#this will be fine and not have any long lasting effects on me whatsoever :)

[rowanisawriter]

i have seen too many bad posts like in a row .

[cerastes]

Today is Day 9 Of Me Playing Girls' Frontline 2.

Like any other gacha, the start is braindead because they need even the most non-sentient of creatures to be able to clear. This is nothing new, but it really stuck out like a sore thumb in this particular case because this game heavily uses the XCOM formula as its inspiration. For the uninitiated, the original 1994 X-COM: UFO Defense starts incredibly brutal and only gets harder as you advance. The 2012 reboot, XCOM: Enemy Unknown starts reasonably brutal and scales pretty harshly and always demanding you really, really are learning what your tools can do and what the game mechanics are as you basically fight an asymmetrical Civilization III game against an opponent that 1) outguns you most of the way and 2) fights you with the hatefulness one only reserves for someone that has fucked one's wife. GFL2 starts you off against enemies that require absolutely no tactical acumen whatsoever, that do not use cover, and that deal pitiful amounts of damage even if you yourself don't use cover. This lasts a little too long for comfort but again it's industry standard. Once you get to parts of the game that require sentience, it's fun to see how they've gone about the flow of combat: You're basically pitting your characters with their own special conditions, specialties and passives against many enemies that initially are simple as hell (they just move and shoot) but steadily become more complex and nuanced (enemies that target an area for bombardment at the end of their turn, enemies that can counter in specific circumstance, enemies that trap your enemies with overwatch fire, reaction intereceptions, AoE, etc). The system definitely has potential. I've yet to truly find anything actually challenging that wasn't me fighting enemies 10-20 levels higher than my units, but the fundamentals of cover and risk-reward are there even on-level; if you get shot at completely exposed, you are going to take hefty damage (unless you are rocking a Suomi shield).

The biggest departure from XCOM proper is that there is no accuracy: All attacks will always hit, unless certain abilities outright deny the damage -- like certain enemy Medics that can use the Anesthesia skill to negate one instance of damage -- and the game really favors a more aggressive style for both the player and the enemy through the Stability System: All units have a Stability counter, which decreases by certain amounts depending on the attack received. Once it's depleted, units can only benefit from the most bare and basic defensive effects of cover, which are not very good. Stability Break also may have additional special effects on certain enemies, chiefly bosses, resulting in extra damage taken, reduced attack power, changing forms, losing certain active or passive skills, etc. As a huge fan of systems like this, I Enjoy.

The game is gorgeous looking: The environments are highly detailed, the character models are incredibly well made, the guns are lovingly sculpted. I know the overarching meme is that it's got the best anime girl feet in the industry -- and it's true, they put more love into rendering and modelling these girls' feet, stockings and socks that I've seen parents put into raising their children -- but the model quality is truly overarching, they spared no effort in any obvious area, it's a really gorgeous looking game. The sound design and the music are all fine and have not wowed me in any special way, really, but visually, good lord, the game truly does go hard. Another thing the game does really well is video cutscenes, the action and choreography of actually very decently lengthy cutscenes they show pretty often go very hard, with good explosions, good gunplay, fluid and good looking motions, etc. The animation direction in GFL2 is really, really good, something I wasn't expecting given they've not really delved on this area particularly in previous games. They probably hired a really good studio for this-slash-got themselves some very talented and skilled personnel for it.

The game economy is Post-Mihoyo style: There's a set cast of Max Rarity characters, called Elites in the game's nomenclature, that inhabit a Standard Banner with absolutely fucking horrendous rates. 0.6% chance of rolling anything Max Rarity, 0.3% of an Elite Doll, 0.3% of an Elite Weapon. Besides this, there's the Limited Banners, which is every banner ever, meaning post-launch Elites are all Limited with a Limited Signature Weapon. In other words, shit sucks. The only saving grace is that the game, in thankfully true XCOM fashion, is much less about having Strong Individual Units, and much more about having a team with good synergy, and there's plenty of great non-Elites you'll have plenty of copies of. Gameplaywise, you won't get shafted by not having the Newest Woman With A Broken Kit, which is good. Signature Weapons so far from what I've seen are very nice to have but no functionality is tied to them and no character feels incomplete without their Signature Weapon or without multiples dupes, which is really good practice and a deal breaker for me if it's present. About the only stupidly broken character I can think off right this second is definitely Suomi, who supports so incredibly well that she lets you Not Play XCOM. She's seriously and hilariously busted and futureproofed.

The writing is pretty damn stiff. This is nothing new with Sunborn. The thing with Sunborn is that when it hits highs, they are VERY high, but the trip to those highs is clunky and stiff, with an overabundance of nothingburger technobabble and tacticool filler dialogue that, were this a megahit the way One Piece is, would definitely inspire a dogged group of fans to make a website that tells you exactly where to read and where to skip to avoid all the meaningless filler. Even if you like some tacticool, it's just SO much of it that serves no purpose. The characters are... Unfortunately, not super fun. Our old friend Oats, ahem, Groza (OTs-14) is there, and she's fun, but the rest of the characters have not done a good job to endear me to them: Colphne I'm pretty ok with, Nemesis and Krolik really have exhausted the fucks I can give for them by this point (I'm in Chapter 4). This is particularly painful in the case of Nemesis for me, a character whose design I really, really love and who I was looking forward to a lot. Nemesis' whole thing is that she literally cannot speak normally and has to communicate entirely in cryptic theater kid ramblings, and Krolik conversely only exists as the only person that can somehow accurately decipher what the fuck it is she's saying. This is charming for all of three cutscenes before it becomes very old and basically filler: Nemesis says "The embers of starlight long forgotten by statues lingers in the fingertips of the deaf" and Krolik replies with "Hah!? Who are you calling a coward?! I'll beat you up!" because Nemesis shittalks Krolik a lot, and that's the crux of both of their personalities. I know they are building Nemesis for something else but good lord it's torturous and stale. There's a Super Powered Child that I don't care about and she's the main plot device. Mayling is funny and endearing, and I like her. We meet characters from Ye Olde GFL 1 days and so far it's been pretty nice every time: Suomi, Lenna (UMP9), Kalina, Leva (UMP45), always a good time hanging with them. I particularly enjoy how divorced Commander and Kalina are. Oh, the Commander (your character) is an actual character, fully voiced and all, I like that a lot, and I like them. You can choose a male or female Commander, with fully 3D rendered distinct non-obscured, non-masked models and that's pretty damn cool. Still, can't help but miss the bangers that were ST AR-15, RO635, DEFY, and others from GFL1.

There's plenty of stuff to do without using Stamina, especially event stuff, but I fear that once you run out of it, you enter that weird limbo of "logging in, autoclearing the RNG drops mode, logging out". I'm not there yet but I dread reaching it. I know they just launched the game here (1 year old in CN) but, I guess I've been immensely spoiled by Arknights' several replayable game modes, this game, being XCOM in nature, would ROCK a roguelite mode or some sort of replayable game mode so much.

Overall, it's been a pretty nice time, as someone who dropped but nonetheless greatly enjoyed GFL, it's great seeing the Old Friends better than ever. My friend Suomi and my friend Tololo (CHILE MENTIONED 🇨🇱🇨🇱🇨🇱) are there for me and I'm glad to hang out with them again. I wish my friend Sabrina would also join me sooner than later :'). Color me surprised that so far, the gameplay seems both fun and has potential, but we'll see how it goes from here. Overall: Good first impression.

Say something nice about my friend Tololo

[sapphicrow]

RE8 Lords (+dimi sisters) Opinion on crocs!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother Miranda

The bird mommy herself. A true lady. Gothic aesthetic and all.

I think she would be an avid croc hater

I mean, she works in a lab, closed toe shoes. They’re not very practical for experimentation or any thing else

Plus her other outfit is goddess apparel or old hag.

I just can’t see her enjoying them whatsoever. They clash with her whole vibe.

If offered, Miri would most surely wrinkle her nose and scoff at the very notion.

“Ugh. Begone, mortal. The day you goad me into those atrocities of footwear is the day I surrender my subconscious to the megamycete,” Mother Miranda waves you off with a flick of a taloned hand.

Mia left a pair in the lab once and she tried them on. They remind her.

Salvatore Moreau

Fish man!

Moreau would be a huge fan.

Seriously, he lives in constant sogginess. A pair of shoes that can fit his deformed and damp feet would be welcome.

He pads around the reservoir in crocs all the fricking time

Over time, the sound of the rubber squelch becomes associated with his approach.

He would be gifted his first pair, but soon amass a bit of a collection- his favorites are the blue pair and the black one, but he’s also got green.

(In the church) *squish squish squish squosh squish* “hi, mother!” Moreau garbles. “Like ‘em?” He asks, gesturing to the tye dye crocs currently adorning the lower half of his slimy body.

He doesn’t wear them in public after Mother Miranda glared at them though

Heisenberg

Metal bending dilf

My guy isn’t the biggest fan of crocs, they just don’t work for him

The factory is difficult enough to manage in steel toed boots. Rubber slippers are not ideal.

I think he wears them solely to meetings to piss off Mirander (it works every time)

He was approached by his nieces with a pair of solid black crocs, and they were too insistent for him to deny them entirely.

Heisenberg thinks they’re fine, simply not his cup of tea though.

“Fuck!” The lord curses, his voice echoing against the metal walls of the factory for the fiftieth time. “Damn pieces of junk.” Heisenberg mutters after dropping a piece of scrap onto his croc bearing toes once more.

Alcina Dimitrescu

No.

Just no.

Absolutely not.

Lady Dimitrescu , the countess, the favorite of Mother Miranda, mother of three, would not be caught dead in such apparel.

It’s less that she has an issue with their design, and much more that she’s disgusted with the thought of looking so undignified.

She wouldn’t be threatening anyone when she whips her crocs into sports mode before unsheathing her mighty claws.

Alcina doesn’t mind them on others, but not her. She’s a noble lady and far above such peasantry.

Also they don’t make them in her shoe size.

“What…” she drawls, looking scornfully down at the maiden presenting her with such blatantly hideous shoes, “are those?”

Donna Beneviento

The dollmaker and illusionist ~

Donna is chill, I’d imagine she wouldn’t have too strong an opinion on crocs

She owns a pair in black and likes to wear them around her workshop

They’re quite comfy, and since she’s not always on her feet, they serve as very nice house slippers

She likes to pair them with fluffy socks to really get the full coziness effect

Besides, her skirt is long enough where they’re not really noticeable

A quiet melody sways within the air of Lady Beneviento’s workspace. Humming to herself as she worked and Angie looked over her shoulder. Dexterous hands wield pliers to work the last bit of wire into the joints of her newest creation. And as a finishing touch, a mini croc is slid onto this doll. A small smile quirks her lips beneath the veil.

“I want some!” Angie shrieks once she sets eyes on the crocs.

Bela Dimitrescu

The eldest of the flies, and the blondest

Bela follows in her mother’s footsteps on this one, she despises crocs.

She simply doesn’t see the appeal.

They’re rubber, they’re not particularly fashionable, and they clash with the lace of her dress.

Eyeing her sister up and down, Bela just scoffs judgmentally before walking away.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Our delulu queen <3

She is the biggest crocs person ever.

She absolutely loves them, much to her sister and Mother’s dismay.

Dani just thinks they’re the coolest thing ever

You don’t have to lace them, there’s different modes, and you can decorate them??? What more could you ask for!

She had a whole wardrobe. I think she had every color. Depending on the occasion, she mixes and matches.

Dani is also big on jibbitz.

“Look!” The ginger squeals excitedly as she swarms into a maid’s face. “It’s a fly!” Dani says with a delirious giggle, shoving the new charm into the frightened woman’s vision.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

The ravenette of the trio

Cassie likes crocs a normal amount

She doesn’t own her own pair of course, the only reason she ever wears them is to snatch them from Dani and make her mad

She also delights in how Bela and her mom glare down at her whenever she wears them

All in all, Cass doesn’t wear them as a fashion choice, she wears them for the drama

“Hehehe, you’re coming with me,” Cassandra whispers to herself as she steals Daniela’s prized flamingo print crocs from her room.

[noellevanious]

Oh yeah, thoughts since I finished the main storymode on Hard for Hi-fi Rush:

If you like Stylish Action/3D action games at all (think DMC, Bayonetta, even God Hand), it's an easy recommend.

Lots of rambling that I might turn into a review/essay below the cut:

Gameplay is almost perfect. Seriously might be my favorite Stylish action game. I mentioned it before but the added rhythm adds a beautiful layer that other games lacked, where it felt like every fight was challenging, even when I knew how to optimize my movement and tools.

Story is incredibly basic with almost no twist, which kind of surprised me. It's got the same story beats as No Straight Roads (which IMO does everything EXCEPT the gameplay better), but with a lot less spice. Not necessarily a bad thing (everything else was basically perfect), but I'll be interested to see what they do for a plot, should they actually make the sequel.

Characters/Non-story writing is fine. Perfectly serviceable. I appreciate how they didn't have any hinted love interest stuff, outside the one lesbian moment when Korsica complimented Peppermint. I wasn't a fan of Zanzo just being "Remember THIS Jojo moment??" though (though I enjoyed how they included the Golden Wind punch panel).

Voice-acting was whatever. I like Sungwon Cho but he didn't fit as the character he played, and everybody else just felt kinda bland, nobody's delivery really stood out to me outside of Korsica's Irish accent.

All of the above "Meh"/"whatever"s are purely from a #Critic perspective though - they didn't hamper the fun I had with the core game at all.

Look below for a FULL gameplay ramble where I nitpick Basically Everything I can think of:

Over-reliance on your Buddy assists (the game's version of alternate and ranged weapons) later in the game gets rough, especially against the last few bosses.

It may just have been because of playing on Hard, but there were almost NO health drops whatsoever. The two Health tank upgrades I got were completely useless for my entire playthrough.

but these levels are fucking MARATHONS, each level was 30 minutes minimum.

