeah. A few days ago, remember?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned to look at him properly, not bothering to mask the doubt written all over your face. His gaze fell, and you knew, immediately, that you’d been correct.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s done now, no worries.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your desire to be gentle with him was already beginning to battle it out with your urgency to get to the bottom of this, to decode what had been going on in his head when he’d made such a potentially disastrous choice for your sake. Chan reached up for his earring, eyes still averted as he rolled the silver hoop sheepishly between his fingers.

“Are you mad?”

Mad. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. The idea that you could feel anything but boundless affection for him was so incomprehensible to you. No, you weren’t mad. You were frustrated. Because you knew he saw no problem with what he had done, because the damage had been to him and no one else.

“Of course not. I…I’m really grateful you were there for me,” you began, and the hopeful way he raised his head almost made you want to leave it at that. “But I’m just a little concerned that you kept this from me, Channie. I wanted to be sure that you had nothing else on your plate before asking such a huge favor of you.”

He smiled, clearly oblivious to how much you meant it. “It’s no problem, really. I wanted to help.”

Your stomach churned. Of course he wanted to help, you knew that more than anything. Two years ago, he’d only wanted to help, too. That was the detail that had unnerved you most in the 48 hours you’d spent dissecting it all—the eerie similarities between this situation and the one Chan had poured his heart out to you about just a few weeks ago. Once you’d noticed how they paralleled each other, it was impossible to ignore, to the point where that became the driving force for your need to set things right, to put your foot down before history repeated itself.

“Don’t you remember what we talked about the other day?” you prompted, as delicately as your growing tension would allow. “What if you hadn’t finished your work in time because you were too busy helping me? Graduation is less than a month away—why would you ever risk that?”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side. You could tell he was starting to grow uncomfortable.

“This is different.”

“How?” you pressed. “How is it any different? You nearly let me jeopardize your future all over again.”

“I don’t understand,” he chuckled softly. “I finished in the end, didn’t I? There’s really no need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath. You weren’t getting through to him.

“But what if you hadn’t? What if you failed because of this?” You didn’t miss the way he shrank back when you spoke the word, only feeding into your own distress. “Not just that, it can’t have been easy to finish all that work at once. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle again, especially not for my sake.”

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, almost dismissive. “It was my decision, y’know? If it’s you, then it’s okay.”

Normally, the words would’ve melted your heart. They would’ve made you coo and fawn and swoon over him and his insurmountable selflessness. Now, they only frightened you. If he was willing to put something as important as this on the line without a second thought, you didn’t even want to think about what else he might try to sacrifice for you.

“Chan…” you hesitated. “I need to know that you’re not gonna do something like this again. I need you to promise me that you’ll put yourself first in this relationship, at least when it matters most.”

His expression darkened, just the slightest bit. It was a look you’d never once seen cross his face, one that felt so unnatural that you didn’t know what to make of it. But the feeling it evoked was one you understood all too well. The feeling of having a core part of himself confronted; challenged.

“I—” Chan sucked in through his teeth. “I don’t think I can promise you that.”

Your heart sank. The dread that had been slowly creeping its way up on you since you’d first arrived, now consumed you in full. He wasn’t going to stop. He was never going to stop. Not for you, or anyone else. Certainly not for himself.

“Please,” you tried again. “Please, tell me you’re not gonna put me in this position.”

You could tell, just from the bewildered look he was giving you, that he was having trouble piecing it together in his head, that he was struggling to decipher why you would ever even ask such a thing of him. Why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to take advantage of him, to use him for all he was worth, like so many others did. 

“You’ve got to stop treating yourself like this,” you continued, not liking the way you were losing control of your voice. “If you keep giving and giving there’s not going to be anything left of you to give.” 

Chan remained silent, and for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope that he was starting to grasp the message you were trying to send. But it was nothing more than a candle in the wind, blown out before it even had the chance to illuminate anything.

“And what about you?” 

You tensed. “What?”

“Could you make that promise to me?” he asked quietly. “Would you stop hiding things from me if I asked you to?”

Just like that, the mirror was turned on you.

“That’s…you’re changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

“Really? I think it is.”

You held your ground, determined not to let him steer the conversation away from himself. “I know my limits, Chan. I wouldn’t hide anything serious from you.”

“Then why have you still not told me about what happened when you went home?”

It was unusually direct coming from him, just short of accusatory. You were reminded, once again, that even the parts of yourself that you thought you might be able to slip past his attentive eyes, he was well aware of—more than he ever let show. Even when he caught on to every minute detail, even when it filled his head with concern for you, he remained considerate as ever; waiting patiently until you were ready to open up yourself. At least, until now. 

“And…why haven’t you told me about what’s going on with Minho?”

Something twisted deep within you. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job in hiding it—and even if you hadn’t, he would’ve sensed something was off, anyway. He always did.

When he gauged your reaction, Chan’s face dropped into something heartbreaking, eyes flashing with a resigned sort of fear. 

“Do you—”

“No.” You couldn’t hide your revulsion towards what you were sure he was going to ask, denying it so fiercely that it at least seemed to convince him right away. “That’s not it at all.”

“Okay,” he exhaled. “Then, what’s going on? You can tell me everything. I’m here to listen.”

Countless emotions fought for control over you all at once. Dismay. Exasperation. Vulnerability. Love. Even now, he was finding a way to focus on you, to make sure you were okay amidst your attempts to get him on speaking terms with his self-preservation. It was a testament to everything you adored about him, and everything about him that made you feel utterly helpless. You needed an escape route, a window to break out of before that pure, sincere gaze of his cast its spell on you and made you do something that you were sure to regret. Because you always regretted it, every single time. You couldn’t tell him. Not about Minho, not about home, not about her, not about him. Not because he wouldn’t care, but because he would. He would care so much that all your pain would become his.  

It was your turn to break eye contact, brushing your thumb over your nose. “It’s not something you need to hear, right now.”

“Then, when? How can I be there for you if you won’t let me?” Desperation began to seep into every word. “You promised, didn’t you?”

“I know,” you swallowed. “But that’s not the point of all this. You don’t owe me anything for what happened in October, okay? You don’t have to feel guilty just because you let yourself lean on me a bit.”

You meant the affirmations—you knew you did. So why did they suddenly sound so unconvincing? Like something you’d never believe if spoken to you. Chan pressed his lips together, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to hate me,” you said plainly. “You’re going to resent me for all the times you helped me when you should’ve helped yourself.”

His fingers curled around the sleeve of his hoodie, picking at its loose threads in a way that betrayed how high his tensions were running beneath the silence. 

“Why are you so sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Because…because I know you.”

“Because you do the same thing?” he asked sharply.

He wasn’t going to let you get away with it today. He was tugging at each of your seams, peeling back the adhesives to reveal what you’d let fester underneath. You were trapped. Cornered by someone who you’d come to trust more than anyone else in the world—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

“Maybe I do,” you relented. There was no use in hiding it, not when he sounded more sure of himself than you’d ever heard him sound before. “That’s why I know it won’t end well. I need you to stop this, for your own good.”

“Don’t,” Chan interjected. “Please, don’t talk about what’s good for me. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” you let out a hollow laugh. “Am I supposed to agree with that?”

Of course nothing had changed. How naive, how fucking foolish of you to believe that one conversation could ever be enough to undo the ideas that had been hammered into his being by everyone around him his entire life; so extensively, so persistently that, as time went on, he began to do the hammering himself. You were positive now, that everything he’d revealed to you that night in October, as gut-wrenching as it’d been on its own, wasn’t even the half of what he’d been through. It was just a single star in a constellation of hurt.

Minho’s words echoed in your head. He was right. You weren’t special. You would take advantage of Chan just like everyone else, whether you wanted to or not. Your ex’s words echoed in your head. He had been right. You were a liar. You couldn’t even apply your own words to yourself—how could you ever, ever expect them to get through to Chan?

“These…types of relationships don’t always work out, right?” 

You didn’t want to use the term he’d used before, it felt unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Ever since he’d first brought the subject of twin flames up, you’d spent any free time you’d managed to get your hands on reading about them. That kind of connection could be transformational, sure, but the further you delved into the phenomenon, the more you came to learn that it could be just as harmful under the wrong circumstances—destructive. Two individuals who shared such core similarities were bound to experience problems far deeper-rooted and far more intense than anyone else, after all. Most people didn’t take kindly to being faced with their own traits completely unfiltered—the good, the bad, the ugly. A mirror that reflected them in their truest form. 

“Maybe we’re not ready to see these parts of ourselves. Maybe we just bring out the worst in each other.”

Each word made your tongue feel drier and drier. You didn’t dare to look at Chan as you spoke them, certain you would break the very instant your eyes locked with his.

“Maybe,” you paused. Your heart was pounding, so loud that you felt it in your ears, making it impossible to think straight. There was still a chance to take it back, to change your mind before destabilizing the foundation of everything the two of you had so carefully built until now.

Ever since you’d met Chan, you’d thought that you’d been growing, learning, healing. You’d thought you were reaching a point where you wouldn’t need to hold yourself together anymore, because you would simply be…together. No adhesives. No loose seams. Just whole. 

But here, you had him. The kind of person you’d only ever encountered once before in this lifetime, the kind of person you used to dream of knowing again. Someone who noticed every little thing you did for him and returned it tenfold, someone who loved you and meant it, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t make it work in your mind. You couldn’t shake the dread, the belief that it was all temporary, conditional, transactional. Like if you made one small misstep, it would all be lost.

In retrospect, you really hadn’t learned a thing.

“Maybe we should end this. Before we start to hurt each other.”

Chan’s breath hitched.

“What?”

“I d-don't want to hurt you. And if this continues, I'm going to.”

His hand lowered from his ear, crossing over his chest to cup his neck instead. Covering his heart, shielding himself.

“More than this?” his voice cracked. “I think this hurts more than anything else you could ever do to me.”

There was no way to conceal the effect it had on you. A physical, throbbing ache in your chest.

“Chan,” you begged inwardly for him to understand—for him to just know it, the same way he knew everything else about you like the back of his hand. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin yourself for me.”

It made sense, now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were saying what you needed to hear. The realization made it all feel infinitely more despicable. Could you even say you were doing this out of care for him? Or were you just a coward afraid to confront this part of yourself?

That was what you always did, after all; you ran. You ran from your ex, your home, your family, your friends. The moment you were faced with any kind of obstacle, you left. And this was no different. You were no different than anyone else who had abandoned Chan in the past. If anything, you were worse. A hypocrite who had the audacity to shame the people who had harmed him, then turned around to do it yourself.

“If you’re gonna leave, just do it, please.”

You wished he sounded at least a little angry about it. You wished he wasn’t so ready to accept it. You almost wished he would snap and lash out and yell, voicing every vicious thought you were thinking about yourself in that moment. A liar, a manipulator, a hypocrite. Cruel, awful, selfish.

You wished he would be a little more selfish.

But there was no contempt in his eyes, no vitriol. Not even the beginnings of tears. It felt worse—far worse. He was saving them. He wasn’t going to cry until you left.

The only emotion you could read on his face was exhaustion. By your own volition, you were no longer the reason for his smile; you’d become the reason for his weariness.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I'll let you be, now.”

You waited. For what, you weren’t sure. There was no one to swoop in and put a stop to this; you were the one who’d started it. Still, you waited. For yourself to change your mind, for Chan to change his mind, for something about all this to change.

You took one last look at the apartment around you. The stray socks, the scattered water bottles, the half-done dishes. You wondered if it was the last time you would ever see it. You hadn’t been prepared to leave it all behind. You hadn’t been prepared for any of this. 

You took one last look at him—the boy you loved. His gaze was still downcast, a detail you were, pathetically enough, grateful for. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep it together if he met your eyes; if he looked at you with anything other than that unfettered adoration you’d come to rely on, despite every one of your instincts commanding you not to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, to leave him with something to hold on to, but you knew it would do nothing but twist the knife. There was no way to make him understand that because you loved him so much, you had to end this. You weren’t going to let him make you his accomplice in his self-destruction, and you weren’t going to subject him to witnessing your own, either.

You turned to leave. Every step you took towards the door felt like your heart was being ripped further out of your chest. 

Your heart was there, across the room, watching you go.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

bin 😑 (monday, 1:09 p.m.) what’s this what’s this??? looks like somebody’s late for class~

bin 😑 (monday, 1:32 p.m.) ur srsly gonna leave me all alone on review day???

bin 😑 (tuesday, 4:42 p.m.) guess what i found ><

bin 😑 (today, 12:17 a.m.) i’m really being ignored… huuu ㅜ

Two days had passed. You were only aware of that fact thanks to the timestamps of Changbin’s texts. You’d skipped your classes on Monday, the first time you’d missed class the entire year—ever since you’d started university, really. 

It was a stupid decision, but, well, you were no stranger to those. You probably would have done well for yourself to attend your lectures. After all, the distractions that came with drowning yourself in academics had proved to be effective even when you were at your most miserable. That was exactly why you hadn’t gone. You didn’t deserve to distract yourself.

Eventually, though, it’d become too much to bear. Sitting alone in your apartment, with nothing to do but torture yourself with thoughts of him, of what you’d done, of the way everything had fallen apart before your very eyes—by your very hands—was a punishment that you decided you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. Which, funnily enough, was probably yourself.

You didn’t deserve to miss him. You didn’t deserve to worry about him. You didn’t even deserve to wonder how he might be doing. Still, you did, anyway. Selfishly.

You squinted at your laptop screen, a harsh, white light illuminating your face. Unnatural, nothing like the soothing glow of the moon outside. It was sure to be in its Waning Gibbous phase by now, the same way it had been the night you’d first fallen for him. But it had been cloudy for two days straight. No sun shining down on you to balance out the chilly autumn air. No stars decorating the sky. No moon to watch over you at night.

It took you a few seconds to process the sound of your cellphone buzzing against your desk. Your eyes flickered over to it, lacking the energy to even turn your head fully. It was Iseul. Given how late it was, she was undoubtedly calling about some problem or another. So, for the first time, you let it go to voicemail. 

But nothing was ever that easy. You didn’t even have the chance to find where you’d left off in your notes before she was calling again, not even bothering to leave a message or to give you time to call back first.

It was probably best not to answer. You were in no state to answer.

You steeled yourself, and you took the call.

Before you could even say hello, her distressed voice ran through the speaker. 

“Can you come over?”

For once, you wished you’d been wrong about why she was contacting you. You wished that this friendship, which was usually a comfortable constant for you, a way for both of your needs to be met, could be put on hold. You wished she saw any value in you other than what you could do for her.

“Right now?” you tried to keep calm, telling yourself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. How could she? You’d never let her. “I…I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

“This is important,” she sounded serious, but you knew it was more than likely that this was just another case of a very solvable issue being blown wildly out of proportion in her eyes. “I really, really need your help.”

You said nothing, not even finding it in you to string together an acceptable excuse. 

“Are you with Chan, or something?”

A physical pang in your chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lied. 

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched across the call. Normally, you’d fill it, say something to keep her from feeling awkward. 

“It's really late, Iseul. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“No.” You were taken aback by how abruptly she responded. “I need your help now, I'm so serious. Can you please just come for a bit? I'm sure Chan wouldn’t care.”

Another blow from your oblivious assailant, straight to the gut. You felt short of breath.

“Maybe I can help over the phone?” you offered weakly. “What’s going on?”

“No, no, no, you have to be here! I just lost my whole fucking essay file and it’s due at 6:00 a.m. and you know I don’t know shit about computers!” her tone grew frantic the more she rambled on. “I have no idea how to get it back, I'm seriously about to cry.”

An essay. The very same thing that had led to all of this. That was more important than the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, destroying everything in its path. Of course it was. How presumptuous of you to think otherwise. The absolute gall of you to think you deserved any amount of time to feel sorry for yourself.

You gritted your teeth. She doesn’t know.

“Okay, okay. No problem. I can just tell you how to recover it.” You left out the fact that she could’ve easily searched it up online and saved you both the trouble.

“I’m not gonna know what or where anything is!” she objected. “Can’t you just come over and fix it? I'm freaking out. You can go crawling back to your stupid boyfriend after if it matters that much.”

She wasn’t thinking with a clear head, probably—letting her stress speak for her. But it was a push too far.

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, Iseul,” you spat. “You can’t just snap your fingers every time you want me to solve a problem for you. Figure it out yourself.”

The line went silent. Long enough for you to perfectly envision her hurt expression in your head.

“What?” it came quiet, meek. Everything unlike her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I'm tired.” You rubbed your eyes, trying to get rid of the building sting. “I can't do this right now.”

