#the first three episodes are like done done and they work on them all at once so they’re probably finished more stuff

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[haarrrys]

└➤ LEE KNOW (이민호)

indications ; ♥︎ - smut , ✿ - fluff, ⬤ - angst

# - lightyears -✿⬤- three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him. w.c 4.2k

# - hyungas sleeping -✿- fueled by pure, unadulterated minho & soon-doong-dori (SDD) brainrot. w.c 1.1k

# - silky shorts and stained shirts -✿♥︎- when best friend!minho sees fem!reader in revealing clothes for the first time… w.c 11.9k

& pt ii, kitty keychains and pudding paybacks -✿- best friend!minho can't help but recall memories of him and fem!reader in the middle of their grocery trip

# - nightmares -✿⬤- it takes you longer than you want to admit to notice it - the fact that minho doesn’t sleep in front of you. 

# - hand holding -✿-

#- sweeter-♥︎- jealous minho smut; oral sex (m. receiving), grinding, unprotected sex

#- feline tendencies-✿- “quit it or i’ll bite.” + “do it. i dare you.” + suggestive

# - flower -✿⬤- you're the only person whose opinion he cares about. when all is said and done, he doesn't care if the rest of the world thinks cold and heartless, as long as you know who he is.

# - shark week-✿-how he would take care of you during shark week.

#- telling them-✿- reader and minho plan a fun way to tell the other 7 that they’re pregnant and the kids react in a happy way and how they’re gonna be amazing uncles and stuff

#- just cuddle me already -✿- he tries to keep this cold façade but deep inside he's a little cutie who would die without his daily cuddles

#- first date -✿- friends to lovers

#- depressive episode drabble-⬤-

#- soft minho thought -✿-

#- what are we? -✿⬤-

#- pampering minho -✿- pampering minho and kissing his ouchys and treating him like a princess until he feels better :((((((((

# - minho in love -✿-

# - his second chance -⬤- text messages

# - middle of the night -♥︎- dom!minho, sub!reader, fingering, implied piv, implied unprotected sex (pls don’t be stupid), creampie, breast play, name calling (angel, kitten, brat, slut), slight praise; not proof read w.c 1.5k

# - taste -✿♥︎- your boyfriend has been working out, but when you notice his appeal for praise being ignored by his friends, you decide to show him how beautiful you think his body is. w.c 4.3k

# - lingerie -✿♥︎- minho’s reaction where you’re wearing cute lingerie but then you become shy

# - scared to sleep-✿⬤- mentions of nightmares but no details, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, chris is literally so sweet, mentions of sleep related fears

# - nsfw headcannons -♥︎-

# - key chain -⬤✿- you fight with minho and he comes back to make things right.-

# - fluff headcannons

# - im so sorry -⬤✿- you guys have an argument and eventually u just burst into tears right infront of him and he doesnt know what to do but comfort you

# - waiting for us -✿- lee know with a "waiting for us" kinda vibe. Just being together in their own place with lots of domestic fluff. Dancing whenever, seeing movies whenever…

# - soon you'll get better -⬤✿- your boyfriend tries to help you with your headaches, but when a doctor diagnoses you with something far worse than you ever expected, your world shatters.

# - dad lee know -✿-

# - aftercare -✿♥︎- aftercare w fiance lee know

# - the adults are busy -✿♥︎- in which the mornings with Minho can be silly and suggestive all in one. primarily silly.

read other members here !

[numberoneredriotfan]

Things I'd change if I were to rewrite Mha

A few things for context: These are just things that I would like to see and are all personal, and aren't meant to be a direct criticism on mha. These are for no one else but me, and how I would change mha if I had no limitations such as run time, censorship, etc. So don't take these too seriously. I just wanted to put my thoughts somewhere.

Have it take place over the course of ALL THREE of their years at UA. Like I have always been confused why it would only show them in their first year before all the shit goes down?? (I understand why but still-). I wanna see the kids ACTUALLY learning stuff in school before they go off to fight a war okay.

Put some of the movie storylines into the main one. Such as Humarise, I-Island, and Nine. With minor to major changes to each one. I feel like all of them had a lot of potential plot-wise.

Get rid of the whole Shigaraki/Afo possession plotline... it was really stupid. Focus on Shigaraki himself.

May sound strange, but have it be episodic to an extent?? At least for the first few seasons and have there be a major arc every now and then. Think team-up-missions style. Show the kids being kids while still incorporating their classes and hero studies.

Every character gets one or two chapters or episodes just dedicated to them. Whether it be exploring their personality or backstory. I want to feel connected to all of the kids!!

Deku, Uraraka and Iida are focused on more as a trio. I hated how their friendship was thrown aside in favor of "omg strong shounen trio." Bakugou and Todoroki should still have a relationship with Deku, but stop lumping them together. It feels so forced.

Get rid of the whole Endeavor redemption arc. Well, maybe not get rid of, but rework it. I don't like how Endeavor's feelings became the centerpoint of the todoroki family subplot. I feel like he did a 180 on his behavior way too quickly. Have something big happen that changes his perspective (I wouldn't consider All Might retiring as something big).

Self-indulgent but more focus on the Bakugou, Kaminari, and Kirishima trio!! They're so fun! Also, I wanna see Bakugou's process in making his own friends, real friends, outside of his weird rival-complex with Deku.

Rodydeku needs to be canon Okay but seriously, I would like to see more of Rody and Deku's relationship. Rody should become a more prominent person in Deku's life!

Playing onto that, but have half of their second year take place while the class is doing an exchange program. Based off MermaidMarie's fic, but I'd like to see Deku go back to Otheon. And I wanna see the other kid's adventures in different countries!

Slow Deku's progress down with one for all. I feel like it was going at a steady pacing until season 5 when pacing went out the window. I want to see Deku discover each one of his new powers in time, not just have them thrown at him one after the other.

GIVE ME A QUIRKLESS VILLAIN DAMN IT. I want there to be someone who's so smart at manipulation and intelligent that they don't need a quirk to get the job done.

Someone in class A needs to die. That's all.

More world building! There's so much to be explored with a superhuman society, so explore it!

Deku needs an actual vigilante arc. Not working with pro-heroes, but actually going out and taking matters into his own hands.

Have a theme of Expectation Vs. Reality be more present. This was explored a bit in mha, but not enough I feel like. I wanna be greeted to the idea of heroes being these incredible pillars of justice, how the kids see them to be, and then watch as this idealistic view slowly crumbles before them. Have them see the corruption that comes with the career, the true extent of the pain and misery heroes suffer, and all the systematic issues that come with it. Have them at some point question what being a hero means, and have them each find their own answer.

Better writing for all the characters in general tbh.

HAVE STAIN BE A REOCCURING VILLAIN. HAVE HIM LEAVE A BIGGER IMPACT ON DEKU. STAIN IS ONE OF THE BEST VILLANS IN MHA PLEASEEEEE-

This goes without saying, but the fanservice just doesn't need to be there. Attraction is completely normal, but write it in a way where it isn't borderline sexual harassment thank you very much. Also have Midnight put on some goddamn clothes around these kids for the love of god.

Have the quirk of doomsday theory be more prevalent, don't just use it for when it's convenient.

More Kirishima. Completely self-indulgent but I want him to be a major character.

And finally.... just show these kids being kids. I loved the episodes where they were goofing around, like the dorm contest and the school festival arc. Show more of their teenage worries outside of their hero studies, have them act immature and do dumb things more often! Show them just hanging out. Show them just being their authentic selves. Show this, so that when it does go into the more intense arcs and as the story becomes darker, have them reminisce on those moments of just being them. Have them grieve over who they were before.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

My family deserves financial compensation for being in the vicinity of my 4AM rambling about charles and his zesty little turtleneck in xmen evolution i think

[hauntingblue]

The combo of York and the seraphim is too cute... they are getting their asses handed to them by cutie pies

[camscendants]

The way we’re gonna have Arcane season 2 and the next life is strange game next year

[trashwithvariety]

so this has probably already been talked about in great detail since the end of the show (hannibal) but I just did a rewatch and I can't shut up about it. the incredible level of subtle details in this show is already insane but I noticed it much clearer in my rewatch during season 3 part two how quickly we see Will change.

during *The Great Red Dragon*, Will is back to mostly his pre-Hannibal self. We see him married with a family out in the country with his dogs and more specifically his clothes (I am going to be very specific about what he wears in this because it's these details that are so subtle but make his change so much more crispy). He's wearing very practical, warm weather clothes, looks like an outdoorsman.

like, reminder that this ↓

is how he shows up to meet Hannibal again for the first time in years. Glasses, coat, clearly clothes he would not think twice about wearing anywhere, kind of like how he dresses in season one. It's also in his expression and his stature (which bless Hugh Dancy for his portrayal of Will because I don't know who else could have done the subtle changes so eloquently)

now let me take you to the episode directly after (And the Woman Clothed with the Sun) he first sees Hannibal and has to come back to talk to him

i'm sorry??? Immediately with the crisp button down, tucked in, with the top buttons undone, hair slicked back, NO GLASSES and look. Look at how he stands and his expression and how comfortable he is, hands in pockets.

okay further evidence. And honestly arguably the scariest piece

it's the dead-eyed stare for me. We all know what happened to Chilton after this, and it's the fact that he knew what he was doing. God, Will was never more like Hannibal than he was at the end of season three. Clothes are not much different on purpose because he's playing the game now.

Sidebar that in almost all the scenes that he's bitchily talking to Bedelia, he's also very well dressed as if he's taking Hannibal's place in his manipulation of her.

By the time we see him in The Wrath of the Lamb, he has already decided that he wants Hannibal back. Vaguely suggesting to Jack to use Hannibal as bait for the Dragon, as if he didn't very well consider all the outcomes would likely lead to Hannibal escaping. The way they're looking conspiratorially at each other in the back of the van. How Will isn't even remotely surprised he walks out unscathed or how he doesn't question letting him drive them to wherever they're going to meet the dragon.

And once they get to the cliffside house, and they get settled and Will?

His shirt is tight, his expression is the SAME as the one Hannibal had in episode ONE season ONE, as he watches Hannibal BLEED OUT and wonders probably what they will do.

There are plenty of ways everyone that worked on this show displayed how Will was changing but I loved how they used his clothes to do it and how Hugh used his expressions to differentiate pre-Hannibal and post-Hannibal Will.

I could write a dissertation on this show it's insane and I will never shut up about my murderous gay husbands.

[simp999]

Lazy Day.

Knuckles The Echidna (movie/tv series) x reader

Sypnosis: Imagine being the first person to help knuckles finally truly relax.

Series: Knuckles (tv series)/ The Sonic Movies

Wc: 1.1k

Themes: Fluff, comfort, can be seen as platonic or romantic.

Note: Takes place in episode 1 of the Knuckles series

Masterlist

“That’s it, I’m gonna be late for work. You two,” Mrs. Wakowski gestures towards Sonic and Tails, “keep away from Knuckles.” 

“Roger that!” Sonic salutes dramatically, and Tails follows suit,

“Noted, Mrs. Wakowski,”

Mrs. Wakowski manages to phone another friend to give her a ride to work, still fuming, while Sonic shrugs and figures he’ll spend time with Tails. They leave the house to go for a walk- it was a beautiful day after all. Sonic picks up baseball gloves and a ball on the way out of the house, and Tails swishes his tails in excitement when he spots the objects, setting foot out of the house.

A few minutes later you walk in through the doors, a few bags in hand. 

“Hellooo!” You call out.

With no response, you raise a brow. Usually, the trio greets you. You then remember Mrs. Wakosky having work, but that still doesn’t explain the other three. You shrug it off, unloading the groceries on the countertop. You wash a bowl of grapes, walking around with them on the search for your favorite echidna. 

You first check out the workout room, but he’s nowhere to be found. Then, the couch where you’re expecting to find Sonic and tails, but still nothing. Eventually you make it to the attic where Knuckles resides, a grape being tossed into your mouth.

“Knux?” 

He grunts in response, not bothering to turn his head towards you. You tilt your head at him, raising a brow. Then you finally ask him what’s on your mind;

“Knux, what are you doing on the floor?”

“I have been grounded.”

You think for a moment, then chuckle.

“Hun, that doesn’t mean you have to lie on the ground. I expected you to be the type to still train or work out while grounded,”

“I cannot go to the workout area,”

“Are you making up excuses? You? Surely you can still do pushups-and sit-ups,” you teased. 

He swiftly sits up, exclaiming; “You are a genius!” 

You giggle as he sets off to start doing pushups, doing them at an ungodly speed. You always were impressed by his strength, praising him often. Although he claimed that your praises meant nothing, you couldn’t help but notice the way he smiled and sped up whatever exercise he was doing at the time.

You watched him for a little while longer, eating your grapes before getting an idea. You stood next you him and he paused his now one-handed pushups, looking up at you, 

“What do you want?” You knew he didn’t mean to sound rude, so you smiled and replied, “I was just thinking- what if I sat on your back as an extra challenge?”

You’ve done it before, he was the one to ask you to do it last time. 

“Excellent idea! Though, that is no challenge for me.” 

He got back into pushup position, and you quietly sat on his upper back, attempting to balance. Once he counted 10 more pushups, your hand hovered in front of his mouth, grape in hand. He froze for a second, analyzing it, before taking a bite and humming. From then on, you offered him a grape for every 10 pushups. It seemed like a good way to keep him going, as he seemed to speed up.

Once the bowl of grapes was finished, you encouraged him to take a break. It wasn’t easy of course, but you got him to hold off on pushups until you came back with a bowl of other fruit- peaches, apple slices, and mangoes. You came back only to find him doing sit-ups. You sighed and he told you between soft grunts- “I am not doing pushups, like you asked.”

“Well- yes, but the whole point was to give you a small break. How about let’s pause for a little and spend some time together instead?”

He squinted at you, glancing over at your soft smile- one he couldn’t resist. You grabbed a few pillows and blankets from around the house while you got Knuckles to pick a movie that he’d be interested in. When you came back, he hadn’t chosen one, claiming that he only wanted to watch something you would enjoy. Very sweet and all, but you wanted to make sure he didn’t just get up and start working out halfway through the movie. So, you picked three movies of varying genres, and he picked the action one out of them- the one you already assumed he’d like most.

As it played in the background, you asked him what had gotten him grounded. 

“The blue hedgehog wants me to ‘relax,’” he answered with air quotes.

You nod, humming, focusing on the movie. After you’d gotten all snuggled up in the blankets and pillows, he sat a few feet away from you.

“You don’t have to be a stranger, y’know. Come on, sit closer,” You muttered in a low voice, not wanting to talk over the movie too much. He contemplated for a moment, sitting much closer to you now. You offer him an apple slice, holding it to his lips. 

It doesn’t take long before he’s asking you about the movie and why people are doing certain regular human things, you enjoying his short excited comments. He punches the air and kicks his feet when he’s excited over a scene in the movie, too adorable. 

Eventually, he gets tired out and you feel a weight on your shoulder. You smile at the scene before you- you’ve never seen him so calm and peaceful. You’ve seen him happy, you loved playing games with him and the boys, but this was different. Seeing him sleeping was something unusual, as he rarely slept around others. ‘This must mean he feels completely comfortable,’ you thought with a content expression.

You lean back, putting the plate of snacks aside, and his head falls to your chest. As it rises and falls, he snuggles into you in his sleep. You begin to gently pet his fur, taking a moment to press a soft kiss to it. He wraps his arms further around you, tugging you impossibly closer, then loosening his grip. 

It doesn’t take long for you to follow him into dreamland, soft snores emitting from you. Your hand still on his quills, head resting on the pillow behind you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hours later, Sonic, Tails, and Mrs. Wakowski come back home only to find knuckles relaxing in your hold.

“Huh, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. He does always seem to calm down around them.”

“I knew they had a thing for eachother!”

“Sonic! Shh, let them rest,”

Tails quietly closes the door, letting the two of you relax in eachother’s arms.

.

.

.

April.26.24

[thesiltverses]

A very big thank you

I posted this on Patreon, but really wanted to share it here as well:

Post-show life begins

For a long while now I’ve been getting up at 4.30 or 5am, grabbing myself the first coffee of four, and then coming to sit at my desk.

I open up the assembly cut of the newest TSV episode.

I listen to it, I try and pin down which scenes I need to be going back over today. I try and push through the entire morning without a break because when the momentum stalls, that’s what kills your release schedule. (I also worry endlessly about just how much of my hair is falling out, and how spending 12 hours a day wearing headphones could be contributing to that.)

Today was different. I still woke up early - it’s a hard habit to shake off, and probably a useful one going forward. But I didn’t go to my desk, and I didn’t put my headphones on.

I went to the rocking chair we bought for our son when he comes, and I sat there - gently swaying and trying not to spill my coffee all over it, because for some reason it’s fucking beige - and looked out over the city skyline. 

I slugged back my coffee surrounded by all the stuff we’ve panic-bought for the baby, and I got to take all of it in - washcloths and the changing table and romper suits - with a sudden focus and a clarity and a rising excitement that I really hadn’t allowed myself to feel until today, because until today the work was still unfinished and there was still much left to be done.

All at once I felt very free, and fully sated, and happy and proud for everything that’s coming next.

There’s so much to feel grateful for from the past three years of working on this show. But what’s probably going to sit with me the most is being able to arrive at that moment and those feelings today, - and we have all of you incredible people to thank for that.

Not just in terms of listenership or financial support, although that’s been truly invaluable and a lifeline for us that’s enabled us to actually make the show - but also your enthusiasm, your passion, your jokes and comments and everything that’s helped to keep us motivated and working on it.

So - with as much feeling as words can convey, thank you so, so much for everything.