Most of the fights after the first half of the game were just me waiting in back for my Buddy cooldowns (which are mercifully short outside of Macaron) to deal with the RPS enemy shields/Super Armor/Tough Guy effects.

I REALLY dislike that Chai has NO super armor whatsoever. It's already odd (DMC has it for weaker enemy damage in general), but in a game where rhythm is key, and you can get knocked out of combos from literally any damage, with limited parry inputs (due to the Rhythm beat design, attacks and parries technically HAVE to come out around the same frame, so if you're in a specific animation, it's hard to parry in time).

Those two facts combined meant I couldn't really do any cool combos, because the ones that aren't just "Mash light attack" weren't realistic. I can't keep enemies stunned/in place most of the time, so I relied on Super moves/Devil Triggers/whatever to actually waveclear at all. Bosses were a no-go on trying to Dante 1v1 unless I knew all of their moves already, because I'd take 20% damage from their single attack if I missed the parry, and they'd take scratch damage no matter what I did.

In my head, Chai should've have a sort of rechargable Super armor shield (think Halo's rechargable shield), where as long as he has some shield, he'll also have Super armor and can't be knocked out of animations outside of certain attacks (IE certain boss attacks). This would mean I could actually try the cooler/more specific combos and experiment a bit more.

Also, just like in DMC Devil May Cry's Special Edition, the RPS Buddy shields should've just been damage reductions until removed, instead of second health bars/actual damage blockers.

Platforming was basic as hell, and there was never a case of "This is a challenging and interesting platforming section", but they used them well for lore/exposition/breathers between big fights.

[mythserene]

Mark Lewisohn: Drug Buddy (Part Deux) - Mark explains heroin

The longer clip—which is very long and so does have some cuts of his many digressions—is so stupid in so many ways that I cannot address them now because I have to finish my real work. But I am still going to post it below the short clip. The main point is Lewisohn's certainty that John and Yoko were never addicted to heroin. And in his analysis, besides being very impressed with John's experimental ways—which I very much relate to—he opines that John possibly didn't know what withdrawal really was like when he wrote Cold Turkey and also says that John and Yoko once got off heroin by having a driver drive them across America in the back of a car and at the end “they were over it. Which must've been a trip. And a half.”

Like, literally read one single thing on heroin withdrawal, fan boi. A universal side-effect of opiate withdrawal is the alimentary canal waking up and beginning to work again, and it's messy. Always. You don't want to be in the back of a car with no bathroom or clean underwear. It's also incredibly uncomfortable, even including on the eyes, and so I hope they had some curtains on those car windows. The adjustment from the opiate-induced pinhole pupils back to full, shocked, reactivity can feel like getting your pupils dilated at the optometrist. Either way, withdrawal is the opposite of sexy and Lewisohn's breathy awe makes me want to vomit.

In this little clip he talks about the Two Junkies interview and how he has figured the Get Back heroin situation out by the chronology of Spanish Tony (Sanchez) being on set 13 January, then John throwing up in the Canadian Broadcasting Corp's interview on 14 January, and then, says Lewisohn, from John being okay after he throws up. From these clues Lewisohn has deduced that John and Yoko got some from Spanish Tony the day before, did it that night after work, had a hangover the next day, and then were fine. So he has made the jaw-droppingly idiotic (and even more confident) deduction that that's how it went and that there's no evidence that they ever did it again that month.

🫠

LEWISOHN: I think it's very easy to assume that John was strung out on heroin the whole time [of the Get Back sessions]. It's very evident that he was not. He's far too creative and lucid to- to-- doesn't exhibit any signs whatsoever of being strung out. In fact, in Twickenham—I think it's the 14th of January, it's the last day at Twickenham—John begins the day with an interview set up the day before with Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and John is kind of green in this interview. And he's- he's clearly unwell, and in fact he goes off to throw up. And we know that he's thrown up because he comes back and says, ‘I've just thrown up.’ There's no secrets with these guys. They told us everything. Um, and then he's a bit more together. His speech becomes a little bit unglued, and he just becomes a little bit more together. ... And if you look, the day before there's a picture of ... some guys around the Beatles, and one of them is Tony Sanchez. Now, he was- he was heroin supplier to the Stones. And he turns up on the 13th of January, and that night they do heroin, and the next morning John is green, and then he throws up. So there's a clear chronology there. That they've got it from Tony, and they've taken it, and he's not well. And- but there's no indication that he takes it again.

I threw together a few clips of John (and Yoko) from the Two Junkies interview. John before throwing up, John saying he's sick and the cut afterwards—that definitely does not show him saying that he's thrown up—and of him still being toasted afterwards. But if Mark Lewisohn had watched the video—actually watched it with a desire to understand it instead of projecting onto it—let alone had read anything or asked one single expert—he would be unable to talk such nonsense. Not that he's ever challenged on any of it.

Here's the longer clip where Lewisohn sprints into an embrace of full-on, mind-blowing, cringeworthily embarrassing ignorance. “And in fact I'm not sure how many times he took it...”

How does he have the confidence to say such idiotic things without ever even bothering to do a Google search? I would fear the exposure of looking like such a fool. But I know the answer. Because people listen to him and take his words on faith.

[tamagosandesu]

Title: Meet Cute Author's Notes: So, I was grocery shopping with my mom and realized that fridges was technically storage freezers on the inside. I suddenly thought that wouldn't it be fun if somebody had a meet-cute at the moment? Then I thought, why not sasusaku?

The last part wasn't really planned, I just randomly thought about it and decided to add it. It's up to you to imagine what happened at the dinner ;)

Enjoy! .

.

. Sasuke yawns as he feels the prick of tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His eyebrows furrow as the sun suddenly shines too brightly on his face, heat and light passing through the windshield of his car.

It was too early. Being a university student, Sasuke did not have much time in his hands, and between wanting to graduate and being well rested, Sasuke chose to invest in the long-term effects that studying has to bring rather than laying in bed and slacking off.

He thinks it's normal for many college students to have the same situation; all nighters over sleep, requirements over nap. Taking up Political Science wasn't really much of an exaggerated struggle, but being the high-achiever that he is, Sasuke thinks he can't risk any moment to fail.

Although, between weeks of practically facing university without an ounce of sleep, there are still days that Sasuke is given a reprieve of hunching over his laptop or finishing reports after reports. Every Saturday, he gets half the day free and the whole Sunday to himself. Mondays to Fridays are jam-packed, either with being a student or through juggling his commitments to his part-time job.

Usually, he just spends his weekend free times inside his dorm room near the university; Konoha State University is one of the best schools he could ever get into and is infamously known to produce achievers after achievers that top exams and creates a name for themselves. People whom Sasuke admires are mostly alumni of KSU, so it's only right that he also enters the college.

The only problem with it was that it was a good 2 hours away from their home, an hour and a half if there weren't as many commuters. Sasuke, at first, challenged his chances and tried to face the tribulation of commuting from their house to KSC for his first semester. He had to wake up in the dead of early morning where the sun is nowhere to be seen and the moon is still high up. Sasuke likes a good challenge, and so went his college life.

To say that it was tiring was an understatement. The first week was okay—adrenaline was still powering his body and the fact that he was in KSU oh my god was motivation enough to keep him sane through barely 4 hours of sleep. However, when his family saw his state of practically being a zombie, and he saw his mom shake his head with a pointing look similar to a mother hen to her chicks, he knew he had to move out and find a place near the university.

It was short-lived. However, since Sasuke is able to constantly get 5 hours of sleep, or 6 if he's extremely lucky, he thinks it's quite alright.

Sasuke yawns once again at the thought.

"Stop yawning."

Sasuke Uchiha scowls at his Mother who looks like a trophy-housewife and an elegant mother in the passenger seat, wearing an equally annoyed scowl on her pretty face.

Mikoto Uchiha was the image of elegance—long, ebony hair, styled and fixed neatly that it flows down carefully, her blouse pearly white and neatly pressed without any wrinkles whatsoever, her shoes the latest fashion from her favorite luxury shoe brand, and her face devoid and any imperfections. All this just for merely getting groceries.

Meanwhile, Sasuke looks casual—not too casual, but perfectly casual that still looked presentable. He thinks he looks fine, fine enough for the occasion of becoming Mikoto Uchiha's assistant in her grocery shopping. It wasn't bad, but when you put Sasuke beside his mom, there's no doubt that he would look like he'd come out straight out of bed.

"It's not my fault you woke me up so early," Sasuke retorts, earning a glare from his mom.

"Is that how you speak to your mother, Sasuke Uchiha?"

Sasuke shivers. It's the full name.

Sasuke feels like a little kid again, getting scolded by his mom as if he sped up with his bike way too fast and accidentally tumbled and scraped his knee.

The reverie is gone in an instant, however, when Mikoto suddenly smiles, as if reminiscing.

"Besides, it's not everyday that you get to spend time with the family all together again."

Sasuke sighs and smartly keeps his mouth shut. Anything further and Mikoto goes all sentimental again until Sasuke has to practically tear his ear off to hear none of it.

It was those rare weekends that everyone in the family was free. Well technically, forced to be free. Sasuke decided it was time to come back home after he's had enough of his mother nagging him and painfully reminding him how he and his brother has left her all alone, then proceeding to silently imply as if they don't love her anymore.

Sasuke was mama's boy through and through. So even if he has a mountain of tasks to accomplish and deadlines to reach, he packs his bags for a weekend stay and comes home to his family. Even if Mikoto Uchiha wakes him up early in the morning just to drive her to the grocery store and eventually carry bags of groceries, Sasuke still complies albeit grumbling.

Sasuke yawns once again.

Mikoto tsks and scolds him again. "Stop yawning."

Sasuke only rolls his eyes as he roams the parking lot to find a spot. .

.

. Sasuke rocks the cart back and forth, bored out of his mind as he waits for his mother to finish her chattering with her high school friends that they coincidentally bumped into. Sasuke was an introvert, like an introverted introvert. Not an extroverted introvert, or an at-least-i-can-socialize introvert, but a please-leave-me-alone-i-beg-of-you introvert.

He's suddenly lost half of his almost non-existent social battery when Mikoto dragged him to meet one of her friends and fussed over how her little boy was all grown-up. If Sasuke's uncomfort wasn't obvious enough, judging by his smile that almost looks constipated, Mikoto further forced him to talk and socialize with people he has no idea who are, much to his chagrin.

After Mikoto lost even an ounce of attention on him, he made sure to go as far away from her as possible.

So now, he absentmindedly stares at the variety of chips in front of him while still looking out for his mom if she finally decided to bid farewell to her friends.

"Sasuke?"

Said man tenses as his blood runs cold at the voice. It can't be…

Slowly, he turns his head to confirm.

"Sasuke!" Suddenly, he found himself in a tight hug by none other than his self-proclaimed best friend, Naruto Uzumaki.

Damn.

Sasuke curses under his breath when Naruto finally releases him, smiling ear-to-ear, barely aware of the dark aura and menacing glare that Sasuke is sending his way.

If his social battery was at least still half earlier, Sasuke was sure he lost a quarter more just by being engulfed by the blonde's hug. Naruto is a loudmouth—so loud that it's deafening and extremely vexatious to Sasuke. They were buddies ever since high-school. Well, maybe not-really-buddies since Naruto just rubbed him the wrong way which ended up in a brawl and a notice from the principal, a suspension, a black-eye for Naruto and a broken nose for Sasuke.

After that, Naruto went ahead and apologized which Sasuke did not accept which led to more taunting and shouting before Naruto said he'll just treat him to a bowl of ramen at the very least if Sasuke did not want an apology. One grumble of the raven's stomach and a grin from the blonde was all it took before they suddenly became friends.

At those moments, Sasuke suddenly thought that perhaps, one of the very few foundations of friendships starts at exchanging fists and sustaining damage.

"What are you doing here?" Naruto happily asks the grumpy Sasuke.

"Nothing," Sasuke answers, stealing a glance at his mom who still has yet to finish their conversation.

"Who are you looking at?" Naruto follows his line of sight and spots Mikoto. Face lightening up, Naruto abruptly drags Sasuke out back to his mother with him almost stumbling and leaving the cart in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sasuke hissed. He was sure he knew what the blonde was doing, but still he asked.

"I'm gonna say hi to Aunt Mikoto!" grinning like a child, Naruto arrives in front of a surprised Mikoto before saying hi in a voice so loud that onlookers started to watch.

"Naruto! How nice to see you!" Mikoto exclaims after recovering from her earlier surprise.

"You too, aunt Mikoto!" The blonde replies all too enthusiastically.

Like a domino, it seems as if Mikoto and her friend's conversation started all over again as she introduces Naruto and chatters away. Only this time around, compared to Sasuke who looked like he was constipated and ended the conversation as fast as possible, Naruto appears to be enjoying the talk and replies happily, asking questions after questions.

Sasuke sighs.

This is gonna be long. .

.

. Finally, after almost an eternity, Mikoto finally bid goodbye to her friend and continued with their initial shopping, only this time there was Naruto to tag along.

Sasuke thinks he might've gone deaf from all the blonde's talking. Can't he speak quietly? Why must he always shout?

When they arrive at the counter to finally line up, Sasuke feels like he's already had a long day. And it was only just morning.

"What are you up to today Naruto?" Mikoto sweetly inquires.

"Nothing much auntie, probably just sleeping at home," the blonde casually replies.

Sasuke feels like he has a good hunch about where the conversation is going.

Please don't invite Naruto to lunch and dinner.

"Do you want to spend the day with us? Sasuke's all alone since his dad is still at work and Itachi and his wife's not gonna be home until dinner. Wouldn't it be fun if he had company?" Mikoto asks.

"I'll be fine mom," Sasuke said, hissed, probably putting too much emphasis on 'fine'.

"Nonsense," Mikoto waves his son off. "The more the merrier, right?"

Naruto nodded enthusiastically like a dog to his owner, while Sasuke profusely scowled.

"I'd be delighted, auntie!"