“That’s n-not an excuse for you to talk to me like that,” her voice trembled. “I didn't do anything wrong!”

You heard a faint sniffle, and as exasperated as you were, it crashed guilt over you all the same. You didn’t want to make her feel like this. 

“I’m stressed so stressed out and you know how hard I’ve been working on my grades so I can get into grad school. Is it that crazy for me to call my friend for help? Like, am I wrong for thinking you care about me enough to save me from failing this fucking class?”

Each word, so tone-deaf, so lacking in self-awareness, added to the pressure filling up your head, heightening it so much until it was unbearable. 

“Do you ever stop to think about the way you talk to me?” you snapped. “Or is it too much to ask for you to consider someone else’s feelings for once?”

You were being harsh, unreasonable too. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to take it back, to do what you were supposed to do and just go help her. But your conversation with Chan—everything that had led up to that doomed, wretched conversation with Chan—was all too fresh in your mind, manifesting in the ugliest of ways against someone who didn’t deserve it.

You wanted to blame her. You wanted it to be all her fault. If she had just been there for you when you’d needed her, none of this would have happened. Even as you tried to convince yourself of it, you knew it wasn’t true. What had caused everything to crumble between you and Chan ran much deeper than that simple favor. The flaw was in the very foundation.

“I consider your feelings all the time! Are you kidding me!?” she exclaimed, offended by the accusation without taking even a moment to consider if it had any merit to it.

“Right,” you said bitterly. “That’s why you only ever reach out to me when you need something.”

You could practically feel her indignation burning up on the other end of the call, and you stopped to ask yourself just what the hell you were doing. This approach would never get through to Iseul. She was far too proud, far too sensitive to receive any kind of message when delivered so tactlessly. That was why your friendship had worked all this time, why you were one of the few people who got along with her. You were nothing if not tactful, enough for the both of you.

“So what!? Friends are supposed to be there for each other!”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “They are.”

Another spell of silence. You wondered, briefly, if she was catching on to what you were implying, but the moment she spoke up again, you knew it’d been nothing but another baseless hope.

“Don’t lie to me and say you wanna help me then!”

“I’m not lying to you!” you retorted. “I want to help you. Every single time you come to me, I want to help you. That’s the problem!”

You’d never even raised your voice at her before, let alone to this degree. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was frightened by it—yet another point on your list of reasons to feel guilty. 

“So I’m just a problem to you,” she concluded. You could hear the sobs beginning to build in her throat. “Great, thanks.”

“Iseul, that’s not—”

“Forget it,” she hiccuped. “It must be so hard for you, right? You’re so fucking perfect and I’m so fucking selfish.”

The line went dead, leaving you gripping your phone with such intensity you worried it might actually crumple under your fingers. Of all the ever-changing things in this world, the one you’d always been able to control was yourself. But it seemed even that was too tall of an order these days. 

Maybe you really did need to get that temper of yours checked out.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One hour later, you found yourself, once again, trudging miserably up a flight of stairs to meet your impending fate. Cold, exhausted, and filled to the brim with anxiety. You’d forgotten to throw on a jacket before leaving your apartment—far too preoccupied with the round table discussion taking place in your mind, one that was still well underway even as you impulsively made the decision to leave. By the time you reached the fourth floor of the complex, your teeth were chattering.

You gave the door a few knocks, drawing your hand back as soon as you did to rub it against the other, your best attempt at generating some warmth. There was no response for nearly a minute, and, with a tinge of fear, it dawned on you for the first time that Iseul may have very well given up and gone to sleep after your phonecall. It made your insides lurch. How could you have done this to her? How could you have let yourself be so caught up in your emotions that you treated hers so carelessly?

Why did you feel so cold?

Panicking, you knocked again, this time with a bit more force. It was nearing 4:00 a.m. now, there was still a chance for you to fix things before her deadline. There were so many things you couldn’t fix, you needed to make something right.

Finally, just as another shiver ran up your spine, you heard the click of a lock. You didn’t have the opportunity to collect yourself before the door creaked open.

The frown on her face only deepened when she saw who was standing before her. Lips curved sharply down, eyebrows lowering, eyes cleared from any residual redness, but still puffy—that strangely rejuvenated look after a good cry.

“What do you want?”

You flinched. “I’m here to help.”

She studied you without a word, but you didn’t miss the way her features mellowed the slightest bit. However coarse and uncaring she tried to make herself, she could never truly contain her expressiveness. 

You could see her weighing the options in her head, and, even as the biting chill on your skin wore your patience thinner with each passing second, you waited. You at least owed her that much.

“Fine.”

She turned, leaving the door open for you as she stalked into her apartment. With a sigh of relief, you followed.

You joined her on the couch, keeping a careful distance from where she’d slumped down. She slid her laptop over to you on the coffee table without making eye contact. It was open on a word document, two pages into her attempt at rewriting her essay. Not far off, you spotted a few stray tissues on the table, smeared black with mascara.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

You picked up the device, placing it in your lap and getting to work. Iseul’s eyes flickered over to you, more obviously than she probably thought, as you began clicking away, opening up the settings of the program and accessing the version history of the documents.

“Can you fix it?”

“Yeah.” You tilted the screen towards her. “There’s an autosave feature.”

She blinked, trying to keep up with your ministrations as you recovered the lost file with just a bit more fiddling around.

“Here. Make sure it’s the right one.”

Furrowing her brows, she scrolled through the pages and pages of her work, unable to mask her elation when she confirmed it was in fact her full essay, completely preserved from where she’d left off.

“It is.”

“Good.”

More silence. You wondered if that was your cue to leave. You’d done your job. You’d made yourself useful. There was no need to stick around.

Then, she said it; quiet, demure. 

“Thanks.”

A simple word, solidifying the belief that none of this had been worth it. Putting your feelings first was never worth it.

“Of course.”

A deep breath. 

“And, listen, Iseul. I'm sorry about what I said on the phone.”

She lifted her head, looking directly at you for the first time that night. 

“I was really stressed out about my own stuff, too, and I let my anger get the best of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Her expression changed, and though she looked like she was already prepared to forgive you, she didn’t quite say it yet.

“Is that really how you feel about me?” she muttered. “Like you’re my babysitter? Am I just a burden to you?”

A burden. It was such a heavy word, you knew it couldn’t be correct. Still, how could you explain to her that you were the problem in this situation? Worrying yourself with details about her that she didn’t even ask you to worry about, wearing yourself down without ever bothering to tell her, then snapping when it all became too much. 

It was an issue entirely of your own creation. She’d have to be as stupid and maladjusted as you to understand.

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend, of course I wanna help you.”

“…But?”

“But…” you bit your lower lip. “Sometimes it feels like you just expect me to do things for you. Like, you don’t care about what I have going on as long as I can be there for you.”

You couldn’t explain why you felt near physically ill. You’d known this girl for three years, been friends with her for two, and spent practically every day with her for one. So why did being upfront with her seem like the most terrifying thing in the world? Like you were exposing yourself to a predator, completely vulnerable if she chose to swoop out and attack.

“Oh.” 

“I’m always gonna want to help you,” you explained softly. “So, sometimes, I just need you to care enough about me to make sure that I can.”

You could tell she still felt wronged, and maybe, she had all the reason to. The way you’d gone about it was less than ideal. All that care you’d always tried to treat her with, nullified in a matter of seconds, just like that.

“I guess I never thought of you as the type of person who’d need that.” She picked at the skin around her nails. “But sure, okay. I’ll try.”

You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling. It seemed unreal to you, all things considered, that you’d reached this point. That telling her what you’d kept buried in your heart for so long could have ended in anything other than disaster. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Iseul turned her attention back to her laptop, high-strung as ever as she scanned over her paper once more. A thought seemed to cross her mind, and when she spoke up again, you could tell she was doing her best to sound casual.

“Are you gonna go back to Chan, now?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.”

“You can go,” she mumbled. “I get that you’re like, in love with him, or whatever.”

The sting was back in your eyes. The pounding was back in your head. The chill was back in your skin.

“Chan and I aren’t together anymore.”

“O-oh.” 

Then, more troubled. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I…I didn’t know.”

You straightened yourself up, forcing a feeble smile.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Iseul frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m tired.”

“We'll talk later though, right?”

A lump rose in your throat. You could only bring yourself to nod.

For the next hour, you sat, unmoving, as the sound of Iseul’s rapid typing and frustrated huffs filled the room. Once she’d made the finishing touches to her paper, she submitted it with plenty of time to spare, lifting the weight off both of your chests. You sank your head back against the cushions just as she shut her laptop, a sigh of pure relief easing her nerves and yours.

Through her window, you could see that the sky outside was still blocked out by the low-hanging clouds, but even so, the world grew a bit brighter as day began to break and the sun began to inch its way up behind them. Iseul rested her head on your shoulder, and you at last allowed yourself to succumb to the fatigue that had been gripping your body for the past two days.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

When Chan's eyes blinked open, he wondered, faintly, if he’d been drifting off. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. Exhaustion consumed him so perpetually these days, not even standing upright could prevent his head from hanging and his eyelids from drooping. He adjusted his vision to take in his surroundings—kitchen, he realized for the first time—but the fuzz in his mind didn’t clear. That was nothing new, either. It hadn’t left him since you had.

He hadn’t slept in three days, not for more than just twenty or thirty minutes at a time. Not even enough to complete a single sleep cycle. Not even enough to dream.

He’d been kept awake by thoughts of you before, more than he’d ever be confident enough to admit out loud. But it was different now. He used to be perfectly content lying wide awake, staring at his ceiling with the giddiest of smiles plastered on his face over the mere memory of you. It had been better than any dream his mind could conjure up. Now, he wished, more than anything, to drift off instead. At least that way, he could be in a state where he didn’t have to think at all. Or maybe, if he was lucky, a state where he could dream of you, to pretend like you were still here with him.

The shattering of glass snapped him out of his thoughts all at once. With a start, he registered that he’d dropped the cup of water he was holding.

He stared blankly at broken shards, scattered amidst the puddle spreading across the wooden floor. He should probably clean it up. The remains could hurt someone. 

He sank down to collect the pieces. Changbin liked this cup, he remembered suddenly. He’d gotten it on vacation. He was probably going to be upset. 

An unexpectedly sharp sliver of glass grazed Chan’s thumb, cutting it open and earning a slight hiss. He winced, dropping the fragments he’d gathered in his palm.

Blood began to bubble up on the surface of his skin, and he brought the injured finger to his lips. 

“Good job, Chan,” he mumbled, unsure of why his eyes were starting to sting. “You’re a good boy.”

The words didn’t calm him down like they typically would. In fact, they had the opposite effect. He didn’t want to hear himself say them. He wanted—

He curled into himself, shrinking under his clothes and barely managing to keep his balance as a sob racked his body. He pressed the wound closer to his lips, trying to get it to stop bleeding.

He didn’t even process the sound of the front door unlocking, or the approaching footsteps that followed. A familiar pair of green sneakers shuffled into his blurred field of view. Chan lifted his head, tears falling freely as he met Minho's deep stare.

He looked concerned, but not surprised. Not in the slightest.

“What happened?”

Chan kept his thumb to his mouth, chest aching from the cries he was so desperately trying to hold in. 

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Just c-cut my finger.”

Minho crouched down, coming face to face with the older boy. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Chan held out his hand, placing it in Minho's waiting palm. Minho gave a light click of his tongue, as if unimpressed by the injury. 

“It doesn’t look that deep.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a fresh wave of hot tears down his cheeks. “Feels like it.”

Minho hummed, half-sympathetic. But it was soft. The same way Chan would hear him murmur to his cats back home. He let go of Chan's hand, lifting his gaze to look him straight in the eyes, unfazed by how red and swollen they were.

“What did she do?”

Chan sucked in a shaky breath, nowhere near ready to talk. Minho waited for a few moments, then rose from his spot, opening the medical cabinet to find something to treat him with. He turned his back to sift through their sparse first aid materials, and the absence of his scrutiny was enough for Chan to muster up enough courage to answer.

“She left,” he managed to gasp. “Think it’s over.”

Minho said nothing.

“A-and, please, before you say you told me so…it’s not the same.”

Through the soft hiccups and shallow pants that filled the room, a sigh met Chan’s ears. 

“I got tired of telling you that a long time ago,” Minho replied. “And it never made me happy to be right, for the record.” 

He lowered himself to Chan’s level again, ripping open the antibiotic packet he’d retrieved and pressing the alcoholic wipe delicately to the cut. Chan tried not to pull his hand away as the harsh burn rippled through his skin.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, Minho put the bloodied wipe to the side and wrapped Chan’s thumb with a bandaid. Chan tried to rasp out a thank you, but it only came out as another pathetic sound. He never felt more pathetic than when he cried in front of Minho. Minho, who he was supposed to be strong for. Minho, who, even at his lowest, only betrayed his heartache before others with a subtle twitch of his lips or a few rapid blinks, shooing his tears away for later.

Minho redirected his attention from the now patched-up injury, stone face softening when he caught the uncontrollable shake in Chan’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” He rested his hand on Chan’s back. “You’re okay.”

Chan took a deep breath, scolding himself, berating himself, screaming at himself to get it together. To stop being so fucking pathetic. He’d cried so much already, cried until his head throbbed and his lungs ached. He was surprised he had any tears left in his system to begin with. Minho’s voice was gentle, but Chan knew what he must be thinking. He knew the frustration, the judgment, the disappointment that must be boiling beneath his composed visage.

“I c-can’t—” he swallowed down another gasp. “Can’t be okay without her.”

“You can,” Minho said simply. “You’ve been okay before, you will be again.”

“Really hurts.”

“I know.”

“Feels…” Chan touched his index finger to his thumb, running it along the smooth texture of the bandaid. He pressed down, just hard enough to draw out the light pain. “Feels like I lost a part of myself.”

Minho frowned, hand pausing its rhythmic movements along his back. He stayed quiet for several heartbeats, letting the weight of the admission fully sink in.

“Tell me everything.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

Hi!! Just wanted to say I love ur writing so much! Do u have any tips for how to have good flow in dialogue/how to be better at imagery/description? I’m learning fic writing and you’re one of my faves 😊

hello!!! thank you so much!!!!

i have tips for dialogue but imagery description is probably my worst skill as a writer skdjfnskdj so i dont know if i can give you good advice for both.

for writing dialogue.... usually for me i try to make sure the conversation my characters are having makes contextual sense. i think you heard the advice (and i have given the advice) that you want to read your dialogue as a conversation and that is good advice !!!

but i also try to make sure my dialogue works like... with relation to everything else. like your characters can say anything to each other but its more important the framework they're having to say it.

a character like bkg for example can say the word fuck you in pretty much every way. but the situation where he says it as an insult and the situation he says it affectionately are very different and you want to build your dialogue into that.

dialogue is like more about what you are communicate to the readers about the characters than it is what they say to each other. which i know sounds like nonsense dsfjhfsdk but thats usually how it is written in my head at least.

IT FEELS SILLY TO USE MY OWN WRITING RIP. but bear with me i couldnt write an example but ^ this dialogue is from my bachira omegaverse fic. the context is that they're childhood friends who are in mutual love but don't know it.

it seems obvious but i think its easy as a writer to get caught up in wanting the dialogue to be a band-aid and bridge for the characters themselves to connect and that can be true sometimes / with the right build up

but most of the time, you're trying to get an idea across THROUGH the conversations the characters are having. in the context of the story, they're not at a point to talk to each other about their feelings in earnest. but as a writer, i want to get across that they are at a point they feel mutually for each other even if they're both oblivious.

bachiras emphasis on usually and prior to this conversation, readers sarcastic deflecting are what dictate the flow of the conversation. these two characters like each other and you, as the audience, get an understanding of that through what they say and how they say it.

i think writing a conversation gets a lot easier when you keep that in mind. where are your characters now, what are they experiencing, and how is that going to effect things like their tone and honesty? what is the context in which this conversation is being had?

I HOPE THIS HELPS AT ALL.

i would give you advice on imagery but im genuinely so awful at it at least in my opinion so i truly cannot comfortably advise you. but im confident (ish) in my dialogue and i wanted to give you advice that isn't too generic. so sorry if this convoluted KJSDHKJ. i am wishing u the best!!!!!!

[cepheusgalaxy]

i've seen a lot of people criticizing wish's message, but honestly it isn't even that bad.

one christian guy was complaining about how the movie was so heavy-handed on nhilism (or however you write that) and the whole "you're a star" thing and honestly he made a lot of good points actually, but i have to disagree with him here.

i absolutely despise that movie, i think it was a whole bunch of missed opportunities, awful references, boring visuals and inconsistency all slashed together in a 1h film but the message isn't exactly what i would complain about.

it's a pretty good one, actually.

when they bought out that awful "you're a star" song with the talking animals and weird trees, i knew exactly what they were referring to.