What’s coming next, in rough order

#1: Parentdom is going to take over our lives for a while! I also want to write the final Patreon episode commentaries in the next few days, while I have the time and the clear memories. #2: The next thing we’ll organise will be the post-season Q&A (we’d also like to do some kind of off-camera cast party if we can make schedules work, just to say thank you to our amazing VAs and celebrate with them). Please do ask us questions! #3: We have long-unfinished commitments to the Patreon which I need to complete: the last two episodes of So Long, Good Luck, and rounding off Sid Wright’s story. As ever, huge thank-yous for your patience with these; they’ve just been impossible to polish off while also working on the main show so much. #4: Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time is the possibility of going back to Season 1 and redesigning it from scratch to try and bring it closer in style to S2 and S3. We have the raw audio files - some of the mic quality will just be rough no matter what, but we can certainly try.  This is something I want to be conscientious and careful about; I very much want to respect the sound design work that’s already taken place, and ensure we’re not overriding anything. But I do know that the initial quality still sometimes puts new listeners off; we were learning a lot about direction and mastering from scratch, and our designers were working with limited budget and a total lack of plugins, so there’s simply a lot more we can achieve now. (This would also be a good opportunity for me to finally rework the transcripts, another fallen hurdle). #5: A few months back, we were contacted by a literary agent in NYC who was interested in us adapting the show into a series of novels. There’s a long road ahead to actually get published, but I'm thrilled to say that I have signed with them and I’m really excited to hopefully start work on the first book once I’ve settled into dad-dom. I’ll need to check what’s possible, but if it doesn’t interfere with any contract condition I’d obviously love to share excerpts on here as it’s written. #6: Then there’ll also be another larger audiodrama project - we’ve spoken about the different possibilities before! Excited to get started on our final choice.

Just one last word about endings

God, endings are scary. Because endings are impossible.

How many serialised stories actually end in a way that’s received unequivocally well?  People yelled at The Sopranos for its ambiguity and open-endedness. People criticised Breaking Bad for treating Walt too sympathetically at the end and relying on a generic mob of snarling Nazis to act as his final foe.

Endings are either too pat and neat, or too inconclusive to be satisfying, or too surreal and dreamlike, or they simply make what feels like the wrong choices for the characters we care about. We’re all caught in that barbed wire, creators and audience alike, weighed down by the baggage of what’s come before and we've already spent so much time anticipating the infinite possibilities of how it could all turn out - it’s like we can’t get free of the story that’s trying to end. 

And the beautiful thing about these longform, iterative works is that they insist upon becoming completely ungovernable. No matter how much of a planner the creator claims to be, how much prepwork they carry out - they were never really in control. There’s spontaneity and surprises and dead ends and beautiful distractions that come spilling out along the way (I was baffled and delighted to learn that people really - at the end of the show, with such limited time to spare - wanted to find out what had happened to Eddie*). 

So they can’t end. Not really. There’s too much wonderful mess in them to ever be reasonably disentangled.

And, of course, for every ending people remember with frustration or dissatisfaction, there’s another hundred endings that nobody remembers at all, because we lost our enthusiasm along the way and it feels better to keep going back to the start and avoiding the slow decline. (Who the fuck remembers how the umpteenth X-Files reboot ended? What increasingly tired post-modern antics was Alan Moore getting up to in the final League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books?). I really just didn’t want the show to end up in that latter category.

All of that probably sounds like I’m warding off criticism about the show's ending, but for me it’s actually been the opposite. 

For an ending which is all about narrative dissatisfaction, and failed potential and missed opportunities, and how we need to come to terms with the lack of existential fairness and certainty and narrative control in our lives and keep ploughing forward all the same for as long as we possibly can, I’m massively stunned at just how positive the reception has been on here and elsewhere, and that’s something I’m actively having to process, because I think I was fearfully anticipating much more pushback.

But, look - the Eskew finale was originally quite poorly-received and then people came back around to it over time. So I’m not going to pat myself on the back too hard, because maybe it’ll ultimately be the opposite with this show, and that’s OK. For 200 years everyone was convinced King Lear was improved by having everyone survive at the end and get married. Endings take time to settle into their final condition.

For now, I am incredibly relieved that the ending we chose seems to have landed for most people, and I’m incredibly grateful for the lovely messages we’ve got about it and for the trust in us that you’ve all shown throughout the story.

So, yeah, let’s end with another thank you, because that’s what I feel so deeply and so forcefully at this point.

Thank you so much again, and speak soon.

Jon

*My take? We’ve established that the guy is in some kind of blue-collar job and has been pushed into constant overtime due to the reduced workforce. We’ve seen that the so-called ‘national holiday’ doesn’t actually rescue workers from their commitments. So I personally imagine that Eddie was working during the parade somewhere on the city outskirts, and is alive and well.

[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

rocker eddie actor steve fame au p1 | p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

Steve follows Eddie out to LA. Indiana’s home, sure, but Eddie’s got dreams bigger than the both of them. And Steve loves him, wants to be there with him the whole way through.

He does odd jobs to pass the time, nannies a lot, works on sets. Extra work pays the best, quick easy cash, so he dances to click tracks in cut scenes of teen shows and pays for their groceries. 

A producer on one of the bigger jobs picks him out on set, tells him he has a good screen presence. He gives him a contact for a proper agent. Steve books the third thing he tries out for.

It's a small role on a pilot that hasn't been picked up yet. He's excited but doesn't think much of it. Mostly he’s just happy for the paycheck. Corroded Coffin's really struggling to break through. They just got dropped from their tiny indie label and Eddie's really bummed.

And Steve uses some of the money from his big, SAG-approved paycheck to try to cheer Eddie up. Make him feel better about the whole thing. But it does the opposite. Eddie keeps acting resentful. 

It only gets worse when Steve's show does get picked up.

Turns out he tested really well with audiences. So the writers rewrote him into the main cast, extended his two episode arc into the whole season. And Steve's really grateful for it, figures they both should be. Eddie's not really working and they need the money.

Corroded coffin is still labelless and basically broken up by the time the show comes out. 

It's a smash hit. Steve's character is a fan favourite. Overnight, he finds himself within the throes of fame. He gets a manager and a PR team and a personal assistant.

He's away from home a lot, doing the media circuit to promote the show. People start prodding into his personal life. His manager, his team, and the network all advise him to appear single and available. 

Eddie makes it easy for him. He leaves without saying a word.

Years down the road, Steve is settled into his fame. He's done a couple movies (some hits, most misses). His show is heading into its final season. He's dated a lot, mostly other celebrities.

Then he walks into a CVS on Venice & sees a name he's been trying to forget for 7 years.

Right on the cover of NME. Eddie had gone to London, apparently. Finally broke through there. Was releasing his debut album later this month. 

At least that's what Steve could tell from looking at it. He doesn’t buy the magazine. He hops into his car and drives til he’s out of gas.

He used to do that back in Indiana. When everything got too loud. Used to do that with Eddie, once they finally got their shit together. Just drive until the tank is near empty & then pull up to some blinking gas station. Head home.

Steve strands himself in Santa Barbara instead.

He sleepwalks through the next few months. The town is buzzing around the impending arrival of Eddie Munson. His album, Penitence, debuted to solid numbers & has only been gaining traction since. He's promoted it in London, New York, done Glastonbury & the late festival circuit.

It's gotten to the point where it's big enough that its hit single is even terrorizing Steve's local grocery store. He knows the first three notes really well. Knows cause that's his cue to leave. 

He hasn't listened to the album. He hasn't read any of the interviews.

In his head it's a good kind of revenge. Eddie left without a trace. Steve should respect his wishes, right? That's what Eddie wanted so badly that he couldn't even call. 

He should respect that too, be staying dead instead of haunting every busboard like a poltergeist.

But he's Eddie so of course he doesn't. So instead Steve spends all his free time thinking about when he'll inevitably run into him. Will it be the VMA afterparty? Will it be the CBS lot? Will it be the whole foods he keeps running into Michelle Pfeiffer at? (Probably not that)

In the end, it's a knock at his door.

Eddie came straight from the airport. Big duffel at his feet. He looks a decade older but his eyes are the same. He doesn't say I'm sorry, or I fucked up. Doesn't get down on his knees & beg. He just asks:

"Did you listen to the album?"

There's a part of Steve that wants to throw a fit. Be big and loud and start lobbing things at Eddie. He'd seen a movie star do that on set once. Over a PA bringing him the wrong brand of flavored water. But he's not Wahlberg, so he invites Eddie inside. 

And they sit and listen to Penitence.

It's an apology. A long one. Fifteen tracks though Eddie always used to be a real asshole about albums that were longer than twelve. 

And it covers everything. All the regret and resentment and the ego that clouded him when fame happened for Steve and not for him. When Steve didn't even want it. It's sorry over and over and over again. It's I fucked up and please take me back. It's ego death. It's disgust and guilt and self-flagellation. 

And when it's over, it dawns on Steve, who feels just as heartbroken as ever, that it's not enough.

[copperbadge]

I knew when I gave my stepfather all twelve seasons of The Big Bang Theory I would likely be watching some of it with him, and it's a real experience. I watched a couple of early seasons of the show when it was airing, partly because my folks liked it so it was something we could text about and bond over, but I was usually half-paying attention.

When my stepdad put on a couple of episodes from the season nine DVD, at first I thought we were watching a clip compilation of some kind, because they were jarringly abrupt -- most scenes only seem to last about thirty seconds and rarely are you in one for more than two minutes; often the scenes seem to cut off prematurely. A lot of the time you can read from context what happens next in a scene, but the actual action of it is skipped over in favor of leaping to another weird mini-scene.

There are even sometimes scenes where within the action of the moment there's a slice of conversation very clearly missing -- for example, three of the characters are testing out a retinal scanner, and after finding that it works in conventional ways, two of them try to fool it by showing it one of each of their eyes to scan. But between the "this is how it works" moment and the "let's try and trick it" moment, there's a really rough cut where them coming up with the idea to trick it was clearly meant to go.

It's evident that this was done to tell the most story in the least amount of time, since at this point in television even a 22-minute sitcom was pushing the boundaries of length. But in a way I think it also suggests some reasons the show was so popular. Watching a show cut in this way, your own mind is doing about 40% of the storytelling, and if you're telling a story to yourself you're more likely to enjoy it than when you're being told a full cohesive story, since you have more control over the narrative and can tailor it to your preferences.

It's truly wild to see a fevered collage of mildly suggestive innuendo and jokes designed to appeal to a 4chan teen from 2005 semi-convincingly pass itself off as a narrative, and be viscerally aware that it did it for twelve years.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 2

(read on AO3)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Chapter Navigation: 1 , 2 (you're here)

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Murder, Gun Violence, Threats, Blackmailing, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Attempted Gaslighting, Mentions of Murder, Body Control (Doflamingo's Devil Fruit), Forced Proximity, Mentions of Fratricide, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Touch-Starved Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Protective Donquixote Doflamingo, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, Oda Made Us Cry Over a Ship I Will Attempt To Make Us Cry Over a Couch

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: Y'all were so supportive on Ch1 I was blown away like Doffy after Luffy hit him with Leo Bazooka, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH ❤️❤️🫶🏻🫶🏻😭😭. Thank you all so much for the comments, I'm sorry I was late replying to some, but work and life and all that boring stuff. Thank you for all the reblogs and likes and the tags in your reblogs+comments in your reblogs, I loved them all 🥹💕 There is a dangerous lack of Red Suit Doffy GIFs, and I will single-handedly change that. I absolutely adore every single comment you guys left, thank you all so much for the support. Enjoy Red Suit Doffy kidnapping you 😉❤️ P.S. get your "punch Doflamingo in the dick cus you can reach there" here 🦩🍆💥🤛🏻

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isabeauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady @wrennyx @yan-love-reader @caldrien @rujellyroll @bonzaibaby @emilyfeetumbrella @ghostiequill @pipsterz @graceland321 @panthorastormheart @thesmolestsage @thesaltycrisp @hurricanebrownie @heroinicyfingers @t-sarah @aganhim @smol-flower-kiddo @vaniiiavengeance @sagyunaro @froggiewrites (I think you might be interested 👉🏻👈🏻🥺) @saracrossing02 (if it's your vibe)

Also... DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED EPISODE 706 OF ONE PIECE. THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 706 IN THIS CHAPTER IE MENTIONS OF HOW ROSINANTE DIED.

Chapter 2

A month after moving into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, the only thing you two didn’t have was a couch. So, your first outing off the island you moved onto was a trip to Mall Island, an island full of shopping malls. It was only a three hour sail away, and with the marine ship transporting you and Rosinante, you and him found yourselves standing in front of a massive building of the most popular furniture store in North Blue an hour later.

“Rosinante… I don’t think this is the shop for us… are you sure you want to go shopping for our couch here?”

“Of course I do!” Rosinante said. “This is the best furniture shop in North Blue!” 

‘It’s a good thing I pulled out the money from my paycheck slip as Corazón this morning from the bank.’ thought Rosinante. ‘I’d go broke if I shopped here with my paycheck as a commander.’

“This is one of the places where royalty shops, isn’t it?” you asked as the two of you entered the massive building. From inside, it looked like a palace, with marble staircases and pillars on the walkway supporting the other four floors. The people passing through the lobby and walking to the moving staircases were dressed in expensive clothes. Feeling incredibly self-conscious — normal people like you and Rosinante didn’t belong here — you leaned into his leg. You would have dressed into something nicer than a sweater, blouse and trousers, but Rosinante had done the same.

Then again, Rosinante was rather lax about dressing. His formal outfit for formal events was his commander outfit. You were lax about clothing too, most times. This time, though, you certainly felt underdressed.

“Yeah,” said Rosinante cheerily, picking up a guide flier to locate the living room section quicker. He noticed the way you leaned into him; he wrapped his long arm around your waist, his large hand settling on your hip, bringing you a sense of safety and comfort.

“Don’t worry,” He pulled out thick stacks of money he brought in his pockets, smiling at you. “I’ve got extra money if we need it!”

You frowned. It didn’t take a genius to know where he got the money from, from who he got it from, and for what he got it as payment.

“Your pirate older brother’s money,” you said.

You didn’t very much like Rosinante using his paycheck as Corazón for you. You wanted him to keep it for his undercover mission. Doflamingo would get suspicious if Rosinante suddenly asked him for more money and told him he’d spent it fast.

Rosinante started to sweat. “W-We can look at it as his present for our wedding!”

“Rosinante,” you said sternly. “Do you want to have sex on that couch or not? Because the mere thought of our couch being bought by Doflamingo’s blood money makes me as dry as the desert of Alabasta.”

Rosinante flushed red. “We’re in public!”

“At least we’ve got a new safe word,” you said.

“Doffy cannot be our safe word!” cried Rosinante.

“Flamingo, then.” you decided, fighting back from smiling; your husband's gawping, handsome, shocked, blushing face was adorable.

“Y/N!” your husband cried.

You giggled. “Speaking of Alabasta and deserts... Doesn’t Crocodile have this drying power with his Sand-Sand Fruit? Isn’t that a bit... You know... Unfunctional when...”

“He’s a Logia, he can deactivate his powers at will, including his drying power.”

“Devil Fruits are weird...” you mumbled. “Well, if I ever see your brother, I’ll just run.”

Rosinante looked at you with a severe, serious expression. “You can’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You can’t run away from Doffy.” said Rosinante; it was his Navy commander tone, no longer relaxed, but calm and steely. “It’s not about speed, or height, or how long your legs are. You can’t run away.”

“The strings can cut flesh, but they can’t reach that far...” you said.

“I thought so, too.” said Rosinante. “Then I saw Doffy decapitate a man fleeing from him because the guy got a lucky cut on my arm. The poor bastard was thirty meters away.”

“But they’re strings!” you argued. “Strings! Strings shouldn’t be that long!”

“The limit of Devil Fruits is your imagination. As long as you imagine it, possibility is, you can do it.” Rosinante frowned. “And Doffy’s got a big, wild, dark imagination.”

“Don’t worry. You two will never meet.” Rosinante gives you a smile; it looks rigid, and forced, uncertain in a way you’ve never seen before. “So don’t worry about it.”

You and Rosinante went to the first floor where the living room section was and headed to the section of four meter couches.

Rosinante fell to his knees when he saw the price of a sectional couch he liked, tested out and loved the feel of; it cost four million berries. His soul appeared to leave his body as he muttered, “F-Four... M-million?”

In the end, the furniture was too luxurious and too tacky for both your tastes. It was comfortable, yes, but it didn’t validate the massive price tag.

You could see Rosinante started thinking the same thing; it was all in his face, growing more sullen and depressed the more you two browsed through the big four meter long L-shaped and sectional couches. You wondered if the furniture reminded him too much of the furniture in Mariejois, or of his home in that island before people burned it down.

You were feeling quite discouraged yourself. You wanted Rosinante to be happy with the couch. After all, he would be the one mostly napping on the couch while you cooked lunch or dinner, and it needed to be of good quality, including the soft cushions for your husband’s bones.

“Maybe we can transport our couch from our apartment in Marineford to here?” you suggested as you two sat in the cafeteria of the marine ship transporting you back to your island.

“No! I want to buy one!” yelled Rosinante fiercely.“You’re going to be spending more time in that house than I will! I want you to be comfortable, and I want you to be happy with how the house looks!”

Your eyes widened, your chest warming up. “Rosi...”

“We’re gonna find the perfect couch for us, no matter what!” yelled Rosinante, clenching his fist in the air determinedly.

“Y-Yeah…” you said, not sure how to react at the surge of inspiration your husband showed over a couch except to stare at him, awed and in disbelief that such a wonderful man was your husband.

Oh. you think, staring at your husband’s older brother. I get it now, Rosi.

I really can’t run away.

Wulf lit his cigarette and took an inhale. He puffed out smoke through his lips. He and Rosinante stared at the white, sectional, four meter long couch in front of the porch wrapped in plastic wrap.

“So, of all people, why call me?” asked Wulf. Rosinante stood beside him, in his Corazón disguise, black coat, make-up, pink shirt and all, smoking alongside him.

“Well,” replied Rosinante, smoke coming from his cigarette, “it was either you, or actually calling my brother and explaining to him why I have a house and a wife and then if he doesn’t try to move in to bother us and cockblock me for the rest of my life and flirt with my wife every second, asking him to lift this with his strings because no way would Doffy bother with carrying furniture, saints forbid he does something as plebeian as that -”

“Okay, I get it!” yelled Wulf. “Your blame card has been successful, heart boy! Just let me finish smoking and then we’ll move it in!”

Rosinante smirked victoriously.

“I can’t believe you listened to my advice and took a white one...” said Wulf.

“Our kitchen’s blue, and right next to the living room, and white goes with blue.” said Rosinante.

“It’s quite a big one,” said Wulf, walking around the couch. “Is it modular?”

“Yeah. The sections can be separated, so it can be two couches. I think I’ll just put the ottoman as a footrest.”