There goes my peaceful weekend. .

.

. "Shoot."

Sasuke hears his mom mutter under her breath while the cashier nears scanning the end of the goods they've bought. He's suddenly alert, spine straight and eyes to his mom since it's wasn't common to hear Mikoto Uchiha swear.

"Sasuke dear, can you please get some alcohol?" Mikoto looks at his son with pleading eyes.

Sasuke, without missing a beat, nods and walks away, He briskly strides towards the wine section and swiftly grabs three different bottles. Champagne, red wine, and whiskey. He'e sure Mikoto will reprimand him for the whiskey, but still he takes one just for him and his brother to drink in the night after their dinner.

Sasuke had half a mind to buy a can of his favorite drink when he spied the refrigerator section, almost about to ignore it altogether, until he saw that they had a new flavor. Quickly, he decides in a split second and walks from the wine aisle, passing by the frozen foods' fridge to the drinks that were at the very end.

In his peripheral, he notices someone inside the fridge walking. Probably a staff. When he finally stops to open the fridge and take a drink, he sees a mop of pink and a lithe frame checking the boxes behind the shelves of the fridge. Curiously, he watches her back until she slowly turns to give her his profile.

A cute nose, long lashes, and pursed lips were what he saw as she tapped the pen in her lips and looked in wonder. As if sensing his staring, she side-eyes Sasuke before finally facing him and catching his gaze.

He felt like his breath was taken away.

A beautiful woman looked straight at him, wearing a cap and a uniform while she held onto a clipboard. Definitely a staff. Sasuke studies her pink hair, cut short into a bob that framed her pretty round face. Up front, her lips looked plump and pink, dusted with a light red lipstick. When he looked up and saw her eyes, Sasuke saw the prettiest shade of viridian, staring wide at him and sparkling as if she saw something fascinating. Her lashes and eyebrows were light, and for a moment all Sasuke could do was stare like a dumb kid.

He's probably not painting a pretty picture in front of this gorgeous woman, but still Sasuke looks as if it was the first time he's seen a girl ever in his life.

He tries to say something—she probably thinks he's weird for staring at her for so long—but all he could do was open his mouth and close it, hesitating and most likely looking like a fish.

"Sasuke!" he hears somewhere. Turning his head, he sees Naruto with a frown, urging him to hurry up.

He takes a look back at the fridge and sees the woman still there. She smiles sweetly and says hello before Sasuke snaps out and blushes, nodding his head in acknowledgement and sneaking a glance at her name tag.

Sakura Haruno.

How cliche, he thinks as he walks off and turns his lips in the slightest, the closest he can give to a smile. Pink hair and green eyes—colors he usually thought were loud and obnoxious, and definitely not his type, felt right with her.

With Sakura, he felt like he's never seen anything more beautiful and appealing than a mixture of pink and green.

When he returns back to the counter, he sees his mom glaring at him, probably for taking too long, and Naruto conversing with the cashier, probably to buy them time. He also notices the queue that he's most likely produced, all looking annoyed and impatient.

Usually, he would've felt chagrined at his fault, but after remembering the cause of it, he can't find it in himself to care.

In his mind, on that day, Sasuke feels like he's experienced one of the most unexpected things he would have felt. With all the sudden awareness and sensibility that he possessed in that moment about his feelings, Sasuke Uchiha therefore concluded:

I think I'm in love. .

.

. Itachi Uchiha is a busy man.

Being the CEO of their family company, Itachi barely has time to spare to attend trivial things, like dinners, for example, unless it's part of business.

Or, unless it was arranged by their dear, overbearing mother.

So, Itachi rushes to fix his things and hurries to pick up his wife from her work.

When he gets out of the car and meets Izumi, he sees a certain someone come out.

"Sakura," Itachi greets with a soft smile after kissing his wife on the cheek.

"Itachi-san," Sakura nods and returns his smile.

Izumi Uchiha was the daughter of the owner of the biggest mall-chain in Konoha, and Sakura Haruno was a 4th year university student that works part-time in one of the branches. The pink-haired girl was a sweet little thing that was able to befriend Izumi through a few exchanges of words. Izumi was also sweet, and liked especially sweet things and people. Sakura and Izumi getting along was almost inevitable, if Itachi says so himself. Put two girls together with things in common and you get a pair of bestfriends.

Although Sakura still maintains professionalism knowing that Izumi is practically the daughter of her boss's boss's boss, which Itachi respects. She was a clever girl from Konoha State University studying medicine, but still excels in many fields.

It was a waste to not know her as well.

"Dear, Sakura here was just telling me how she had a 'meet-cute' moment with someone," Izumi tells her husband as she wiggles her eyebrows at Sakura, who profusely blushed.

"Izumi-san!" Sakura tries to chastise.

Itachi, feeling as devilish as his wife, also decides to tease. "And what did he look like?"

Sakura, if possible, darkened further to a shade of red. Being the diligent girl that she is, she still answers the question.

"He was handsome," she admits in a shy voice. And then, in typical Sakura fashion, she proceeds to ramble. "He oddly looked like you, Itachi-san, same eyes and your face structure, but his hair was like all over the place,"

Now that piqued Itachi's interest.

"Did you know his name?" Itachi asked.

"It was…" Sakura trailed off to think. "Sasuke, I think."

Itachi and Izumi both shared a look. Surely, there wouldn't be anyone who looked like him and was named Sasuke right?

Itachi suddenly had an idea.

"Sakura, would you like to have dinner with our family?"

Sakura was confused, with their family? Isn't that supposed to be just intimately between them?

She became even more confused when she noticed both Izumi and Itachi grinning as they awaited her answer, faces as encouraging as ever.

I have a bad feeling about this…

"Sure...I guess...?"

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hail sex witch! I recently went in for my first pap smear/pelvic exam (prior to which I read your blog posts about them which helped more than I can express, thank you!) It was overall comfortable and I would even say a good experience because they answered a lot of questions I had and explained some basic stuff that I really needed spelled out for me. The only thing was that for a few weeks after the appointment I didn't want to touch/look at/think about my vagina whatsoever. It was just this weird feeling of vague but powerful embarrassment, which I would have expected during the appt itself but not after the fact. I didn't even want to catch glimpse of myself when undressed, and was showering with the lights off lol. Even though this didn't last long I also do not want to go back to those doctors and want to start over with a strange doctor, even though the doctor I saw was very good and likeable and helpful and absolutely nothing unpleasant happened during the appt. (I don't plan on changing doctors; I liked these ones! But there's still this unreasonable urge to book my next appointment somewhere else).

I know a big part of your philosophy seems to be that "is this normal" is often not a very useful question, but I guess that's what I'm asking anyway - is this a thing other people experience? Is it just part of the experience of being in a somewhat vulnerable position with strangers, no matter how much you trust said strangers? Or is it some weird quirk of my brain that I'll have to adjust for in the future? It didn't interfere with my life overmuch, but it's still a very strange thing to be so uneasy with your own body and have no idea why.

hi anon,

so, okay, I'm going to tell a short story, and it's not going to seem related initially, but I promise it is.

I really like getting tattoos. I have several of them now, and I like getting them! not just the final result of having meaningful art on my body; I like the actual process of feeling the needle vibrating into my skin and permanently changing me in a manner of my choosing. it feels good exciting; it gives me a little rush of dopamine even as the pain starts to kick in and in spite of any blood that oozes through. that's fine with me, because those are side effects of new tattoos that I know about and consent to by showing up in the shop, but here's the thing:

my body doesn't know the difference between "somebody cut our skin open and we're bleeding (consensual)" and "somebody cut us open and we're bleeding (holy shit go into crisis)." after my last tattoo, I was walking home (I live like ten minutes from the shop, it's fine) and although I was delighted, I realized I was also lightheaded and cold, and upon getting home was fucking exhausted because my body was, you know, panicking in the way that bodies do when they've been injured. on one level I understand that this is something I explicitly sought out, asked for, and paid for the privilege; on another level, my body thinks a trauma happened.

so, let's talk about what's happening with you.

on one level, your exam was an appointment that you made, presumably, voluntarily, knowing full well that it might be uncomfortable and awkward but undergoing it willingly because you know that preventative care is important. even know telling me about it, you recognize that this was an objectively good and even comfortable experience and that you received good care from doctors that you like who answered your questions and gave you helpful information!

but on another level, what your body knows and is responding to is that you were in a new situation in which your body was subjected to examination and penetration that you're not accustomed to, in a way that may have caused aches and pains you've never experienced before. pretty understandably, your body is under the impression that something traumatic has occurred.

the reactions you're describing - feeling alienated from your vagina, not wanting to see your own body - are often described by people who have survived sexual assault; it's a coping mechanism to distance yourself from the site of your pain. likewise, wanting to avoid going back to the physical place where the discomfort occurred is understandable - it's not rational, but who cares? feelings rarely are; you still have to deal with them anyway. it's completely understandable why you would subconsciously want to avoid going back.

it is very important to me to say this: it's absolutely fine that you are reacting this way. you're not being unreasonable or immature or overreacting or anything else; this is not your fault and you have nothing to blame yourself for or to apologize for. we're going to feel these feelings and be observant and respectful, and feel them without shame rather than try to bottle them up and ignore them. give yourself the space to feel discomfort and be kind to yourself while you work through it.

you've said that this has largely passed, save for the urge to book your next appointment elsewhere. I'm glad this isn't an ongoing source of daily unpleasantness, but it is very much something to be aware of for the future. some people, for various reasons, need to plan for some extra-strength gentleness and self-care around their pelvic exams and pap smears, and if you're one of those people then that's fine! and very good to know!

it's useful information to have for the future, and I hope that next time you're due for such an appointment you can a.) arrange to do whatever makes you feel most cared for afterwards (for some people it's netflix and a bubble bath, for others it's rock climbing, chase your bliss) and b.) stay in touch with the healthcare providers who gave you such excellent service this time. as intimidating as it can be to bring up concerns, it sounds like you were lucky enough to have a lovely bunch, and it sounds like asking them for any extra accommodations you may need to help put you at ease and keep the procedure as quick and painless as possible will be received well.

those accommodations can also look like a lot of different things. the first time I got a pap smear I prefaced the exam by letting my gyno know that it was my first time, penetration isn't pleasant for me, and that I'd likely swear a lot throughout; she was an angel about it. at my most recent exam I was having a rough time and asked for a break, which my (very cute, very gay, god what a weird way to meet a woman) gyno was happy to provide; she removed the speculum and I did some centering breathing until I felt good to finish up.

so, to answer your questions a little more neatly: yes, this is a thing other people experience for a variety of reasons, especially when their body thinks it's been hurt - which, in a way, you were, because your body is very good at being a body but not always great at nuance.

I think it's a little of column a, little of column b, in regards to your second question. maybe there is a part of your brain that will never feel fully at ease with this kind of vulnerability, but you can certainly help it feel safe and cared for as much as possible. I hope that having a little insight into why can help you do that.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 49 – SMUT PT. 2

Supersoldier Superserum Superspunk or Why SHIELD Can't Have Nice Things by tourdefierce

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 8,945 Tags: Established Relationship, Hypersensitivity, Supersoldier Serum

Summary: There were lots of things that really pissed Tony off about Fury's precious SHIELD but most of them had to do with their epic incompetency and how they always, always found a way to steal Tony's favorite toys and break them.

Reasons why I love it: The entire premise of this fic is like catnip to me. I adore it when authors explore the effects of the super soldier serum on Steve's sexual health, and this fic is no exception. Steve's struggle and his desperation is incredibly hot, so if you're into that sort of thing, I bet you'll love this one just as much as I do!

Predilections by windsweptfic

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 1,853 Tags: Threesome, PWP, Light Bondage

Summary: Irredeemable OT3 smut. No plot whatsoever.

Reasons why I love it: I don't know why more people don't capitalize on Tony's physical strength in smut, but I'm so happy that this one does, because it's the hottest thing ever. The Winteriron in the beginning is utterly delectable, and then Steve comes in and takes it to the next level. It's fantastic, and you should definitely read it!

Hand in glove I stake my claim by sphagnum

Pairing: Bucky/Tony, Steve/Bucky/Tony, Tony/Bruce, Tony/Clint Rating: E Words: 8,759 Tags: A/B/O, Public Claiming, Loss of Virginity

Summary: “Do you have any questions for me?” Father Coulson asked, his tone gentle. Bucky shook his head. They’d covered every aspect of the seeking ceremony in the last several weeks, and there was nothing else Bucky wanted to know now that Father Coulson would be able to tell him. “You don’t have to choose anyone,” Father Coulson reminded him. His hands were steady as he held a long strip of linen in his outstretched hands, offering it on open palms. “You can stay with us another year, or as many years as you spend on this earth, if you feel called to.” “I know,” Bucky said, not wasting any time on further explanations. They both knew he wasn’t going to stay at the convent forever. Steve was out there somewhere, and Bucky was going to find him. He took the strip of linen from Coulson and laid it over his eyes, tying it into a loose knot behind his head.

Reasons why I love it: This take on A/B/O is utterly fascinating, and I would gladly read a million more words in this universe. The Winteriron in chapter one is amazing, and I love the whole concept of the claiming process, but I also really enjoyed seeing the backstory of Tony's relationship with Bruce and Clint in the second chapter. I adore this fic, and I bet you will too, so I hope you give it a shot!

Think Dirty To Me by newtypeshadow

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 3,043 Tags: Involuntary Telepathy, Domestic Avengers, Dirty Thoughts

Summary: A magic spell aimed at Steve hits Tony too—but everything's fine! Until Steve starts thinking lustful thoughts about his boyfriend, Bucky, and Tony can hear them. Cue awkwardness (Steve), science (Tony), and scheming while being a shit (Bucky).

Reasons why I love it: Bucky is such a fucking troll, oh my god, I love him. They all feel perfectly in character here, and if they really got into this situation, I imagine this is exactly what would happen. This fic is equally funny and hot, and you should definitely read it!