"The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff [...] There are pieces of star within us all." - Carl Sagan.

I don't know much about the guy or the context of the quote actually, but as soon as I heard the line on the song, I thought, "oh, they're talking about that"

Which is a nice concept. I think this Carl Sagan guy was talking about how we and the stars all have like atoms and stuff and came from the same universe or something and other scientific talk, it is a magical concept. "We are all made of stars", doesn't that sound adorable? Someone thought that sounded like nilism, like a "u r just a ball of gas that will eventually return to nothing" kind of talk, but the thing they wanted (im assuming bc Wish doesn't know how to deliver a message apparently) to say in this movie was to show how stars are magical. They're awesome. And hey, kid? Guess what, you're a star too! You can go after your wishes like Star did! You're magical!

Which honestly? Is a cool concept. They could've carried that out well. Some people also said, I think, how the message of "actually, every wish deserves to come true kiddo" is pretty harmless, and yea, it has some stupid drawbacks but I don't think it was that bad either. In a world where we struggle to get by and can't afford nice things for ourselves or go out in the weekends, to hear "hey actually your dreams should be able to come true" is not a bad thing?

This message could have been awesome. The only thing is that it was delivered so poorly with such rushed writing and boring visuals and bad songs and bad art direction and so many basic writing mistakes that it just doesn't land well. I hate the movie. I, however, love the idea of what it could have been.

Or what it still can, due to the incredible amount of hatefics we're having XD

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Writing Pattern Tag Game

@bootlegfrank tagged me and @septiccoffeefreak - who shares this post w me because we're writing partners >:3 (frank tagged us indirectly. and then directly because i responded saying i was gonna do it. so in-indirect-diretly(??))

Rules: list the first lines(s) of your last 10 fics and see if there's a pattern. I also said where each one is from in case u don't wanna scroll through our ao3 and do the math urself!!!

all these fics except one r RPF, sooo BE WARNED. i'm putting everything under da cut, and i'm also putting my reblog banner since fanfiction!!! is!!! art!!!

Seán’s about ready to burn his entire calendar.

from "Scheduling Conflicts and How To Cope - A Guide For The Busy Homosexual"

Tommy hates LA with every fiber of his being.

from "City Of Angels"

it's cold, and it hurts.

from "The Part Where it Gets Better (Lads rescue AU)", and also THIS SOUNDS SO WEIRD OUT OF CONTEXT LIKE WHAT'S COLD??? it's water. the water is cold. this is the character based one btw. WE FOUND IT, THE NON-RPF!!!

Tommy inspects Seán’s behelit tattoo carefully, running his thumb over it a little, then kisses it.

I fucking would. kissing all his tattoos right now. mwah. this goddamn MOOD is from "There's No Place Like Home"

Ethan N3st0r was not expecting Seán to still be awake at three AM, even though with jet lag considered, he really fuckin should have.

I censored the name for search but it's not like that in the fic, that's just for tumblr. anyway, from "Three Drabbles In Which Tommy and Seán are bad at Keeping Secrets"

Ethan's the one to bring it up first, on Brain Leak, of all things.

OPENING WITH ETHAN AGAIN LMAOO. this is from "And Suddenly, It Makes Sense."

"So, who would have thought, huh? T0mmy1nn1t and Jacks3pt1c3y3, famous YouTubers, passed away in their sleep on the same night."

censored for tumblr again. from "Count your Soulmates- There's only one."

Seán and Tommy have sleepovers sometimes.

from "kissing practice". very original opening line /sar /lh (also tbh i feel awful about em being evil in this one :( I know its fanfic and i can do whatever I want but like. idk. i'm not accusing em of being mean IRL okay??? OKAY))

Seán spends about fifteen minutes pacing and staring at himself in the mirror, doing breathing exercises his therapist taught him and trying not to rub or scratch his wrists too much.

from "Puppy Love", the closest we've ever gotten to full misce posting on main

They were gluing ducks to a jeep the first time it happened.

FROM "PETNAMES" AND ALSO THE BEST OPENING LINE EVER

INTERPRETATION TIME!!!!

soooo yeah!!! we like to jump right into action as well but I think it's safe to say our autistic ass habits of giving exposition for everything lead to the specific outcome of starting in the middle of a scene, WITH an explanation of the scene. like we're already in the middle of something going on but also sometimes it's exposition at the same time somehow?? or like right after these first lines. idk maybe that's just me????

the way it's usually less (character does this) and more (character does this BECAUSE ____ // character is doing this and FEELING ____) feels like it's trying to give context, to me. but again idk maybe just me

TIME FOR SEÁN'S READING:

@septiccoffeefreak - "What I'm noticing here is more along the lines of just, how we almost always seem to open with a person. Usually by their actual name(s) too and not just a pronoun. I understand what you mean, Tommy, but I don't personally get that vibe? You could totally be right, of course, I just don't pick up on that. I defenitely notice, though, just how many of these are sentences where the literal first word is a name. the two exceptions to that are the pronoun "they" (which is still a person- or two people actually), and then water.

I guess the dialogue could also be considered an exception, but I don't think it counts since it also directly references us as characters.

and that's not something you necessarily have to do. You could open describing scenery or objects, or with dialogue that DOESN'T have the names of the characters in it- you could open with wind through a blade of grass or a character cursing under their breath or someone's cellphone crashing to the pavement or something. So it's definitely an "us" thing, it's a quirk of our writing style and not just normal writing. I don't know if like, we ALWAYS do this, but I do know that in these ten fics you pulled we do. I wouldn't be surprised if we did it like literally all the time as well, but I'm not going to pretend to know every first line we've ever penned to paper. or...print?? I don't fucking know, here, I'm just analyzing sentences on the internet for a tagging project.

Sorry if this ramble is kind of long, I hope it's at least interesting though??? sort of interesting? kind of interesting, in it's own way, hopefully. at least mildly, like a video you didn't turn on but aren't really reaching for the mouse/remote on to change it. You know?? Yeah. Like that. Or more interesting then that, hopefully. Thanks for uh, reading or, whatever, listening if you have a screen reader i guess, I'm getting nervous and it's very obvious because i'm rambling so I'm gonna hand things back off to the birthday boy, Toms. wish Tommo a happy birthday or I swear to fucking god your liver will be missing in the morning and you'll find it at the bottom of your morning cup of coffee."

back to me:

LMAO

wow omg i love my babygirl,,,, that made me laugh >:p

ANYWAYS. i didn't notice that!! oh em gee,,,,, name moment.

YOU SHOULD DO THIS TOO AND SEE IF YOUUUU SEE ANYTHING!!!!!

I'M TAGGING @kalcifers-blog AND.... no one else because all my other mutuals who i know for a fact write have paused as far as i'm aware, bc they're into mcyt RPF like I am and the w1lbvr situation put them on hiatus. and i don't know if any of them are back to feeling up to writing stuff.

I don't write about w1bvr ever and didn't watch him so I wasn't that affected but a lot of people were even if they just watched so like... Kalcie ur alone on here i'm SO SORRIE. ALSO this is /nf so u don't have to if u dont want to :p :3 >:D :000 >:PPPP :000 >:00

[pprodsuga]

omggg a snippet just for meeee i'm so honoured u wanted to share something with lil 'ol me. stop it before i develop a parasocial relationship with you...

on a different note, if u will allow me to rant for one wee second.. this is completely irrelevant to anything but i was looking for some romcom novels to read (bc i need to stop letting fanfiction consume me), and tell me why authors pick the ugliest most generic ytest names. i haven't read a real book in a while and i'm so used to reading ff now where even side characters have korean names that the switch over back to western books is awful. i had to stop my search bc wtf is GARRETT and TUCKER. ik a korean name is just a name, there's nothing objectively special, but it's just more unique in the sense that i don't see it often outside of media. the only way to get around this is fantasy books where the names aren't even real names (thank god the book im currently reading is fantasy). PLEASE can i just get an ethnic name and maybe more ethnic characters or something... sob. i just want a college romcom to cope so i can get away from college au's😭 yeah it's fucked for me. thank u for listening to my unsolicited bitch sesh

-comet

just for you, for always being so thoughtful in your words. more under the cut to spare the dash.

your first messages back in june struck a chord within me for two reasons: talking about my writing was an incredibly kind thing for you to do and it validated the hell out of my work. but also, i was experiencing a lot of friendship turmoil that i had to navigate (re: why i wrote never to keep).

i don’t know if i’ve ever expressed just how grateful i am to have read your messages at that time because for that entire month, i felt like i did not have anyone in my life to back me up when i stood up for myself. knowing that you thought i must be someone with a great deal of empathy and kindness restored a bit of faith in me and who i am as a friend. i reread your message over and over again until i could remind myself that i am who i am for a reason. so thank you.

character names are something i think about a lot, both in fanfics and regular fiction. i’m oftentimes taken out of the story when it feels so incredibly yt (but go figure, i’m not white but have a “white” name so i understand that there is some nuance sprinkled in there). but sometimes we just crave that subtle representation in an ethnic name so i don’t have to wait for the author to explain that they’re not….white. in every sense of the word. but like if you’re gonna pick a white name then at least make them sound HOT?

onto the snippet! i’m excited to post this one. no idea when i’ll finish writing/editing but i’m excited that you’re excited. not providing context bc im a menace and will make you wait. 😎 (thank you for being excited.)

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Sunghoon turns to look at you. “You were always the most unpredictable part of my day.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah. You moved into the apartment next to mine and running into you a few times a week kept me on my toes. I don’t know. I guess I saw you as someone I would have potentially befriended. I could at least pretend I was coming home to talk to someone who cared.” 

“That’s…very sweet. You’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” 

He sighs. “I don’t feel that way. I don’t know when I’m gonna see my family and friends again and explain all of this, but I'm starting to get the feeling that they’ll never hear from me and they’ll never know what happened tonight.” 

“You know,” you begin, “a lot of my life was spent moving from place to place and never having anything or anyone to call home. I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you to leave everything behind. For that, I truly am sorry.”

“It’s really not your fault,” Sunghoon says dryly. “Whoever tried to kill you should get a bullet to his head.” He hears you laugh awkwardly.

“Yeah, well that likely wouldn’t solve our problems.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t think that man acted on his own accord. It’s too professional to assume he’s working alone.” 

“You’re saying he’s working with someone else?” 

“Or, he’s working for someone.” 

Sunghoon gulps. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The price of freedom is high. Remember that.” 

“You know, none of this explains how you know what you’re doing. If you know, for that matter.” 

He doesn’t hear you move for a short while and closes his eyes shut. Once again, he’s found himself slipping up and saying things that don't translate well. Too afraid to speak, Sunghoon considers sleeping and dealing with his actions in the morning. 

“I know what I’m doing because I’ve done it before,” you say through the darkness. “When your whole life revolves around survival, you adapt to the best of your ability and do anything to stay alive. I’ve learned a few things from my time on the run so please know that I know what I’m doing.”

“Who are you?” 

The room is silent. 

“Someone you can trust.” 

[just-some-random-blogger]

IM CRYING IM CRYING MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY HAS BEEN ALTERED I AM NOT THE SAME PERSON I WAS 1 FIC AGO THIS WAS SOOOOOOOOO INCREDIBLY WELL WRITTEN ITS TERRIBLE WHY COS WTF DO YOU MEAN IM NOT YN I HATE HER SHUT THE FUCK UP THAT SHOULD BE ME LOBOTOMY RIGHT FUCKING NO

I feel like I just watched a movie. I don't smoke I don't want to promote any form of smoking whatsoever but I need a blunt. That's the only way I can describe this feeling. I'm devastated

I fucking hate it here. Except that's a lie I don't BUT I DO COS THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE.

The way you write is exceptional phenomenal amazing incredible it's so vivid I can taste it my brain will never recover I am marked with insanity the way you describe everything is amazing like THE SMALL DETAILS THE PINING THE YEARNING THE SMUTT 🫦🫦🫦🫦 THE SMUTTTT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT I NEED TO BE PUT DOWN

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam.

Like thiiisssss wHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS SO GOOD I WISH I COULD ABSORB YOUR BRAIN CELLS. ALSO *snaps fingers* EARTH TO YN???? mama hello u good u are in love stfu eat him or move over so *I* CAN YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT

But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished.

🙄✋ be fr

George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

Like honestly girl be so fucking for real HO IS U BLIND ❓❓❓ HE CLEARLY HAS THE HOTS FOR YOU I MIGHT HAVE TO BREAK A FUCKER HELLO?????

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

She's ravenclaw but the stupidest broom in the closet *walks out*

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

BE SO FUCKING FOR REAL YOU IDJIT UGHHHHHHHH *SHOOTS LASER BEAMS IN UR FUCKING FACE*

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

... Bestie I'm not even gonna lie to you I don't remember the context of this but I'm sure the correct response is HES SO UGHHH BARK BARK HAHAAHAH LOL

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

RAW. TIL THE SKIN FALL OFF. NO HE WAS SO HOT FOR THIS... BADUM TSS UGH HES SO FUCKKKKINNGGGGG RAAHHH I DONT EVEN KNOW EHAT TO SAY IM JUST BARKING

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

YOUR HONOR I LOVE THEM WHAT I CANNOT

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

...............I'm eyeing this low IQ bottom of the barrel brains moron NASTY. MY LOOK AT YN IS SO NASTY RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN *SLAPS HER* GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AND EAT HIS ASS I WILL BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK YOURE SO DOWN BAD BUT SO IS YOUR DEPTH PERCEPTION APPARENTLY IDDDDIOTTTTT

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

I would die for him. Girl PLEASSEEE

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

THE WAY MY STOMACH DROPPED GIRL. GIRL. GIRL. GIRLLLL.

THIS WAS SO FUCKING SATISFYING I CANT EVEN TELL YOU I WAS FOAMING IN THE FUCKKNG MOUTH AND I CANT SAY I EVEN EXAGGERATING I FELT MY SALIVA IN MY MOUTH I need to be put down

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face.

🧍‍♀️😃👋 HI BILL IF ITS ANY CONSOLATION I ALSO THINK UR HOT *RUNS AWAY* FUCKING HELL

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

Oh damn she playing mind games. Respect

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️😃😃😃✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋ IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE WEASLEY CLAN UHMMMMMM UHHHHH HUHHHHH🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑 HELLO??????? I DONT THIS STUPID ASS BIRD BRAIN LIL SHIT SHE WAS DOWN BAD *smokes a blunt* fuckING WHAT WHY

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋ GIRL IM SAYING UHHH U GOT WAYYYY TOOOO COMFORTABLE WAYYYYY TO QUICKLY HELLO POLICE 🚨🚨🚨🚓🚓🚓🚓

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

WAIT THE PART WHERE HE WAS TEASING HER ABOUT BEING CALLED FEATHERS WAS SUPER CUTE AND THIS WAS SO WITTY AND CUTE AND AHHH

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

?????????? THE WAY THIS GOT ME SCROLLING BACK TO SEE THEY WERE IN FACT ON A COUCH WHICH MEANS THEY WERE- ARE IN THE LIVING ROOM???? HUHHHH HMMMMMMM HELLO TALK ABOUT LIVING ON EDGE IDK I COULD BE WRONG BUT ALSO I had to calm myself from the idea that someone could walk in on them with the reassurance you wouldn't hurt me and destroy me so ardently. And you didn't. You a real one for that. UGHHHHH. anyway. All of that + BARKING BARKING SO MUCH.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

IM SO NORMAL THIS IS SO VIVID SO CLEAR SO CRISP SO SOFT AND IM SO NORMAL ABOUT IT. GEORGIE GIVING TUMMY KISSES IS INSANE WORK IMMA NEED IT EVERY DAY FOREVER WHAT IF I CRY

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

SLAPPING MY HAND IN MY FUCKING FACE SO HARD TALKING YOU THROUGH IT IS INSANE WORK I WOULD SIMPLY DISINTEGRATE ITS FINE I AM A NORMAL WELL ADJUSTED MEMBER OF SOCIETY I HOPE YOU KNOW EACH LINE IM QUOTING ESPECIALLY THE SMUT HITTTSSS IT HITSZSSSSSSSSSS FUCKKKK

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

rAW???? I MEAN I SAID RAW BUT SHE STILL HAS ME GAGGGEDDD

I DONT EVEN HAVE A MEME GOOD ENOUGH FOR THIS. THIS MEME IS SUCH LIGHT WORK SO L COMPARED TO WHAT I FEEL.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

You can literally call me tuna salad fool whatchu meannnnn what r u onnnnnn rn

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

FERAL SHE US CRAZZYYYY FREAKKY DOWN BAD AND SO IS HEEEEE SHE IS ME AND I NEED TO GET A LOBOTOMY

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

HICKEY❓❓❓❓ ABSOLUTEL MENACE ABSOLUTE INSANE WORK WHAT THE FUCK I NEED A WRENCH

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

I'm sobbing im so in love with him (he is a bunch of lines)

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

GAGGED. MS MAAM I- MRS WEASLEY MAN I....