“Make sure to put a blanket over it,” said Wulf. “If you get your muddy boots on it, your wife will kill you.”

Rosinante chuckled.

After they were done smoking, cigarettes discarded on the ashtray on the coffee table on the porch, Rosinante unlocked the doors of the house and he and Wulf decided to lift the left sectional first.

“Where’s the missus?” asked Wulf as he lifted the couch sectional under its base, hoping to seas Rosinante wouldn’t trip over a stair.

“Out in the market buying groceries for lunch,” said Rosinante, lifting the couch at a higher angle to get it up the wooden stairs. “I only came back thirty minutes ago, and the couch was delivered fifteen minutes ago.”

“Talk about nice timing,” said Wulf, chuckling. “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Rosinante beamed brightly. “Yeah.”

“Where’d you find this one?” Wulf asked.

“In one of the furniture magazines Doffy gave me,” chirped Rosinante. “I went to the island where the store is and tried it out and it was the perfect one.”

“Furniture magazine?” asked Wulf, confused, blinking repeatedly. “Doflamingo gave you a furniture magazine?”

“Ah, um,” said Rosinante, blushing. “I stacked up on them to find the perfect couch, and Doffy caught me reading them. I told him I like reading furniture magazines. He’s started buying loads for me. I’ll have to read furniture magazines until I’m done with this entire undercover now, though...”

Wulf let out a “pf” before he burst out laughing.

Rosinante frowned at him. “It’s not funny, Wulf.”

“Oh, it is!” said Wulf, cackling, his chest shaking with his laughter. “It’s hilarious! Your evil older brother buying you all furniture magazines just so he can get his little brother his most fun stuff to read! Oh saints, I’ll die laughing!”

Rosinante, however, was growing more serious by the second.

“Don’t laugh at him.” said Rosinante, turning serious. “He might be evil, but he’s still my brother. Don’t laugh at him. Not over that. He’s buying the magazines because he thinks I like reading them. He has no reason to buy them. He buys them because he wants to make me happy, in his own way. Don’t laugh at him over that.”

Wulf sighed. “All right. Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I know,” said Rosinante. They made it into the living room. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s put it here. Three, two, one…”

The two marines put down the sectional. They both let out huffs, and sat down on the sectional, panting for a few moments, catching their breath.

“It really is good… ah, like a cloud…” Wulf smiled happily.

“Told ya,” said Rosinante, smiling happily as well. “It’s so comfy.”

The two marines sighed in bliss.

“Let’s get the other one,” said Wulf.

Rosinante groaned.

“Come on, big guy,” said Wulf, grabbing Rosinante by the arm, pulling him up as Rosinante groaned some more.

Five minutes later, you walked through the fence gate and closed it behind yourself, entering the large front garden, carrying bags of groceries.

When you climbed the porch, you heard Rosinante’s and Wulf’s voices.

“We did it! Screw you, Doflamingo, I’m Rosi’s number one guy to call for moving furniture! High five, Rosi!”

Your heart leapt in joy. Rosinante was back. You fumbled with the keys in your excitement — you had far too many keys on your keychain — and after unlocking the doors, you heard the two marines squawk.

“Shit! Your wife’s back! Act natural!”

“There’s a four meter long, white sectional couch of eight hundred thousand berries in my living room, how am I supposed to act natural?!” asked Rosinante.

“I don’t know, light yourself on fire?” Then, “Not on the couch, Rosi!”

“Saints, she’s gonna kill me.” said Rosinante. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bought this...”

“No, no, she’s gonna love it.” Wulf assured. “All this space for the fun times you two can have. She’ll love it, and so will you. This is the best use of money. For sex.”

“Is that why you said it should be four meters?!” shrieked Rosinante.

“Duh!” said Wulf. “Why do you think you took a white one?!”

“Gah!”

Your heart racing in your breast, you stepped into the living room, and felt your breath hitch.

Rosinante was sitting on the large white couch.

The black feathers of Rosinante’s coat flattered the white couch, like a black-and-white checkerboard. For a moment, you were too mesmerized by Rosinante’s beauty, sitting there on the couch in the setting sunlight casting a heavenly glow on his frame, that you forgot to speak.

Rosinante lit up like the sun the moment he saw you, his brown eyes glowing with joy.

“Heya!” Rosinante says cheerily, showing you a peace sign, giving you his big, goofy grin. “Surprise!”

You dropped the grocery bag and leapt on him, hugging him. Rosinante doesn’t fall, catching you in his arms with ease, slightly shocked and wide-eyed.

You hold him tight, so tight your knuckles turn white, holding onto the black feathers tight, basking in their softness in your hand.

“Welcome home, Rosi.”

Rosinante’s entire body softens. All the makeup he masks himself with melts away, and he puts away the mantle of Corazon within a moment, returning to you in full, all soft and gentle, his strong arms lifting, wrapping around you, and all he is now is your husband.

“I’m home,” he whispers lovingly, smiling into your shoulder. The two of you bask in each other, in your heartbeats, your bodies, your touch, in comfortable, loving silence.

“And with a new couch!” said Wulf, breaking the silence.

“And look!” said Wulf, hopping over the backrest and onto the couch beside Rosinante, grabbing your husband in a headlock.“It can take a full ton!”

Rosinante tapped furiously on Wulf’s forearm for his best friend to release him from the chokehold, which Wulf did.

“What, did you two suddenly go from hundred-ninety kilograms to five hundred kilograms each?” you teased, smiling at them.

The two men gasped.

“(Y/N)-chan, how could you call me — and sweet, sweet Rosi here — fat?”

Rosinante nodded furiously, tears in his soft brown eyes.

“You’re the one who said a ton,” you said, lifting your eyebrows at Wulf.

“It’s a manner of speech from South Blue! Darn!”

You could feel Rosinante’s gaze on you.

“Wulf,” you said, staring at Rosinante; he was staring at you longingly, but was too polite to tell Wulf to leave. “We’ll hold a barbeque tomorrow if you leave in the next ten seconds.”

It didn’t take Wulf a single second to realise the meaning.

“Oh, I’m out the door, Mrs. Donquixote!” sang Wulf cheerily, giving you and Rosinante a wolfish grin, getting up from the couch, heading straight to the doors. “You know me and barbeque and my best friend! Can’t betray either of them!”

Rosinante blushed. “Thanks, Wulf. I’m getting you beer with that barbeque.”

“Don’t mention it, Rosi.” said Wulf. “Bye! Have fun, lovebirds!”

You and Rosinante waved Wulf away. The moment the doors shut, you and Rosinante broke the distance with a desparate, long kiss, your lips meeting. His large hands settled on your back, hugging you tight, and your own arms settled around his neck before burying into his soft, fluffy hair.

When you parted after numerous kisses, needing air, you whispered into his collarbone, “I hate your brother.”

“Why?” asked Rosinante, laughing. You leaned away from his chest, and looked up at him; Rosinante froze. He could see it. He could see how much you missed him, how much you worried for him; it was written all over your face.

“Because he’s keeping you from me,” you whispered, full of ache and longing.

Rosinante went quiet. Carefully, he grabbed your hips and settled you atop of him; it was your turn to gasp, to blush, to clutch him tight.

“I’m right here, mi amor,” he said, deep, warm brown eyes staring into yours. His fingers caressed your cheek, took your hand, brought it to his mouth, and placed a firm kiss on it, leaving a lipstick shape on your knuckle. He looked at you again, offering you a small, soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m all yours for the next two days.”

You smiled, staring lovingly at him. You ran your fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you... like the couch?” Rosinante asked nervously.

“Yes, Rosinante,” you said softly, smiling at your husband. “I love the couch.”

Gently, Rosinante leaned down and kissed you again, uncaring for his lipstick; you found you rather loved getting lipstick marks from him, and ever since you’d told him such, he wasn’t as hesitant to kiss you with his make-up on.

You pulled your arms tighter around his head, pulling him down, the black feathers of his coat tickling your arms and face. You wanted him closer, until there was no space between you two. Gravity and weight did the rest, and you ended up laying on the softest couch you’d ever laid on. Rosinante fell atop you, bending his legs beside your thighs to support himself well enough to keep his weight from pressing into you, kissing you deeply. You sighed happily into his passionate lips, holding him tight, relieved he was back.

Rosinante’s lipstick tasted of roses.

It’s wrong, you think, staring wide-eyed at a man that doesn’t belong here, that shouldn’t be near you, that isn’t your husband. It’s all wrong.

Doflamingo’s slicked up, spiked up blond hair is the same colour as the bouquet of primroses sitting on his thigh. The blond spikes reminded you of a golden crown worn by a king.

His face was completely different from Rosinante’s; where Rosinante had round cheeks, Doflamingo had lean, sharp ones. Doflamingo also had a more narrow facial structure and chin than Rosinante. Some things were similar, so similar the resemblance deeply unsettled you. They both had the sharp, refined, thin nose, the strong jawline and beautiful lips. Their facial shape was different, giving entirely different impressions. Where Rosinante’s face was angelic and gentle — even boyish from some angles — in shape, fitting the picture of a kind, sweet prince charming, Doflamingo’s face was tough-looking, masculine and extremely aristocratic, painting the picture of a devilishly handsome mob boss or a cruel, cunning, ruthless king. Doflamingo’s forehead was bare, tanned, with furrow lines above his sunglasses.

Doflamingo’s entire appearance looked incredibly threatening and unfriendly. If you met him on the street, you would have kept away from him and shivered after he finally passed because of the air of danger surrounding him.

Draped over his broad shoulders, fluffy and humongous, covered with thousands of flamingo feathers, was his extravagant pink feather coat, spread along the white surface of your husband’s couch. You were used to the black feathers on the whiteness, not pink ones.

The change of colours startled you. Doflamingo was a malignant juxtaposition of colours that didn’t have a place in your home. Red and black instead of blue and white, pink feathers instead of black ones.

Doflamingo spoke.

“Don’t try to run, or call for help.”

Doflamingo’s voice was deep like thunder, commanding like a god’s, unsettling you deep to your core, your limbs freezing up with instinctual, animalistic fear.

Despite it, you bared your teeth at him, full of hatred and anger, because he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be sitting on Rosi’s couch, it was supposed to be Rosi sitting there, not…

Him!

“Otherwise, I’ll turn this entire island bloody.”

You don’t move. You don’t move a single inch, but your lungs lift and fall rapidly in absolute fear as you stare at the tall demon in terror.

Are you breathing?

You don’t know.

You can’t think about breathing, too busy frozen by terror.

“By that look, I suppose you know who I am,” he said conversationally, his dark, deep voice resounding all across the safe haven of your house which Rosinante’s soft laugh used to fill with warmth and comfort.

Doflamingo turned his head fully toward you, flashing you a sharp, malicious smile full of teeth.

You felt cold under the massive, powerful weight of his gaze. And small. So very, incredibly small.

How? How did he find out about you so quickly, how did he find out where you live?

The spy.

The damned spy.

If you ever meet that spy, you’ll strangle them.

Doflamingo was the kind of terrifying that would send you running, but you knew you wouldn’t make it far.

“You’re Donquixote Doflamingo.” you said shakily. Maybe you’re already dead, and this is hell, with your husband’s older brother as your assigned tormentor. “Captain of the Donquixote Pirates.”

“Yes. And you’re Donquixote (Y/N).” He said this with the nastiest, most evil smile, speaking the name Donquixote arrogantly and smugly, like the royal title of godhood he must see it as, and most likely didn’t consider someone like you worthy of. “My dead brother’s wife, and my sister-in-law. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Dead brother’s wife.

The words stung at your heart.

“Yes. Very nice.” you said with an impressive amount of politeness considering how much you loathed him. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Doflamingo burst out laughing; you jumped at the sound. He howled with laughter. He cackled, throwing his head back with a wheeze, bursting out into a full on raucous demonic laughter, loud and uproarious, the sound crescendoing into unnatural territory. The sound of his laugh made the hairs on your nape stand on end; it truly sounded like the laugh of an evil demon from the darkest, deepest pits of hell.

You didn’t know someone’s laughter could freeze you in terror, but here you were, proven wrong. You wished to never hear such a thing again. The sound of Doflamingo’s laughter would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Mmm…fufufufufu! Fufufufufufufufufu!”

You put down your grocery bag — slowly, because you weren’t a fool. Even if he was holding his stomach and trying to stifle his laughter with his hand over his grinning, stretched out mouth, you knew he was keeping you in his sights.

“You’re hilarious!” he chortled, gasping. “I haven’t… hahahahaha… laughed this hard since… I forgot!”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to be done laughing.

“It breaks my heart, you know.” he said conversationally, moving his tanned, long, large fingers around the air, crooking them like a puppeteer. You froze on instinct, all your limbs going stiff; your body’s misguided attempt not to be caught in the strings that could come out any time, like the concealed claws of a tiger.

You didn’t know where to look; at his face or his hands. Doflamingo was so big that if he weren’t five meters away from you, sitting on your couch, your eyes wouldn’t be able to see all of him within your range of eyesight.

Doflamingo knew you were watching. He used his fingers like a lure he knew people would fall for all too well, and he’d managed to hypnotize you with their movements, too, forcing your attention onto them without you realising.

“I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” he said, smile completely gone, and somehow, his downturned lips were worse.

What?

“He didn’t...” you started.

Speak, dammit.

Unfortunately, it’s hard when your lungs are barely grabbing in enough air. The pressure of his presence suffocated you.

“...want you there.”

Doflamingo’s chuckle is as dark and deep as his voice.

“Fufufu, I bet.” Doflamingo said. “Must’ve been paranoid I’d steal you away. In the end, I found you, anyway.”

He smiled again. It wasn’t a nice smile, nothing like Rosinante’s smile. It was the sort of evil, triumphant smile the devil smiled knowing he’d won.

“What do you want, Doflamingo?” you asked coldly, tone icy and full of restrained anger you fought to bury.

“What do I want?” he asked, and laughed again. He lounged back on the couch, the picture of arrogance. His entire body language told you the truth Rosinante’s been telling you since you met him — his older brother was an arrogant, overconfident asshole who thought he deserved the world because of what he was born as.

“For starters, I’d like you to come live with me,” said Doflamingo.

What?

Nevermind, you thought. He’s actually insane. He’s mentally unstable.

“I refuse,” you said firmly.

Doflamingo laughed again, startling you once more.

“That’s not how it works, though.” said Doflamingo through his chuckles, placing a hand on his bared forehead, continuing to giggle; he sounded like he needed to be admitted into a psych ward. His entire body shook with his amusement; his chest, his shoulders, the feathers of his coat swaying. “That’s not how it works at all, Mrs. Donquixote.”

What do you do? He’s not going to kill you? He wants you to come live with him? That sounds worse, so much worse.

Do you run? There’s no way. You can’t run. You’re barely forcing yourself to stand as it is, full of terror from being in Doflamingo’s mere presence, in the same room as him. If you try to run, you won’t get far. He’ll stop you with his strings, or just catch up to you in no time with his long legs that are longer than your entire body. Who knows what he’ll do to you if you try to run.

You still have the revolver in your back pocket. You need to get it. It’s the only chance you have.

You cast your eyes around the room in an attempt to find something to help you. What you noticed on the side table near the seat where Doflamingo sat, however, grabbed all your attention.

An empty plate with only chocolate syrup.

You knew what the plate had held.

Somehow… somehow, that little thing was the last straw. First he kills your husband, then he breaks into your house, and then, like he hadn’t already done enough, eats the pancakes you made like he’s got any right to them.

“Where are my pancakes?” you asked. You hated how weak your voice sounded.

“Ah,” said Doflamingo. “I ate them.”

“You...” Your brain was scrambling to make sense of it. “Ate my pancakes?”

Those pancakes were supposed to be your last meal, and the pink-feathered fucker couldn’t even leave that alone?

Doflamingo shoots you a grin, big and remorseless. “They were delicious.”

For a moment, you were flabbergasted by him. First, he killed your husband, broke into your house, and as a cherry on top, he decided to make himself at home and eat what was supposed to be your last meal. Had he not done enough to you? Did he enjoy twisting the knife? You were already dead inside. Now Doflamingo was just kicking your corpse for fun.

If you didn’t shoot him, you were going to smash his skull in to wipe that big, cocksure smile off his face.

But how... How to draw the gun without Doflamingo stopping you?

“Move his eyes,” said a calm voice, and you froze. It was Rosinante. Rosinante’s voice. You felt gosebumps on your spine; it felt like he was standing right beside you; your eyes filled with tears. “He needs to move his entire head away from you. His entire field of sight needs to be away from you. Distract him with something he wants, something he’ll immediately go to investigate. A sound, an object he’s looking for, a threat.”

Something he wants...

“There’s more in the fridge,” you said calmly, with the resignation of someone who could do nothing to stop someone like Doflamingo from doing whatever he wanted.

You didn’t even offer it. However, it was like how pirates were with treasure. Apparently, Doflamingo considered your pancakes delicious enough to treat them as such — like treasure — because he turned his head completely away from you, over his back, pivoting his body to the left to be able to fully look where the light blue kitchen was.

With immense speed, you pulled out the revolver hidden beneath your shirt, aimed it at him, and pulled down the safety hammer.

The moment the safety lock clicked, Doflamingo turned his head to you.

“Woah, woah!” he called, laughing again. “You’re that angry about the pancakes?”

He’s laughing. You’re aiming a gun at him, and the bastard is laughing. He killed his little brother, his little brother, he killed your husband, and he’s laughing.

He really is insane.

“Rosi was right,” you growled, fury and anger spitting past your lips, a snarl on your lips. “You are crazy.”

“Fufufufu! You’re the one aiming a gun at me, woman!” he said between his bouts of manic laughter.

“You’re the one with a devil fruit that can control and cut people, and the one who killed his brother, pirate.” you hissed.

Doflamingo smiled, sharp and wide, yet despite the smile, you couldn’t tell what was going through his head at all.

What now, Rosi?

“Start stepping back. Get out of there. Keep your pistol pointed at him. Do NOT look away from him.”

You could do none of those things. You knew you should, but you couldn’t. If you did those things, if you ran away, you wouldn’t be able to look at Rosinante in heaven. It felt like it would be the greatest dishonor to him.

“How about you lower the gun?” asked Doflamingo.