For Science by copperbadge

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 1,631 Tags: Masturbation, Voyeurism, Sex Tapes

Summary: Tony discovers top-secret footage of Steve Rogers pre- and post-serum. And discovers why it’s top secret.

Reasons why I love it: This is super hot, holy shit. The premise alone is god-tier, and as always, copperbadge's writing style just takes it to the next level. I love how they banter even as they're getting down and dirty, and the ending is perfection. This fic is wonderful, and if you haven't read it yet, you definitely should!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 15 - Dress rehearsal

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 14 -- Part 16

Pairing: Sherlock x ofc

Summary: Sherlock and Elena can't seem to say goodbye to each other - even after spending the whole day together.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, Is it finally happening? fingering, oral (f receiving), thigh riding... Think that's it? Sherlock being Sherlock...

Word count: 5.9k

A/N: So yeah. Even I couldn't find another good reason to interrupt whatever was going down again - that would just be cruel. That being said, this wasn't entirely the direction I had planned for them to go in... There was definitely a playbook for this chapter and this wasn't it, I can tell you. ENJOY!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @peaches1958 @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill

“You were fantastic, Elena,” Sherlock said as they walked out of the theater. Dress rehearsal had ended, which meant they were now only a day away from the New Year’s concert, meaning Elena was beginning to experience something of a nervous breakdown. Sherlock, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine why; she was very good and thoroughly prepared. From his perspective, nothing could possibly go wrong. Elena was of a wholly different opinion, reliving the memories of that one time in primary school she had become violently sick before a performance. Those memories refused to fade no matter how long ago it was, and no matter how many successful performances she had tried to use to overwrite them. She was largely past her nerves when playing with a quartet, because over time it had become familiar, but this would be her first time ever playing with a full orchestra and the novelty of the experience frightened her to no end. Thus, Sherlock’s efforts in trying to convince her that she was good and everything would be fine were wasted, which is why he ceased them. 

Sherlock Holmes was not the kind of man to try and convince someone who wouldn’t be convinced, Elena had learned, and since she wasn’t one to fish for compliments, she didn’t mind that Sherlock didn’t turn to what she considered to be ‘debased flattery’. He only ever attempted to calm her nerves with logic and reason, and - though his endeavors were fruitless - she appreciated that greatly. After the sixth or so attempt, logic simply dictated that it was time for him to stop trying. 

“Suit yourself,” Sherlock said as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Now, as opposed to his words, which did nothing to calm Elena’s nerves whatsoever, the physical contact did make her feel more comfortable. The weight of his arm on her shoulders had a strangely calming effect. 

As always after rehearsals, he walked her home. It had started shortly after they had begun rehearsing together; the days had started to become shorter, and Sherlock had expressed his concerns about her walking home alone in the dark. At the time, he’d had no idea that the main reason for his worry had been his infatuation with her, he had simply brushed it off as a gentlemanly regard for her safety, and had convinced himself, though only partially successfully, that he would have felt the same way about any other female friend - not that he had any. Same as last week, he lingered when they arrived at the place Elena shared with three others, neither of them wanting to say goodbye to the other. They strongly disliked being apart, that much had become clear over the past two weeks. 

“Sherlock, I was planning on making pasta, do you want to join me for dinner?” Her voice was almost trembling when she asked. Luckily, Sherlock accepted her invitation - though it was primarily based on the fact that he couldn’t find a logical argument not to; he hadn’t had dinner and he liked Italian food. And of course there was the emotional argument of allowing himself more time in her presence, but he was still getting used to giving in to those feelings, and therefore glad he could in this case supplement them with reason. 

The door swung open behind them before Elena had even reached for her keys, and her roommate Kate appeared. 

“I thought I heard you standing around here, talking, Ellie!” Elena jumped when she heard the unexpected noise behind her. Sherlock noticed that she spoke with a profound drawl to her voice, revealing her Southern heritage. The accent was very different from Sy’s, and Sherlock found himself utterly unable to narrow down its origins, which irked him. 

“Katie! Oh my god, you almost gave me a heart attack!” She took a deep breath. “This is…” There was no time for her to finish that sentence, because Kate already had her eyes on him, wide with surprise. “Sherlock, obviously.” 

“Yes,” Elena said as her cheeks slowly colored red. She couldn’t quite articulate what made her nervous all of a sudden, but she was fairly sure there was a part of her that was afraid Sherlock would think her roommate prettier than her.

“Lovely to meet you, Kate,” Sherlock said. He had heard many stories about Elena’s roommates over the weeks they had been rehearsing together, most of them good, and he wasn’t necessarily nervous about meeting them. 

“We’ve met before, Sherlock,” Kate said with a big smile. Sherlock frowned, not in embarrassment over having forgotten the encounter, per se, but mostly in annoyance of having his memory fail him in this moment. The surprise on Elena’s face, however, was mostly just funny - which would explain why Kate laughed at it. Sherlock took a moment to take Kate in while he searched every crevice of his brain for a hint as to who she was and where they had met. She was a blonde, and pretty but not remarkably so. The most striking thing about her was her height, which rivaled his own. Elena had mentioned something about her being on the volleyball team, which would explain why he didn’t know her, but certainly was no clue as to why he had met her before. To say he wouldn’t be caught dead at a volleyball game would be an overstatement, but it certainly was more Mike’s or Sy’s territory. Or maybe Charles’ or Leon’s. 

“Charles,” he muttered out loud as he chuckled, “you… know… Charles…” 

“That’s a very polite way of putting it,” Kate laughed as she stepped aside to let Sherlock and Elena step into the apartment. 

“I didn’t want you to think it was a judgment,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly, which made Kate laugh even harder. 

“I couldn’t give a damn even if you were judging me, honey,” she said as she raised two hands to his face, but Elena stopped him. 

“Tone down the Southern affections, sweetie,” she said. 

“I can’t touch your man, Ellie?” Kate teased. She was well aware that there was probably a better reason than Elena’s jealousy - which Kate knew wasn’t something that actually existed - to keep her hands off Sherlock. 

“Not if he doesn’t want you to, and he doesn’t like to be touched by people he doesn’t know.” It was Elena’s turn to speak in ways that left no room for discussion. Sherlock seemed pleasantly surprised upon hearing the remark - he always found it endearing when she unpromptedly showed him a glimpse of how well she knew him. It was true; he did indeed prefer to limit physical contact between himself and people he was poorly acquainted with - and most often also with people with whom he was better acquainted, though Elena was doing a stellar job at convincing him the occasional friendly touch wasn’t so bad, either.

“Alright, sugar, I’ll try to remember.” Kate had an exceptionally friendly smile that would make people feel at home instantly. Unless these people were anything like Sherlock, of course, who felt very out of place in this house he had never visited, with people he had never met. 

“Remy and Larissa are out, they should be back some time after dinner, I have a study date to get to!” There was definitely a suggestive wink at the end of that sentence that made Elena roll her eyes as Kate flung a bag over her shoulder and prepared to step out. 

“Use protection!” Elena yelled as Kate pulled the door shut behind her. When she turned around, she was met with an adorably confused look. 

“She said she had a study date, right?” Elena could barely contain her laughter. 

“Sherlock, do you remember how our last study date ended?” She said, letting out a short chuckle. Sherlock couldn’t help but be amused at his own foolishness - something he wasn’t usually able to forgive himself at all. The reminder had another pleasant effect, namely that the memory of that rather memorable date was pulled to the front of his mind and replayed as he followed Elena to the kitchen. 

It was a nice apartment; clean and only a tad messy, but that conclusion was drawn mostly based on the abundance of clutter Sherlock himself wouldn’t feel inclined to keep around. Some would consider it the pot calling the kettle black, as practically anyone would readily accuse Sherlock of allowing his own room to fall into disarray, though he saw a perfectly logical system in whatever August or Geralt every now and again called ‘chaos’. He lost himself in thought as Elena gathered ingredients for dinner from the fridge and cabinets, only to be yanked away from them violently when a jar of olives fell to the kitchen counter. 

“I’m sorry, it slipped,” Elena said as she checked whether the jar had survived the fall - it had. 

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked as he watched her hand tremble when she took a knife from the drawer and placed it on a cutting board. 

“Perfectly,” she said, smiling kindly. It wasn’t a lie; she was feeling alright, it was just that four hours of rehearsal had left her hands rather sore - mostly her left. 

“Elena, let me,” Sherlock said. One would be right to assume that Sherlock was facing the same issues - namely that his left hand was particularly worn out from a very lengthy practice, and Elena was of course quick to point this out. 

“You are right, darling,” Sherlock said without much thought, “but my left hand isn’t my dominant one.” She knew he was right, and that her hand was indeed far too tired to safely handle anything sharp right now. Sherlock took the knife and started dicing tomatoes, Elena was too distraught to protest his actions. 

They cooked dinner together and used their time eating to talk about the past day - even though they spent the entirety of it together. 

“It was a shame they moved the rehearsal up,” Elena said in between bites. Dress rehearsal should have been from seven to ten at night, but the conductor had decided at the last minute that it should be moved to the afternoon - and twice as long. That meant Elena and Sherlock had been forced to move their museum date to the morning, which was unfortunate, but inevitable if they wanted to go at all. 

“I still had a great time,” Sherlock said as he let go of his glass of wine to put his hand over Elena’s. She smiled at him. She’d had a great time, too, and she was very glad the day wasn’t over yet. 

“Is the wine okay?” It was absolutely nothing special, just the house’s favorite: the cheapest supermarket wine she and her housemates didn’t find absolutely disgusting. 

“It’s decent,” Sherlock said as he laughed. It wasn’t a lie, per se, the wine was just that: decent, but it certainly deserved no higher praise than that. 

When the dishes were done, Elena looked at Sherlock as she stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. He answered her hug greedily, as though he hadn’t felt her touch in weeks. 

“Movie?” Elena asked as she looked at him. She didn’t wait for an answer before she took his hand and pulled him towards the door. He followed her to her room with no objections - and why should he object? He had a fairly good idea of what was going to happen, and he would in no way be able to present any kind of argument against it, logical or otherwise.

“So, this is me,” she said shyly as she gestured around the room. Sherlock took note of her locking the door - it was strange to him; he never felt the need to lock their doors at his place, people usually had the common decency to knock. And if they didn’t… Well he wasn’t quite sure there was an official protocol in place, but individual instances had involved a lot of yelling, cursing and throwing things at people’s heads.

“I can tell,” Sherlock replied to her question - and he meant it. She looked at him quizzically, which made him chuckle. “In a good way. It’s very… you.” He meant that, too, although it probably was a rather awkward way to phrase it. The room was tidy, clean and bright. Her bed was hidden from sight by an open shelving unit that held mostly plants and books. Elena laughed as she dragged Sherlock around it, to the bottom edge of the bed. To her surprise, he was the first to sit down. It was a bit awkward to crawl up to the top of the bed and get comfortable, but she valued the privacy the shelves provided too much to put it anywhere else. It surely didn’t help that she was wearing a skirt. The pair settled on a movie both had already seen, but didn’t mind watching again - or not watching. 

“Why the movie,” Sherlock mumbled against the skin of Elena’s neck after a few minutes, “I mean, at this point it’s obvious we will largely ignore it, so why the pretense?”

“It’s good background noise,” Elena answered. Sherlock being this clear about his intentions for the evening sent shivers down her spine, and she reveled in the excitement and anticipation at finally getting to finish what they started the other night. “Besides, I’m a woman. If I’m too eager about hooking up with a man, people may think I’m…” Her voice trailed off, not because she wasn’t sure how to finish it, but rather because she resented the fact that she had to explain this in the first place. 

“I never really understood why that was a bad thing to begin with,” Sherlock spoke slowly, “I, for one, am glad you’re more experienced than I am. Although it sometimes intimidates me a bit.” Elena turned her head in surprise upon hearing his words. She had never imagined he would be intimidated by her past, especially since - despite the limited practice they had had together - Sherlock outranked her previous partners by a landslide. Perhaps the rose colored glasses of amorous infatuation were to blame, or perhaps it was the ease and comfort with which they had been getting to know each other, or even the excitement she felt over being the first with whom he got to experience all these new things, but one thing was certain; she looked forward to and thoroughly enjoyed every minute they spent together. 

“There’s nothing to be intimidated by,” Elena whispered softly as she turned around in his arms, “you’re by far the best kisser I’ve come across.” 

“Am I now?” He was clearly amused at your confession. “Because I feel I could use some more practice…” 

Naturally, he didn’t have to ask her twice. Their lips touched, the taste of wine still faintly present on them, becoming more pronounced when Elena parted her lips and allowed his tongue to slip past them. Sherlock surprised her when he pulled her on top of him. She chuckled softly as his hands slipped underneath the fabric of her sweater, in no hurry to take it off per se, but clearly desperate to feel her skin. A devious idea took hold of her and she sat up on her knees, still straddling him, grabbing his hands and pulling them off her. 

“Shall I take this off?” Elena said, locking eyes with Sherlock, warning him to keep his hands to himself without speaking a single word. She didn’t wait for him to answer her. Instead, she toyed with the hem of her sweater, pulling it up at an agonizingly slow pace. Sherlock’s tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his lips as he allowed his eyes to wander over the area of exposed skin that grew so devastatingly slowly.

His hands rested on her thighs, long fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt in a manner that resembled impatience, but wasn’t quite that. It was mostly excitement that had taken hold of him, the evidence of which she could no doubt feel beneath her. A playful roll of her hips confirmed his suspicions, and the grunt it elicited made Elena chuckle. She took her time taking her sweater off, starting the whole process over again when Sherlock raised his hands to touch her. He showed her he had enough of her antics when she finally pulled the sweater over her head. 