BESTIE LET ME MAKE ONE (1) ☝️ THING STRAIGHT IF IT ISNT ABSOLUTELY CRYSTAL CLEAR. I ABSOLUTELY LOVEEED THIS. I know I went off on YN and read her to filth but again let me be clear I don't hate her. I've read some yn's that are like 😬 oof you know like that is not me that's is Y/N no ma'am I am not substituting my name there. This is not that at alllllll. I'm just a hater MSJSJSJS now that I have the space to be one on the reblog HAHAHAH BUT AGAIN I DID NOT HATE HEE AT ALL. I DONT HATE HER except I do cos 🤽‍♀️ THAT 🤽‍♀️SHOULD🤽‍♀️BE🤽‍♀️ME🤽‍♀️

I actually loveeeeeee the way you unfolded everything. It was really beautiful and it made me miss reading so much cos I have spent an awful lot of time writing. Ughhh it's so good I cannot express it enough. Literally changed my brain I am so happy to find such an amazing George fic because I keep seeing more of Fred when I look up fics for the twins.

Ugh I can't stop speaking praises. 1000000000/10 I would give you my kidney if you asked

A Weekend at the Weasley's

| George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.

cw: smut (MDNI 18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut

an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“George, I don’t—”

“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”

“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.

“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”

You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.

“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.

“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.

And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.

An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.

“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.

“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.

“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”

“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.

“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.

“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.

George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”

You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.

The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.

All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.

Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.

“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.

“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.

“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”

“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”

“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.

“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.

“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.

“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.

Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.

George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.

“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.

Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.

“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”

“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.

“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”

“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”

“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.

The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.

George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.

Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.

Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.

The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.

You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.

You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.

You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.

“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.

The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.

“George, what are you—”

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.

Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.

You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.

But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.

It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…

“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.

You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.

“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”

“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”

Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.

“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.

“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.

He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.

You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”

“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.

You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.

George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.

“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.

“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.

“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.

“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.

You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.

“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.

A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.

“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.

“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.

“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.

“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.

You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.

“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”

Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.

Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.

Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.

And for my final move…

You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.

Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.

“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.

“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.

His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.

You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.

It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.

His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.

“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.

You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.

“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”

A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.

“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.

“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.

You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.

“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.

As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.

“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.

“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.

He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.

Could I taste it too?

“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.

You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.

But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.

“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.

“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.

“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.

“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.

“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.

“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.

An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.

“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.

You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.

After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.

“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.

You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.

You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.

Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—

“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?

Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.

He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”

“George!”

“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”

You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.

“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.

George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”

You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.

A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.

God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.

George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.

He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.

“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.

“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.

“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.

“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”

“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”

You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.

His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.

He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.

“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.

He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.

“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”

Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”

His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.

“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.

“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’

“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.

A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.

“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”

The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—

His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.

“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.

“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”

He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”

You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.

He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.

You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.

“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.

“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.

He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.

“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.

George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.

“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”

“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”

You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.

“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”

Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.

“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.

The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.

His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”

You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.

“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.

“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.

Crack!

“Ow!”

"That's for hurting my girl, you git."

Fin. 🐦‍⬛

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

Oop uuh ohhh o.o

Dealing with politics in a TV show is uncomfortably reminiscent of real life right now xdd

Probably not lol

Imagine if she did XD

Well at least she's being civil

Hmmm but also no witnesses xdd

Not like I think she's gonna kill you lol

I don't think that's gonna work honey :((( grief is crazy

She's already had her taken, idk if this'll help :(( I hope but

Personally I would be writing that stuff down not recording it but yk lol

Maybe she wanted to send her a video specifically :))

Awww

LOL

xD Karen

So real

Awww :')))

If she says something like so was my son I'm gonna lose it-

Imagine if she did have compassion rn 😭 and this was all over 😭 consider xdd what then 😭

Aww yeah :'( :')))

It helped her live again <33

True :'((

I don't think it'll work but-

YEP 😭😭😭🥺🥺

Yeah but you're an ADULT who had her child (and it's awful and I'm sorry and no one should have to deal with it but that's besides the point), this is a CHILD who needs her PARENTS

SHE 👏 IS 👏 A 👏 CHILD 👏👏👏!!

I'm gonna lose it <3

Good staying calm Hen I'm losing it lol

She really would :((

She's always been sorry that someone died even if she was angry with him

Oop 😬

Roughhh

Girl I know you're grieving but also I hate you <33

Oope o.o

OH HEEECKKK NO

I KNEW IT

Wait girl you didn't know O.O

Gonna screeeeam 🥰🥰🥰

Hate him hate her hat everybody (not everybody) 🥳🥳

At least he's funny sometimes even if he's awful 😑

Ope okay we're transitioning here but same music- kinda messing with me lol

Aww Bobby :((

Ope hi Hen :o

Guess that's why the music transitions

Can we start a secret plan to take her down :D please :D

A little difficult since she's like a fr politician not just in your work but yk we'll make it work-

Ahh three times is like the number of serious lol

Aww this little apartment :'/ :') they do need a house back <3

He doesn't sound happy about itttt lol

I mean I know he's not but xD

I mean yeah but also-

Yes she's the problem but he does suck-

(for context I paused)

Oh wait she's probably gonna say he's not her captain lol-

Yep xD

Ahh yeah fair ://

Although yeah he did resign he just hadn't left yet

Oop o.o

I forget that like they don't know that's probably the reason

Gosh a deep dive 😳😬

I hate herrr 🥰🥰🥰

Councilwoman Ortiz lol

Yeah true!!

OPE WHAT HELLO

Hi Buck :O

Ohh okay

Bobby like, having straight up sessions with the 118 and got that patient confidentiality between each: 🥲

Oh gosh Buck

Yeah ://

I

HELLO???!?!

BOBBY'S FACE XDDD 💀 EXACTLY!!

I know that's not what he means but 💀 O.O

(I will say I saw that as a gif and I was like H U H O.O knowing what he probably meant and also hoping it was played as that and I wasn't just crazy xD I was pretty sure by now but nice to know for sure lol)

Thank you for the immediate clarification Buck 😭😭 SLFJFHDKS XDD

Gosh that was crazy

See I just wanna know how we go from all this serious stuff (probably not getting solved in the next 20 minutes lol) to a Halloween episode next week 💀 xD

Next episode that is

LOL fair xD

I mean technically he can quit

Fair Buck, that sucks :((!

You shouldn't be out in that position, and it sucks because everyone's going through it so you probably feel guilty too

Like through it in a different way, not being the favorite lol

Exactly Bobby :(( but it's not about what should be, it's about what is

SDKLFJDHKS WAIT STOP EDDIE'S HERE TOO XDDD OH MY GOSH THAT'S AMAZING LOL

I know Chim probably won't be since these are the established stories so far this episode but like hey, there's stuff with Mara he could slip in for xD

Awww Eddie yeah :(( exactly, that must suck

I'm sorry Eddie 😭😭

AWWWW HONEYYY 😭😭

And still calling him cap :'(((

That just sucks xdd 😭😭😭🥺💔

I'm so sorry Eddie :'((

I'm glad you want to respect his wishes and he deserves that but it just sucks for both of you :(( I'm sure he misses you too

Ope?

BOBBY XD LOL

Is he trying to lighten the mood or just slip it in there while he can xD

Aww Eddie's tone LOL

ADLFJDKHGAJKS CHIMNEY IS HERE!!!

Oh my gosh this is amazing xD

Poor Bobby going through all of these like 👁️👄👁️

All talking about different but juuust slightly related issues xD

LOL he's talking about the house 💀 xD

Exactlyyy

True!!

NOT WHERE I WAS GOING WITH IT XD

Like needing your guys' own house xD

Also a little rude to bring it back to you Chimney unless that was the original intention

But still lol

Ohhh interesting interesting :o

That's good information to know

Maybe he'll die xdd or get injured

I mean though we did try that already 😭

Also the Ortiz thing though

Lol Bobby's head following his xD

LOL the impression Chimney 💀💀 XD

Because he knows facts- BECAUSE BUCK IS DUMB 💀💀💀😭😭🥺 RUDE CHIMNEY

Kinda right sometimes but he's just a little silly goofy 😭 Buck is very smart <333

Maybe it's just that he doesn't seem like it xD

Crazy thing to say though kinda funny but 😭 XD

[akajustmerry]

give us those house of the dragon impressions 👀

not to toot my own horn about it but my main impression is how offensively poor the wiggery in this multimillion dollar show is and so I've been writing wig recaps for work. Here's the latest one:

Other than that here are some general observations

I'll be fascinated to see what kind of girlboss arch rhyneara is going to get as queen, whether it will be critically framed within the context of the targs being Awful™ or more with rhyneara being a Good Apple In A Bad Orchid (both will suck for different reasons, but the former is preferred).

Fascinating to me that king viserys is like "I can excuse inc*st but I draw the LINE at predatory relationships with minors. Anyways this is my teen wife Alicent. Everyone say hi." it's both hilarious and harrowing

This isn't a critique but I honestly can't tell if Game of Thrones desensitised me to George R Martin's specific brand of violence and sex or if this show is genuinely (relatively) more tame so far? Idk it feels like they're lulling me into a false sense of security and what's coming is gonna be horrendous.

No one will be shocked but I'm so happy watching Matt Smith in Genre TV again. He's having so much fun. Wish daemon/rhyneara shippers would rot though.

Contrary to popular opinion maybe but I appreciated the birth scene for what it was and I think it was aptly portrayed as a horrific injustice and the editing for that sequence was incredible intercutting with the bloodshed of the tournament. I think it perfectly cemented the tones, themes, etc for the kind of violently ineffective rulers the targyreans are at this point while foreshadowing how rhyneara will be treated as a woman, even a powerful one.

I kinda wished the crab man had stuck around longer??? I know one of the virtues of game of thrones is that it's a fantasy show for people who don't actually like fantasy but with the crab man I was like "ooooooooh elemental conflict!!! Fire and water!! Let's go!" and then it....was just over.

Rhys Ifans as the seedy hand of the king is so great he's so good at playing nefarious unassuming dirt bags

Only other significant impression is that I'm already deeply concerned about race portrayals in the show, especially the woc. The only Black woman in the show so far is that beautiful way too big wig little girl who proposed to viserys. And the only other woc is......daemons untrustworthy prostitute wife so..... Yikes.

I believe as an austrayan that milly (young rhyneara) shoulda been allowed to be Australian with her natural accent. Why tf all these fantasy bitches all gotta sound briddish except when they're being exotified.

Finally, Ramin Djawadi is CARRYING this show on his musical genius BACK.

All in all, I think it's.....fine, so far. I'm having a decent time

God the names of these characters are fucking pathetic though grrm really just removed some letters from got characters and was like "done ❤️"

thank u for asking 💕

[geminil0vr]

"lists" | ron b. weasley (part one)

read part two here !!

summary; you and your boyfriend ron are both completely inexperienced, but one day he asks you what you like in bed. lucky for you, you actually made a list. and he's happy enough to play a few of those fantasies out.

tagged; @weasleyssupremacy

word count; 4.6k

content; smut, fluff, banter, making out, embarrassment, shit ton of blushing, mentions of kinks, mentions of teasing, mentions of hitting, mentions of choking, mentions of sex, mentions of praise, mentions of degradation, cursing, grinding, finger-sucking, spit, cum swallowing, first time foreplay (male receiving oral, female receiving oral), fingering, handjob kinda, orgasms, teaching/instructions, relatively realistic, no aftercare included but you know damn well ron'll take care of you, not really a specific dom/sub dynamic, inexperienced/house-neutral fem!reader, inexperienced boyfriend!ron, think that's it but lemme know if i forgot anything !

a/n; holy shit this took me hours !! in this fic, ron and the reader are sixteen years old. i'm from the uk, where the legal age of consent is sixteen — more specifically, in england, wales and northern ireland, a minor is considered a person under the age of eighteen. and i do not want to write smut about minors, i will never do that. so i did a little more research, standard wiki shite, and in scotland (where hogwarts is) that age is sixteen. sixteen year olds and up are no longer minors in scotland. i know many of you are from different countries and therefore may feel uncomfortable with this age because it doesn't reflect the definition of minor/non-minor in your respective countries, and that is perfectly okay !! i completely understand, hope this made sense bc i'm too fucking exhausted to tell. feel free to scroll by and find another fic to read, please put in a request for any of the harry potter characters if u wish, and have a lovely day :))

you hadn't done much with him.

just kissing, really. some grinding here and there. you were comfortable in each other's grasp, sure, but you both never quite went over that line, of more than kissing, of more than light touching.

didn't make you insecure. nor impatient. it was a comfortable kind of middle ground.

and in that middle ground, you were seated on his thighs, legs either side of him, kissing gently, tenderly. these were tepid, lukewarm, waters, just bordering on more, just bordering on scalding hot, and you didn't mind it. you didn't mind it at all.

pulling back, lips not too swollen, just pink, you smiled softly down at ron weasley.

"you okay?" he asked. you hadn't meant to start kissing, you were just talking, just hanging out, him levitating a marble in his empty bedroom, you reading a book and making sure he didn't try and levitate a lamp — that never went well. not with ron weasley. but he got bored, and your eyes wouldn't focus on the pages, and you'd forgotten your reading glasses and he'd kissed you sweetly, and you'd kissed him back and now... now, you were snogging. you didn't care much for that word. it sounded weird, and heavy, and hot. and things with ron (so far, at least) weren't weighted, and hot, they were warm, and soft, and him.

you took the time to rifle your fingers through his red hair. he'd been letting it grow, just a little, down to the nape of his neck. "yeah, you?"

he grinned cheekily, nose and cheeks flushed already. of course, this was the usual. one kiss from you turned him pink, not out of awkwardness, just passion, you supposed. it was rather cute. and he pushed you further up in his lap, not too close, but closer. you grinned back. you kissed. and you pulled away again, just to look at him.

he took in a sharp breath, before blurting out something he’d wanted to ask for the longest time, "what do you like?"

"hmm?" you tilted your head.

he swallowed. “what do you like?"

"i'm gonna need some context here."

"in bed." now you felt as flushed as he looked. to ask that question, it must've taken a lot of courage. he was a gryffindor after all.

even starting a sentence caused your breathing to pick up. "well, you know i've never done anything before..." that was true. but you'd done your research. you'd actually made a list of what you thought you might like, which was idiotic in retrospect, and quite childish, but you'd done it, and it sat in your bag with a burning prescence.

"but surely you know... ya’ know, what you might like?"

you settled back, more comfortably in his lap, arms still around his neck, but you were less close. "why're you asking?" you teased.

"you know why!" ron groaned, burying his head into your shoulder, and he felt your shoulders shake with nervous laughter.

"well, i guess, i have — well... nevermind." he moved back, face burning, with an eager smile plastered on his face.

"go on, tell me! i want to know."

"it's embarrassing!"

"i won't make fun."

"yes, you absolutely will."

"won't."

"will."

"just tell me."

you swallowed and chewed nervously at your lip. "i've made a list."

"alright, tell me." if he said 'tell me' one more time you would strangle him. speaking of choking, and all that —

"promise you won't judge?"

"promise."

"well it's more of... well, it's not a mental list. i've written it down."

a grin broke out on your boyfriend's face, and you smacked his bicep.

"oi, you said you wouldn't judge!"

"i'm not judging! it's just cute, 's all." his smile faded a little. "so, about that list... why don't you go fetch it?" he said, with a sideways nod of his head.

"fetch? i'm not a dog."

he made the excited face he always had before he told a bad joke. for fucks sake. "aw, well, i figured pet play would be on your list —"

"shut up, shut up, shut up!" with each 'shut up' you punched his chest and he crossed his arms over it to protect himself.

"hitting, is that your kink too?" well, you weren’t exactly opposed.

you groaned and swung your leg over him, "i'm gonna go get my fucking list."

getting up and 'fetching' your bag, you searched through it and found your little, blue notepad. as soon as you'd returned to the four poster bed, ron reached out to grab it, and you quickly pulled back.