The way he said that pissed you off. Like he was talking to a pet that decided to try to bite him when he went to pick it up.

“How about you burn in hell, you piece of shit?” you growled, baring your teeth like a wild, wounded animal at the predator circling you.

You didn’t know how to fight. You didn’t have a Devil Fruit. All you had was this gun in your hands, the grief welling in your eyes, stinging in the shape of tears, and your angrily beating, shattered heart in your chest.

“(Y/N), run! Run, run, run!”

Doflamingo gritted his teeth. “It’s not my fault he’s dead.”

You feel a vein on your forehead snap.

“Huh?” you growled, baring your teeth.

“It’s not my fault he’s dead,” he said firmly, angrily, as though he didn’t do it, as though he didn’t shoot him. As though he was innocent.

“Rosinante died because he was weak.” Doflamingo sneered in disgust. “Because he had that same dumb worldview like our father, believing he was human. He let his stupid emotions and misguided, worthless sense of justice interfere, and betrayed me.”

You saw red. Red like blood stains on clothes, leaking on white snow. Red like flames enveloping a city, eating away at every building and life they touch. Red like the lipstick Rosinante wore.

All the fear vanished from your blood.

“You. You bastard. Shut it.” Your voice was different. Cold. Enraged. Deadly. Full of hatred. Your eyes were full of icy fury, your face cold and expressionless. You were ready to kill him, and you wouldn’t feel a thing when you did. “Don’t talk about my husband.”

“Why are you angry?” asked Doflamingo. “I’m only telling you what happened.”

“You're not,” you said, your heart shaking in your ribcage. “That’s not what happened. You’re badmouthing him. I know what happened.”

“Do you?” he asked, frowning. “My brother betrayed me. He betrayed me. He stabbed me in the back, he nearly destroyed my entire life. What part of that isn’t getting through to your head?”

“Lower that gun,” he ordered, sneering, the command making you momentarily freeze. Your muscles nearly obeyed him before you got a grip on them. “I’ve had enough of my family pointing guns at me.”

Your hackles raised. Doflamingo was not your family.

Doflamingo stared you down with such a cold-hearted, apathetic expression you felt your stomach drop, as though trying to escape from that heartless gaze. You could see yourself in the crimson lenses of his sunglasses.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Doflamingo said, frowning at you, frightening and intimidating all at once; he looked angry with you, offended by the perceived weakness he thought you held, which infuriated you further. “You’re just like your husband.”

Rage brewed inside you. You never knew such a storm was possible for a person to feel. You hated hearing his voice. You hated hearing him badmouth Rosinante.

To you, Rosinante was the very very strongest. To you, Rosinante was the most kindest, bravest, fiercest man in the entire world. Doflamingo didn’t hold a candle to Rosinante.

“He’s baiting you.” Rosinante sounded panicked; he sounded scared. “He wants you inside here. Don’t let him. Get out. Get out and run!”

You put your other trembling hand on the grip of the revolver, glaring at him, your grip steady around the gun, staring at the man who killed your husband.

“Do you want to stake your life on it?” you asked in a deadly calm, cold voice; it didn’t sound like your own. It sounded heartless.

“Before you shoot me…” said Doflamingo slowly. “Do you want to know how he died?”

Your breath hitched.

“Your husband died alone,” said Doflamingo calmly, the red-orange lenses of his sunglasses reflecting you. He was not smiling, his frown deeper and deeper, angrier and angrier. “He died cold and alone, buried in his own blood, lying in the snow.”

Your eyes blurred with tears holding the memories of Rosinante, your lips quivering from the lack of his lips’ warmth on yours, your teeth gritted in a vicious snarl, your knuckles turning white how tightly you clenched the grip of the gun.

Rosinante’s voice came back to you, the last words he said to you, and you remembered all of him, of his smiling face and warm, loving eyes as he said...

“I love you!”

Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger because he loved Doflamingo. In the end, no matter what Doflamingo did, to Rosinante, he was still his older brother.

That’s why Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger.

But you can.

You will.

It frightens you how easily you can pull the trigger with Doflamingo on the other side of the barrel.

You have nothing but pure hatred for Doflamingo. To you, Doflamingo is nothing but your husband’s murderer.

That’s why you didn’t hesitate, didn’t linger, or felt any guilt at all.

You pulled the trigger.

The bang of the gunshot filled your ears, but you didn’t care. You didn’t stop with one press of the trigger, ignoring the whiplash in your arm given by the gunshot. You pressed the trigger five more times, in quick succession, filling the house with five more deafening, explosive bangs rending through the air, aiming the barrel at Rosinante’s older brother.

You hear Doflamingo click his tongue. A glimpse of strings shimmering under the light catch your gaze, a sound of wires, Doflamingo moving his hand —

The bullets, which were the size of a peanut, clattered to the ground together with your gun, both in pieces.

Doflamingo lowered his hand. You had only seen him swing his fingers in a slashing motion, barely able to follow the swift movement of the red sleeve and glove with your eyes, but you were sure he cut the bullets into numerous tiny fragments.

Doflamingo’s cold look never wavered, his face never twitched to show a single sign of panic. There was no hesitation or fear in him before or after cutting the bullets into tiny shreds. He just sat there with his usual calm presence.

“Did Corazón teach you how to shoot?” A dark smile split across his face, more a sneer than a smile. “Too bad it won’t work on me.”

You stared at him, and he stared right back.

“Are you done now?” he asked, rough tone both deceptively curious and mocking in its amusement, the scythe-shaped grin pasted on his strong face.

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I told you what I want.”

“And I told you,” you hissed, breathing hard. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Are you hiding anything else from me?” Doflamingo asked you.

“I don’t have anything else,” you said, knowing you were lying.

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Doflamingo asked. His tone wasn’t mocking, but sharp and direct, unforgiving in a rough, terrible way, his smile gone, the sight of his frown turning your blood to ice; you feel like you’re going to throw up from fear. “You’re going to lie to me, just like your stupid husband did?”

You opened your mouth to reply, to tell him to go throw himself into the sea…

“Purupurupurupuru.”

You froze, your eyes widening.

Doflamingo’s frown fell into a deeper one. He stared at you in dead, terrible, lethal silence. You never knew someone could look so mad without saying a single word.

Damn it.

“Purupurupuru… purupururupurupuru…”

Damn it!

Wulf must be calling. He must have gotten a ship.

“Unbelievable,” said Doflamingo with a sigh, his merlot suit deflating with his chest, his voice full of disappointment as the snail continued to ring.

“Pull it out, then.” said Doflamingo, sounding resigned in his dissapointment.

You didn’t want to test your luck anymore. You pulled out the snail. Your breath hitched when a string latched onto it and it came flying into the space between Doflamingo’s fingers.

“Look at that,” said Doflamingo, holding the tiny white-blue snail, his tone oozing with patronizing superiority. He spoke to you with such thick condescension, it pissed you off more and more. “A transponder snail. A marine one at that.”

It looked like a chocolate bar between Doflamingo’s long fingers. The transponder snail was still ringing.

Another sound of wires — no, they sounded like the pulled taut strings moving across the surface — and you watched, helpless, wide-eyed, as the snail was cut to pieces.

Doflamingo let it go, discarding its slimy remains on the floor.

A small gasp left your lips, your eyes stinging with tears for the small snail that had done no harm. It was the snail Rosinante had given you before he went on his mission. The snail was a life, a living creature, and Doflamingo killed it. He could have shut it off and put it on the table, but he killed it.

All to teach you some sort of lesson about not lying to him.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him with hatred which grew more fiercer by the second.

“You want to test me again?” he asked dangerously, his smile gone, veins throbbing on his forehead. “Maybe the next thing I cut to pieces is this house.”

Your heart stopped.

“Me telling you what I came here for, that I’d like you to come live with me...” said Doflamingo, staring at you. “That was me asking. That was me being chivalrous. Showing manners. Showing you respect, which you keep failing to show me.”

“You don’t deserve my respect,” you spat hatefully. “And I don’t want your false chivalry.”

Doflamingo’s brows furrowed.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I won’t ask this time. Do you know how it looks like when I don’t ask, darling?”

His voice was still so terribly condescending, but now it was darker, turning more malicious, more cold.

“Let’s see…” said Doflamingo coldly. “You can come with me quietly, or you can try to fight me.”

Fuck you.

“If you resist… I’ll kill every single person on this island.”

Obey or people will die.

“The choice is yours.”

The choice was not yours. All you could choose was whether he would hurt everyone or not. It was a choice, but it was a shit one, and you knew it.

The smile Doflamingo smiled was dark and giddy, almost delighted by the prospect of you saying no, of you giving him a reason to use his powers. Like he wanted to carnage another island, as casual as going for a walk and buying groceries.

This wasn’t what you signed up for. You signed up for death, not life.

But you couldn’t let people die. You had friends here. There were families here. And what would saying no do? Doflamingo would grab you and take you either way. It would be better to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone.

“I’ll come,” you forced through your trembling voice. “Don’t... Kill anyone.”

If you could protect the island from Doflamingo’s murderous whims and tendencies by obeying and not fighting, you’d do it.

“Fufufu… What a reasonable little sister-in-law I have. Cute, too.”

Your skin crawled uncomfortably.

Doflamingo took the primroses off his lap and offered them to you.

“For you. To cheer you up.”

You didn't want to accept them.

Just do it. Just take them.

You clenched your teeth. You just had to do it. You reached forward and took the bouquet from him.

“Thank you,” you said.

That caught Doflamingo off guard. His frown fell away, his browline and forehead relaxing, his downturned lips parting slightly.

A small smile quirked on Doflamingo’s lips; it unnervingly reminded you of Rosinante's small smiles, the kinds he smiled in secret with you, when you told him something that made him happy, or the first time he’d given you the same flowers and you were overjoyed to get them, as they were your favourite.

How did Doflamingo know these were your favourite? Did he pick them randomly? You didn’t know, and you decided you didn’t want to know.

“Can I bring my —” His deep voice cuts you off, “No.”

“Why?”

“Your clothes aren’t good enough,” Doflamingo said.

You were too tired to try to make sense of that.

“No, that’s... why don’t you kill me?”

“You have nothing to do with the marines, or my brother’s failed mission,” said Doflamingo. “I checked.”

“I work for the Navy,” you said.

Doflamingo waved it off. “Civilian servants work for everyone, that doesn’t make them loyal to the institution they happen to be employed in.”

You frowned.

“Do you want me to kill you?” asked Doflamingo.

“Honestly?” you ask, feeling like there are a thousand worlds of weight on your shoulders, the emptiness in your chest spreading more and more. “Yes.”

The demon in red chuckled. “I see. I’m not going to kill you. And nobody else is, either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Fufufu... I’m sure, little one.”

Doflamingo stood up from the couch, standing at his full height, and you felt your gut drop.

Doflamingo was huge, standing above three meters of height. You were used to huge men — Rosinante was huge himself after all, and both brothers had the exact same lanky build — but the way Doflamingo held himself upright, with class and confidence, gave him an air of intimidation you never experienced with your husband, whose legs were taller than your entire body. The same went for your brother-in-law; you were quite below his waistline. And he was taller than Rosinante; you noticed it just by looking at him. With Doflamingo, you were left staring eye-to-eye with vivid merlot suit pants, above his knees. As you did with Rosinante when he stood close to you, you tilted your head upward to look at his brother. Fear struck you.

You stepped back from him.

(You never stepped back from Rosinante in all the years you’ve known him.)

Idiot. Don’t step away.

It was too late for that now. The damage was done.

The pink feathers of his coat brushed the couch as he approached you. His face looked heartless and cold, looking down at you with a condescending arrogance, like you were a pebble that got in his way.

“Well? Won’t you greet your brother-in-law properly?”

What?

“Tch,” he said, annoyed. “You’re a translator, but you don’t know the Dressrosan greeting custom?”

“I know the custom,” you said, glaring up at him. The Dressrosan greeting custom for women when greeting men and men greeting women in family interactions were cheek kisses, one on the right cheek and one on the left cheek. “I just don’t want to do it with you.”

Doflamingo chuckled, putting his gloves back on, slipping his fingers into them. “Too bad.”

He bent down to be at your height, and his hand grasped your face. His fingers could easily wrap around your head and crush it; his palm was bigger than your face.

His face got close to yours.

You stopped breathing. You froze. You could see your own face reflected in the sunglasses now. Doflamingo’s face got closer, and you clenched your eyes shut, your entire body tensing up.

Doflamingo kissed your right cheek, then your left cheek; his lips were soft and warm. The smell of his cologne enveloped you; a fresh, clean scent of coconuts and salt.

“Now you,” he said, tapping his right cheek, grinning at you devilishly, the painting of arrogance. “Right here. And then the other one.”

He even turned his head to the side, offering you his right cheek to make it easier for you.

Oh, you never wanted to slap a man as much as you wanted to slap Doflamingo in that moment.

You inhaled, gathering your guts, and kissed him on his right cheek, then on his left. It was neither quick or slow, but the usual tempo of the greeting, the same speed he’d done it with — though his had been slower, most likely to freak you out.

His cheeks were warm, his skin smooth and soft under your lips, and you could feel the way his cheeks stretched with his smile.

You leaned back, fighting back from wiping your lips on your arm.

“Give me a hug.”

What the hell?!

Before you could react in any way, Doflamingo hugged you under the arms, crossed his long arms over each other on your back, his large hands covering half of your upper back, and hugged you tight, cradling you to him until your face was smushed against his red tie. The fabric of his black dress shirt was soft and smooth as your breasts pressed to his broad, strong chest. He settled his head on your left shoulder, and that was that.

It was a nightmare. You were absolutely horrified. You didn’t move; you couldn’t. You were too numbed by shock.

You felt his right pinky finger lift from your back, and before you knew it, your frozen arms started lifting, going under Doflamingo’s arms.

My arms...

No. you thought, realising what was happening. You hadn’t even felt the string, how...

No no no no —

The next instinct that came to you was to break free. You could feel your arms, and you tried to tug them, move them, but it wasn’t working. They were moving on their own. It made no sense. Your brain was telling your arms to move away, you even attempted to jerk the muscles but it was like your bones themselves were under the control of Doflamingo's string.

You couldn’t control your arms. You couldn’t control your arms!

They slid around Doflamingo’s back, gliding across his suit before wrapping completely around him — you could feel how strong he was, could feel the thick muscles on his back — and squeezing him to you. You felt the feathers on the inside of his coat brush against your palm and fingers. Your fingers, which Doflamingo controlled to clench around the fabric of his suit, holding him tight.

Doflamingo hummed; it sounded like the sound a person made when they were having a nice dream.

You were on the verge of a panic attack. He was close, intimately close, far too close, so close you could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, so close you felt the thump of his heartbeat against your breast. You were small and tiny against him; he completely enveloped you.

Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. It’ll only get worse if you panic. Breathe. Just breathe.

You tried to move other parts of your body. You blinked, you breathed through your nose, you cast your eyes around the room, you parted and closed your lips. There were no weird thoughts going on in your head, and your heartbeat seemed... as fine as a heartbeat could be when the most dangerous pirate in North Blue was hugging you.

Doflamingo couldn’t control your facial expressions, or anything on your face. He couldn’t control your eyes. He couldn’t control your heart, your mind, or your soul.

All he could control was your body. But that was already terrible enough.

Doflamingo sighed through his nose, the flutter of his breath caressing against your neck, tickling your skin. “See? This is what you do when you see your brother-in-law.”

“A nice -”

This was not nice. It did not feel nice. It felt like a cage more than an embrace. Doflamingo was squeezing you to him like you were his new favourite, human-sized teddy bear.

“— warm —”

This was not warm! You felt cold, like you were surrounded by a thick, impenetrable wall of ice which would make you bleed if you tried to move out of the embrace. You were shaking so much you forgot to breathe.

“— hug.”

Help! you prayed to whatever god existed, begging for salvation, tears stinging at your eyes, your heart thudding fearfully in your chest. All the anger you managed to gather was gone, replaced by the cold, massive sense of fear.

Doflamingo was going to crush your bones, your organs, your muscles. You didn’t think it was possible to squeeze someone to death, but you were starting to believe a man of his size could do it without trouble.

The Demon of North Blue leaned to your ear. His hand slid up your body, cradling the back of your head; your head was like a small ball in his grasp.

“I’m going to pick you up,” his voice was deep and warm against your ear; you fought back from whimpering at the closeness of his mouth to your skin. “And you’re going to be a good little sister-in-law and stay quiet. We’re going to head out, and you won’t squirm. You won’t make a single sound. And if you do that, I won’t touch this house, or this island, or its people.”

“Yes, sir.” you said before you realised what words you were saying, the instinct from work kicking in all because of Doflamingo’s commanding, authoritative tone. The moment you realised what you said, you were horrified. Your face burned with shame.

It wasn’t your fault. Doflamingo’s was the sort of voice and tone people naturally obeyed to.

Doflamingo huffed disapprovingly. “Not ‘sir’. Doffy.”

Your stomach sunk. No. No, you couldn’t call him that. That was how Rosinante called him, because they were brothers. You couldn’t just call him that.

Rosinante had asked you to call him Rosi a month after you started dating.

“It’s how…” Rosinante’s thumb drew more circles on your palm; he was stumbling over his words slightly, a pink blush rising to his cheeks. “The people dear to me call me… so… if you want to… you can call me Rosi.”

At his request, you’d called him Rosi — it sounded so cute to you, and you loved how it felt to say it — and after that, he blushed, fell to the ground, and started rolling on the grass of Marineford Park while giggling and kicking his long feet.

“Aaaa! I can’t! It’s so cute!” he opened his palms, revealing his reddened, smiling face; he was smiling from ear to ear, gazing at you with those big brown eyes of his. “Call me Rosi again, please!”

You giggled. Rosinante was so wonderful; he looked so happy, his smile was so infectious you started smiling too.

“Rosi,” you whispered lovingly.

Rosinante let out a squeaky sound in his throat. He went back to rolling on the ground to try to cool off his heated body.

Then, suddenly, Rosinante stopped moving. When you turned to check on him, he was bleeding out of his nose. A lot. So much it was getting on his collar.

“Help!” you called, and as the park was filled with people who worked in the Navy, medics and marines in civilian clothing came running to help you. “My boyfriend’s gonna die!”