“Take the skirt off, too, while you’re at it,” he growled. The words pleasantly surprised Elena, and she was more than happy to oblige. Once she had discarded her skirt, Sherlock shot up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his mouth to the skin between her breasts with a sigh, spinning her around so she landed with her back on the mattress, drawing a high-pitched squeal from Elena. She moaned when he pulled away, sitting up on his knees between her legs. He was intimidating like this; towering over her, his silhouette clearly defined by his broad shoulders.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him, and moaned softly as he ran his hands lazily up and down her thighs. They were still covered by the tights she was wearing, but Sherlock was quick to help Elena as she peeled those off, too. It was a bit uncomfortable, being subjected to his gaze knowing that nothing ever escaped it, fearing her every one of her flaws was now on display for him to behold, but at the same time the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to push those feelings aside; this man was absolutely smitten. He would find no flaws no matter how much time she awarded him to think it over. 

The lingerie she was wearing was revealing - more so than Sherlock had expected - and it cost him great effort to tear his eyes away from it. He only managed to do so when he felt her hands cover his, pulling at them, no doubt in an attempt to bring him close to her, but he held off. Elena clearly disagreed with his reluctance to close the distance between their bodies, and sat up, scrambling to get up on her knees. She pulled his face to hers for another kiss, softly sucking on his bottom lip, and took advantage of their position to get Sherlock closer to her current state of undress. As always, Elena delighted in the feeling of his skin on hers - so much so that she was almost unaware of the hands that found their way to her back, where they undid the clasp of her bra, this time without any problems whatsoever. 

“How?” Elena asked, eyes wide with surprise. The advantage her experience gave her over him seemed to shrink every day. 

“Danielle gave me a rather helpful explanation when I asked after walking in on a conversation between her and Mike,” Sherlock said plainly, “well, conversation… She was poking fun at him for not being able to do it, either.” Elena laughed, which turned into a squeal as Sherlock let himself fall forward onto the mattress, dragging her along with him. He spun them around so that she fell half on top of him. 

“Now where were we?” Her mouth crashed onto his before he had good and well finished his sentence, her hands eagerly undoing his trousers. There couldn’t have been clearer signs of impatience, though Sherlock couldn’t quite figure out what the hurry was. Nevertheless, he yielded to her touch, and soon he found himself only slightly less naked than the last time they had been together. 

Elena laid her forehead against his while she gently stroked his chest, running her fingers tenderly through the coarse hair on it, luring a satisfied moan from Sherlock’s parted lips. His hand crept up to her neck as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and slow, but something pressing crawled underneath the surface of it, which made it even more surprising that he broke the kiss. He barely lifted his lips off hers; only just far enough to be able to speak clearly.

“I was afraid this would get boring,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing against hers as he did, “but I can’t seem to get enough of you.” Elena first bit her own lip when she heard his words, but soon pulled Sherlock’s in between her teeth, instead. His words set alight in her something she had purposely and quite skillfully kept under control, but all that effort was wasted now; her body was begging for him so loudly she could no longer govern or ignore it.

Elena kissed him with the raw passion she had been hiding from him, finally allowing it to take over completely, trusting he would stop her if she threatened to cross a line - hoping he wouldn’t have to stop her at all. Sherlock noticed the change all too well, and - much to his own surprise, as well as Elena’s - he leaned into it, instead of shying away from it like he had expected he would. His fingers trailed from the side of her face, down her neck, slowing down as they moved further down to her breast. The other hand slid down to rest at the small of her back, fingers tentatively playing with the waistband of her underwear.

She moaned into his mouth when he gently pinched her nipple, only getting louder - much louder - when he carefully rolled the sensitive bud between his fingers. Her hips rocked into him - unconsciously at first, but as she discovered that it provided her aching core with the friction it so desperately begged for, she found herself grinding her hips into his thigh purposely. Sherlock carefully observed her movements and the sounds of pleasure that spilled from her with an interest bordering on obscene fascination, or so he would describe it. Soft, wet kisses along her jawline, the sharp contrast of teeth softly biting her earlobe, the same repeated down her neck - it all added to her bliss. Moans and gasps sprang freely from her mouth now that it was no longer obscured by his, and Sherlock was able to gauge her arousal just about perfectly from them. 

The hand he held on her back slipped beneath the fabric of her underwear, fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, kneading it. He guided the rhythm of her hips on his thigh, his other hand joining the first, while his mouth took hold of her breast. Elena cried out in frustration at the overwhelming combination of sensations. The way his tongue worked the sensitive skin of her nipple was almost enough to send her over the edge, and her hands twisted into his hair to pull him closer. A soft graze of his teeth was her undoing. She screamed his name as she came, and rode out her climax on his leg. Sherlock’s response - which Elena had to admit she found quite adorable - was to laugh softly in disbelief at what had happened.

What he felt was not a sense of pride - as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t entitled to it, as he had done nothing to help her - but rather a surge of affection, and a thorough appreciation of the intimacy of the moment. He was not awarded much time to consider matters, as his face was pulled up and Elena’s lips found his, capturing them in a passionate kiss that was the nail in the coffin for Sherlock’s self-restraint. He turned them around again, leaving Elena once again in awe; she simply couldn’t believe how strong he really was - or perhaps she kept forgetting on purpose, just so her body would keep reacting the way it did every time she was reminded of it. 

“I want to see you.” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse and his breaths were heavy as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties. The look in his eyes begged for permission, which she gladly gave him, and within a few short moments, she was completely naked in front of him. Her experience allowed her the confidence to spread her legs, a teasing smile lingering on her lips. A part of her hoped that he would become ever so slightly flustered at the sight of her, exposed in front of him like that, but he didn’t. The way he bit his lip as he took in her naked form sent shivers down her spine. He lunged forward, crouching over her to press another kiss to her lips, his thighs against hers, pushing her legs further apart. Much to her surprise, his mouth left hers to explore once again the skin of her neck, and then her chest, but he didn’t stop there… His trail of kisses continued until from slightly below her navel, pleading eyes looked up to her, and the only thing she could respond with was a hand on his head that provided slight pressure to encourage him to keep going. 

He continued pressing kisses on her skin, traveling all the way to her leg. His soft lips, sharp teeth and warm tongue took turns on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, as two cautious fingers hesitantly explored her. Once again he used the moans she let out as his guide, taking note of her reactions as he went along; the sharp gasp when he carefully pushed a finger into her wet core - or the even sharper one when he later added a second, the moans that followed his soft nibbles on her leg, the way her muscles twitched when his thumb brushed past her clit. Sherlock considered for a moment how fortunate he was that she was loud, because it was hard for him to concentrate. The general novelty of the experience had every nerve in his body once again feeling like a live wire, and the accumulation of sensations diminished his usual mental capacity. It was better to have clear instructions at such times - and by God did she deliver on that front. The least subtle hint came when she weaved her fingers into his hair and gently nudged him closer. Whether he intended to tease her by holding off for a bit, or he waited in hesitation or due to nervousness, he didn’t know, but her voice cut clearly through the fog in his brain when she begged him to progress. 

“Sherlock, please.” It was a simple request, and her voice was dripping with lust, which made it entirely irresistible to him, and so he obliged. 

It didn’t immediately seem as though he did it gladly: his free hand trembled slightly as he wrapped it around her leg and let it rest on her stomach. Elena squeezed it encouragingly, biting her lip and using her eyes to beg him to continue. Slowly and hesitantly, he dragged his tongue through her folds. Her reaction overwhelmed him, and soon he succumbed to his feelings. Overcome with lust, he wrapped both of his arms around her thighs and pulled her closer. The unexpected action made her gasp, and her fingers once again found their way into his hair as his tongue settled at her clit and began to work the little pearl with the same diligence and dedication he used for everything he even remotely cared about, still using her moans to guide him. Her hips rolled against him gently, though his stern grasp on her legs limited her movement quite a bit, and he tried his best to settle into the rhythm of her movements.

“Oh, God, right there.” Sherlock immediately took the advice to heart, not straying from that particular spot again, relishing the needy cries Elena let out as he gently licked and sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves, making her squirm and whine more and louder with every passing second. When she began muttering expletives under her breath, he chuckled lowly, the vibrations of his voice seemingly worsening her situation even further. Her cursing eventually became pleas for him to continue, and Sherlock slowly felt her muscles tense beneath his fingers. 

“Don’t stop, I’m so close,” she begged, and he happily obliged. Elena’s words certainly hadn’t been a lie; it was only seconds later that she came undone on his tongue. Sherlock chuckled at the feeling of her clenching muscles beneath his fingertips, the contorted expression of pure bliss on her face - and the fact that she screamed his name certainly didn’t hurt one bit. After the last surge of ecstasy ebbed away, she had to beg him to stop. He heeded her request, though not gladly; on his face lay an expression of sadness for only a short moment before his lips morphed languidly into a smile.

“That was amazing,” she gasped when he came back up and laid down next to her. She gratefully accepted the invitation of his extended arm and nestled into his side. They both shivered; the room was quite chilly without clothes or the literal ‘heat of the moment’ to keep them both warm, so they opted to wrap themselves in the covers and the other’s arms. Elena kissed Sherlock softly. “I’m impressed.” 

“Are you, now?” Oh, how she longed to wipe that smug grin off his stupid and devilishly handsome face. To her surprise, it disappeared on its own, quickly replaced by a more modest and - dare she say - insecure expression. “It wasn’t bad for a first time, you mean?”

“It wasn’t bad in general, Sherlock,” she chuckled softly, “but for a first time, it was absolutely fantastic.” His cheeks gradually colored a deeper red as he looked away and bit his lip. It looked as though he might say something, but words seemed to elude him, so he just shrugged, instead. 

“I’m serious,” she said in between soft kisses pressed to his clavicle, “not many men can even find the right spot on the first try, let alone make a woman scream like that.”

He looked at her in shock, and it was her first instinct to think it was because of the plain language she used, but when he spoke, she found it was something else entirely. 

“Well, they might consider opening a biology book every now and again,” Sherlock said with a slightly sour edge to his voice, “or getting their eyesight checked.” Elena laughed. She found the moments where Sherlock’s ego shone through - though his remarks were always genuine and his confidence was always deserved enough to not come across as boastful - utterly delightful. He was, for all intents and purposes, as stubborn as a mule, and absolutely refused to attempt things if he wasn’t completely sure he could handle them, which inevitably led to an abundance of successful first tries - and a thorough lack of unsuccessful ones. His arrogance was usually inadvertent, and hardly ever of the ‘look at me’ variety, but rather often still - albeit unintentionally - a dig at others’ expense - and often a very deserved one, at that. With a wide smile adorning her face, she shook her head slightly. Sherlock laid his forehead against hers, a hint of mischief clear in his gaze.

“What?” His tone was innocent, his eyes were everything but. “It’s literally right -” His fingers wormed their way between her legs. “there.” Elena’s mouth fell open when he gently pressed down on her clit. “Exactly where they tell you it’s going to be.” He dragged his fingers around it in slow circles, leaving her gasping for air, clutching at his wrist. “Come here.” The kiss was fantastic. Raw and deep, and drenched with the taste of her juices - Elena felt like she was about to faint. He held her tight to his chest while he skillfully coaxed another orgasm from her with his fingers, and she was left in complete and utter awe at his unexpected proficiency.

“Sherlock!” She squealed, pulling his hand away when she finished. “You have to stop, I can’t take any more right now, please.” She murmured the words against his neck, her chest heaving to the rhythm of her heavy breaths. His head disappeared into the crook of her neck, softly kissing her again, and she sighed. It was a sound of elation, one that echoed through his head and caused goosebumps to erupt all over his skin. For a few moments, he held her, thinking about all that had happened, and as he did so, he felt his eyes drift closed. 

“I could fall asleep like this,” he murmured softly as he gently stroked the skin of her back. She hummed, deeply content with the prospect of sleeping next to him. 

“Well, I won’t stop you,” she said, sounding equally as fatigued as he did - perhaps even more so. 

“I have to go home,” his voice was hoarse when he said it, and when she looked into his eyes, there was a deep sadness in them that all but broke her heart. 

“Why?” She was fairly sure that the sorrow in his gaze was mirrored in her own. 

“I may not get nervous before performances,” he explained, “but I do have a ritual…” Naturally, she understood immediately that this was very likely to be one of those things Sherlock was very particular about. She was reluctant to let him go, not ready to say goodbye to him and the warmth and intimacy they shared. 

“What about tomorrow,” she asked suddenly, “tomorrow night, I mean. Will you stay over after the concert?” He considered her offer for a moment, leaving Elena in horrible suspense until he finally gave her an answer. 

“I will gladly spend the night with you, Elena, but I have one favor to ask of you,” his voice was hesitant, and he bit his lip nervously. 

“Well, what is it?” She lifted a hand to his cheek and caressed it softly. She chuckled at the contrast between the way his jaw felt now versus when he had picked her up this morning. 

“Would it be okay to stay at my house, instead?” His inquiry seemed to make him feel uncomfortable, and Elena reassured him he had absolutely no reason to feel ashamed about what he was asking. 

“Would that make you feel more comfortable?” He responded with a nod. Sherlock was sure the familiar environment would help to settle his nerves about the matter. Of course he was overjoyed he would get to spend a whole night with her, but if he was going to face the scorn of anyone’s roommates the next morning, he’d honestly rather they be his own. He studied her face for signs of ridicule, though the bigger part of him was sure he wouldn’t find any. After all, he wouldn’t be here with her if she were the kind of person to mock him for his quirks and unusual behaviors, but he was reminded ever so cruelly by the tiniest bit of insecurity that had etched itself into his brain, that he could never be completely sure of what was on her mind or in hear heart. 

“It would.” He couldn’t bear to look at her as he said the words. 

“Your place it is, then.” Shortly after their conversation, he got dressed and left. Elena was left behind slightly dazed, and it took her a minute to gather her thoughts and really think about the events of the evening - most of which she did back in her bed with her hand placed firmly where she missed Sherlock’s so dearly. After a few rounds of careful consideration, she got up again. From a box on the shelves over her headboard, she grabbed another box and threw it into her bag. Just in case. 