"no, i have more than just 'kinks' in there. and i don't wanna tell you everything."

"why not?" he was genuinely confused. that was the problem with these weasley boys: no boundaries.

"if i tell you everything about me then what secrets will i have left?"

"secrets are overrated." he stared blankly at you, shrugging, but still wrapped his arms around your waist comfortably as you swung your leg back over to sit on his thighs. as you flipped through the pages of the notepad, you found what you had been searching for. 27 pages in, hidden between random pencil scrawls, was your list. you'd learned about sex from books, and your friends' experiences, and being a sixteen year old at what is technically a boarding school. and though that wasn't the highest form of education, you knew enough to keep safe, and to feel good, and ron knew enough, too. "so, start reading!"

looking over the first line, your cheeks burned and you shook your head. "i can't say that!"

"want me to turn around?"

"no, i — no. i'm just gonna..." you slid all the way up his lap, ron attempting to ignore that you were right over his crotch in a pair of pretty blue jeans, and hid your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, embarrassed by your childish ways.

"c—" ron's voice broke, and you fought a smile, "comfy?"

"yeah. i'm ready now." you swallowed, breaths shallow and voice shaky as you brought your list up to your eyes. "um, well, i've heard about, uh —" he rubbed a hand up and down your back. you couldn't see him, but he was grinning and biting his tongue in anticipation. "pet play."

"you bloody liar, tell me the real list! don't be a pussy."

"fine, fine. no pet play. but i, uh, think choking sounds hot." your voice was slightly less shaky as you kept your flaming cheeks out of view. ron was bright red, too.

"uhuh. what next?" his voice was quiet and trembling now, grip on your waist tighter. the atmosphere of his dorm room had completely shifted.

"and, um, teasing. 's hot." your eyes flitted to the next word, trying to keep your composure as ron's grip on your waist tightened even more, keeping you still on top of him. "i like being praised, but being degraded is — it sounds... good."

ron had to fight the urge to groan, not out of frustration, but pure lust. you were by no means innocent, in fact, you tended to make a sex joke every day, or comment 'that's what she said' at every euphemism, but he never expected to hear those words actually slip from your lips. he couldn't speak, his voice got stuck in his throat, and he knew if he even tried his voice would break and go all high-pitched.

"then, hair pulling. hard sex, soft sex." both of your hearts were beating so fast, and you squeezed your legs against him. it was a nervous action, but you didn't expect him to let out a high gasp, and you certainly didn't expect him to grow firmer beneath you. "spanking, breeding, maybe, we'll see." he closed his eyes and let out a low exhale that he’d been holding in.

you pressed your hips harder down onto him, and his nails dug into your thighs. you'd been in this position before, while kissing, but this felt like pure filth, you telling him what you wanted him to do to you, and him just listening, and him getting hard. i mean, he'd been hard beneath you before, on top of you even, but it never led to anything more, and you didn't think you'd ever felt him this hard.

"i — i think i like biting. anywhere, really. not too hard. you have to be gentle with me." you had pulled back a little now, eyes still glued to your notepad, head turned a little so your lips were almost touching his ear. tentatively, you looked away. the tips of his ears were burning hot, and red. you took the lobe between your teeth, biting softly, tongue darting out just a little. his hips bucked up into yours, and you both moaned quietly. "and licking." you slid your tongue over his warm skin, just below his ear, then curved your spine to lick further over the expanse of his neck, causing him to let out another breathy moan.

"fuck..."

"and, spit. i think it's hot. i've thought about it, about you, before. i dunno." you kept your tone unsure, in hesitation. you had more on your list, just things you found hot, situations you found hot, but you closed it and pulled back, unwrapping your arms from around his neck and fiddling with the notepad between your fingers. that was enough, for now. ron was breathing heavily. you were breathing heavily. everything felt hot, and heavy, and it wasn't the norm, not with ron, but you liked it.

"th— that was... good. a good list." he choked, hands still on your thighs.

"yeah."

a tense silence settled between you, until he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand slipping up your back, the other in your hair, and brought you into a feverish kiss. you grinded down on him, moaning into his mouth feeling the reminder of how hard he was, chucking the list to the side and sliding your hands up his shirt as your tongues explored each other's mouths. it felt good. really good. better than you could have expected.

ron gently nibbled at your bottom lip, before pulling away and moving his focus to your neck. you tilted your head to the side, hurriedly moving your hair to the side to give him better access. he licked teasingly up your neck, and you dug crescent moons into his abdominal as he began sucking and biting at the skin beneath your ear, and your pulse point, and soon your collarbone, and before you knew it your sweater was pulled off and he sucked and licked against the skin right above your breasts. this was the first time he'd seen you without a top on, just in a plain, black bra, and he was damn well going to savour it.

you tried to hold back moans, but it seemed impossible when he was burning beneath you, so you did what was natural. you grinded against him and whined as he trailed wet kisses all over your chest, and after a while of you arching your chest into his mouth, you realised what he was doing.

your voice came out breathless, almost breaking. "you're teasing me."

he stopped his trail of kisses to move his face back to yours. "what, you thought i wasn't listening?"

"well, stop." you whined, scratching your nails over his abdomen once more, earning a shallow moan from him.

"i thought you liked it." he tilted his head, almost smirking.

you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chest heaving, as you took your hands from under his shirt. "just touch me. please." ron took a moment to take his own shirt off, and you admired the freckles dotted over his pale yet flushed chest and shoulders until he wrapped his arms around you, unhooking your bra clumsily, fingers shaking with lust. you gripped his shoulders, fingers gliding over each mole as your eyes darted over his features.

"so fucking pretty." he licked and kissed underneath your right breast, cupping the other one in his large hand, and your mouth dropped open, brows furrowed in pleasure as he took a nipple into his mouth, looking up at you as you grinded down onto him.

"ron, fuck, i'm too sensitive."

you watched him grin as he slowed his movements and instead licked softly once over your nipple as you threw your head back. you were the hottest thing he'd ever seen. well, he'd only ever seen his brother's porn magazines so there wasn't much competition. but he could say without a doubt that you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, your back arched, your head thrown back, your chest flushed. so pretty. but if he didn't speed things up he was sure he would cum in his jeans. you caught his lips in yours once more, struggling with the buckle on his jeans. you knew you wouldn't have sex, not today. but other things were always possible. that thought made your head spin with anxiety and need.

after a little while, you resorted to quickly tugging off your own jeans, ron doing the same, and soon you were back in the same position, except you could really feel him against you. you both looked down at the sight of you in your panties on top of him in his blue boxers, and both laughed breathlessly, kissing once more before you slid off and between his legs. if you'd stayed any longer, he might've felt how fucking wet you were.

"y/n..."

"it's okay, i want to do this. do you? we don't have to." he nodded his head, bottom lip between his teeth. "okay. just tell me what to do, okay? tell me what you like, ronnie."

‘ronnie’ didn't think he'd last that long when your hands were gripping at his thighs and you were on your knees, in only your underwear, between his legs. "okay. yeah."

you cautiously slipped down his underwear, pausing for a second as his flushed and red cock smacked up against his stomach. fuck, he was big, and already dripping precum. you were almost mesmerised with him before you remembered that he might be self conscious, so you proceeded to slip his underwear all the way off, throwing it off the side of the bed and coming closer to him, laying on your stomach and trailing a finger soothingly up and down his thigh. "so pretty." you teased, mimicking him from before, but as you looked up at his desperate face, mouth open, cheeks red, brows raised slightly, you decided that maybe teasing wasn't the best decision in that moment.

so, you wrapped a hand around his cock, feeling it twitch in your hand as ron moaned, head thrown back just like you had before. "that feels good."

"i haven't even done anything yet." you chuckled, looking up at him expectantly until his blue eyes met your own. "tell me what to do."

he gulped. "right, so you just wanna... make your hand wet. spit in your hand. you should like that." he couldn't believe he was saying this to you, or even joking in this moment, because right there, he was totally and utterly at your mercy.

you removed your hand from him, finding your mouth already salivating, and instead of licking your hand, you gathered your spit and let it drop from your tongue down onto it. he groaned as you looked up at him. fuck, he definitely wouldn't last long if you did more shit like that. taking your slick hand, you guided it up and down his cock, hesitantly dragging it over the tip, making him buck up into your hand and drip out even more precum. "fuck, uh... be careful with the tip. it's sensitive."

"sorry." he went to tell you not to apologise, but then you avoided going directly over the tip, collecting more of the precum, and the amount of spit and slick on your hand was creating lewd, wet sounds. if he tried to speak now, he’d probably just whine. testing the (now, scalding hot) waters, you dragged your tongue up his shaft, and he moaned even louder. he seemed to like that, so you did it again, and again, then put the tip in your mouth, pushing your lips down onto it until you got scared that your teeth would graze him.

"fuck, just like that, y/n, you’re so good."

seems he took more notes than you gave him credit for. or maybe this was natural? shit, is this how he spoke normally? he would drive you insane.

and how the fuck did people not use their teeth? at this point, you wanted to hear more of those beautiful sounds coming from your boyfriend's mouth, but also wanted to ask him. so you slowly took your mouth off, making him look down at you in concern.

"ron, how... i'm worried i'll use my teeth."

ron wasn't sure how to answer that, being just as inexperienced as you were, but he tried to use what he heard his friends talking about in the boys dorm.

"i think you just, try to wrap your lips down over your teeth. or you purse your lips. like an ice pop." you chuckled, and so did he. "i guess you have to make your tongue flat and then cover the top ones."

"okay, i'll try..." but before you went down again, he spoke once more.

"and, don't swallow the cum. doesn't taste great."

you nodded, and he watched you as you tried the technique, getting down even further, causing him to grip at your hair. he didn't push you down, just needed something to hold onto other than the bedsheets, that was all. and after all, you did quite like hair pulling. you moved his thick cock in and out of your mouth, wrapping your hands around the parts where your mouth couldn't reach, and looked up as ron's grip tightened on you. you didn't bother touching his balls — that was an experiment for another day.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum," you moved your mouth to just the tip, as more groans left his lips. "y/n, shit, don't swallow, just take your — fuck, take your mouth off."

you were stubborn. so stubborn in fact, that you kept suckling at the tip of his cock as he jerked up into your mouth, body freezing, as you swallowed load after load. you just wanted to please him. and thank merlin you'd done all those water (and to be honest, butterbeer) chugging competitions with lee, or you'd have been absolutely done for. he was right, it didn't taste good, at all. it was salty, and bitter, and as you took your mouth off him and let his slowly softening dick slap against his thigh, you almost winced at the flavour.

ron's chest was pink and flushed with perspiration, head thrown back against the headboard and eyes firmly closed, recovering. "fuck. told you."

"'s not the worst thing in the world. i'd do it again."

"don't say that or i'll get hard again." he reached for his boxers off the side of the bed, awkwardly slipping them on in a sitting position.

you chuckled, reaching to his bedside table to gulp down some water, head fuzzy and chest warm with the accomplishment of pleasing your boyfriend. he wiped a hand over his forehead, taking the glass out of your hand to take a big sip himself before putting it down.

"well, that was exhausting." he groaned.

"tell me about it. my bloody jaw hurts." you grinned, and he smiled back and rushed to peck you on the lips firmly, sending you to fall back against the covers as he hovered on top of you. "what're you doing?"

"don't think i'm done with you just yet." he grinned, but faltered. "unless you don't want to. i don't want to force you or anything, just tell me if —" you shut the clumsy boy up with another kiss, clasping your hands behind his neck and grabbing at his soft hair, wrapping your legs around his waist. you clenched around nothing as you felt his soft cock beneath his boxers against your soaked panties.

"it'd be my pleasure." you muttered against his lips. and he grinded into you once more before moving you so your head was against the headboard, and him between your legs.

"oh, how the turn tables, hmm?"

"shut it, loverboy." you shook your head, biting your lip and looking down at him as he trailed his nails down your inner thighs, making you arch your back a little. "and what did i say about teasing?"

"that it's hot." his crooked smile made your stomach clench.

"that you should stop." your complaints were ignored as the humour in the room dropped, and he looked at the wet patch seeping through your underwear. he seemed transfixed, swiping the pad of his thumb over it, before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them off, tossing them to the side.

taking his middle finger, he swiped it through your soaked folds, making you whine. "you're dripping." his voice got much deeper, and his throat felt dry, but if he opened his mouth he was sure he'd drool. "did it turn you on, sucking..." he cleared his throat. "sucking my dick?"

you didn't reply, just bucked your hips up into his touch as he paused.

he pressed on. "so?"

"yes, it did." you were so desperate that you actually pouted your lips. seeing ron talk so dirty, despite his hesitance, was the second reason you were dripping. you didn't know he'd be like that. though you should've expected it.

but his shyness hadn't left just yet. "can you... can you tell me what to do?"

you tried to catch your breath, his finger was still over your clit, not firmly pressing, just there. you got distracted for a second, looking down and subtly pushing your hips up, before you bit your lip, swallowed, and met his eyes again. he seemed to be amused by that. "uh, so... you just get your fingers nice and wet, first."

it even surprised ron when he removed his finger from you, and held up his hand to your mouth. your breath hitched. "you're probably wet enough anyway, but go on, then. 's what you like, right?"

you nodded nervously, taking his wrist and putting three of his fingers into your mouth. you sucked them in, making sure to get enough drool all over 'em, before messily removing them and letting spit string down to your tits. ron watched it all, dick growing hard again. he was sure now. you would be the hottest thing he'd ever see in his entire life. you let go of his wrist as he let the rest of the spit drip onto your pussy, the air leaving you cold as he spread it around with his fingers, up your folds, circling your hole. the avoidance of your clit made you throw your head back, as he teased you. he knew exactly where the clit was, frankly, it was pretty clear to see, all red and swollen and big. he was doing this on purpose.

"please, ronnie." you whined.

"okay, okay. what next?"

"you need to touch my... my clit. and maybe put a finger in, but, be gentle, please?"

"you've never fingered yourself before?" his voice broke.

"i tried, just one, but, it's not really comfy when i do it. too tight. fingers aren't long enough, maybe. i don't know." you swallowed nervously. speaking about your personal sexual experiences was embarrassing. ron found it hot.

he took your advice, slick fingers brushing over your clit, then paying more attention to it, playing with it, even pinching it, turning you into a whimpering mess. figuring you were prepared enough, ron gently dragged his middle finger over to your hole. "gonna put a finger in, now. ready?"

"yeah, please."

you gasped and gripped his arm. he eased in slowly, and fuck, you were tight. you'd broken you hymen before, probably by either walking, riding your bike, or simply experimenting on yourself, so there was no resistance as he reached his finger all the way in, just a slight discomfort on your part. he almost began to start moving, but you tightened your grip. "just a second, ron. your finger's bigger than i'm used to." that sentence made him rut into the bed, as he followed your instruction and stayed still. your body relaxed, and he even felt you begin to unclench around him, your ridges less restricting. "it's okay now, you can — fuck."

he'd started sliding his finger in and out, slowly, as soon as you gave the 'okay', and this was definitely better than you could have ever done to yourself. you weren't sure you could come just from this, but you didn't care, it felt good. you'd heard one way to make it better, though.

"try curling up your finger — oh." if this boy could only give you a chance to breathe. that change in movement was hitting a spongey spot inside you that made you clench your thighs together, which he fixed by using his elbow to spread one, and his free hand to hold down the other. you brought one foot up to his back, needing some kind of stability. "you okay?" he asked, which was a loaded question considering that his thumb accidentally brushing over your clit made your entire body jerk, and you weren't just okay, you were bloody brilliant, the blinding pleasure bordering on pain.

"fuck, touch my clit, please." you moaned, head thrown back as he did as you said, making your entire body spasm. you were so close, so fucking close, and you practically rode his fingers as you thrashed up and down, tits bouncing. you were just about to tell him you were gonna come (though with you non-stop clenching around his one finger, it was pretty obvious) when he decided to try something, removing his thumb from your clit and instead sucking onto it.

he'd heard about eating girls out, and it was something he'd always wanted to do to you, to drive you crazy, and if he couldn't do it now he was going to at least include his mouth into some of the action. he wanted to taste you.

with this surprise, you came hard, the heel of your foot pressing into his back, his hand working hard to hold down your other thigh, stomach clenching and eyes rolling back. you were moaning so much and so loudly that you were glad almost everyone was out at hogsmeade. as you came down from your high, ron removed his lips from your clit and slowly removed his finger, your aftershocks trying to suck him back in. your back, forehead and chest were sweating, your entire mouth dry as your eyes stayed closed. ron rubbed his hands soothingly up your thighs as your body spasmed again, and brought himself up to kiss your forehead, a grin that you couldn't see playing at his lips. he wrapped his arms around you as you sighed and leaned into him.