You could move your hands and arms normally again. You didn't even feel the strings let you go.

Dressing like a gentleman does not mean being one. Doflamingo, in no polite terms, manhandled you like a brute. He picked you up by wrapping his immense hand around your wrist, his long fingers completely encircling your arm, the width of his hand so large it covered your forearm. Without giving you a warning, he lifted you off the ground - you yelped when the solid ground vanished beneath your feet.

Doflamingo settled his gloved hand beneath your curled knees, his arm wrapped around your body like a wing, the back of your head resting in the crook of his elbow. You felt like a puppy being carried like this.

Doflamingo exited through the doors, climbed down the staircase of the porch, and then looked up at the sky. Now that he was in the sunlight, his hair really was the exact same colour as the bouquet of yellow primroses you held.

Doflamingo didn’t warn you before he launched into the sky, his left arm firmly keeping you in place beneath his chest.

You let out a shriek as you ascended up into the sky, the ground getting further and further away until it looked like a terrain on a map in books. Your left arm flailed for purchase out of panic, on instinct, grabbing onto the closest support; his red suit jacket.

Before you knew it, before you could process it, you were high up in the sky, the sea passing by in a blue blur beneath you, the wind gathered by Doflamingo’s flying movements pushing into your face and waving your hair around.

Understandably, you screeched again.

Doflamingo laughed.

“You screech like a canary, fufufu!” he said, his chest shaking with his laughter.

Your entire body clenched up and froze, your eyes closing shut. You thought you weren’t afraid of heights. You were definitely afraid of flying, it seemed, because that was height and moving quickly over a large height.

You wondered how quickly the marines would figure out you got kidnapped.

It wasn’t anything new. Pirates always targeted a marine’s family and spouses, especially if they were civilians. A team would be sent out to find you. Unfortunately, you didn’t leave any signs of struggle, but the next rule of action would be to call your personal transponder snail, which you were to keep at your side at all times. The transponder snail Doflamingo sliced into bits. At least that would alert the marines something happened to you.

Wulf would know. Your plan worked. Wulf had free reign to find Law while Doflamingo had wasted his time travelling to get you.

You let out the breath you’d been holding.

The chuckle reached your ears, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Look who’s breathing.”

You flick your eyes open.

“You could’ve… warned me,” you said, wondering whether he heard you over the wind his movements created. Your mouth felt dry.

“Now where would the fun in that be, little canary?” he asked with a sly smile, the wind ruffling at his blond slicked up hair, pushing at the pink feathers of his coat; they looked like the flapping wings of a flamingo.

Something stirs in the void of your chest. It feels like anger. Or something close to it.

“The fun in that would be that I wouldn’t hold my breath for an hour, cuñado.” you say in full Dressrosan.

Doflamingo makes a slight, barely audible sound of surprise. He tilts his chin down at you, surprise on his face as you frown up at him. Then, he grins, and you think you may have made a grave mistake.

“My cute little sister-in-law knows Dressrosan.”

“Translator, remember?” you said.

Doflamingo was too busy grinning down at you like you gifted him the best birthday present he could ask for, offering a simple hum instead. You wondered how his cheeks didn’t ache from smiling so wide.

“Fufufu! Guess we have our secret language, then.” he says, switching effortlessly back to Common, just like you did seconds prior.

Getting kidnapped by a pirate wearing a full formal red suit like a wealthy businessman is one thing. Being carried in the aforementioned pirate’s arm as he flies through the sky over the sea is completely another. That pirate being your brother-in-law who your husband died to protect you and Law from was just the cherry on top.

“While we’re here, I’ll tell you about the family,” said Doflamingo. “You need to know about them.”

Family? What a joke. Doflamingo killed his real family.

“I know you have three top executives, Trebol, Diamante, and Pica. I know you have officers, and I know you have apprentices. There’s the underlings, too, but they’re not part of the family.”

“Corazón’s been running his mouth, huh?” asked Doflamingo. You felt your face grow pale. Doflamingo chuckled. “Well, that’s fine. It’s nice to know he actually talked about me in some way to you.”

“You might know about them, but you don’t know them. You should make your own judgement, not depend on my little brother’s subjective view.”

Doflamingo flashed you another of his wide smiles. You had to admit, with it on, he lost that rough, ruthless look. He looked handsome in a devilish, charming way, like a ruffian.

Instead of the smile soothing you or making you drop your guard, it made you feel deeply uneasy; there was something wrong about his smile. It didn’t feel like a smile. More like an evil grin.

You glared at him. Why on earth would you want to know about criminals who kill people, plunder and destroy cities without any sense of remorse or thought to how many lives they ruin?

“Let’s see,” said Doflamingo thoughtfully. “I’ll start with Lao G. He’s the oldest among us. He likes to make puns with words containing the letter g, and is a martial arts master…”

“Please drop me,” you begged hoarsely.

Doflamingo guffawed, the wind pushing at his blond hair, his raucous laughter carrying across the sky.

“Then there’s Giolla. You’ll love Giolla. Everyone loves Giolla. She loves art, and she’s great at making clothes.”

You braced yourself for a long, tiring flight of Doflamingo talking about his crew.

Rosinante… you thought, fighting not to cry. You didn’t say your brother loves to talk!

***

A/N: Just fyi, Doflamingo was being condescending because man was jealous, seething with jealousy, and you know, bcs he's an asshole and likes to play with his prey. This is the only time he will speak like this to Reader. North Blue Doffy is quite calm in speech but also commanding - you know he means business. It's just how he talks, which makes it harder for anyone to tell how he actually feels which is the fun part about North Blue Doffy. He can look at you like he's bored by you but is actually deep in thought planning your wedding. The moment Reader walked in, Doflamingo's heart skipped a beat. Love at first sight. He is also quite angry with Rosinante for not fucking telling him he has a wife, and not fucking asking him to be his best man - Rosinante might as well have shot him instead, it would have hurt Doflamingo less! In short, this is the only time Doffy will speak THIS patronizingly to Reader. I mean, he'll taunt, he'll act like the "man of the house" but it won't be so rough considering how this first time got. Guy's going through his emotions in his own way. Current emotion - seething with jealousy cus goddamn Corazón is a lucky bastard and how could he leave such a sweet thing like you while also absolutely adoring Reader cus the woman actually took the shot, and not just one but ALL THE SHOTS. That did it for him. Doflamingo adores you now. Good luck.

Some fun Japanese words for my fellow Sub fans:

義兄 (gikei) - brother-in-law (especially older brother of your spouse) -> word Doflamingo uses for himself when referring to himself to Reader, if he says "your brother-in-law" it is "omae no gikei"

otouto no tsuma - "(younger) brother’s wife"

義妹 (gimai) - younger sister-in-law, a more archaic formal word in Japanese, how Doflamingo refers to Reader when talking to her/about her, "my sister-in-law" would be "ore no gimai"

Japanese section, done! 👍🏻

[soobnara]

like clockwork / c.sb

soobin x reader

summary: in a world where love is given an expiration date, you find your forever home in an unexpected place.

word count: 10.1k

tags: soulmate!au, best friends to lovers, mostly romance + fluff, fake dating if you squint, reader is afab w/ gender neutral pronouns + fem terms (noona) used

author's note: finally got around to finishing this... it's been a long while coming and i couldn't get myself to write for various reasons and i'm so happy it's all done and out there! (also for any black mirror fans out there, yes this is loosely based on the 'hang the dj' episode but way more lighthearted and with a dash of soulmate brainrot) hope you enjoy and wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season <3

For as long as Soobin can remember, he’s been counting down the days. 

To summer vacation, to the end of his shift at his part time job, to the start of a long awaited trip, to anything. But there’s something else that counts down on his behalf, something that he doesn’t particularly want to count.

That something is inlaid in a nondescript watch wrapped around his wrist. Everyone gets one once they turn 18, and as far as he’s concerned, its only purpose is to ruin relationships. The cruel hands of time assign a “best by” date to each romantic encounter, flashing on the screen from the first meeting, with each failure promising to lead the user closer and closer to their fated lover. If you ask Soobin, it’s all bullshit. How would a stupid watch know anything about fate, anyways?

It’s a typical Thursday night, and Soobin’s mindlessly scrolling through Time to Love, the government mandated dating app that all phones come with, as per usual when he can’t decide on something to watch. He has yet to meet the weekly two date quota, having only gone on one on Tuesday (important to note that he’s already forgotten his name), and he’s running out of time, and he really can’t afford to pay that 100,000 won fine this week. Well, he can’t afford to pay it at any point in time, but this week’s been especially rough on him, and he doesn’t want to shell out any more of his meager savings just because he couldn’t get a date, of all things. 

The names and faces on his phone screen are a blur as his thumb swipes left aimlessly– he doesn’t really give that much of a shit who he ends up with, because at the end of the day, he’ll say “No” when the app asks him if he’d liked them and give them a terrible review saying they were incompatible, because frankly, the algorithm seems to always be wrong when it comes to his matches. Either that, or it’s because he cares so little that he doesn’t bother properly vetting his matches.

He’s resigned himself to his fate anyways; he’ll fill up his progress bar with a bunch of shitty matches until the algorithm decides it’s time for him to settle down, then when he finds his “soulmate” (if you could even call it that), he’ll just be doomed to a loveless arranged marriage set in place by a computer and die unhappy. He can’t envision happiness ever coming out of something so lifeless, so cold, so that’s just how it has to be. At least it gives him something to do instead of rewatching the same three anime series over and over again.

Whatever– he’ll just swipe right on the next person and go on yet another unmemorable date tomorrow. Lee Saerom, the profile reads. She’s exceptionally pretty, he has to admit, and she’s an artist, (and she’s older, but don’t ask him about that) so he’ll just ask her about her work and let her ramble for the allotted two hours while he smiles and nods.

He swipes right, and a bright pink heart pattern fills his screen, signifying a successful match. Obnoxious. It’s replaced with a time and a place, and he lets out a groan. Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 6pm, at the Coffee Shop. He was supposed to meet you at 7 tomorrow for your usual Friday night updates. 

Fuck. What if the date goes on longer than an hour?

He’s never been late for your weekly meetups, but he figures you’ll understand, since it’s completely out of his control.

Surely you won’t kill him, right?

Just in case, he recites a prayer to himself before he tucks in for the night.

You’re already nursing your third vodka soda of the night and Soobin is still nowhere to be found, which is unusual. He’s never been the most punctual person, but standing you up for an hour after your usual meeting time isn’t like him, either. He said he’d be late, but he didn’t specify how late… you’ll grill him later when he explains himself, and you’ll make him buy you a drink or two as compensation. With the comfort of a free drink in mind, you’re about to order your fourth round when Soobin finally stumbles in through the door of the bar, eyes scanning each booth until his gaze lands on you, and with an apologetic smile, he’s sliding into the seat across from you. 

He gestures to your glass, brow curled upwards, which you know means he’s teasing you. “What number is this one, noona? You always polish these things off like they’re nothing.”

“This is number three, with number four on the way, and that’s because they are. You owe me at least two for taking so long to get here, asshole.” You let out an indignant huff as you slurp the last of the cocktail through your straw, lips jutting in a comical pout.

“Okay, okay. Next one’s on me.” Soobin relents with an endeared laugh, waving down the waitstaff and ordering a beer for himself, along with another vodka soda for you. 

“Okay, now spill.”

“What? Am I supposed to have some hot gossip for you? Don’t make me guess about what drama I’ve somehow found myself in on accident.” He’s visibly confused, brows knitted together, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Obviously the only reason you would ever skip out on your dear noona was if TTL scheduled you for a date during our usual time, so spill. How bad was this one?” 

His lips part in understanding, (you can practically see the figurative lightbulb flickering on) head bobbing in an exaggerated nod before pulling his phone out, hand outstretched to show you his date’s profile. “I mean, she was okay, I guess. Pretty girl, and she was older, but she spent the entirety of our time slot babbling about her latest art project and how it’s supposedly going to blow away the industry. Which is fine, I guess, because you know I hate talking on these dates, but if she said “brush technique” and “negative space” one more time I think I would’ve tried to drown myself in my caffe mocha. The app thought so too, I guess, because when we checked our expiration date, it was exactly an hour from the start time, so it’s not like I missed out on my forever soulmate or whatever.”

Each TTL date is scheduled for an arbitrary amount of time, depending on your expiration date, which is determined from the first moment you meet– sometimes it’s just a few minutes, an hour or two, and anything longer than 24 hours is given a two hour time slot maximum. There’s supposedly an extremely rare case where you aren’t given an expiration date from the get go, regardless of your progress, meaning that you’ve found your soulmate by sheer luck, but it’s almost unheard of– most people don’t find their soulmates until they’ve completely filled up their bars, something about needing ample data to calculate optimal compatibility.

You ogle at his phone screen for a bit– she really was stunning– then guffaw at the thought of Soobin nodding halfheartedly, listening to a pretty girl talk his ear off, when most men would probably kill to be in his position. “Damn, if even an older woman that pretty can’t hold your attention, and the app confirms that, you know it’s bad… So, where does that put your progress at? Weren’t you at like, 80% last week?”

Soobin’s face practically scrunches in on itself at your remark, tapping the app once more to check his updated progress bar. “I’m going to ignore that. I’m at… 88% after I reviewed Saerom and that guy from earlier in the week. Guess it wasn’t a total waste if I got 8% closer to completion. What are you at now?”

You lift your phone to open TTL, your progress bar only having inched 2% closer to completion after your date yesterday. “75% now. I think the algorithm is personally fucking me over, or something. My last few matches have been nice enough, but I cannot keep up with their energy. It’s wringing me dry. I must be the only person in the entire world who doesn’t want a golden retriever for a partner. My date yesterday just about knocked me out for good, he was that energetic.”

“Tell me about it,” Soobin commiserates. “I’ve very clearly expressed my distaste for bubbly and talkative people who probably peaked in high school, but that’s all they’re spitting out in my for you page. No offense to them, I don’t think I’ve met any straight up assholes since that one girl from last year, but it’s like the app is purposely recommending the most incompatible people to me– wait, yesterday? And I didn’t hear about this?”

You give him a pointed look, silently conveying that he also didn’t inform you of his date today until ten minutes ago. He gets the message and holds his hands up in defeat, then gestures for you to speak, dimples peeking out as he purses his lips. You sigh, rubbing your temples as you recall the most chaotic two hours of the week, maybe even your life.

“Okay, look… for the record, he was very nice to me, a perfect gentleman, but my god, could that guy talk. He was practically falling at his knees trying to impress me, which would’ve earned him a few points in my book, but his mouth was moving maybe five miles a minute at all times without a moment of rest. It was like watching a child hopped up on sugar, to be honest. He talked for forty whole minutes nonstop about pizza. Don’t even get me started on how passionate he was about his workout routine.”

Your drinks finally come around, and Soobin hands you your frosted glass, which you gratefully take a long sip out of before continuing. “And before you say anything, no, he was nothing like Kai. Also, Kai is literally like my child, and just because I babysat him all those years does not mean I want to date someone like him.”

Soobin parts his lips to respond, then scrunches his nose in distaste as you take the words right of his mouth, opting to down his drink instead. “You’re no fun.”

“But that’s why you love me, right?”

“Sure, noona, sure.”

“That’s it, asshole, you owe me another drink.”

Sunday rolls around, which means you’ve got to start scoping out this week’s dates– you hate leaving anything to the last minute, and you like to leave the end of your week as free as possible (no one is prying your precious rest time from you, not even a beautiful person with the world’s best personality). 

Which means you’re mindlessly swiping through a sea of profiles, hoping you find someone that’s at least remotely interesting. You’re prepared for a long night of doom scrolling, but you stop cold in your tracks as you come across a familiar name and face, and a lump forms in your throat.

Choi Soobin.

The algorithm is really fucking with you now. It has to be. You’ve never once even considered your best friend as a potential suitor, not because he isn’t insanely attractive and charming (and funny, and easy to talk to, and…), but because he’s your best friend. You’ve known him for so long, you’ve seen him cry when he couldn’t get the Pokemon card he wanted when he was young enough to need allowance to buy it, and he’s seen you for long enough to know you threw the nastiest toddler tantrums over being denied an ice cream purchase– the point is that you know him a little too well, and you know from experience that that’s not always ideal in romance. 

But you have been having terrible luck with your matches for so long, and two hours of Soobin’s undivided attention doesn’t seem so bad, and it would be a good time, at least…

You kick yourself mentally for even thinking of it. He’s your best friend, for god’s sake.

Yet your thumb continues to hover over his profile, quivering as you make the motion to swipe right on him without touching the screen. The guilt and the risk of maybe ruining your friendship forever clearly isn’t enough to stop you from considering him. 

The gentle, familiar smile that he’s sporting in his profile picture pierces your heart, and you’re not sure why. Maybe you’ve always had a thing for him unconsciously, maybe you just want someone who actually gets you, maybe you’re just running out of options. Or maybe you’re just tired of chasing after something you know is futile, and you want to take a chance on something, on someone, that might actually be good for you. On someone that you know would be good to you, and for you.

And so, with bated breath, you swipe right.

[Time to Love: Y/N has liked you! Open the app for more details.]

To say Soobin is struck with disbelief would be an understatement. He’s practically gaping at his phone, and he knows you’d be laughing your ass off and making fun of him if you could see him. But it’s precisely that typical flippant attitude of yours that’s got him perplexed about this development.

He’d be lying if he said he’s never once thought of you that way– he’s always thought you were pretty and kind hearted, despite your temper, and you’ve always been there for him, through thick and thin, even when he was being kind of a dick. That definitely counts for something. But he’s never thought about crossing that boundary, because 1) he’s not allowed to pursue anyone he doesn’t match with through the app anyways, and 2) matching with you could make or break your bond forever (he’s leaning towards break, though, because like he said, the watch is bullshit). In short, he’s a fucking coward and a little too cynical for his own good. 

But here it is, an opportunity for a date with you, in all its glory, and initiated by you, no less. He should be celebrating, or at least hyped up, because maybe it’ll all work out, maybe this is the solution to all his lukewarm matches over the last few months, but instead he’s downright terrified. There’s absolutely no way that you both come out of this unscathed. There’s no such thing as a perfect forever if it’s decided by a computer. There can’t possibly be a happy ending at the end of this road.