-> Part 16

[babacontainsmultitudes]

15 Questions for 15 People

@locke-n-k3y thanks for the tag :] ah hm tbh I feel like my answers for these might be a bit boring but let's see...

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes! (Referring to my legal name- which I still use), I was named after a character from the soap opera "General Hospital" haha.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last week lol- which was... The first time in a couple months? It was nice but not enough.

3. Do you have kids?

Absolutely not. Never lol.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Never did any sports outside of gym class! Not formally, anyways. I do workout (mostly strength/weight training) fairly regularly... But I don't think that really counts here lol. :0 Been thinking a lot lately about picking up boxing.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yup! irl I often go for a sort of deadpan delivery of my sarcasm- what I've learned from other people is that I'm a little too good at that (I sometimes say very ridiculous things very convincingly). I won't usually specify unprompted that I'm being sarcastic, but you're always welcome to ask. Not as sarcastic online in general, however.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Irl? Hmm. Hard to say. Maybe: eyes, voice, posture.

Online? Typing/texting style I suppose!

7. What's you're eye color?

Dark brown 👁

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Not mutually exclusive lol. But, happy endings. I don't "dislike" tragedies but I'm not actively drawn to them either.

9. Any talents?

HM. I mean obviously I have things I'm good at but I'm never quite sure what differentiates a "talent" from a "skill". I suppose a lot of friends have said something to the effect of me being "good at reading minds" haha- also "good at explaining things" which is debatable but sweet lol.

10. Where were you born?

Halifax! Which I feel fine saying cause I haven't lived there for a long time lol. A foggy fishing city that I miss even now.

11. What are your hobbies?

I guess a large chunk of what I do on this blog counts as hobbies? Writing (whether it's fiction or analysis or shitposts), drawing, audio clipping and editing apparently (though much of that I just keep to myself- same for drawing tbh). :] I've also gotten into making iron-on patches. Tabletop and video games for sure but... Neither as much as I'd like these days. I tend to collect a lot of things as well- most notably coins.

12. Do you have any pets?

I've had MANY pets of many different species- but currently just my cat Bok! I do tend to take care of my older sister's bunny a lot too though.

13. How tall are you?

5'4, which all my 6'0 friends love teasing me over 😒. I've been told that I "seem taller from the way [I] carry myself", however. (Despite everything, I'm actually fine with my height!)

14. Favorite subject in school?

When I was completing my bachelor's (in computer science) I was particularly drawn to graphics-related stuff! In highschool my fave was definitely drama haha (gee I miss it tbh).

15. What is your dream job?

I HAVE NO IDEA no idea and that's kind of my issue rn tbh. Plenty of things that seem interesting, but I don't think I'm the kind of person who could have the same job for my whole life, no matter how perfect it is. I'll presumably end up in something programming-related eventually, though it's not what I'm looking for now. OH OKAY ACTUALLY dream job? Probably doing video essays (or possibly let's plays) on Youtube haha.

15 PEOPLE IS A LOT OF PEOPLE TO TAG AND I ALWAYS FEEL SO SHY TAGGING PEOPLE IN GAMES and I have no idea who's been tagged already ahaha UM NO PRESSURE WHATSOEVER!!! @llumimoon @happi-tree @kaseyskat @abeinginsand @nolassolace @goldturnedgray @swiffin @insomaniiiac @meiwks @calamity-unlocked @coolfire333 @supremely-unsupervised @b1gwings @giraffeskull There! 15! Tried to get a few new people in there lol. But fr no stress!

[classicragu]

I normally stay well away from posting stuff about voting and if I knew better I would continue to stay away from the topic. However, watching people forget the last 8+ years of politics just pisses me off to an extent that I cannot really hold back.

Let me preface this by saying fuck Biden, fuck everyone in the house, fuck everyone in the senate. They are all disgusting and deserve literally no respect whatsoever at this point. I don't believe any of them should be in office anymore and I also believe that the US is effectively a government that has failed its people entirely. I do not support a single elected official in the federal government at this point.

However, and this will piss people off immensely, I will vote. I remember what happened in 2016, I remember the horrors we lived through for 4 years on US soil. I remember people crying while talking to me. I remember us watching as the supreme court was not filled with 1, but 2 far right justices. I remember when the US lost abortion protections. I remember the constant fear of the persecution of various peoples in minority groups.

There is a better of the 2. Both are war criminals. Both are awful human beings. However one of them lets my friends and myself continue to be openly gay and trans. One of them will protect my rights. I will not defend them, that is not the goal of this post. Biden is a disgusting individual who deserves to spend life in prison for assisting in the genocide of the Palestinian people. He is awful, there is no other way to put it. I won't sugar coat it, I hate the man with all of my heart.

I do however, love my friends. I love them a lot. I don't want them to feel the same pain they felt years ago. I don't want us to have to be afraid about federal laws getting passed to take away our rights. I don't want to have to watch as the internal affairs of the country become as bad as its international affairs again. I feel a bit bad and sick for the fact I will vote Biden, but I will. I will vote for a man I viscerally hate purely because I recognize that if i don't, I will potentially have to deal with 4 more years of that shit again.

You can sit on your moral little throne as much as you want and affirm yourself that you didn't vote for a war criminal, but know that you are gambling with the potential lives of your own friends. Rather than repeating the same shit that gets posted every election season sit down and think for a bit about the ramifications of your actions.

It is a moral dilemma and this post isn't saying you should vote but it's saying to think for yourself. Take some time, try to think back over the last 8 years, think about all the times not voting or voting for a 3rd party did something. I'm angry and I assume everyone who follows me is also extremely angry at our current predicament. This post will likely garner severe negative backlash, I've been on this website now for 8 years and know it well. Even so, please, if there is anything i want you to do, just think of the consequences of your inaction. Think of the people you might hurt with your inaction. Think of the people who may not be in as good of a situation as yourself. We are all angry and rightfully so but let's not let that anger cloud our judgement.

Sometimes what may seem like the morally right decision initially can become the morally wrong decision in the long run. Just make sure you really take the time to consider what you are saying and if nothing changes for you, that's fine, at least you took the time to think about it. A lot of the time however, people don't, and that can just lead to more pain.

[cookinguptales]

Inspired by that last post and also a debate I saw raging on twitter today...

Let's talk about comments on NSFW fic!

(under a cut for the squeamish)

So when I wrote Five Times Guillermo Helped Nandor Collect Semen (And One Time He Didn't), I used to say that going off most of the comments, you'd never even know that the whole thing was just porn. Porn held together loosely with angst and feelings, admittedly, but -- lbr! It was 35k words of porn! (80k including the sequel.)

Almost all of the comments were about the feelings and the relationship with no mention of sex whatsoever, and while I was proud to hear how emotionally involved people got, I still thought it was very funny that we were all talking around the elephant in the room. When I said that, though, a few people told me that they didn't really know how to comment on porn because they didn't want to be weird.

Add that to the fact that this morning I saw people fighting, I shit you not, over whether it was morally okay to masturbate to fanfiction...

idk, this is just a post telling you where my comfort levels and boundaries are as a writer who occasionally writes NSFW fic. I never want you to feel the need to leave a comment that makes you uncomfortable; you should always abide by your own comfort levels as well in this situation. I'm just telling you where my comfort levels as the author are.

Let's get one thing out of the way. I write porn, I have written porn, I will continue to write porn. Yeah, yeah, okay, it's "erotica", it's "nsfw", whatever, it's porn. I know that most of my nsfw output is either ridiculously fluffy and angsty and relationship focused or like some fucking weird metaphor for a historical witch trial or something, but. I'm not here to sugarcoat it. I know what I've written.

So while I would prefer you not get too tmi about your own IRL sex life in comments, I can hardly be offended if you leave a NSFW comment on a NSFW fic. I think I'd be very hypocritical if I posted like 10k words of porn and then got upset with you for saying that you liked it. It's a weird situation! I know! But I'm not gonna be upset or offended or grossed out if you tell me that you thought a particular line or detail was hot. If anything, that just makes me feel like I did a good job the same way I feel if someone says any other line I wrote was effective.

Like... I laugh about the comments on the 5+1 things fics now, but I did have a little while there where so few people were even acknowledging that the sex existed that I was like ??? did I do that bad of a job??? are we just pretending it didn't happen??? I'm chill with it now, but it can be very difficult to gauge how you're doing as an author if no one comments on something, and NSFW is something that I'm still a little insecure about because up until very recently, I didn't write it much.

So you were shy and I was shy and I was like "do I... keep going...?" THANKFULLY, I DID, but I did have a couple of insecure moments where I almost went back under my rock. lmao

So anyway... to be clear, if you quote something or talk about a position or a piece of dialogue of any other detail and you say what you liked about it or leave a bunch of horny emojis or whatever, I'm totally fine with that. That's a compliment. If you talk about what you like to see in fic involving these characters, I'm also totally chill with that! Let's have a weird nsfw conversation about how we think these two weirdos would fuck!

That said... I don't love it when people are like "oh, when I do [x position] I like this" or "I'm going to do this with my boyfriend when I get home" or "this reminds me of when I did [y]" or "I'm a top and so [long meandering thing about what they like to do sexually]". Like... what am I gonna say to that, man? I wish you all a very fulfilling sex life (or lack thereof, if that's your preference) but I really don't need to hear about it. Let's keep our nsfw discussion on the theoretical and fictional, please.

As for masturbation... Look, man, I write porn. Weird porn, to be sure, but it's porn. I don't need to hear the details, but I'm totally fine with you enjoying it however you see fit. I don't know if anyone's ever gotten off to my porn, but like... statistically speaking, it's likely! And if they did, good for them! I'm totally chill with the idea. Proud, even. I just wanna make people happy and bring joy to my readers.

One way!!! Or another!!!

Anyway, yeah, orgasms are a good thing and I'm happy if I managed to put a few more of them into the world. lmao. We should all be so lucky to bring a little more enjoyment into existence.

So...... tl;dr, say whatever you want in comments on my fic as long as everything is kept fictional. You're not gonna scandalize me, and if whatever we're talking about moves out of my comfort zone, I'll just bow out. There are certainly some sexual subjects I'm not comfortable talking about, but as long as we keep things in the same realm as what I actually wrote about, it should be fine.

Oh, unless you're a minor.

Then, like, I'm not dumb. I know you read smut. You know you read smut. But please for the love of god don't ever talk to me about it.

[npfehr]

Recently Completed: Starfield (XSX)

This is a first-person RPG in which your blank-slate character starts as a lowly space miner, and gradually ascends to a person of some great importance to the whole universe! Along the way you can: make new friends! Become a cop in a couple of different ways! Or do some piracy??? But you'll definitely be shooting like a million people in the face, because violence seems to be the only option for resolving most of the major quest lines.

I've spent the last several weeks putting dozens of hours into this game because I found it oddly relaxing and easy-to-play, but I also have a lot of disconnected thoughts about it. So! We're gonna do this old-school bullet-point style:

My RPG-writing standards have been set much too high by Disco Elysium and I now require role-playing games to have more than 1, maybe 2 options for resolving a scenario. What is the point of calling your game an "RPG" if the answer to every problem is going to be "shoot your way out?" Just call it an action game with a skill tree, then.

For instance: midway through the main quest you must try to deal with a trader of rare goods in order to get a special piece of space metal that you need. Much to my chagrin (and the outrage of redditors, whose thread I found) the only way to get the piece you need is to attack him and steal it. There's even secret passages connected to his storage vault, but in the end they're no good, because you need him there so you can attack him and take the thing.

Now, I'm not one to say "lazy devs" or whatever. I think games with problems are failures of resource allocation, not made that way on purpose by people who Just Don't Care. (Call me a romantic). I have to believe that with a team as big as the one that worked on this game, SOMEbody knew the quest could be improved, and just didn't have the time or resources to do it.

Late-game, someone says something to the effect of "there's a huge amount of power amassed here. Be ready for anything" and I muttered aloud "I'm sure it's just more shooting" and it was more shooting

The creators of this game do not want to lock you out of any content whatsoever, often in a way that stretches believability. Choosing certain questlines should put you at odds with other factions but it never really materializes.

For instance: I completed the Freestar Ranger storyline which makes you the newest Sheriff in Space and gives you a pretty kick-butt ship. Then I got into some trouble with some OTHER cops and they recruited me to go undercover with the Crimson Fleet, notorious space pirates. I agreed and rolled up to the pirate base in my sweet Sheriff ship saying "hi can I have a job please" and nobody knew of me or recognized my ship so they were like "haha sure" and thus began a long quest chain. It's like driving up to a gang hideout in a cop car and saying "I'm definitely not a cop, let me in" and having that work? For some reason?

Overall I just keep thinking about how much time, effort, money, and craft went into making a game that is Fine. Eight years of development time! Millions of dollars! I guess there are no guarantees that just throwing resources at a project will eventually make it good, but it boggles my mind.

Last note. I was following a non-player character into a building. They reached the door, made no motion to open it, and yet the door opened and they faded from view, presumably now inside. For me sitting on the couch, something big clicked into place, and I realized this is essentially the same game I've been playing since The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind in 2002. All your 3D Fallouts and Elder Scrollses have been built on Bethesda's in-house Creation Engine and its iterations, and they arguably all have the same ups and downs as this game. It's 2002 and I'm scouring caves for lockpicks in Seyda Neen. It's 2014 and I'm scouring a bombed-out house for lockpicks in New Vegas. It's 2024 and I'm scouring an abandoned mech factory for lockpicks on Mars.

Maybe that's why I found the game oddly comforting and easy to slip into.

Anyway. Try it out, don't expect to fall in love. Maybe you will anyway!