"fuck." you sighed, opening your heavy eyes and glancing at ron who licked the rest of your cum off his fingers, looking up at the ceiling. you were still clenching around nothing. that was the hardest you'd ever came, even better than the showerhead — oh, ron would have an absolute riot if he knew you used the showerhead. "thank you."

he gave you that dumb fucking grin, the one he always had before making a bad joke. "orange you glad you read out that list?"

"shut up and kiss me. idiot."

[teebarnes]

✨ | A Bad Day

Click [100 Followers Fic] for the rest of the 100 follower fics :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Summary: You had a bad day at work and Bucky knows that, so takes this chance to brighten your bad day.

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): Fluff, crying... I think that's about it.

A/N: Thank you for 100 followers! Plus, I mean, who wouldn't want Bucky to comfort them after a bad day? (GIF isn't mine)

⤑ Click here for my taglist to be notified when I post my future fics.

Any Likes, Comments & Reblogs are super duper appreciated :))

Locking the door behind you, you lean yourself against your door, sliding to the floor. Tears flowing down your face, you pike your knees up you to the chest, wrapping your arms around them. It was another one of those awful days at work, your face hidden in the nook you made. You slowly sobbed to yourself, trying to express the bad day you had quietly into your house as if it could listen.

The quietness of your rural home thickened the sound of your tears; you sigh deeply into your knees, attempting to catch the breath you longed for. Then, calming yourself, you wipe the tears with the end of your jumper before hearing your phone ring. A few sniffs holding the fact you were crying, you check your phone to see it was your best friend calling.

"Yellop", you softly chime to your best friend on the end of the other line. You can hear an audible laugh. "Yellop doll, how was your day?" The voice you always long to hear at the end of your days. "U-usual", you softly chocked out before continuing ", how about you, old man? How was your day?" You giggle slightly at your remark.

A long pause extended your conversation with him before he broke the silence with a soft laugh through his nose, "usual, same since we last spoke", you smile, getting up, taking the conversation to your couch. Hearing his voice had taken away any sadness you had before you even picked up the phone. "Hey, I'm coming over. I need your help," he says, which piques your interest.

"What does a 107-year-old man need my help for? I'm sure you have all the life experience you need," you joked; Bucky gasps ", ouch, my feelings… they're hurting because of you", he laughs, causing the two of you to roll your eyes at each end of the line. "May I ask what you need help with?" You sat up from the couch, eagerly waiting for his reply.

A steady silence homed their conversation for a few seconds "a date y/n… there is this beautiful woman I want to ask on a date." He sighs.

Your face drops slightly, tears rushing down your face again like the ones before. Quickly wiping the tears, you answer, so Bucky doesn't worry "a date, huh? Since when do you socialise" you half-laughed to yourself sadly. "well… doll. You see, I don't if I'm honest," you both laugh, waiting for him to continue. "But… she is amazing, beautiful, the most incredible person I've met", he boasts to you over the phone.

You couldn't help but wallow in your thoughts for a bit, wishing that it were you he was talking about. But you knew that you two were just made to be the best of friends; despite how you felt towards him, you knew he could never feel the same. It took you a while to collect yourself when Bucky spoke again, breaking your train of thought. "Doll?" Your eyes focus again on your surroundings, coming back to the reality that you wanted to run away from right then and there. "Doll, are you there?" He asks again; you clear your throat "yes! yes… sorry, yes I am." You coughed.

"I am happy for you, Buck! She will be so lucky to have you." You stand up from the couch walking into your kitchen. "I am the lucky one, actually…" he replies softly. You smile at his reply only to realise the context of the conversation before answering back to him, "Well… are you sure you need my help? I feel you have all of that covered. I don't think I could be of much help to you, Buck." You held the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you opened the fridge up to check what was for dinner tonight. "I most certainly do doll. You are a vital part to getting this right," he excitedly says; you could never turn him down.

Even after being his friend for over ten years, you still couldn't say no to him. "Geez, Bucky, you really are serious… I'll have you know, though. I haven't had a boyfriend since I met you, so I'll only be able to give you basic pointers," you laugh to yourself. "Doll, don't worry about it… as long as you're there, that's all I need." He swoons. You couldn't help but laugh, "see, buck, with that attitude, I think she will say yes." You lightly say, "plus, have you asked Steve? I'm sure he has better advice to give," you question. "Yeah, I did… no help there", he laughs.

"Okey dokes, well I'm going to take my shower n stuff… you've got a key so you can let yourself in, alright?" You say, continuing to push through the built-up tears and emotions that halted at your throat. "Okay, doll! See you shortly," he says "see ya, Buck" you smile, hanging up.

Not knowing it, but your world fell before you; you didn't want to lose Bucky to a woman he hasn't even told you about. Then again, you cared for his happiness, that is what he needed after all the trauma he had been put through. You shook off the tears sucking up the pain into your stomach, heading to take a shower.

~

Bucky’s POV

"How do I tell her, Steve?" Bucky groans, pacing around the living room, "I love her so goddam much, but I am afraid to lose her. What if she doesn't like me and only sees me as a friend-"Bucky is cut off by Nat, who is sitting on the other side of the couch reading a book. "Bucky, I am going to slap some sense into you soon. She is head over heels for you." She sighs, getting up to leave the room. Bucky continues to pace again, with Steve closely watching.

"Ask her on a date Buck. Go from there," Steve lightly says, leaning back into his seat. "Hey doll, I know we've been best friends for ten years now, but I just wanted to let you know that I've fallen in love with you since the day we met", he frustrates into the palm of his hands. Steve chuckles a bit, "sounds about right", he snorts. Bucky wide-eyed to his oldest friend. "Ahaha, so funn-" he is cut off with a buzzing in his left pocket.

Reaching in, he picks it up "oh, it's just Sam" he rolls his eyes, answering, "what's up, Sam?" Sam sighs "have you talked to y/n recently?" He asks, which immediately makes Bucky furrow his eyebrows "no, why? Has something happened?" A pause before Sam speaks, "Can you check on her, please. She had a rough day at work. I have a feeling she is not at her best at the moment." Bucky's eyes dull hearing that the woman he's in love with is sad "okay, on it. Thanks for letting me know, Sam", he let out a sigh. "I've given her the week off, but please check." He sternly asks. "You have my word Sam" Bucky hangs up, turning to Steve.

"She had a bad day at work…" he frowns before plopping himself on the couch. "Well, buck, this may be a good opportunity to take her out on a date? Or even have a sneaky film night?" He stands up, patting his friend's shoulder. Bucky gives a slight grin, nodding, "Thanks, pal".

Steve walks out of the room, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts, "okay okay okay, I can do this, I can do this." He hypes himself up, taking his phone pressing your contact that he had on speed dial.

"Yellop" Bucky hears on the other end of the phone; he couldn't help but melt to the sweetness of your voice. It was one he loved so much. It wasn't unusual to call each other; it was a religious routine for the both of you. If one didn't call, the other would. But this time, it was different; Bucky was nervous; it has taken him ten years to work up the courage to ask you out. But he still couldn't, not without seeing your face, not without being able to hold you as he said he loved you and not without comforting you first. He knew you didn't want to burden him with your troubles, so he took it upon himself to make up an excuse just to see you.

After the call, Bucky knew that you'd been hiding your emotions just to have your usual conversation with him. He felt even guiltier when he went on and on about you but never had the guts to tell you that he was talking about you.

Bucky packed a night bag from his room, packing it onto his motorbike before making his way to the local supermarket that was on the way to your house.

He picked up some of your favourite snacks and a bunch of your favourite flowers, securing them on his bike before riding to your house. Then, turning his bike off, he left it parked in your garage, heading inside. He closed the door behind him, walking into the kitchen laying the snacks on the table before heading down the hall into your room. He could hear the shower running and knew you were still in there.

He could hear you singing a soft melody of your favourite song; Bucky smiled, took his shoes off, and set them at the door in the hallway. Bucky flopped onto your soft bed with the flowers he had for you hidden on the bedside away from the bathroom door so you wouldn't be able to see them when you'd come out.

Finishing your shower a few minutes later, you wrapped your hair in a towel. Drying yourself and popping on your oversized henley, the same one Bucky had given you all those years ago when you had nothing to wear the first time you slept at his. You put some undies on and Van's socks. Using the dryer to dry your hair, you fitted your thick hair into a messy bun with your black scrunchy. "Alright", you took a deep breath before heading out to see Bucky lying on your bed.

"Oh, Buck! Hey," you smiled at him. His head was comfy on the bedsheets; he turned to see you, a bright smile upon his face. "Hey, doll," he noticed straight away that you weren't wearing any pants, something he was used to but not used to at the same time. You'd always make a fuss over going to bed with pants on; you hated wearing pants to bed. So you just opted for socks. "So", you sigh, flopping on the bed next to him. "Who is the girl?" You asked, turning your body to the side facing him. He chuckled, rolling over the edge of the bed, coming back to meet you, your favourite flowers in his hand; you both were face to face.

"You"…

~

You look at him, jerking your face back a bit in surprise but totally melting seeing the flowers. "M-me?" You reply; Bucky smiles, brushing the hair from your face nodding, "It's always been you y/n." His arm caressed your cheek, and you couldn't help but rest yours on his. You kissed the inner of his hand before taking the flowers leaving them on the bedside table.

"You know how long I've wanted to tell you that I love you" you smiled almost in tears; wrapping his metal arm around your waist, Bucky pulled your body close to his "And you know how long I've wanted to say the exact same thing" he rested his head against yours "I am in love with you y/n, I've loved you ever since I met you". You sniffled, cupping his cheek before leaning in, kissing his chapped lips; he leaned into him, kissing back "and just when I thought I was going to have to let you go, you prove me wrong," you chuckled through your tears.

He chuckles with you. "I couldn't tell you on the phone. I had to be here. Plus, Sam told me you had a bad day, so I wanted to be with you." You smiled, giving him the biggest hug. "Thank you, Buck. Thank you for doing this" he kissed the top of your head.

"You're welcome, love", he smiled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sebastian Stan's Taglist: @buckyswintersoldiermask @lharrietg @buckyfan12 @afraid-to-be-me @fairityretro

[impyssadobsessions]

(Comics Anon!) As promised I just finished Moon Knight (2006)! All in all, I'd say it was a pretty mixed bag. There were certainty times where I wasn't having fun reading it. It was very clearly written in 2006, like there was some nasty implied stereotypes and misogyny. I counted five different slurs (two against gay people, two racial, and one ableist). Despite those being unedited, they heavily censored all uses of much less offensive words like fuck or shit. But still used them often enough that it got a little irritating reading constant bubbles where half the words were just #### and you had to guess what they were saying based on context clues. "He's the head #### in charge." Are they saying bitch? No, because they say that uncensored in the next panel, so what the fuck are they saying? Can't be shit, and though fuck is possible it sounds clunky in that context, so who knows! That all said, there were absolutely parts and arcs I did enjoy. And this particular run includes a lot of iconic pieces of the larger Moon Knight lore. It has the parts where he carved off Bushman's face, his ensuing spiral when his knees are shattered and he has to retire, that time Jake hijacked the body and fucked off to Mexico. Plus a delightful arc about his experience with the superhero registration act I really liked. Speaking of Jake, I was particularly disappointed in the way they handled his D.I.D. in this run. It was thirty issues in total and for most of them the system might as well have not existed for all the impact Steven and Jake had on the story. Even when Jake takes the body and leaves, Marc similarly disappears into the nether never to be seen again. As if he simply donned Jake Lockley as an alias and not as a new persona entirely. It's bizarre, and considering the reason I like Moon Knight so much is the dive into mental illness, it's disappointing. His hallucinations are handled a little bit better, there's a scene in one comic where he admits that he's not sure what's real that was very emotionally done. As for his mood disorders, they were really pushed to the max here. For the entire run, and particularly in the beginning when he's just lost the use of his legs, Marc becomes volatile. He lashes out at the people around him, sometimes even physically, and drives them all away one by one until none of them are willing to associate with him anymore. I myself do not have a mood disorder, but both bipolar and borderline personality disorder runs very heavily in my family, and I can personally attest that this is a very accurate and real depiction of what it can do to your relationships when unmonitored and untreated. I mentioned it before, but Khonshu was very much portrayed like the ps5 meme throughout the entire story. It was very funny watching him be so pathetic, but disappointing due to how legitimately scary and intimidating his amoral persona in the later comics was to me. Overall, I'd say it's probably not something I'd recommend for your first comic, and it absolutely depends on your taste in media if I'd suggest it at all. Every single person in this story is an asshole, including the main character, and though the arcs themselves were very interesting, you had to sit through a lot of bigotry to get to the good parts. If you're like me and really enjoy an unflinching, horrible look at the downward spiral of untreated mental illness and don't mind a bit of early 2000s bad takes to get there, maybe give it a shot. If not, you can always read a summary online and save yourself the pain.

Ah, I see~ Yeah, I myself not a fan of everyone being an asshole. I have to at least like the main character some in order to enjoy it. Reason I never could get into the anime Death Note. I hated Light since the first episode. But I can understand how some people do like stories about awful ppl. Though I do laugh everytime u mention Khonshu is ps5 meme LOL .

[mirrorscomic]

MIRRORS: CHAPTER 7

Summary: In Mainverse, the appearance of the pair from Villainverse has apparently caught the attention of the gods. Will this attention be a good thing, or perhaps be a problem?

Author Notes: i'm back finally with another chapter! this is a special chapter that marks the beginning of the original mirrorsverse context; this is no longer taking place in the dragon ball universe! some changes have been made to the story and characters, such as names and designs, as well as an art style shift! i hope you enjoy the changes ive made! <3

Another day passes in the Land of Creation--the realm where the Gods of Creation reside. Here, a creator god sits by herself in a field, seeming concentrated on one area of the sky. A figure creeps up quietly behind her, not making a sound…

“So, what is the North Creator up to today, then?”

She’s startled, but her body relaxes when she realizes who has joined her, and she lets out an annoyed sigh. “Oro, don’t you have better things to do than bother me? Go back and watch over the South Quadrant like you’re supposed to. I have bigger things to worry about over here.”

“Oh?” The other creator god, Oro, looks out to try and see what she is looking at. “Like what?”

“A lemurian living on Earth. His counterpart from a parallel universe somehow hopped through the cosmos with a wormhole and came to stay with him for a few days. I’m keeping an eye on him for now to make sure he doesn’t try doing the same thing.”

“A lemurian?” Oro seems interested. He squints, focusing where she is concentrated on. His vision flies through the galaxy, zooming in on one particular spot of planet Earth, where a lemurian farmer and his mother are seeming to practice. It’s Patoto and Zumeg, and Zumeg is encouraging her son.

“Come on, Patoto, you can do it! Dig deeper!”

“I’m trying…!” Patoto says as he seems to be straining himself to power up. In an abrupt blast of power, he achieves Super Lemurian--something he’s used to--but this time, he’s trying to reach a higher level.

The sight amazes Oro, and he widens his eyes. “What in the world is that?”

The other god doesn’t look from her spot. “It’s called Super Lemurian. Their race can achieve transformations like that to grow more powerful. There’s also a Super Lemurian Two, which is what I assume this lemurian is trying to reach. There may even be a third level.”

Oro watches in awe. “Such power…”

...should be used by a god.

He stands up straight and waves his hand as he turns to leave. “Well, you have fun with that. I’ll be off back to my own business.”

The other god frowns a little. “It’s about time.”

As Oro walks away, he glances over his shoulder with a rather devious expression.

Back on Earth, Patoto leans over onto his knees, obviously winded from all the exertion. “Phew… I think I’m gettin’ closer!”

Zumeg smiles and walks over to pat his back. “I think you are, too. Your energy seems a lot more intense now than it was before.” She walks by him, then. “I’ll go get us some drinks. You deserve a break. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay!”

As Zumeg disappears into the house, Patoto is left to stretch happily. However, almost immediately, his body transforms into that of the creation god, Oro. He’s confused by his new, smaller appearance, looking down at himself. “H-huh? What the--?”

“This is a very interesting planet you have here.”

Patoto looks over to where the voice came from. There floating in the air is what looks to be himself, wearing strange new clothes and earrings. Patoto is even more confused than he was before. “H-hey… That’s my face!”

His copy grins wickedly. “Finders, keepers, I guess. Hm…” He looks over Patoto’s clothes, seeming to inspect them for a moment before waving his hand over his own body. His wardrobe changes to that of Patoto’s suddenly, except this version is all black. He grins and holds out his hands to his sides. “Blends in a little better, don’t you think?”