He shakes his head, as if it would clear his head of the panicked thoughts. You’re still his best friend, at the end of the day, he tells himself, and he’s sure that you’ll fight just as hard as he will to keep him in your life. So he holds onto the tiniest sliver of hope that somehow your relationship doesn’t crash and burn spectacularly, opens the app, and swipes right on you.

Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 3pm, at the Aquarium. 

A new notification pops up. Soobin’s heart stirs.

y/n noona: see you tomorrow ♥️

He feels guilty as a wave of excitement washes over him. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. You’re his best friend. His dear noona. He may as well be signing away your friendship for good. But it’d be worse if he didn’t match your enthusiasm.

soob: yup, see you tomorrow noona :]

It’s only 5 minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and already Soobin’s panicking that you’ve changed your mind and cancelled on him, writing this off as a mistake. He’s trying his very best to remain nonchalant, it’s just a date with his best friend, who he might have a sapling of a crush on, no big deal, right? Or maybe it is for the best if you cancel, then he’d have one less crippling fear to worry about.

He’s rethinking his outfit for the umpteenth time– he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, not in front of you because you’d probably think it was silly, but he also doesn’t want you thinking he shows up to dates looking like a slob. (For the record, he thinks he’s got a decent sense of fashion. He’s better than Kai, at least, though that isn’t saying much.) He’s internally debating if he should’ve gone with the navy polo shirt instead of the grey cardigan draped over his shoulders, or if he should’ve gone with the black slacks instead of the light wash jeans, but his jumbled thoughts dissipate as you tap on his shoulder, shit-eating grin and all. 

“What’s with you, Soob? You look like the fate of the universe depends on you, and you only have 5 minutes to save all of humanity.” You tease, nudging your shoulder against his. Oh, if only you knew what was really weighing on him.

He has half a mind to swat your shoulder, but he’s a little too aware that the two of you are supposed to be on a date, so instead he shoves his hands into his pockets. To his surprise, you’re more dressed up than usual, (he’s used to seeing you exclusively in oversized hoodies) and– wait, you two are practically matching, from the grey cardigan, light wash jeans, all the way down to the white sneakers. The only difference is that you’ve buttoned up your cardigan so that it functions more as a blouse, but you two clearly have definitely mastered the art of accidental couple looks.

“Okay, awkward… one of us has to change.” He teases in an attempt to ease his own racing mind, dimples peeking out as he stifles a laugh. You let out an indignant huff, pushing his massive frame with no success. He doesn’t even budge.

“Not my fault that you’re trying to steal my look. I wore it better, by the way,” You retort, but truth be told, you’re reeling at the sight of him. You’ve only ever seen him in his stuffy work attire and the worn-out, faded shirts he refuses to throw out, and seeing him in a comparably softer, more preppy look is making you see him with new eyes.

You shake your head, as if doing so will reset your perspective to factory settings and make you see him as just your best friend again. (spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Soobin is still handsome and he looks very cute, and you’re still very much affected by it.) “Okay, so. First things first. Should we check our apps? To see if, like, we’re compatible, or I don’t know.” Your voice is stiff, like you’re buffering, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this awkward around Soobin, at least not since the day you met.

Soobin turns up his nose in disagreement and covers his watch screen and yours. “Nah, that’s bullshit. It’s already all decided, isn’t it? It’s been decided from the second we stepped into the aquarium. No point in checking now, we should decide for ourselves if this is something we want to pursue, instead of letting some computer dictate that. When it’s over, it’s over, and we can just go back to being friends, right?”

“Well, I think it’s probably better to know when to give this a rest, instead of constantly wondering if my best friend is set to be my long-term romantic partner, or whatever.” You had a point. But a part of Soobin didn’t feel ready to face the fact that you might not want to see him again like this. A much smaller part of him is still fearful that you two might not be able to turn back from this.

“Okay, okay, fine. We can check it–but not now. If we make it to a third date, then we can check how long we have. But you have to be honest and not touch it whatsoever.” Soobin doesn’t make any move to mention that he isn’t interested in seeing you again, but you don’t want to just assume that he’s into you, so you test the waters.

“Okay, I promise to be honest. But why the third date? Are you really that keen on seeing me?” You’re trying to be teasing, but you feel more desperate than anything.

Soobin doesn’t answer for a moment, and you think that you’ve said the wrong thing. Just as you’re about to apologize, he replies, “If we make it to a third date… then I’ll know whether we’re actually giving this a proper shot and not just for shits and giggles or as an escape from our other failed connections.”

His sincerity both surprises and flatters you, and you can’t tell if you’re supposed to be frozen in shock or hugging him, or a secret third thing, so you just stay still, absently fiddling with your fingers.

When you look up again, Soobin’s holding out his hand, and you look at him with obvious confusion. Rolling his eyes, he takes your hand in his, lips pursed into a thin line. You want to make some clever jab at him, but his hands are warm and soft and they practically swallow up your much smaller ones, and you’re filled with a wash of emotions so intense that you can’t muster up the strength to retort.

Soobin notices that you’re still visibly perplexed, and he mutters. “We’re on a date, you know. We’ve got to act the part.” It’s a half truth at best; he does want to give this date a proper chance, but selfishly, he really just wants to hold your hand for two hours. If you catch onto his white lie, you don’t show it, but he doesn’t miss the rosy hue that colors your cheeks as you nod.

He’s right, you think– it is a date, and you’re the one who swiped on him first, so the least you can do is treat him like a possible suitor and not just your best friend. He deserves that much, at least, and you need to know whether this bundle of butterflies in your stomach is a passing feeling or a dull ache you’ve forgotten about, so you let him lead you into the dimly lit array of fish tanks.

You’re noticing a lot of things about Soobin.

You notice that Soobin’s eyes practically twinkle when he gets excited. It’s never been something you’ve taken note of, but you can’t help but notice it now, every time he points out a species of fish he recognizes. It’s cute. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to find your best friend cute, but you do.

You notice how his comically long fingers slot in between yours, and you’re really starting to like how it feels, though you’d die of embarrassment if you admitted as much. 

Not to mention he’s an absolutely perfect gentleman. He’s constantly asking you if you want something to eat, if you’re tired, if you’re cold, and you let him know that you’re fine each time. When you accidentally pull apart your shoelaces, he’s quick to kneel down and tie them up for you. When he stops to grab himself a bottle of juice, he offers one to you, too.

Had Soobin always been this pretty? So cute? And so sweet? How had you never taken notice of him like this all these years? (You know the answer to that, but you’re still surprised at what you’re noticing nonetheless.)

Soobin catches you staring at him while you’re both supposed to be looking at a school of clownfish, and you expect him to make some egotistical joke at your expense, but instead he gives you a warm smile, eyes crinkling into crescents, and god dammit to hell, you melt. 

The two hours pass by like nothing, and unlike your past few dates, you’re dreading the end of it, and you wish that the beep signifying it’s over would never come. To your disappointment, he releases your hand as you approach the entrance, and your hand is already missing his warmth. You turn to face him; well, not really, because you can’t bear to make eye contact with him, not when you spent the better part of two hours shamelessly ogling at him.

His voice cuts in between the thoughts rattling around in your head, and he sounds so apprehensive that it worries you. “Can I ask you something? No, wait, can you promise me something?”

You know how seriously Soobin takes his promises, so you’re a little scared for what he’s going to say next, but you nod anyway.

“Promise me that if this doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends. Please.” The last word is so quiet that you almost miss it, and when you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, he’s giving you a pleading look so earnestly that it breaks your heart a little. 

“I promise– no, I pinky promise. We’ll be friends, no matter what.”

Since he was younger, Soobin’s held the belief that pinky promises are binding, and he knows that you know this, so you hold out your pinky, hoping that this can ease whatever worries he has on his mind.

You pinky promised. Soobin knows that it’s your unspoken way of assuring him (you’ve never been the most verbally affectionate, anyways), a quiet way of letting him know that he means just as much to you as you do to him. He links pinkies with you to seal the promise, feeling just a little bit lighter as you both make your way to the subway station together, shoulders bumping all the while.

Soobin just really, really hopes that you’ll be able to keep that promise.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 8pm tonight, at the Night Market.

You shouldn’t be surprised that your next date with Soobin comes so soon– you still have your weekly quotas to meet, and the app always schedules dates within 24 hours of matching or a positive rating, but truth be told, your surprise is solely because you just don’t know how to face him. You two had made that pinky promise to stay friends regardless of the circumstances, but you’d also resolved to treat him like a potential suitor while you two are seeing each other, so where does that leave you? 

Well, it leaves you in front of the closet with no idea what to wear. You want to look good (for Soobin, but you’re in denial at the moment), but it’s just a night market, and you know you’ll never hear the end of it if Soobin catches on that you went through lengths just to impress him.

Speaking of the devil, your phone flickers on to reveal a text from him, and you scoff as you scan its contents.

soob: so i hear you enjoyed our date

y/n noona: ignoring that. anyways

y/n noona: what’s the deal for tonight

y/n noona: i need to know asap

soob: aw, noona, do you want to see me again that badly? i’m excited, see you later tonight ♥️

y/n noona: shut up, you clearly want to see me again too. don’t be late or i’m stealing your wallet later 

y/n noona: i'm asking what’s the dress code, are we matching again :p

soob: i mean, if you insist… 🙄 i knew you wanted me

y/n noona: nvm you’re getting me in a hoodie and my raggedy sweats with the hole in the knee, fuck you

soob: no no i take it back i’m sorry 

y/n noona: ok fine you get spared just this once

y/n noona: [IMG_3687.jpg]

y/n noona: final outfit check. if we’re going to be matching it will be your decision so choose wisely

soob: wait that’s not fair

soob: noona come back

soob: DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS

[y/n noona has “Liked” your message]

soob: you are so mean to me

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding when Soobin arrives, clad in a blue flannel that’s nearly identical to yours, black tee, beige cargos, and a black shoulder bag. You’d been hoping he would follow through, and there’s a small surge of pride at how you’ll be walking around the market, hand in hand, in matching outfits, but there’s something you hadn’t been counting on.

He’s wearing his glasses. 

You’ve always known that Soobin doesn’t have the best eyesight (he’s constantly squinting to see things, but so do you), but now that you’re seeing him in a new light, his usual black frames are suddenly the most attractive thing in the world, and you may as well be holding a neon sign that blares “I HEART NERDS” for him to see.

You make a painfully pathetic attempt to mask your delight by waving at him with a grin, and thankfully Soobin doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t make any show of it, and instead he simply salutes at you with two fingers and cracks a grin. As he sidles up to you, his large hand slips into yours with a little too much ease, fingers immediately interlocking with yours, and it sends your head into a frenzy all over again. As if he’s aware that your mind is going haywire, Soobin leans down towards you, and for a second you think he’s going to kiss you.

You’re frantically trying to make some motion to stop him, it’s so sudden and your cheeks are way too hot now, and he’s way too close, and your damn arms won’t budge–

“I hope you came ready to eat. I came armed with a fuck load of cash because I am going to stuff myself silly with food, and I am not getting turned away by the ‘cash only’ booths.” There’s a fire of determination in Soobin’s eyes, paired with a wide grin, and you don’t know whether to be concerned for him or for yourself, but nonetheless, you’re a little relieved that you completely misread the situation. Before you can say anything in response, though, he’s dragging you towards the sweeping lines of booths, already making a beeline for some takoyaki. 

The tray full of octopus balls in Soobin’s hands is steaming and they smell absolutely mouthwatering, and, in true Soobin fashion, he gets over excited and tries to pop the entire thing in his mouth in one go. He immediately regrets it, of course, because immediately he’s whining over the fact that his tongue is now most definitely burnt and numb from the piping hot orb of batter he’d just tried to scarf down. You might be finding him insanely attractive now, but he’s still as clumsy as ever, and you can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles in your throat at the sight.

“Dumbass… you should know damn well that you shouldn’t put a whole takoyaki in your mouth like that.” You tease, snickering as he fans his tongue once he swallows.

“Shut up! I couldn’t help myself!” He lets out a childish huff, stuffing another ball into his mouth with a comically exaggerated pout, and consequently huffing and puffing at the heat that blooms in his mouth once more. The whole display is undeniably adorable, and it takes all of the willpower you have to resist the burning desire to squish his cheeks. 

The tray of takoyaki is polished off in no time, and a bowl of bingsu, a cup of fish cake soup, two sticks of tanghulu, a plate of sweet rice cakes, an ice cream cone, and a million other things you lost track of follow suit into the bottomless pit that seems to be Soobin’s stomach. He wasn’t kidding when he said he came ready to eat– he’s plowing through the booths like it’s his last meal on Earth. He’s gracious enough to offer you half of his portions, at least, so it’s not like he’s leaving you to starve. (you’d kill him if he did, though.) Once he’s had his fill, his lips curl up into a mischievous grin as he jabs his thumb in the direction of a different section of the market, one filled with countless games: target shooting, beanbag toss, darts– the row of booths seems to stretch on forever. 

“Oh, you’re on, Soob. Don’t think I’m going easy on you because we’re on a date.”

“Yeah? Don’t think I’m going easy on you because you’re older.”

Contrary to both of your words, Soobin is absolutely fucking terrible at the beanbag toss, despite his long arms definitely giving him an advantage, and you’re no good at shooting or throwing and aiming at anything, really, so the two of you leave each booth with empty hands, though you’re laughing as if you’ve hit the jackpot.

Even though you two fail spectacularly at every single game they have available, you’re suddenly aware of how much your cheeks hurt. From smiling. From laughing. When was the last time that happened on a date? Or ever, even?

Soobin ventures off on his own while you’re lost in thought, and he returns from his little solo adventure with yet another serving of tanghulu (the third one of the night: strawberry for him, tangerine for you this time). You’re reaching out to grab the sweet from his outstretched hand, when suddenly you jump as loud popping sounds blare overhead. There’s a beat of silence before a flurry of colorful lights blooms in the sky, and your shoulders relax once you realize it’s just fireworks.

You’re admiring the colors and shapes of the fireworks display as you crunch on your tanghulu, and you’re so enraptured you almost miss the feeling of someone’s gaze on you. Almost.

When you turn to confirm your suspicions, you’re right, it’s Soobin who’s staring at you, but he’s staring at you so intently, with such intensity, that you immediately grow flustered– he’s never looked at you like that before– and you’re immensely thankful that the flashes of light in the sky mask the rosy hue that’s surely staining your cheeks. Just when you’re about to swing your head away to focus your attention on the fireworks once more, his hand flies out to cradle your chin in his palm, keeping your gaze fixated on him. 

Then he’s closing the distance, slowly but surely, fixated on you all the while to gauge your reaction, and even though you’re frozen in shock, you don’t think you would’ve moved, anyways. Your eyes flutter shut at the last minute, nerves getting the better of you, until his lips brush against yours tentatively, as if he’s hesitating, holding back.

You meet his gaze once more, and neither of you say a word, you just nod in response to the pleading look in his eyes, as if asking your permission. He breaks out into the most beautiful smile, one that you wish you could snap a mental photo of and tuck away in a safe place in your mind, and then he’s kissing you. Actually kissing you.

He kisses you with such fervor, as if he’s been wanting to do this his whole life, and you can’t help the way you practically melt in his hold, pressing yourself against his broad figure. The fireworks display is all but forgotten, the only thing on either of your minds being the way your lips meld into each other, and the way your hands clasp together.

Soobin’s in a daze when you two finally break away for a much-needed breath, and you’re sure you look like you’re in an equally hazy state. For a moment, you two are dead silent, staring at each other, with only the sound of your soft pants and the popping of fireworks in the background to fill the silence.

Soobin is the one who breaks the silence first, smiling sheepishly as he rubs the nape of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers, and you can feel your jaw go slack in shock. Soobin had been wanting to kiss you. Soobin has thought about kissing you. Your best friend Soobin wanted to kiss you.

“Why didn’t you?” You reply without thinking, but really, you know very well exactly why he’s never done it. He’s your best friend, always has been, and he’d be doing much more than fucking up your friendship by kissing you before you two matched. Naturally, Soobin leaves that question unanswered, posing a question of his own instead.

“What made you match with me?”

“Well…” You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to rattle off a list of qualities that make him desirable– you’re already feeling flustered enough after he kissed you like that, and you’re not looking to inflate his stupid ego or risk being the butt of his teasing. But you want to be honest with him. You don’t want him thinking his suppressed desire has been one-sided all this time.

“I guess I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go on a date with you. We wouldn’t be bored, we would know how to keep each other happy, and understand each other, that kind of thing… and I was a little tired of seeing you go through all those people you didn’t click with, who didn’t get you, especially not the way I did. You know I’ve never liked the people you were seeing, and I was always annoyed by the idiots you dated in high school, and all your stupid matches… I always thought everyone took you for granted, and no one seemed to care about actually getting to know you. I thought I was just looking out for you, caring about you, as your best friend, but maybe I was actually just jealous.”

“Jealous? Really?” He looks so incredulous it embarrasses you that you have to clarify further. 

“Yes, jealous… I especially hated what’s-her-name, Hyeji? That one student council girl who dumped you in front of the whole school.”

Soobin grimaces at the mention of her name, and you can’t help the relief you feel at his response. “Ugh, her. Led me on for months because she thought I was cute and then when we started dating she nitpicked every single thing I did, all because I wasn’t the suave drama lead of her dreams and then dumped me because she couldn’t change me. You know she threw away a whole pack of my Pokemon cards because she thought it was ‘too nerdy’?”

“See? This is what I mean. None of your romantic partners actually seem to appreciate you as you are. And so I don’t know, something came over me, and I wanted to see if I could do a good job because I  know I appreciate you for who you are and now I’m confused, and I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship forever, and–”

To your relief, Soobin doesn’t laugh– instead he cuts your rambling off with a quick kiss, and it flusters you into silence. “Shh. We promised, remember?”

“I mean, we also promised each other when we were in high school that we’d settle down and raise ten dogs on a farm together.”

Soobin laughs this time. “Yeah, I remember that. But this is a pinky promise, isn’t it? It’s different.”

“You’re right… but it’s scary, you know? Coming to this realization about you, and thinking about you this way, and enjoying it, but also worrying about how we’re going to get out of this after our relationship expires... I don’t want to get too carried away and change our dynamic forever.” You’re chewing the skin off your lower lip nervously (you never did break that habit, so now your lip is bleeding), and, while Soobin’s voice is gentle, you know him well enough to detect the subtle tremor as he speaks.