Edit: I forgot to say that I really liked the sound design and general visual aesthetic! Also the cities had unique flavors that I felt the rest of the game lacked.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"DRAMATIC SCENES AS PENITENTIARY RIOT TRIAL OPENS," Montreal Gazette. May 17, 1933. Page 2. ---- One Convict Assumes All Blame for Charge Preferred Against Another ---- COURT ROOM IS TENSE --- Recital of Evidence Creates Vivid Word Picture of Drama Enacted During Trouble === Taking the entire blame for the assault upon Albert Miron, guard at the St. Vincent de Paul penitentiary, who was attacked by one or more inmates during the riots of November 7, 1932, Romeo Caron, a convict, yesterday told a jury of the Court of King's Bench, under Mr. Justice Charles A. Wilson, that Marcel Belair, also a prisoner, who was actually undergoing trial on the charge of attempted murder, had nothing whatsoever to do with the assault. "I did it all myself," he cried dramatically from the witness stand, "and I had planned it for months before because the prison authorities refused to give me treatment for an ailment from which I am still suffering."

Directly after Caron had made this statement, Dan P. Glimor, K.C., Crown Prosecutor. told the court it would not take long to dispose of the attempted murder charge against Caron when his turn came to stand trial. "We will just use the deposition," he said, "and I guess that will be enough."

The cases for both the Crown and the defence were closed yesterday in the case of Belair, the first of 11 convicts of the penitentiary to stand trial on a series of charges in connection with the fire and riot that took place in the Institution last November. M.H. Franklin, defence lawyer, and John E. C. Dumbray, special prosecutor, representing the federal Government, advised the Judge at the adjournment In the Afternoon that their addresses would be brief. His Lordship then mentioned his hope that a verdict might be returned around the noon hour, so that another case might be ready for disposal on Thursday.

Caron's evidence came as the climax to a court session packed with excitement. Four other convicts, against all of whom charges are pending, testified that in fact Belair and Caron had been the two who had made the attack upon the guard. All of them stated having heard the two discuss their plans while working in the "stone shed" and they were equally certain that the "coup" had been planned for some time, although, they said they had not directly heard of

DRAMATIC MOMENT. When Caron took the stand, with a look of defiance in his eyes which was directed an casually to the Judge on the Bench as to the lawyers before him, he let fly his ire in the direction of a fellow-convict, Verrier Gratton, who had previously testified as to Belair's participation in the assault. "That guy Gratton," he expostulated. "is a fine one to be carrying tales. He tells you about Belair and me, but he does not say what he had planned." And here he almost shouted - "He planned to murder the prefect of the penitenttiery." Gratton sat in the body of the court room with the other convict-witnesses who had given testimony, a broad grin all over his face. His crime, according to Mr. Bumbray, consisted of tying up two guards in the Hull Jail and making good his escape. He was only arrested three years after his exploit.

In brief, the story as recountedby the four convicts who agreed was to the effect that about 3.15 on the afternoon of November 7, 1932, young Marcel Belair got some stone dust in his eye and was seen to go in the direction of the guard's cage where medicine of some sort was kept for the purpose of washing away the dust from the eyes of the working convicts. He entered the care, they said, and while Miron turned his back to get the bottle down from a shelf, Belair attacked him. He had something in his hand, they claimed, but neither of them could say what It was.

Caron then came upon the scene, they contended. One of the witnesses, Hector Guenette, testified to having seen Caron slip a hammer up the sleeve of his jacket and expressed the bellef that this was the Instrument his fellow-convict had used on the guard. In any event, all of them were positive that Caron had struck Miron while the latter was standing up near Belair and also after he had fallen an a result of a blow on the head administered by Caron.

The accused himself was called to the stand by Mr. Franklin, his testimony being far less sensational in nature than that of his "pal" Caron. He entered full denial to the allegation that he and Caron had connived to do away with Miron, and maintained that his only reason for calling on the guard in his cage on the afternoon in question was to have stone dust re-moved from his burning eyes. NOTHING IN HANDS. Questioned by Mr. Bumbray, the accused convict gave bis age as 21.He had been convicted twice, he said, and had now completed 18 months of a "long stretch" for theft.

"I swear I had nothing in my hands when I went to Miron," he declared emphatically. "Caron came from behind and pushed me into Miron and that is how the two of us appeared to be grappling. It was Caron who hit him. I didn't!" Belair was only in the stand for a matter of five minutes at most and gave his testimony in as straight forward manner.

Coming back to Caron again, His Lordship asked whether he had tried to kill Miron merely because he could not get treatment for the disease from which he was suffering. The convict's answer was"I did not try to kill him, and those who say I used a hammer are lying, and as far as killing him goes, I could have done it 25 times had I wanted. What I used was a chisel." His Lordship: "Why, Caron, were you sentenced to eight years in the penitentiary?" Witness: "Oh, that's an old story. That was way back in 1925 for theft with violence." His Lordship: "Oh, Oh!" Witness: "Yes, and I finished those eight years, and now I'm back again."

His Lordship "Why?" Witness. "For theft of jewellery.

The convict reiterated that Belair knew nothing of the attack he himself had planned upon Miron. The only ones he had spoken to of his intention of getting the guard, he said, were Jules Lagace, a "lifer" and another prisoner named Croteau.

Lagace was called to the stand and corroborated Caron's testimony. He recalled, he said, that on several occasions as far back as last August, Caron had told him that somehow he would get justice or take it in his own hands if he couldn't get treatment.

A lawyer asked him if Caron had confided what he anticipated getting by an attack upon Miron. "Oh he hoped there would be an investigation and that the fact he couldn't get treated would become known," was the answer.

QUESTIONS DISALLOWED. The first witness of the afternoon, Georges Boivin, who has been an Inmate of the penitentiary for nine-years, was not allowed to answer a question put him by Mr. Bumbray, concerning his appearance in court as a Crown witness. Mr. Bumbray wanted to know whether Boivin had been asked to testify by Col. Piuze, the warden, and whether any promises or threats had been made to him, or whether he had offered himself as a witness voluntarily. Mr. Franklin objected to the question, saying he did not see what bearing it had on the case. His Lordship agreed with counsel for the defence. He said Boivin appeared a "brave witness" and remarked that it was but natural for some convicts to try and gain the good graces of their superiors while with others the reverse seemed to apply.

Two doctors also testified at the afternoon session, Dr. Francois L'DeMartigny, head of the surgical department of the Ste. Jeanne d'Arc Hospital, and Dr. Leonide Francoin Lavigne, penitentiary doctor. Both medicos agreed that the blows inflicted upon Guard Miron would have been sufficient to bring about his death had he not received treatment immediately after the assault. He had two wounds on the head, they testified, several bones fractured in his left head, and the skin torn off the same hand. His treatments continued right up until the month of January of this year, they recalled.

R.C.M.P. officers and city constables are on hand in the court-room to guard the convicts, the former acting as their escorts on their trips in the Black Maria to and from the penal institution. It was decided that the different convicts against whom charges of attempted murder would be tried first and separately, and that then the different groups accused of arson, all-breaking and riotous damage would follow.

The entire proceedings are expected to last at least a fort-night.

[keefwho]

June 24 - 2023 Saturday

10:18 AM

I feel like it’s possible that I could fall into the same slump as I did last weekend if I don’t watch myself. This is a valuable challenge though. This time there are some important distinctions. Firstly, I have the reassurance I need that friends and companions will not just disappear. Having that important conversation a few nights ago was very important in helping me realize that. Also the time I took exercising those first 3 ACT skills have helped get me out of my own head for now. I know it’s easy to slip up but right now I feel confident that with a little effort, this could be a fine weekend. 

On the surface my immediate stress/general upsetness comes from wanting to spend time with people I have deep connection with but I currently cannot. I already talked about this last weekend, it’s perfectly valid that they are unavailable on the weekends. It’s up to me to have other contacts or be able to happily exist by myself for a bit. The biggest thing that helps me achieve that is believing they will always be back. Even if we’re apart, we are together. Thats the kind of reassurance I think is normal, as opposed to an unhealthy desire to know someone won’t leave. I was lacking basic requirements that were largely brought about by my own thoughts and beliefs. I’m good for now. 

Now I have to figure out what to actually do with my weekend. I think I want to work on my next VRchat world and maybe play my Switch a little. If I feel more generally social, there are a couple people in mind I could try hanging out with. I also have the option to take a gummy which could be likely. 

12:21 PM

Currently evaluating myself and how I feel right now, keeping in mind the exercises I did the past few days. I have thoughts nagging at me that aren’t true, making me feel bad about myself. It’s classic “Since I’m not prioritized, I am not wanted whatsoever.” This one happens way too frequently, so much so that it’s starting to lose its effect just when I noticed it. Like when I was struggling with anxiety and I would fear the same thing over and over but it would never happen. It’s starting to become goofy how often I feel this way but I’m always proven wrong. I also got a little perspective on myself and my relation to others. I’d say all morning I was in the mindset of trying to please or live up to someone else’s expectations of me, or what I think their expectations are. It’s easy to fall into because I feel like it’s the only way to keep people around. It has the opposite effect however. I become boring because I have nothing to bring to the social table, only echoing their ideas back at them. Then when I am left alone, I realize I have nothing to show for myself. It’s a hard thing to catch and break free of. Not all my problems come from self doubt though. The fact that I can’t be spending time with my favorite person does make me sad, and that is normal. It’s a feeling that has be lived with while I branch out and discover other ways to fulfill myself. It’s okay to feel this way as long as it doesn’t consume me.

I think I need to be more vocal with what I want from others. By that I mean openly asking if someone wants to do what I want to do rather than trying to prod what they want to do just so I can get any time with them at all. I always believe that it is selfish of me to do that, or that they don’t like me enough to oblige. The reality is they will likely be into my idea and may even do it if they are unsure how they feel about it just because they like me so much. And they will just say no if they really don’t want to or can’t. I catch myself sacrificing for others too much and it would benefit me to catch myself before going too far.  

Im so ANGRY at myself, why can’t I just get over my own mind? I cause myself so much anguish for literally no reason and it makes others suffer too. I’m tired of it. I wanna chill and make lifelong friends and love myself and everyone around me. I just want to love honestly. Thats at the core of everything. I’ve suppressed myself for so long and developed many bad complexes and coping mechanisms. 

Every time I think I’m starting to gain control of myself, the smallest thing sends me spiraling back down. 

Sometimes I wonder is it really me stopping myself from believing I’m loved or do I really not get the time or attention that I need? How much is too much or too little? When is it a problem? It must be now because of how much I care about it. What should be done? 

[chocolatemilk139]

the do or die part

reader x mingyu

summary: There are only a few things Actor Kim Mingyu really has to worry about: 1. Making sure Soonyoung doesn’t murder the writer with a set prop 2. Making sure his manager doesn’t murder HIM with a set prop 3. Making sure a serial killer doesn’t murder them all. Seungcheol would argue it’s highly unlikely he’ll ever cross a serial killer, ever, but the FBI’s crime stats would beg to differ. He could prove it with the right book research. He’s definitely going to the bookstore every day instead of memorizing lines for research purposes only and NOT because he wants to kiss the owner. Definitely not that.

genre: fluff, barely-there-angst, actor au, non idol au, bookstores, mingyu being great at acting but terrible at flirting

warnings: no actual serial killer, tiny angst?, mingyu probably needs a therapist (but he’s okay guys), fear of heights

word count: 16.2k

a/n: hi! Accidentally found this sitting in my docs half-finished and decided to gift it to my bff for her birthday! Told from Mingyu’s perspective because it was a little too fun to write that way. Anyways I hope you enjoy reading this mess <3

——————

don’t read the last page (i want your midnights)

Of all the places to film a romcom they chose the one seaside town without a consistent weather pattern, right next to the sea but not the beach, and filled with those small town personalities that despise anything that causes a disturbance to their generations of peace and quiet. What else could be more of a disturbance than having a 300 person crew park their lives in your town for a whole month of filming and take up the one usable paved road for 12 hours of filming what would only be about 30 minutes of usable footage. Mingyu would hate himself if the roles were reversed. It’s why he doesn’t do anything but smile and apologize again (in that really small voice he shrinks into frequently) when the barista gives him nothing but a glare of murderous intent after he knocks over the tip jar in an attempt to take his latte. He wonders if she would appreciate him handing her a list of tips to get away with his murder (complete with his hotel room number for easy access). He’s listened to enough CrimeJunkies to be confident he could come up with a pretty foolproof plan. Seungcheol would say something like that is just another side effect of the Self-Sacrificing Kim Mingyu Need to Throw Himself Off a Cliff to Get People to Like Him. What’s wrong with seeking approval, hyung? He’s an actor for a reason, for God’s sake.

“And you probably only became an actor for that reason,” Soonyoung points out. Mingyu throws the straw wrapper (paper straw, because he’s not some monster) at his face because even if it’s mostly true, he doesn’t need his lifelong leech of a best friend to point it out.

“All I want is to be in a movie with some crime and a serial killer,” Mingyu sighs (half of what Soonyoung says doesn’t deign a proper response), “Is that too much to ask?”

“Apparently,” Soonyoung snorts. “Why don’t you plan something useful like how to murder Mr. Jeon?”

“It’s not his fault really,” Mingyu says, immediately on the defensive, “he’s just the writer, he doesn’t have a huge say on who they hire for the movie.” It’s not entirely true, but he knew that sucking up to Wonwoo maybe wasn’t the best shot at getting cast for his new (CRIME!) piece he’s working on. Wonwoo is still nice though, buys Mingyu’s morning coffee to replace the original one he inevitably spills and/or loses, and he’s still working on something he’s written. A Korean-American romcom, of course, painfully devoid of serial killers. He should be thankful to be the second male lead, he can finally add in another donation.

Soonyoung lets out a long, exasperated sigh (as he’s wont to do with any mention of Jeon Wonwoo, Wonwoo Jeon whatsoever). “Fine, fine, if you want to defend that scumbag of a man I won’t stop you. But if he even speaks to me after living off your cooking for two months and still not giving you that role I promise to take a knife–”

Mingyu immediately shoves the bagel into Soonyoung’s mouth. “If you say any more I no longer have deniability in court.”

In between coughing and glaring at Mingyu he rolls his eyes.