Just as this happens, Zumeg returns from the house with two drinks. She stops in her tracks when she sees the scene playing out before her, furrowing her brow. “What in the world?”

Patoto looks back at her. “Mom!!” He quickly makes his way over to his mother and points at the false Patoto. “Mom, this stranger stole my body…!”

She looks at him confusedly. “What…?”

“Please believe me!” Patoto urges. “I’m Patoto! That guy over there isn’t me; he stole my face!”

Zumeg looks back at the apparent copycat. He has a sick smirk on his lips, which causes her to frown. “... I believe you. My son would never look at me like that.”

Setting the drinks down, she walks away from the real Patoto and glares at the newcomer. “Who the hell are you? What do you want with my son?”

The fake Patoto sticks up his nose with a grin. “It makes sense that you wouldn’t know me. I am Oro, one of the five Creators of your universe.”

“Creators? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand. To put it simply, I am a god of your world.”

Patoto looks at his hands. “A...god? Y’mean I have a god’s body right now?”

“Yes. But, I don’t expect you to know how to use it, heh.”

Zumeg chimes in. “What would a god want with my son, then?”

Oro folds his arms behind his back, looking around at the scenery. “I was watching you all from my world and I saw something amazing. You transformed and became much more powerful than you were before. I saw this power and realized that it was much more suitable for a god than it was a measly mortal. So, I wanted to try it out for myself.”

“So, you stole my son’s body?” “Borrowed without asking.” Oro raises a hand and charges up an energy ball with it. “I wanted to play around with it for a while.”

Realizing what’s about to happen, Zumeg dives back towards Patoto and tackles him out of the way just before a ball of energy hits the ground where he stood. Once they’re safe, she turns back and snarls at Oro. “Hey!!”

Oro doesn’t seem to be paying attention to her. He’s looking at his hand, mesmerized. “Amazing… Even at base strength, the power is incredible. Now, for that transformation…”

Zumeg and Patoto watch as Oro channels his energy through his body, yelling as he does so. In a sudden burst, his hair turns blonde and his eyes go crimson, completing the transformation to Super Lemurian. He looks back at his hands, smiling. “Amazing…! I’m overflowing with immense power! This transformation is outstanding!”

Zumeg starts walking towards him. “Alright, you’ve had your fun! Give my son back his body!”

She charges at him with a punch, but he blocks it easily with his finger. In response, she begins to throw a flurry of punches, but he blocks all of them with a finger as well, almost taunting her. With a smirk, he suddenly whaps her away with his tail, and she goes flying.

Patoto is watching from the ground in dismay when he’s suddenly joined by another person seemingly out of thin air. He turns to look at them--a woman with pink skin and white hair, similar in appearance to his current body. “W-who are you?”

She turns to look at him. “I am Enlil, a God of Creation. I’m the Creator in charge of your universe quadrant. I’m here to stop Oro from causing more trouble than he already has.”

Patoto blinks. “You’re a god, too?”

Behind them, Kinpa and Evelyn come hurrying out of the house, apparently having heard the ruckus outside. Evelyn looks at the two standing in front of the porch. “What’s goin’ on out here?”

She notices Zumeg and Oro in the sky as they fight. “What in the world are they doin’ up there?”

“Your son’s body has been stolen by a god who thinks he can just do whatever he wants,” replies Enlil. She gestures towards the real Patoto beside her. “This is your Patoto.”

Patoto’s eyes start to tear up. “Mama…”

As he rushes over and hugs her, Evelyn looks startled. “P-Patoto…?”

Kinpa looks from Patoto up to the dueling lemurians. “So… That’s not Patoto? That’s a god in Patoto’s body? How did he switch bodies like that?”

“He used objects called the wishing stones on a planet called Phibia to wish it that way,” Enlil explains. “Unfortunately, those wishing stones can only be used once a year. I have to find a way to keep him at bay until they can be used again.”

Kinpa thinks for a moment. “Wishing stones…? Hey, don’t we have those on Earth? I remember an icejin talking about them.”

Enlil looks over at him in surprise. “Really?” She proceeds to close her eyes for a moment in silence, and she then opens them again. “You’re right! How did I not see them before? There’s a phibian on this planet who has a set.” She turns to Kinpa and holds out her hand. “Come with me. I need someone with me in case something goes wrong.”

Kinpa looks at her hand before hesitantly taking it. “U-um… Okay.”

In an instant, the two teleport away, leaving Evelyn there with Patoto. The next thing they know, they’ve arrived at what seems to be a campsite in the middle of a forest somewhere. As they look around, someone opens the door to the little hut that is sitting in front of them.

A green-skinned individual, the phibian in question, comes out and blinks. “Oh! Can I help you?”

Enlil steps forward. “We don't have much time to explain, but we need to use your wishing stones. There’s a crisis that could eventually endanger the whole world if we don’t stop it right now.”

The phibian looks them over. It doesn’t take long for him to nod in approval. “Okay. I can tell your intentions are good. Let me get them for you.” He starts to disappear into his hut, but he looks over his shoulder first. “Name’s Kigai, by the way! It’s nice to meet you. Now, give me one second…”

--

Back on the farm, Zumeg and Oro continue their fight as Evelyn and Patoto watch in concern. Zumeg is getting beaten back pretty good by Oro, who hasn’t even broken a sweat. The god dodges elegantly away from every punch.

“This was fun for a while,” he muses, “but now it’s starting to get annoying. You’re persistent; I’ll give you that. But…”

He points two fingers at her before firing a laser beam through her chest. She falls to the ground lifelessly as Evelyn and Patoto watch in shock.

“You should know never to cross a god.”

--

“How do we summon the dragon?”

Kigai looks at Enlil after finishing arranging the wishing stones on the ground. “Like this…” He hovers his hands above the stones. “Wish dragon Shtelru, by your name, I summon you!”

The stones begin to glow a brilliant blue, and then, suddenly, an energy beam shoots upward out from them. From the beam forms a giant dragon, towering above the group. Kigai and Enlil seem unfazed, but Kinpa is blown away from the size of the creature.

Soon enough, the dragon speaks. “Speak your wishes now, and I will grant them, if it is within my power,” he booms.

Kigai gestures to Shtelru, turning to Enlil. “Go ahead.”

Enlil steps forward. “Great dragon, I wish for you to switch Oro and Patoto’s bodies back to normal!”

Shtelru’s eyes glow a bright red. “Very well. It is done.”

In an instant, Oro and Patoto’s bodies swap back to their original owners. Oro looks down at his body in confusion. “What?!”

Meanwhile, Enlil turns to Kinpa. “Kinpa, you stay here. I need to make sure it worked. I’ll be back.” She looks up at the dragon again. “Shtelru, can you wait just a moment?”

“Do not make me wait long.”

“I won’t.”

Enlil teleports back to the farm, leaving Kinpa to stand with Kigai. When she arrives, she’s greeted by the scene of Evelyn holding her wife on the ground, sobbing over her body.

“Zumeg…!” Evelyn cries. “Zumeg, wake up…!”

Enlil is shocked. She looks to where Patoto is standing with his fists clenched tightly at his sides, now in his own body. He is trembling.

“You… You shoulda never hurt my mom,” he growls. The air around him begins to crackle as his energy spikes. Suddenly, he explodes with power, his hair turning blonde and his eyes burning red. Tears are streaming down his face. “I’ll make you pay!!!”

He launches himself at a surprised Oro, who proceeds to get the punch of his life directly to the face.

He’s flung back through the trees, crashing through the forest before skidding to a stop in a ditch formed by the impact of his body on the ground. He opens his eyes just in time to see Patoto flying towards him, and he just barely dodges an intensely-powerful blow that instead strikes the ground below him. Patoto snaps around as Oro tries to fly away, grabbing him by the leg before slamming him directly into the ground.

While this is happening, Enlil stands over Evelyn. “Wait right here. I can fix this, I promise.”

She teleports back to the others at Kigai’s camp, wasting no time before speaking again. “Zumeg was killed. Can Shtelru bring her back?”

Kigai nods. “As long as she hasn’t been brought back before, yes.”

“Okay.” She looks up at the dragon once more. “Shtelru, I have another wish!”

Shtelru’s thunderous voice responds, “Speak it now, before I run out of patience.”

“I wish for the lemurian Zumeg to be brought back to life!”

Once again, the dragon’s eyes glow brightly as he grants the wish. “It is done.”

Miraculously, thanks to Shtelru, Zumeg’s eyes flutter open as Evelyn cries over her. She sits up, surprising Evelyn in the best way. Evelyn hugs her tightly. “Oh, honey, I thought you were gone…!”

Zumeg rubs her head. “What happened…? Where’s--”

She looks up to see Patoto kicking the absolute shit out of Oro. The god is bleeding profusely, evidently having been taking an intense beating from the lemurian. Patoto performs an overhead kick and sends Oro flying down to the ground, where he crashes and slides along the dirt. When he stops, he weakly looks up to see Enlil staring down at him in disappointment. Patoto lands a few feet behind them as Enlil nods to him. “I’ll take him from here Patoto. Thank you.”

Patoto doesn’t seem to be quite finished with him yet, still clearly angry, but the voice of his mother stops him from stepping forward.

“Patoto!”

He turns to see Zumeg running towards him, and the anger in his expression completely disappears into relief. “Mom?”

The two hug tightly as Patoto powers down to his base form once again. As this happens, Enlil lifts Oro up over her shoulder and turns to everyone, who is gathering around Zumeg and Patoto.

“I’m sorry to have brought you all so much trouble,” she assures solemnly. “He won’t be back to do it again after this; I promise.”

The two gods disappear, leaving the group to stand there. Patoto nuzzles his mother lovingly, clearly happy to have her back and safe. Evelyn also seems pleased with the outcome of all this. Kinpa is the only one whose mind seems to be elsewhere.

[5283]

Aw I'm glad you didn't think it was too long haha.

I heard SLUMP quite early on purely by chance loll it was just what the YouTube algorithm recommended!

Ooh 42 is such a hard hitting song, 3racha didn't hold back! Honestly words can't do it justice but yeah 💯💯

ODDINARY title track....... I have no idea 😂 there's just zero hints 😭 I absolutely love skz's noise concept and would 100 percent be open to another banger BUT I'm curious to see if they would go for a different genre title track. Though looking at the trailer I feel like an energetic song will portray that... Definitely could be wrong though i mean when have they ever been predictable 😂😂

What do u think? Also, speaking of the trailer... Please tell me what you think is going on in the skz universe (if u have a theory at all!) I'm soo confused with all the different plots and elements ahhh I hope they give us some clarification

the youtube algorithm doing justice??? that's impressive ngl ✨✨🥲

the fact that skz and div1 literally do not give us ANYTHING that could be a hint to what the title track sounds like.. is frustrating.. and at the same time what's beyond exciting about comebacks, cause???? which genres are they mixing and matching together this time?? what's the oddinary's double meaning all about ??

OR they are giving us some very obvious spoilers that we're just brushing off because they seem too obvious to be true😭 still can't process the boldness of the "back door" spoiler in god's menu mv 😭 lately skz suspiciously keep talking about time and its meaning too.. specifically chan 😭 at this point my theory is that everything he says is a spoiler but we just can't grasp it yet🥲🥲

about the universe..... i used to be very invested in understanding it, and had like something-thousand words written in my notes app of what i think is going on........ but then i think someone on twt pointed it out how skz universe is basically a video game and they just keep ascending levels, sometimes having the boss fights, and other times we just get backstories of the characters that play the game.... and then it clicked for me that rather than analyzing skzverse purely as a separated story, it's meant to be a journey they're taking you on - just like when you're playing an interactive video game and get immersed in its universe ..

no but that aside, it's the first time the accent color of a comeback seems to be green (we had plenty of red ones, yellow and blue ones) and it's funny how i tried predicting the noeasy comeback and said it could be green accented cause they kept using the color a lot in the kingdom stages and then lee know's and chan's drive had green at the end of the mv, which was a release right before the comeback lmao i was a little too early haha

yeah so and the context of where green was already used before was with things like wolves, night time, night vision (kingdom miroh stage + easy mv), changbin's rap in easy is also mentioning things like "i cast magic spells in a magic castle", "i'm nocturnal", "i let out my enchanting voice", and also TIME too??? i just realized???? in the tortoise and the hare unveil video!!!!!!!!!!!!! ohmygod!!! it keeps interchanging with red too... just like this comeback is green but hyunjin's red hair also seems to be not of lesser importance symbolically.. i haven't read the "frankenstein" novel sadly but looking at the wikipedia page it also seems to have the vibe of the things i mentioned previously...

yeah..... so i know that i don't know a thing 😭😭 but one thing for sure is that colors in skz universe are very important and used as symbols.. but symbols for WHAT exactly???? 🥲 ahhhh

[adulthooliganism]

if you know me in real life you are NOT going to act like a freak about this with me or him okay okay thanks

ghhhhhh i need to talk about this Issue i have w someone but im afraid it's me causing issues where there shouldn't be any in the first place but my feelings are valid and i need to stop denying that but i don't wanna hurt anyone else's feelings or make things Weird but i come home from work and scratch my skin off because he won't stop touching me and i can still feel his hands on me but i know it's not malicious but we're not friends! we are friendly BUT he's my supervisor!! i do not see him or talk to him outside of the sole context in which he is inherently my superior!!! :((( he really is a good guy and this makes him sound awful :(((((((((( i just have a problems disorder disease ! one time my best friend of 4 years accidentally brushed my arm and i started crying. it's literally not him. i am just

but the next time this happens he won't be 23 (or whatever) and hot and the next person won't be as forgiving and so i knowwwwww it's for the best for both of us for me to be like hey just. as my supervisor it's kinda weird that you . rest your head on my shoulder. or (gently) punch your way from one arm across my back and to the other . et cetera . maybe just keep this in mind going forwards. but the idea of actually saying anything to him maybe makes me want to crawl out of my skin the idea of making him feel bad about it when i know he has no idea it makes me feel this way makes me feel so sick for some reason

honestly all i Need to say is "don't touch me" i don't owe him anything else but for some reason i see him and just cannot get those three fucking words out of my mouth

if you read all this . 1) thank u i Will kill and die for u 2) can i get some outside opinions on this. im too much in my own head about it and can't think right

[misterbitches]

i had the misfortune of finally watching/getting through what happened in whatever episode where he gets raped so im gonna talk about it and tag it cos that's what a bitch fuckin feels like, got it? i do what i want aint no limit bad ass bitch aint never been timid. woopsie realized i got the nicknames confused oh well lmao

it's just logistically and plot wise like there's literal plot holes in this and i'm taking the production and set-up into account along with the actual content and development. im an ARTIST OKAY im jk i mean i am and i am pretentious and terrible but look. i didnt get that degree and im not in a house worth of debt for nothing ok. it's called writing on tumblr about my grievances of shows that dont matter and do not respect me as a fat black american woman either so it is my fault yet here i am.

anyway it was worse than i imagined and their talk after (with chengren) was even worse. that's what i mean about making the lines their own (the actors) bc teng teng sounded like a straight up motherfucking moron and im like

bECAUSE IT'S HIM EVEN THO IM LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DID U JUST SAY U STUPID BITCH? but then it's like awwww and they also care about his wellbeing obviously??? but no? but it's like ok still teng teng said it even if it's stupid because he is a character and charles puts that forth. the people that fail the most to do that are xing si's family but that's not the actors fault because it's the literal material. you're like wait what but you just said...?

so i know they have no script editors i guess i think i find this season ACTUALLY fascinating because of just how egregious it is. i also went back and watched history: obsessed which i thought i liked because of their chemistry even though god the production....but i tried rewatching it and i was like wow this is worse than i remembered and the production issues were even worse because some of the music was SO LOUD AND BAD HOLY FUCK and their whole rship isssssss a sight to behold lmao

so man i guess it really is the power of anson/charles. which is good cos we love to see it...sort of but also a lot.

i honestly....because i've been able to pay attn more to the aftermath of the rape going back and putting it into more context and focusing (just barely lmao) is hm even worse. the inconsistencies are insane. it's not even just about the act but the writers have zero idea where they are going because they have no interest in exploring it. but the way in which it happens is like fascinating. yong jie literally thinks he owns xing si and it doesn't matter if he was kissing him or not or asked for a kiss on the lips (which dude what the fuck? i'll get to that) because he was plied with "extremely strong drinks" and his mom knew about it....which girl congrats you're an accomplice to the rape of your son by your other son?