“I know. But we’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let anything remove you from my life for good. Especially not the watch.” His voice is so low, so quiet, you’d miss it if you weren’t fixated on him, as if he’s trying to convince himself, and you squeeze his hand in what you hope is an admirable attempt at reassuring him. “The app hasn’t told us our connection’s expired yet, so I just really, really want to give this a chance. A proper chance, so I can say I did it before I get matched with my ‘real’ soulmate, or whatever. I don’t want to think about what could have been, especially not with you. I think that’d be worse for us.”

You know exactly what he means. Harboring dormant feelings for your best friend never bodes well, at least not in the movies and the books, so you may as well get this pining out of your system, and let it become a distant memory as soon as possible, if it’s not meant to be. It’s only fair, for both of your futures, and for your friendship. (and though neither of you want to admit it, the thought of not being each other’s soulmates is depressing.)

“Look, Soob… I really want to give this a chance, too. I want to see where it takes us while we’re allowed to. I want to try. It’s scary, it’s fucking terrifying, but you’re my best friend, Soob. I promise you won’t lose me because of some stupid watch. Pinky promise.” You try to keep your voice upbeat as you hold out your pinky towards him, offering a tender smile. He links his pinky with yours, and you can see his frame visibly relax once he does. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, pinkies still linked, and silently hope that you’ll be able to uphold your promise to him. You’ve never been any good with breakups. Soobin knows that.

But you’ll be okay with him, right?

He’s your best friend, after all.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

…

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 2pm tomorrow, at the Botanical Gardens.

Soobin decided on his own that he’s picking you up for the third date, and he let you know as much.  After last night’s events though, this means that you’re turning your entire closet upside down trying to find the sweet spot for your look today, because your head is jumbled with far too many thoughts, all of them about Soobin. Every outfit you think up is either too dressy, or too casual, or too out there, or too bland, and you have half a mind to reschedule with your mind in the state that it is. Unfortunately for you, Soobin is already on his way, and you’re not the type of asshole to tell him to head back home and forget the whole date, so you just stare at your pile of clothes on the floor, hoping that somehow you’ll be enlightened with the perfect outfit idea and get yourself looking presentable before he comes knocking.

The universe is clearly not on your side, though, because your doorbell rings not even a minute later, and all you’ve picked out is your jeans and you’re still very much topless. You shoot a message to Soobin, thumbs flying frantically as you let him know you’re not quite ready yet– he might be your best friend in the entire world, but you’re not ready for him to see you under your clothes just yet, especially now that you’re properly seeing each other.

You’re still not sure what to wear, but you figure a beige knit sweater should be safe– you won’t look like you’re trying too hard, but you also won’t look like you’re not trying at all. When you swing the door open to finally greet Soobin, your breath quite literally gets taken away, because he trips and almost knocks you over with his lanky frame, but also, he’s breathtaking.

He’s clearly put a lot of thought into his outfit, which is very cute, and he looks absolutely stunning. A sleek black cardigan with white striped accents on the sleeve, a white dress shirt that clearly looks freshly pressed– hell, he’s even wearing a tie– and those godforsaken glasses that have you in a chokehold somehow. You don’t even bother hiding your delight– he’s so beautiful, and you know he needs a little validation after he probably spent hours putting his look together.

He catches you staring wordlessly, and he flushes with embarrassment.“What? Too much? I knew I should have skipped on the tie–” He grumbles, making a move to loosen it, but he’s stopped by your hand over his.

“No. You look great, Soob. Seriously.” You’re not used to being verbally affectionate, especially not with him, but when he looks that sad, like a kicked puppy, you know better than to tease him when he’s unsure of himself. Despite that, you’re still shy as you reassure him. “You look beautiful.”

The way he brightens when he hears your words is almost cartoonish, and this time, you can’t hold back your laughter, which earns a pout from him, which in turn only fuels your laughter further. You appease him by lacing your fingers with his (he’s apparently a lot easier to please than you remember, but maybe that’s your imagination), and he responds by placing a kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture is tender and sweet, and you think about what it’d be like to have Soobin do that to you every day.

“Well, shall we?” He bows exaggeratedly with his free arm, giving you a blinding smile.

You mirror his smile, and playfully curtsy in return. “We shall.”

When you two arrive at the botanical gardens, it’s jam-packed with people (a worker explains that their tulips are in full bloom, so everyone’s vying for their social media moment), and Soobin is visibly startled, though he recovers quickly as he turns to you. 

“You okay? There’s so many people... I think this is twice, maybe even thrice as many people as there were at the night market.” You don’t do well with crowds, the crowd at the night market was probably the most you could handle, but you know that you don’t have a choice– you have to follow through with the date as scheduled, or risk a fine that neither of you can afford, so you just nod, your grip on his hand tightening. 

Soobin somehow finds a slightly less crowded area of the tulip fields for you two to stroll in after doing a quick sweep (thank god for his height, and that he uses it to his advantage), but you still feel tense as you walk hand in hand. There’s still a decent amount of people, with more spilling in excitedly, phone cameras in hand, and you have a bad feeling the crowd will only grow in size as the day drags on. You just hope you’re as convincing an actress as you think you are, and that Soobin won’t notice as he reads the identification cards for each flower.

You’re caught off guard when he gently pushes you down onto a nearby bench, and crouches in front of you, clasping your other hand in his so that both of them are occupied. The concerned expression on his face tells you that you’re nowhere near an Oscar for your performance, and that he’s most definitely caught on to your discomfort. Normally you’d be embarrassed at the display– you hate making a scene in public, but your anxiety is getting the better of you, and it’s nice to know that he still knows you as well as you thought.

“Noona… look. I know you don’t like crowds, especially excitable and hectic ones like these. If you really, really feel like this is too much for you, we can cancel the date and go home. I want you to have a good time, and I know it’s hard for you when there’s so many people.”

You’re chewing at your lower lip again, and Soobin lets go of one of your hands to thumb at your lip to stop you before you tear it open with your teeth. “But Soob, we came all this way. And you dressed so nicely for me, for this date, and I spent all this time wanting to look good for you, and spend time with you…” You trail off when your breath catches in your throat, your chin trembling as your eyes well up. “It’d be such a waste to cancel after all our time and effort.”

Once again Soobin’s thumb is gently swiping over your cheeks when the tears finally spill over, hushing you with the soft sincerity that he’s prone to when he’s not teasing you. 

“Hey, hey… we can reschedule for another day, can’t we? We don’t have to do this, noona. There’s always next time. It won’t be a waste, I promise.” You feel so apologetic you could die. Soobin’s being so patient and sweet and understanding with you and here you are, kicking up a fuss. The least you could do is power through and follow through with your scheduled date, and you’d hate to miss out on this time with him that you’ve been looking forward to. You were excited for this date, and you want him to know that.

“I think I’d feel worse if we cancelled after we went through all this trouble, and especially if it was all because of me… just give me a moment to calm myself down.” Soobin nods in response, cradling your cheek in his palm, and you sigh appreciatively at the tender gesture. He doesn’t say anything as you wipe away the remnants of your tears and blow your nose– he just holds your hand, letting you gather yourself, and you think for a moment that this must be the benefit of falling for your best friend.

Once the tears have finally subsided, and you’ve had a moment to calm your nerves, you meet Soobin’s eyes, which are searching yours, as if scanning for any lingering signs of discomfort. When he can’t find any, and you give him a reassuring look and a grateful smile, he seizes the opportunity to steal a peck from your lips, grinning cheekily with his tongue between his teeth when he pulls away. 

“H-hey! What was that for?!” Your shock and surprise is real, but your indignance certainly isn’t, if your rosy cheeks are any indication. Your discomfort is forgotten, at least temporarily, so you’re glad for that.

“Oh… just because. You liked it, though.” He’s so smug, that stupid asshole, but he’s right, so you pull him in for another quick kiss before you try to make a run for it. Unfortunately for your escape plan, you’ve forgotten that your hand is still very much interlocked with his, and he’s significantly stronger than you, so he easily pulls you back into his embrace. You can’t say you mind, though– he’s warm and he smells good, like jasmine and sandalwood and the faint scent of vanilla, and if you weren’t already so flustered you’d bury your face in his broad chest.

“Feeling better now?” The words fall from Soobin’s lips with a teasing lilt, but you know it’s his way of genuinely checking in on you, so you answer sincerely.

“Much better. Though I’d still like to avoid the crowds and find somewhere else to have our date… if you don’t mind? The tulips are pretty, and as much as I would like to admire them too, there’s just so many people fighting for a good photo…” 

“Of course, I get it. I saw a sign pointing to a field of azaleas over there that is probably getting a lot less foot traffic than the tulips, so we could head over there?” He gestures in the opposite direction of the tulip field, and you’re more than happy to oblige, letting him tug you along.

Thankfully Soobin’s guess is correct, because there’s only a handful of people at the azalea field when you two arrive, and the tension in your shoulders finally lets up. The dainty red and pink flowers have their own quaint charm, and they’re vibrant and eye-catching. You crouch down to get a closer look, taking hold of a delicate petal in between the pads of your fingers to admire them.

“Did you know red and pink azaleas represent love and romance? Roses aren’t the only flower of love like everyone seems to think.” Soobin’s deep voice rings in your ear and you startle a little, partially because he’s way closer to you than you expected (it’s going to be a while before you get used to maintaining close proximity with him) and partially because you had no idea Soobin was just casually carrying the knowledge of flower meanings in that pretty head of his.

“They’re so pretty… they’d make a much more unique gift than roses for special occasions, too. Not that there’s anything wrong with roses, but they’re kind of done to death, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, Soobin looks both ways, then plucks a flower, and you hiss in disapproval at him. “Hey–! What are you doing? The sign says that we can’t pick the flowers!” Luckily, none of the staff has taken notice of his mischievous little act, but even if they did, you can’t help but wonder if they’d even care, when he could charm his way into anything.

Soobin tucks the flower behind your ear, seemingly ignoring your disapproval as he hums a tune under his breath. “A gift for our special occasion, and a little commemoration of our budding romance, or something. And look, noona, you’re so pretty. Just like a flower.” He punctuates his statement with the sound of his phone camera flashing, followed by four more, until you’re blushing profusely with embarrassment.

“Soobin, that’s enough–” Your cheeks are beet red– you can feel it from the sheer amount of blood running into them– and though you really like that Soobin’s taking pictures of you for him to keep, you’re extremely camera shy, and he knows that, which is probably why he’s so insistent.

“Actually, the issue is that I didn’t take enough. Now smile for the camera!” You have to practically wrestle your way away from the camera, but not before he snaps a few more of you smiling bashfully at him. He catches up to you with ease (damn those long legs of his), arms secure around your frame as you squeal, though you’re secretly pleased that you’re in his hold.

The time once again ticks by like nothing as you walk side by side, admiring the blooms around you and snapping photos of each other (“For wallpaper usage purposes,” Soobin says, and you blush again), and before you know it, your watches are beeping to signify that your two hours are up. Soobin sobers up almost immediately, expression unreadable, and though he doesn’t say anything as he takes your hand, you know what’s on his mind, because the same thing is on yours.

There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air once the two of you reach the entrance of the gardens– it’s the third date, after all, and you promised you’d find out your expiration date if you made it this far. You’re relieved that your watches haven’t blared just yet, signifying the end of your connection, but you’re still struck with the nervousness of finding out how long you’ll last. You think you’ll never get over it if you only get a few months– or worse, a few days with him– after all this secret pining and yearning.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Soobin was somehow eerily calm about the whole thing. But you do know better, and you know that he’s just trying to put on a brave face for you, and for himself. The two of you open Time to Love in silence, hands still interlocked, swiping to the ‘Love Countdown’ tab with your free hands, and brace yourselves. Soobin gives you a reassuring nod, and you respond back with what you hope is an equally reassuring smile, and that your expression doesn’t betray the fear bubbling deep within you.

Soobin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay, on the count of three,”

“One…” “Two…”

“Three!”

When both of you tap the in-app tab, there isn’t an array of numbers indicating an expiration date with a ticking countdown, as you expected and had grown accustomed to on your previous dates– in fact, there isn’t a single number on the screen– and instead there’s an infinity sign.

You two don’t have an expiration date.

You and Soobin look at each other, then at your watches, then at each other again. 

“Wait, we don’t have an expiration date–”

Then the realization dawns on both of you, and it hits you like a truck.

“Wait, we’re soulmates?!”

Both of you are sporting the same bewildered expression, and you both go to check your progress bars, just to be sure– they’re full, just as you’d expect after being matched with your soulmate. So that’s why your watch alarms haven’t gone off. You two were the one in a million. Once the shock finally wears off, it’s replaced with pure, unbridled joy, and when Soobin sweeps you off your feet to gather you in his arms, there’s an emotion bubbling in you that’s equal parts unfamiliar and yet welcome.

You’d thought all this time, all these years, that there was no way you should feel this way about your best friend, of all people. That you shouldn’t fuck this up, because Soobin has always been there for you, and you’ve always been there for him. As his friend. As your friend. 

But here is the universe, telling you that you’re fated to love him, and that he’s fated to love you in return. 

And love him you do. You love Soobin. And when you look at him, and see the way he’s looking at you, with fondness practically dripping from his gaze, you know he loves you too. 

Maybe the watch really is bullshit. Maybe it is statistically impossible to decide someone’s life partner based on an algorithm.

But maybe it’s onto something, because it seems silly to have ever thought of being with anyone except Soobin. You never would’ve thought to look for your forever right next to you, and yet, here he is, in the flesh. Was it a coincidence that he made it onto your recommended matches that fateful night? Was it a coincidence that he felt the same way you did?

Soobin’s lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and you melt in his heat, kissing him back with a fierce fervor, as if desperately communicating the depth of the feelings you’ve let build up silently after all these years. You decide that there’s no such thing as coincidences– he’s always known what’s best for you, and you’ve always wanted what’s best for him. You just didn’t know that the answer to both of those things was each other.

“I love you, noona.” He whispers with a bashful, dimpled smile, and your heart swells.

“I love you too, Soob.”

Soobin has always been counting down to something. 

To the end of another grueling workday, the next League of Legends patch update, to anything, so he always has something to look forward to. But he’s never looked forward to this.

The love countdown has always been something he despised and dreaded– he’s always wanted to be the master of his own fate, without the shackles of the app tying him down with each new connection. He’d always thought that his soulmate would be some poorly matched individual who he’d have a mediocre life with, but all that seems to be proven wrong as he looks at you.

He hates being wrong. But when he sees the way you smile, the way you regard him with the utmost love and affection in your gaze, the way you hold his hand as if you’ll lose him if you let go– he thinks he’s willing to concede defeat, at least this time.

Maybe that stupid watch does know a thing or two about love. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is all just pure coincidence. But despite it all, Soobin is thankful that this is where he ends up. That both of you had been counting down all this time to each other. 

Because if there's anyone he can count on in this world, it's you.

[fluffypotatey]

okay so:

the year is 2021. the month is june. the new season of hermitcraft, season 8, has just started, and everything is great! the hermits are all messing around, having fun, building insane things within the first week of the server being active, and generally having a good time. everyone's collected themselves into little factions, pranking each other, and it's all the fun, lighthearted, mostly-vanilla content hermitcraft is known for.

and then the split between minecraft versions 1.18 and 1.19 is announced. the delay of new terrain, and especially of new mobs like the warden, considerably disrupt several of the hermits' plans. but it's fine, they'll figure something out, they're professionals, and it mostly goes unnoticed.

about two weeks later, on november 9th, grian turns to mumbo jumbo in one of his episodes, and asks the famous question that would seal hermitcraft season 8's fate:

"mumbo, is the moon... big?"

suddenly, the fans panic. they search back through videos and streams, and realize that the moon had been abnormally large and stuck in a full-moon phase since october 30th. the Moon Big event has begun.

this is where the roleplay really starts. once the moon's size has been brought up, the hermits start a weird combination of scrambling to figure out why the moon's growing, and how to stop it- but also of ignoring it, hoping it won't be a problem, hoping someone else will deal with it. the moon keeps getting bigger, more hermits start realizing it's going on, and a creeping sense of dread starts to grow. but it's fine. it's fine, right? they do little plotlines like this all the time. they'll figure something out, the moon will go back to normal, and we'll laugh about it when this is all over. it's fine.

and then, blocks start flying away. just floating up out of the ground, and falling right back down! like for a moment, a square meter chunk of dirt has decided it's a ballerina and leaped out of the ground! but it's fine, right? the blocks are coming back. no lasting harm is done. they're going to fix it all... right?

the moon gets bigger. it's growing every day- local hermit weirdguy joe hills measures it every stream. the blocks start flying higher. gravity starts getting... weird, with players getting the slow falling effect at random, and being lifted off of the earth themselves. the players form cults and rituals and whatnot to try and appease the moon, convince it to leave them alone, making plans to escape. nothing works. things keep getting worse, and the moon keeps getting bigger. but it'll be fine. these storylines never leave lasting harm, or at least they never have before. they'll be fine.

and then the blocks stop coming back, just floating into the sky forever. the players have the slow falling effect more than they don't now. the moon is now so big it's visible even during the day, and fills the entire sky at night. they start planning their escapes in earnest, and say their goodbyes. some hermits jump into a void hole in the overworld (it was the centerpiece of their village). some flee to the End, some to the nether, some just fly with elytras and hope they can get far enough away in time. one brave hermit, tango, flies himself to the moon in a futile attempt to blow the whole thing up before it can crash.

but in the end, the moon crashes into the server, and everything they'd built was destroyed. and the whole time, there'd been nothing any of them could've done. season eight was over, a full six months before anyone had expected it to end, and season nine wouldn't start until about three months later. and im still not okay about it.

(here's a cool animatic of the moon's crash! honestly i dont think you need too much hermitcraft knowledge to get the gist)

(also the moon crash happened on the day before my birthday lmao.)

….

holy shit

[zishuge]

UPDATE (APRIL 2024): Because The Spirealm is now available through official channels again (Viki, Viu, iQiyi maybe soon?) some of the below links no longer work. I'm leaving them here, but please support the show by watching it through the official websites if you can!