but first of all...the kissing thing. in what fucking world would he (xing si) want that unless he thought he (yong jie) was someone else. i can't say their attraction is evident because we are being lead by this team to think so; they create this false sense of sensuality already so to me that signifies that they never intended for them to have a bond as brothers. it just feels cheap and fucking lazy (which it is.) even if he did, which doesn't make sense considering the context THEY CONSTRUCTED, it wouldn't matter because he was so fucking drunk which.... at that point nothing is fun, you feel sick, who wants sex like that? does he not have whiskey dick? did they have a condom? was it not painful for him considering? even if this was something to easily get over like was the dick good? it couldn't have been. and then, on top of that, there's the fact that you can change your mind or whatever but also that people do get aroused in these situations bc it is human nature (that's if they can literally get aroused which if the drinks were allegedly sooooo strong that nigga would be out so....again like even practically here it doesnt add up. have these people ever been drunk? if not, write what you know girl. cos sometimes it's like i think some of u r trying to be cool when u dont have 2 b lmao)

so yong jie coming on to him previously may be seen as like push-and-pull but here's the thing. right after it happens (the rape and it's rape so call it that you'll be okay) xing si gets up and goes home and is terrified and upset. he acts like what we have seen or even felt after a violation. he's scared, clutching his bag, it's like...you know...decently coming off as truly distressing (the actor isn't bad at all and i like that he's dark. i just massively hate this for him but hey at least he can show some chops.) like honestly man that fucking sucks and hurts to see. if we've been there we feel it. or part of it is realizing belatedly what happened. a lot of times that drop in your stomach is the worst.

but somehow for some reason, to which i cannot understand, the three of them begin to talk as if xing si pressured him? which maybe i missed something and that is possible—dont feel like going back to look���but that also made no sense. like what kind of false memory is this? why would he think he wasn't willing? and if he thought yong jie wasn't and that he pressured him how does he remember like...anything about the sex?!?!??!? besides waking up and being with him. like i guess he felt yong jie's MASSIVE DONG imprint but ??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!!!

god then the logic of the top/bottom thing is like i said i wasnt going to get into it but it's actually really funny. this whole thing was hilarious. honestly because I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS. he could have totally raped him in that way but how did you get to this CONCLUSION FROM THAT??????? BY YOUR LOGIC THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS? IF HE IS THE BOTTOM AND PENETRATION IS THE ONLY FORM OF TRUE CONSUMMATION AND RAPE BECAUSE APPARENTLY, BASED ON ANATOMY, IF YOU HAVE A DICK IN UR BUTT UR A GIRL THEN HOW. DOES. THIS. MAKE. SENSE. AND THEN

AND THEN

AND THEN

AND THEN

this whole stupid conversation happens so we get to the conclusion that xing si violated him ok cool but that means that something is wrong. that is the CONCLUSION WE CAME TO A SECOND AGO?

also the other rapist is a villain and muren isn't in love with him so, once again, you're breaking the rules of your own world about acceptability which is why most of this is absolutely mind bogggglinG that iit's fuckign comical. like i actually when i can stomach it start laughing or my jaw is slack because it's so insulting as a viewer because there is like 0 logical followthrough.

because whatshisface barges in, kisses him in front of his friends without permission, then says whether you were willing or not which is hm. at that point how u gonna change that around but let's not bother with logic here. i am simply here to point out how this makes no sense according to the rules they set up even outside of the basic rule of life which is hm dont rape people maybe.

so now we know xing si was raped, they believe he was raped, he himself believes he was raped, and whatshisface literally says he doesn't care even if he was willing (he wasn't) so he admits to rape. i don't believe in the police and i hate them (BL industry needs the cops but dont get me down that road) but no one...thought to go?

because according to history 4 logic nothing matters so im sure if he went to the police you could handwave the homophobia since there's no actual context for anything besides their whimsy. but they dont want to do that because they aren't interested in an arc of growth; redemption isn't possible unless he is removed from the family but again no work on thinking this through or thinking about the victim's feelings. because gay sex? who fucking knows. supposedly progressive taiwanese writers of gay shit (like how supposedly progressive the world is. as in it is not and this behavior is the norm and bl perpetuates that) can't think of transformative justice?

and then they gave bad advice so we wont acknowledge that because teng teng doing anything wrong/stupid is frequent but hurts me and also that storyline is not real so i pretend they are not there outside of this post

so all of this is just straihgt up clownery now because it's fucking absurd like logically, practically, human-wise. the kissing thing is inconsequential but it was such a lazy cheap way out lmao cos they really wanted it to seem consensual but that's not how it works. on top of that their attraction makes no sense because whatshisface is just there. he is just there. he's nothing and no one so the sentiments are even more empty and on top of that he doesnt listen to a single request fucking obviously because the basis of their relationship is fucking rape so fucking listening and respecting his partner is not on his list of fucking priorities. he's literally so fucking annoying even without being a rapist it's like someone please beat his ass.

and then after all of that you want us to feel bad? with your horrible writing, poorly misplaced music, stupid costumes (those fucking SHOES THEY ARE HIDEOUS, AND MOST OF THIER CLOTHES DO NOT FIT IT'S LIKE WHY), questionable fucking editing. we're supposed to wnat them together? this sounds literally fucking crazy but bear with me lmao even with the rape they could at least have SOMETHING i mean like i cant believe im fucking saaying this. but like in addicted heroin which is fuckin tragic and awful at least there's a MODICUM of interest but honestly that show s a fucknig drag. idk they lookd good together? here we have 0. nothing. and it doesnt motivate. watching obsessed again i can see why i liked it in the beginning bc they have good chemistry but the acting and production adn like everything about it plus the rape-y vibes it's just too much. you need to pick one thing so if you're going to be a shit writer at least supplement it with something. this thing is nothing.

and even more nonsensical and what boggles my mind frankly out of all this is the mother's involvement and the father's final response. there are NO consequences? theyre all happy?

ok so lets go through this:

1. 2 boys grow up 2gether, one of the boys is fucking psycho, the mother knows but does nothing??????????????

2. one of the sons moves out so his father doesn't get a hint that's he's fucking gay. ok fine. he has 2 best friends, a job, an apt. he is fine.

3. aforementioned brother is obsessed with him for SOME REASON besides being crazy?

3.5 no one has done anything during him growing up to help him not be crazy?

4. mom says to husband who is their father also just in case we forget "im afraid he will lose his humanity"

4.5 again, do nothing. 0. just like oh man hes crazy. guess that's just our son ;)

4. who cares. plies him with alcohol purposefully to rape him. not even dubious (even though dubious is fucked and not okay or is just not. fucking real. these shows are contextless when they want to be or even movies or whatever so it's like largely not up to the task to understand complexity in human rships and then oversimplifies it constantly because that's what we do IRL. but people have fucking feelings you know and we realize when things don't feel good or right to us either very quickly after or having to process it. and once you're eyes are opened you may feel as something was fucking ripped away from you. for the modc couple this would be a very logical conclusion for the high schooler the thirty year old dated but again logic or feelings are up to their whimsy. no one cares bc everything can be counted as dubious so honestly it's a fucking stupid fucking topic like again why are we litigating what is and isnt consent when you could just like idk. read cues? consent? wait? not be a freak? like we all know what is proper human shit so even if we are watching this uncritically which u cant bc it's glaring and stupid it's just even more dumb) so it was honestly a rape plot like he literally planned it soooooooooo??!?!

5. aftermath of rape the victim is like literally fucking bereft and confused. and a rape victim. like that's what they are insinuating and what also he is to be clear.

6. boy tells him "idc if i raped u i luv u lmao"

7. mom ENCOURAGED THE BOY to get him drunk because her other son was too nice? she encouraged her adult son to rape her adult step-son (but her real son because she repeatedly says you are my son and the dad does too THEY GREW UP TOGETHER WHEN THE KID WAS IN AN IMPRESSIONABLE STATE) so THIS ALSO MAKES EVEN LESS MOTHERFUCKING SENSE

8. everyone finds out about his rape and he isnt mortified he's just concerned about himself being gay to his dad?????? except it's not really about his gayness bc now it's about his sudden love for his rapist brother? which? hm ok. understandable the dad is like wow i do not think i like this

9. dad knows all of it is fucked up, everyone does, knows the mother fucked up, knows he fucked up. doesnt like it because he is normal. so we know this is terrible? ok great so—

10. father says "i can't accept this...but i'm willing to give you my blessing" ok see here's the thing. when you write you have to think about the things you are putting on the page and what you have written previously. this quite literally made no sense how the fuck are you going to not accept them but give them your blessing? does this crew know what the fuck words are? i'm assuming they went to some sort of school to obtain jobs here bc there cannot be natural talent or experience. maybe most of them are rich. fuck i do not know but this also makes no sense. just the literal logic of it it's like fucking insane the whiplash.

10.5 apparently this father is also shitty. everyone here sucks and they are basically begging me to think xing si is a fucking idiot so i dont even want to look at him if he is an object he doesnt matter so now i want to kick him. thanks a lot you made the victim get absolutely fucking nothing

they KEEP PUSHING the brother thing it is so insane and it's liek GUYS WE GET IT WE UNDERSTAND THEYRE "RELATED" BUT NOT RELATED SO IT'S OK HE WAS "RAPED" BUT NOT RAPED but you're GOING BACK ON YOUR OWN RULES!!!!!!!!!! WE GET THAT THEY ARE BROTHERS!!! WE'RE OVER IT NOW BUT WHAT IS THIS WHEN WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED SOMETHING? I AM CONFUSION? they flip flop between my son, my brother my actual brother, and cannot fucking distinguish between love for your father and love for your romantic partner? so to me what i see is that the father wants to fuck the son. that's the conclusion i am garnering now considering nothing matters and his love for his "brother" is the same as his love for his dad lmao. they couldnt even do that in a way that made sense. like damn anybody can get anything. these ppl who are doing this have to be fucking rich and/or have connections.

also this guy sounds literally like a textbook abuser like he says constantly "im the best choice" is a rapist is awful holds capital (oh hees "saving" smh ur trapping her!!!!! RETIRE!!!!) also wears terrible shoes so i am like ur alllllllllLLLLL FUCKING CRAZY ur all literally crazy and then they are trying to set rules and boundaries in their fucking house like WHY ARE THEY LIVING TOGETHER EVEN? even tho oh my god they know he raped him and for some reason they are both allowing to live in the house but they dont want them to have sex??!?!?!??!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?! i get that this is their house but this is like at this point these ppl are writing anything and now whatshisface is acting like a 2 yr old again and we are supposed to find this cute? like it makes 0 sense why do u fucking care u literally encouraged ur son to rape him so they cant have consensual sex under your nose now and have to wait four years? this is coming from the son who couldnt wait until someone was sober enough to realize hes fucking psychotic and should be killed also the fact that they act like being 20 means u have no fucking brain like this kid is in med school supposedly how do we know like hes a liar and an idiot so. also wait do they mean undergrad? how are you in med school at 20? is he a genius? girl i dont care lmao i guess i missed that but it's not like it matters so whatever

even if we ignore the stupidity of the literal acts, the grossness of the content, the absolute inability to write coherently or even remotely in a way where we would even want to see them together which is like....u set it up at the beginning so he punches "the love his life's best friend" also holy fuck im sorry remember when he punches muren because xing si got too drunk. so i'm guessing whatshisface is that good of a bartender that he makes super strong drinks and gets xing si drunk but his alcohol is magical therefore it doesn't make him sick. his alcohol is the type that gets you drunk but somehow doesnt get to your liver even though that's how we get drunk but dont ask guys he's only in med school and a bartender so i think he knows best (seriously have the main writers had a day of fun in their lives? have they ever been drunk? are they toddlers? drunk babies could probably do better tho.) i get that he was also jealous but if this kid is SOOOOOO genius (he understands social cues lmao he has the cpacity to project onto his victim so im like miss me with the not understanding shit. go to a fucking therapist like seriously did no one care abt this kid? his mother thinks he's like almost a goddamn murderer. how is she not dead? how are they all not dead? how do any of them know how to drive with this type of brain?) then he would understand that they are very clearly friends since he watched them part in a very platonic way and since he apparently knows what love is cos he thinks....he can....make someone fall in love with him bc he loves them? again, i wouldnt know hes 20 and taiwanese and im 29 and black from AMERICA so im WESTERN* so you know. different life experiences i guess XD

even if we do mental gymnastics to get it to a place where they "had sex" and he didnt rape him there's 0 ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ties to the literal story they wrote and the rules they set up. i'm going ot assume they dont know wtf theyre doing and i know for a fact we all care more about their dumb show than they do but it's actually startling how piss poor this is it's like idek what to compare it to. the continuity is awful awful awful they needed a script supervisor majorly and they are making bank and are going to make fucking bank fof this shit. and itll just continue like that until IRL material changes and that's facilitated by these very same groups they choose to profit off of and exploit by propelling it into the mainstream and litigating homosexuality through capitalism. and i'm being specific with homosexuality. i dont want a GL market like at all and i know why we wouldnt have it either and that has everything to do with the nature of BL, capitalism, coercion, and the fanbase being young girls and women. i don't think in this day and age we can safely say all the fans are straight; i'm sure a majority but many women or people on the gender spectrum and sexuality spectrum also consume it. frankly, it's possible the women who write it could be or something too. i dont rly believe any1 is str8 lmao but im just saying it's not out of the realm of possibility. but it isnt about that at all. that's why we wont see "good" female characters (like well written) often that's why we won't see trans women or kathoeys or fat people or black asians in it. a lot of it is is a choice we participate in whatever. but holy fuck dude u could at least respect the audience's fucking intelligence. i'm talking about everything i think that is encapsulated in the project but it's even more jarring and worse because it's so insanely inconsistent and poorly done. like how we jump from one conclusion to another is wild to me. even their first "night together" and he wakes up im like girl....u no ur ass felt it. this nigga broke into his house and was like "im gonna have u" like it's getting weird

just make xing si suffer offscreen not us the stupidity is staggering, mind blowing, hilarious.

how wong kar wai, a straight man from HK (or at least married to a woman), or barry jenkins, a striahgt black man, write/do stories well about people they wouldnt knw about their experiences directly is....well thinking like using their brains and like knowing all types of people? the man who co-wrote moonlight is a hOMOSEXUAL, leslie cheung was fucking gay or queer (and he committed suicide and that's important also RIP homie) both are hailed as queer cinema like WKW wanted to do something else and invested time into it, changed the way he played around with structure, moved away from his crime oriented stuff. he THOUGHT about it and this film is about their reality. it's a harsh film, idk how i feel about it (but my fav movies of his are the crime ones or the messy ones where it's clear he didnt write a script lmao fallen angels is one of my fav movies its' abt assassins kinda) but i know it means something. and he didnt like what HK had previously wasnt enough. it is not the only cinema that should be shown since it's such a stark reality and depressing but it is a real depiction so we can have all sorts of stuff. no this isnt WKW level or moonlight level but i know for a fact these people think they are doing something because artists always do i say this as one and someone who is equally as useless. you're making a statement.

i also hate the westerner component of peoples analyses. first of all dont do cultural relativism. we can critique and respect. but second of all how are we going to keep saying "dont put western ideals on this" when that is what is happening anyway because that's part and parcel for soft power and capitalism. how about taiwan's history with the KMT? what about the regimes young people fought about? aided by US imperialism which permeates through society and affects material conditions, views, democracy, identity and that goes into culture and media. hm? what about that? is that reality too fucking western for people? that we are doing the same thing again now? is that okay to talk about or is that only on your time?

then there's the argument that this is just entertainment. yea no shit but the thing is if we r gonna talk about marginalized groups and watch bc of marginalized groups and then be expected to identify then i dont see why i cant put this in context. even if it wasnt fucking serious we'd still judge it. but it's so pompous and again like i wouldnt say EYE think it's art but it is "art" in the literal sense and no self respecting artist would ever go "man this means nothing." of course im not sure if they do respect themselves so hey but u cant just go oh man it's entertainment when it literally rests on the fact that HOMOS are MARGINALIZED. it literally rests on the fact that WOMEN ARE OBJECTS. you either want progress or you dont. i dont understand being so demanding but not beign specific in the demands and not trying to use your brain. if you dont want to use your brain don't. but if you are looking , engaging, and keep making these arguments or telling ppl it doesnt matter whilst complaining about how much others care is hypocritical at best, willfully obtuse at worst. both bad. :)

(also all this + another thing; it is insulting to have this like wedding happen based off of this stupid relationship when people fought so hard and had to push it. now they can use the material conditions to their advantage but it's so ridiculous. also because there is difficulty still in getting married in taiwan i'm honestly like....the boldness of the writers...)