Hello besties,

I come bearing all the sources I can find on English subs for The Spirealm, the live-action adaptation of the danmei novel Kaleidoscope of Death because I need more people to freak out with me over this. A lot of people (me included) have been suffering through the sometimes-unintelligible MTL subs on dramacool, but now that some time has passed, some wonderful people out there have done some amazing fansubs and I thought I'd share some links that @naughtynanzhu and I have found.

Pick your poison:

This google drive contains all 78 episodes, 23 of which have English subtitles (as of 3/21/2024). New episodes are being added but slowly. Video quality up to 1080p. (Note: there are some cute English subbed bts videos at the bottom!) Credit to twitter users @mwsdrama and @xianguang0104 who I believe are the fans behind these fansubs. NOTE (Apr. 2024): This google drive now seems to have restricted access - see note at end of bullet three below

This google drive contains all 78 episodes, all of which have English subtitles. However the English subtitles overlap a little bit with the Chinese ones so it can be a little bit hard to read. Video quality up to 720p. NOTE (Apr. 2024): This google drive now also seems to have restricted access and may not work.

This google drive has all 78 episodes of English subtitles in the form of srt files. You can download them and play the video in your choice of player that allows you to load in srt files (VLC, KMPlayer, etc.). NOTE (Apr. 2024): There is a link at the top to the raw video files ("78 episodes Raw Files 1080") which you can use to access the video files that were originally available in the google drive above that is now restricted.

Retro_fiction on bilibili has English subtitles, but a VPN may be required depending on where you are. NOTE (Apr. 2024): Looks like these have been taken down as well

I can't vouch for the quality of the subtitles for all 78 episodes across all three links, but I scanned through a few episodes in each drive and they're all quite good as far as I can tell, and definitely a million times better than the MTL ones.

Personally, I would download the video files from the first link and the srt files from the third and play them in KMPlayer together for the video quality and lack of overlapping subtitles.

Thank you to the wonderful fansubbers out there who worked hard on these. Please share and enjoy!

[deckedcards]

ᝰ . . . I WANT YOUR EVERYTHING, EVERY SINGLE PART OF YOU !

⌗ PAIRING: yandere!suguru niragi x male! reader, yandere!ryōhei arisu x reader x yandere!yuzuha usagi

⌗ SUMMARY: ever since (name) had been sent to this world of murder games, he thought that nothing could get worse upon from where he was now. that is until he catches the attention of a certain rifle handling psychopath. but rest assured, arisu and usagi won’t let the militant touch what’s theirs.

⌗ THIS WORK INCLUDES . . . lowercase intended, kind’ve dark content, typical aib warnings, typical niragi warnings, typical yandere warnings, third person pov, weapons described, cursing, niragi being worse than he already is, obsessed niragi, unhealthy love, “love” at first sight, possessive niragi, one-sided obsession, suggestive content (not full-on smut tho), reader only has eyes for arisu and usagi, implied poly relationship, bisexual! reader, threatening, suicidal thoughts, mentions of niragi’s backstory, assault, drugging, reader being too “pure” for the borderlands, reader gets hurt a lot, mentions of episode 3, scars, the militants, torture, niragi seeing himself in reader, reader wears glasses, stalking??, PTSD, niragi just being really creepy altogether, niragi calls reader “rabbit,” reader just wants to go home, also slight episode 6 rewrite, fixed grammar and wording mistakes ❨ edited ❩

⌗ EXTRA NOTES: this was originally supposed to be JUST a niragi fic, but then i started thinking about arisu and so i added him in, BUT THEN i started thinking about usagi once i started writing for his part so now there’s this. enjoy!! (niragi gif, arisu x usagi gif)

⸺ THIS WORLD was rotten, that’s all (name) knew when he was sent to this verison of shibuya. a version where he had to fight for his life in games that he never thought he’d be able to survive. he missed his family. he missed the warm comfort of his bed, the cold wind that brushed against his window at night, the excitement he always felt as he met up with his friends to hang around amusement parks that opened around the city.

why, why him? had he done something wrong in his past life to be cursed into this hell? he didn’t know what to do during his time here, he was alone throughout all this. he had survived, what—three—four? games by now. eight of spades, three of diamonds, six of clubs, and two of spades. he didn’t want to do this anymore, he didn’t wanna kill innocent people just to keep himself safe. either way, it’s not like he was given a choice. with the effects of the visa lingering over him, he had too. he was afraid of letting the days run out just to get shot down by a laser that came from god knows where.

he didn’t know the importance of the cards, he just stuck them in his pockets after he finished a game and off he went to his abanded apartment building to rest for the remainder of the day. that is … until he found the beach. he doesn’t know how he found it in the first place, but not a day goes by where he doesn’t regret it. why you may ask? it’s simple, really.

it was all because of suguru niragi.

ever since (name) joined the beach, niragi has been anything but kind to him. yes, niragi was already a complete asshole to people at the beach anyways, but for some reason (name) was his number one target. constantly degrading him, beating him till he was bruised to the pulp, even making some of the militants hold back his limbs as he dragged his (loaded) rifle across his abdomen and chest telling him how “he could pull the trigger at any moment if he wanted to”; this always stroke fear into (name)’s core. even stealing the chipped glasses off his face making his shitty vision betray him, this gave niragi a bigger advantage to the torture he indured as this made the man more helpless than he already was.

(name) was weak, fragile even and easily scared, he wouldn’t deny that, the borderlands practically ruined him. he knew that niragi could actually kill him at the slight pull of his trigger. it didn’t help that niragi was a stubborn and narcissistic man that wasn’t afraid of getting blood on his hands if it meant having more fun, the total opposite of what (name) was. he always attempted to avoid him throughout the building but alas, he always failed. especially since the militants were everywhere, always notifying him of his location or when he got back from a game. he was like a bug that always showed up around the house no matter how many times he tried squishing it. the beach was supposed to be a place where players could have fun, not stressing about the games that existed outside of it.

live your lives to the fullest was the message hatter had given everyone, but how could he do that when this maniac lingered at every corner he turned? he couldn’t relax if he wanted too, always on edge as stress ate up his body worrying about both the games and the pierced devil with an ego too big for his body. (name) prayed every night that niragi would just disappear one day, maybe even failing at a game for being too careless or reckless at it. however, no matter how many times he did so, he would always succeed. coming back even more pyschotic than the day prior and he’d have to deal with his wounds getting reopened again as the days went by.

niragi hated how much (name) reminded him of how he used to be. innocent, weak, helpless, lonely, always letting his bullies get the upper hand all because he didn’t know how to defend himself. he wanted to kill him. kill the person that reminded him of all those horrible memories. but he didn’t, no matter how many times he thought of doing so, he didn’t. he was too infatuated with him.

ever since he first caught sight of (name), he was obsessed with him, how pure he was. all the brightness he had in his eyes, the spark inside them having yet to go out considering the predicament he was put in. how everytime he caught sight of niragi, his eyes widened and his body began to shake. all the tears and whimpers that left him as he dragged a knife against his skin, threatening to cut it open and leave him to bleed out. his poor little rabbit. being forced to succumb to the rules of the borderlands, he just wanted to tie him up and leave him in a closet where only he could find him. where he’d have to be forced to rely on niragi to live. he was perfect.

of course, that wasn’t possible. he didn’t want (name)’s visa days to run out and have to come back to his lifeless body bleeding out on the floor because of that stupid laser. so he let him roam free. if you would call tormenting “roaming free.” but again, it was all he could do. he didn’t have to worry about the beach residents foiling his plan since they already knew that (name) was off limits. ever since one of them walked in on his fun time, as he liked to call it.

(name)’s whimpers were muffled as the fabric that kept him quiet tugged against the corners of his mouth. his hands jerked at the restraints that trapped them against the frame of the bed, his feet were mirrored the same way. all he did was let out tears at his situation. niragi had captured him again, after he thought he’d been so successful in avoiding him. he hadn’t seen him or the militants all day, he was ecstatic in thinking he could have a peaceful day finally, one where he could relax just like hatter promised.

oh how naive the poor thing was, did he forget where he was residing in? he strolled around the hallways of the building, playing around at the umbrella straw that was soaked inside his drink. he was finally able to visit the club that most of the citizens hung around in, a huge bright smile was plastered on his face. this was the first time he felt ever content in this place in months or however long he’s spent here (dates or calendars weren’t very accurate especially since the internet didn’t work anymore and nobody’s been keeping track of the days) it was too good to be true, but like always, his happiness was cut short. as soon as he turned the corner to head to his room he felt someones hand press a wet cloth against his nose, the smell of it was nauseous, his drink dropped to the floor staining the carpet beneath it. “shh…” was all he heard before he blacked out.

his vision was groggy as he woke up, blinking his eyes at an attempt to take in his surroundings. the room he was in was dark but dimly light by the bedside light, window curtains blocking off the outside, and wooden door closed off. attempting to sit up, he struggled, finally feeling his limbs glued to the bed he was in. realization had finally set in as he cried, obviously nothing came out and nobody would hear him anyways, so why would he even try?

“i missed you today.”

like a sixth sense, the door opened as a figure walked in, niragi. a shit-eating grin painted his face as he watched (name) struggle against the hold of the ropes, muffled screams left him as he walked over to his side settling down his rifle. niragi grabbed ahold of his face, squishing his cheeks together as he mocked a pout, “i have to give it to you, you hid yourself pretty well. i was starting to think you fell down the rabbit hole.” he spat rolling (name)’s head to the side. niragi opened the bedside table as he grabbed a small pocket knife that was hidden inside it.

he cocked the knife, revealing the sharp metal point. (name) was breathing heavily as niragi crawled ontop of him trailing the knife across from his collarbones down to the middle of his shirt. sticking out his tongue as slick stuck to the metal ball in the middle of it, lapping at his face as (name) cringed at the warm feeling of niragi’s spit mixed with the heat that filled his face. “you know better than to fuck with me..” niragi snarled, “it’s almost like you want me to kill you?” his fist collided with (name)’s face as he squirmed, dark eyes peered over him as nirgai bit his lip at the sight. the pervert was getting aroused at this.

he was too intoxicated at his movements, all of his undivided attention was focused on the screams that left (name)’s mouth as he deepened the knife into his thigh drawing blood. the door handled jiggled as it opened, a girl with long hair and bangs stood in the doorway, color left her face as she saw the scene infront of her. niragi snapped his head, sending a glare her way, “s-sorry…i-i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t see anything i promise!” she stammered closing her eyes shut and bowing her head as she left, slamming the door shut.

niragi clicked his tongue turning his head back as he smiled at the man under him, lightly bending his torso over to whisper in his ear, “there goes your savior.”

(name) was losing hope. all the pain he’s felt was bringing him to the edge, he wanted to end it all. nobody was going to save him, no one at the beach even gave him at a glance at all the agony he’s gone through. who was he going to tell all of this too? hatter, the drunkend sex obsessed lunatic? aguni, niragi’s own boss? fuck, no. they wouldn’t give two shits about how he was feeling. he needed someone more special, his own white knight or maybe even an angel, perhaps.

an angel like… ryōhei arisu.

arisu wasn’t like everyone else at the beach. he was smart, kind, caring, good-hearted, empathetic, handsome, he was the type of person who would risk his life if it meant protecting others. he was everything (name) needed. he never expressed any desires in hurting him, always protecting the other whenever they were paired up in a game together. with all of these sessions a friendship had started to build up with the two.

he was comfortable in expressing all his desires of wanting to go back to his old life, the yearning he had to see his friends and family again, even telling about him all the things niragi had done to him before he came. arisu listened to everything, never interrupting him or cutting him off, always giving him a hug or letting him cry into his shoulder as his hatred for niragi grew even more.

arisu had even opened up to him about losing his friends in a seven of hearts game. how they sacrificed themselves just so he could live on, a promise he intended to keep for as long as he was alive. (name) felt safe around him, always hanging around arisu and usagi as they gladly accepted him into their team.

arisu was his angel, while yuzuha usagi was his white knight.

usagi was just like arisu. kind, smart, beautiful, good-hearted, and protective, but unlike arisu, she was stronger. stronger than both of them, both physically and mentally. the type of person who worked independently, unless she was with someone she cared about and knew well. despite how she presented herself, she was still sensitive and emotional on the inside, especially with the grief she had of losing her father. she’d built up walls that she had never thought she’d be able to take down for anyone that wasn’t arisu. anyone that wasn’t (name).

ever since she found out what happened to him, she felt remorse for him. nobody should have to deal with all the misery he went through, nobody.

one day, during a game, she had teamed up with him. it was a spades game, something she was good at. during one of the rounds, (name) was attacked by another player while he was off guard, he tried to fight back but his strength wasn’t the best as his attacker easily overpowered him. usagi came out of nowhere, knocking the other player off of him as she delivered a blow to their face, over and over again. anger was all she felt at this person trying to to get rid of one of the only people she cared about. she didn’t care if this person was just trying to play the game and had the desire to survive like her. no, she wasn’t gonna let anybody take (name) from her.

lifting her bloody knuckles from the blow she gave, she stood up picking up (name)’s glasses that were knocked off him to return. that’s when she saw it. his shirt was ridden up as his chest heaved, eyes closed with messy hair and sweat wetting his skin. her face felt hot as she looked away, shaking her head to get rid of all the erotic thoughts that filled her subconscious. but what really caught her eyes were the pigmented lines that reached from his torso all the way to his waistband and dipped even lower than that.

his body was littered with all the affliction that she knew was forced onto him. her ears started ringing as all possible images of what could’ve happened to him flood to her. god, did she just wanna kill niragi.

“usagi… is that you?”

the calling of her name took her out of it, rushing to (name)’s side. “yeah it’s me.” she replied setting his glasses back onto his face, brushing a strand of hair away, “don’t worry, you’re safe now.” she cradled his face in her hands as they smiled at each other, (name) thanking her profusely before they went on to finish the rest of the game, not caring about the bloody corpse that was left behind.

yeah, safe.

the two made a deal between themselves, protect (name) no matter the cost. when (name) told them the thoughts he had conjured up of wanting to let go of himself, all arisu saw was him the day after the seven of hearts game.

lying on the street, filthy, dried blood and tears staining him. graphic memories of karube’s head exploding as his body flumped to the floor, his lit up cigarette rolling to arisu’s feet as he cried out into the air. nothing but his weeping could be heard throughout the building. he was begging for death, he wanted to be with karube and chōta again. not caring if he would be breaking the promise they had given him, he missed his brothers.

he doesn’t think he would still be here if usagi hadn’t saved him. but man, is he grateful she did. cause if she didn’t, he doesn’t think he’d have the gratitude of being with her or meeting (name). he made a promise that he’d never let anyone feel the same way he did after that. he definitely wouldn’t let (name) feel that way.

“you have us now,” arisu reassured him. the three were in (name)’s suite, he was sat on one of the twin beds as arisu and usagi were on the one across from him. tears streamed down (name)’s face as he turned his head up. the duo were looking at him with nothing but love in their eyes.

usagi nodded her head at this, standing up to move beside him, resting her hands on his shoulders, “i promise you’ll be safe as long as we stick together.” she said softly wiping the tears from his cheeks. arisu grabbed his right hand clasping it between both of his, “we’ll protect you and we’ll bring you back with us to the real world.”

(name) furrowed his brows, ripping his hand back (much to arisu’s dismay) as he looked between the both of them, “but hatter said only one person can go back to the real world? someone who has all the cards, and only he can have all of them, so how would you—“

“hatter is dead,” arisu responded coldly with no hint of hesitation in his voice. (name)’s breath hitched in his throat, eyes expanding, cranking his head to look at usagi. begging this to just be a joke. a joke where she would laugh the moment he looked at her. hatter was strong, reckless, but strong. surely one simple game couldn’t have ended it all for him, right? his eyes met hers as she nodded, her face was stoic, no sense of humor to be found on it. no. “he failed at one of his games. the game where everybody was celebrating his help to retrieve one of the playing cards,” she says rubbing her thumb against his cheek to soothe his nerves.

his pupils darted around the room at the conformation, stopping to connect with arisu’s, “so.. who runs the beach now?”

“we haven’t decided yet.” he replies, “me and the rest of the executives are gonna have a meeting about it tomorrow afternoon. my guess is kuzuryu. i mean, it’d make sense, he is second in line.”

nodding his head (name) spoke up again, “and the cards? how do you expect to get those?”

“chishiya.”

a laugh escaped him, “chishiya? the only person who works with him is kuina, how’d you get him to become your ally?”

“it’s a long story, really. it’s best we don’t get into it right now,” arisu responded, “he told me he has a plan for after the new beach leader gets chosen. and we were hoping you’d help us with it.”

(name) shook his head at the offer, this entire thing seemed sketchy. chishiya wasn’t the type of person who would just so easily let someone help with one of his schemes and hatter’s death, how would the new leader explain that to the citizens? there was definitely something going on that they didn’t know about.

“hey, listen,” arisu steered his attention away from his thoughts, “just like usagi said, you’ll be safe with us. if you’re worried about anything bad happening during tomorrow then you can just stay in my room. everybody will be busy in the lobby anyways—“

“no.”

usagi raised her brows at this, “no?” she repeated. “i wanna help.” (name) said grabbing arisu’s hands just like he had done to him a few seconds ago, “i don’t care anymore. i wanna go home. i wanna go back and maybe even have a life with the two of you.”

the duo smiled at the last sentence, having a life with him sounded nice. just the three of them, together. “yeah..” arisu whispered, if he was a cartoon character he would definitely have giant heart shaped eyes just by (name)’s actions, “okay, yeah! that sounds great, yeah!” he rapidly collected himself straightening his posture as he stood up, “well, it’s uh.. getting pretty late, i think we should all head to bed now. c’mon usagi, let’s go!”

usagi stiffled a smile at his awkwardness. he never really was good at being a romantic, “sweet dreams.” usagi said giving (name)’s shoulders one last rub before getting up and following arisu out of the room. (name) watched as they left, his stomach started to churn as he internally slapped himself, already regretting what he had just said to them.

what had he gotten himself into?

a/n: i was gonna write a lot more but i didn’t want the fic to end up being too long so i ended it right there. i have a lot of ideas that i wanna do with this, so i might expand on the story a little more. maybe or maybe not, we’ll see.

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