. . .

They wind up back at set, inevitably, because there is no such thing as a real break. Unless you are Jeonghan. He finds him sleeping in a foldable chair behind one of the food trucks that Leigh ordered. His female co-star is in the middle of some familial drama scene between her and her mother (he can hear the shouting across the street which he assumes is the goal). If anything this is less a romcom than an exploration of the Korean American woman’s identity from the point of view of an aspiring lawyer in a small town. But it’s easier to say romcom.

Mingyu shoves Jeonghan’s shoulder lightly to wake him and is faced with the groggy glare of his manager.

“Is someone dying?” he asks gruffly. Mingyu merely smiles.

“No, but the director said I have to be ready to go in thirty minutes for the next scene,” he says lightly.

“Did you read your lines?” Jeonghan asks, eyes already fluttering shut. Mingyu hums. “Okay, well, you are a big boy, you can find your way to the makeup and hair trailer,” he replies, patting Mingyu’s knee softly before leaning back further into his chair. Mingyu huffs but leaves him be. Logically he could hire a more…enthusiastic manager, but at this point it would be a waste. And he can’t exactly say he doesn’t mind someone not controlling every aspect of his life. Jeonghan said he used to work for a kpop group in Seoul before they disbanded and it was the worst, most stressful six months of his life. Somehow that translated to him becoming the most lackadaisical manager Mingyu had ever met. Still, he gets the contracts signed and somewhere underneath his disinterested persona, Mingyu knows he genuinely cares. Somehow.

Dokyeom and Minghao are already in the trailer with brushes in their hands when Mingyu knocks. Minghao pulls him into the chair with a “You’re late,” and Dokyeom moves over to the clothes rack, shifting through the shirts.

“Nice to see you guys too,” Mingyu sing-songs.

“Hi,” Minghao scowls. “DK, hand me the one with 43 on the side.”

“What’s this scene, again?” Dokyeom asks even as he hands one of the palettes to Minghao.

“Taking Lee and her grandma out for lunch,” Mingyu offers with a grin.

Minghao snorts. “You’re lucky you are supposed to look like a borderline farmhand half the time. Does your character even have a solid job?”

“Uh, resident handyman?”

“Anything that gives him an excuse to take off his shirt,” Minghao says, then, “Get him the blue flannel.”

Dokyeom holds it up from the rack and Mingyu catches a glimpse in the mirror. “Oo, can I–”

Minghao cuts him off with a brush to his throat. “If you don’t hand that to me within thirty seconds after the director ends scene I will skewer you.”

Mingyu merely grins and nods, compliant as always. Dokyeom laments the great fall of the cashmere sweater of ’21 to Mingyu’s turkey sandwich. When he’s free to go (when they can hear Director Han screaming his name across set) he manages to knock over the bucket of brushes on one of the counters and bends to help them pick it up. Minghao waves him and his apologies off with a reassuring smile and a snide remark about how he can’t let Mingyu get yelled at again, even if Director Han still loves him. He does memorize his lines the best.

. . .

have i known you 20 seconds (or 20 years?)

The next day he is off because, according to Director Han, Leigh wasn’t Tiffany Lee enough in the previous day’s footage and they needed to reshoot most of the family interactions. Needless to say, Leigh looked ready to murder someone over breakfast so Mingyu steered in the opposite direction to let Seungkwan (the actual male lead, the one Tiffany will end up with when the credits roll) handle that. Leigh seemed to like Seungkwan more than him anyways. He finds Soonyoung at the coffee shop again, sans most of the crew at this hour of the day. It didn’t stop the barista from sending death glares again.

Soonyoung already has a latte waiting for him and is ready to pounce before Mingyu manages to properly sit down.

“In the many hours I have had to myself, alone, as a stunt director in a movie that literally doesn’t have any stunts, I have stumbled upon a treasure trove–”

“Please don’t tell me you robbed a bank because you were bored.”

“--That holds all you may ever desire. Mainly books on really randomly specific topics.”

“Please don’t tell me they have a tiger section.”

Soonyoung’s grin turns practically feral. “Oh but they do!” he giggles. Then he pauses for a minute to add, “But they also have a whole section for true crime psychopath stuff you have an unnatural obsession with.”

Mingyu already has his wallet in his hands when he grabs Soonyoung’s arm to drag him out of the cafe. “Let’s go.”

. . .

Soonyoung babbles as he leads them down a few side streets that are too close for anything besides pedestrian traffic, and largely devoid of pedestrians at this time of day. The townspeople seem to really be leaning into this “avoiding outsiders as much as possible” gig. Or maybe they don’t have many errands to run at 10:40 on a Tuesday at a…hardware store…a fish place?...and a bookstore.

He only knows it’s a bookstore because 1. Soonyoung stops abruptly and spreads his arms out proudly declaring “This is the bookstore!” and 2. The small glimpse he gets of the front windows only shows even, carefully stacked and lined colorful book spines. It makes him practically giddy, with this little anticipation tingling the bottom of his feet and he hasn’t even stepped inside yet. The sign above it reads 105 North Tower and he’s sure it’s one of those insignificant literary references that Seungcheol would berate him for not catching. He should take him here sometime.

“It’s so quaint,” he hears himself gush. He means it as the highest compliment.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and drags him through the front door (it has a goddamned bell!) and Mingyu is so distracted practically swirling around, looking at all the shelves, with their variations in color. There’s a system here, and most shelves have pretty little calligraphy signs of different topics. It’s not chaotic like most small bookstores–there’s a meticulous air to everything–but Mingyu absolutely adores it.

“You’re back,” an unfamiliar voice says and Mingyu startledly swings to see someone behind the counter. They are the only one in the shop–apparently the owner (they are always the owners in this small of a town). They don’t have the customer service smile, in fact, they look pretty unapproachable (like most people in this town) but not entirely unkind. They are pretty, shorter than him (but so is everyone else) and have this baseball cap on and gray cardigan and the same meticulous put-togetherness of the rest of the shop.

“Yeah, I brought my friend here,” Soonyoung says cheerily. If Mingyu knows him he probably spent all of yesterday chatting up the owner-bookkeeper, establishing some sort of friendship even if it was one-sided. The bookkeeper hums, glances at Mingyu (who tried to give his friendliest smile) and returns to the book with some level of disinterest. “Let me know if you need anything,” they say, looking back down. Mingyu mentally runs through the list of things Seungcheol liked to drill into him, like how it probably had nothing to do with them disliking Mingyu personally after seeing him for 2.5 seconds, and you should always read the best possible interpretation of someone’s actions. He swears Seungcheol learned that from some teaching module, but it works so he sticks to it.

“Don’t break anything,” Soonyoung says, already tugging him through the aisles again. (Just who do his friends think he is? Some sort of robot dog on wheels they can drag anywhere they like? A short montage burst of every time he lets them get away with it flashes through his mind as the answer.)

“I’m not gonna break anything,” he protests, trying to read the signs they pass as they go further to the back of the store. The calligraphy is gorgeous, and the font is altered on each one slightly to match the topic. It’s obvious they were done by hand in the “this is too meticulous and careful to have been done by anything but a full, feeling human heart” kind of way. Gardening has flowers blooming between the open spaces of the loops. Mystery’s letters are blockish with empty spaces contrasting with the black background. Caring for Dogs has its own section (“As it should,” Mingyu mutters) and the A and O have been turned into paw prints. Soonyoung drags them to the tiger section first and he admires the stripes the letters turn into with little orange accents. Soonyoung has already started pulling out a book that looks like just a bunch of Bengal tiger photos before he even bothers pointing Mingyu in the direction of those alleged books of interest.

The True Crime placard is stylized like the familiar TOP SECRET font complete with a little magnifying glass by the last E and it makes Mingyu laugh so much he snaps a picture. This section is far enough in the back corner to not have to mind how affronted the owner might seem at something like this. He wasn’t even really sure if the bookkeeper had made them herself or got someone else to. She didn’t seem like the type.

There were the staples of Ted Bundy and the Zodiac Killer (to be expected) but also some on the Hillside Strangler, the Austin Yogurt Shop Killer, and a whole series on the Green River Killer.

But there’s also Last Call by Elon Green and a whole shelf just on missing persons cases. It’s this one he settles on, and thumbs the spines until pulling out a couple to check the blurbs. He accumulates a stack and finally when his knees hurt he sees the bean bag against the wall. He carries his books and finally plops down, opening the first book on Alissa Turney. Distantly, he sets a mental reminder to call Devin and see how he’s doing these days.

Time seems sluggish in the way that in this corner it’s hard to tell if it’s moving or not. The twilight of not having anything to do and about to be called back to set. It passes, somehow, because eventually Soonyoung comes to find him and let him know he has to go back and approve some stunt equipment they are using for a night scene and (in his words) “make sure they don’t impale themselves on something metal.” Mingyu waves goodbye without looking up (they are already discussing possible perpetrators, he should have brought his notebook to trace out connections) before he remembers that he should probably thank his friend. He’s already gone by then.

A text from Jeonghan saying he bought dinner is what finally pulls him from the chair and up to the front desk, still clutching his stack of books. The bookkeeper is still there, except this time they’re busy clacking away at their desk computer. They still don’t look up until Mingyu sets the books down on the counter and clears his throat. Bookkeeper finally looks up with a borderline scowl. This close, Mingyu sees the way their short hair is tucked behind their ears and under the cap and when Bookkeeper raises an eyebrow, clearly disturbed, he can’t help but find them a bit cute. Mingyu must be going insane from the seawater.

“Hi,” he begins, almost squeakily. “I actually wanted to ask you a question. Or a favor really.”

Bookkeeper surveys him once again and lets out a barely imperceptible sigh. “Believe it or not the ‘I forgot my wallet’ excuse has been used before and it won’t work on me.”

Mingyu blinks at them once, twice, before it clicks and he practically guffaws. “Oh no, I have money! I usually forget my wallet but then Soonyoung started stealing it so I had to be more careful about that.” Bookkeeper looks unimpressed but Mingyu feels himself pressing onward. Or at least the words shoveling to the front of his mouth without a filter like basic human interaction protocol. He scrambles to pull out his wallet for proof. “But anyways,” he chuckles, “I was actually just thinking about if it might be possible for you to like, keep these books here? At the store? After I pay for them of course.”

“Like, hold them for you?” Bookkeeper offers skeptically.

“Yeah, you see,” Mingyu begins, “my manager kinda put me on a ban from reading—“

For once it seems to crack something like a smile on Bookkeeper’s face and there’s amusement in her voice when they repeat “A ban on reading?”

Mingyu is already blushing, he can feel it in the heat in his neck, because obviously there isn’t a moment of peace when he’s not embarrassing himself. “He thinks I get distracted easily with my true crime hobbies and I can’t be ‘in the right mindset’ for a romcom if I’m reading too much serial killer stuff, whatever that means.”

The silence falls between them again and it’s easy to slip back into overthinking, watching the way Bookkeeper taps their fingers on the edge of the counter silently thinking. The way they finally pauses and huffs out some air upwards with resignation and it’s so—

“I’ll keep them behind the counter,” they say in an even quieter voice and it makes Mingyu’s heart do weird things like beat irregularly (and he’s not even freaking out at the edge of a second floor balcony!) Bookkeeper is already picking up the first book and scanning it.

“Thank you so much,” Mingyu breathes out, “I honestly don’t know how to repay you. Except by, you know, paying for the books but also if you wanted to charge me for keeping them in your space you probably could and I wouldn’t really mind—“ The look the bookkeeper gives him shuts him up immediately and he grins before blurting out, “I’m Mingyu by the way!“

Bookkeeper (now he swears that’s not the correct title) looks up at him warily (or wearily, the expression was a toss up) and gives the slightest sigh. “Yn,” they say. Finally. Mingyu knows he’s beaming.

“Pretty,” he blurts out before realizing what he said and wanting to die. He has enough experience in this field to know how to cover though and immediately points to the one of the nearest bookshelf placards. “All the calligraphy signs and everything are really pretty, I mean. They look handmade. Did you do them?”

When he turns back there is something close to pink on Bookkeeper’s face and they clear their throat. “My brother did,” they say. Yn opens a drawer and pulls out some twine thread and Mingyu watches in adoration when they use it to tie around the stack of books, crossed on both sides and tied up at the top in a ribbon like a gift box. “It saves plastic bags,” Bookkeeper–Yn—says when they sees Mingyu staring. Mingyu merely nods. He can hear Soonyoung snorting in his head. Wow, is environmental consciousness hot now? Yes, quite frankly, Soonyoung. You wouldn’t know since you practically live off plastic utensils like a heathen.

There’s a beat of silence while Mingyu racks his head for whatever he was supposed to be doing. It’s slipped his mind completely.

“Don’t you have to be on set?” Yn asks, amusement slipping into their voice.

“How’d you know I worked on set?”

Yn laughs then, something loud and honest and God, I thought it couldn’t get worse but it just does. “You’re an idiot,” they say simply, but for some reason it doesn’t sting. It helps that he’s called that all the time. “Are you some random side character or what?”

Mingyu has an initial urge to lie and just go along with that before having a vivid flashforward montage of a series of misunderstandings that would lead to Yn inexplicably hating him. He opts for sheepish, rubbing his neck as he admits. “I’m actually one of the leads. Second lead. Not lead-lead.”

Yn snorts. “Makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yn rolls their eyes and then nods to the phone in his hands. “Think you got a call there.”

Indeed, Jeonghan’s caller ID is glaring back up at him and he scrambles to pick it up. He’s already outside the door (the bell rang again!) before he remembers and opens the door again to stick his head through and yell a little unnecessarily, “Thank you so much, Yn!”

The Bookkeeper looks startled for a minute but before Mingyu turns around he catches a glimpse through the glass door of an amused smile even as she shakes her head. Mingyu counts it as a win.

“Yn? Who the heck is Yn?”

“Oh, Jeonghan hyung, I forgot you were there.”

“Why do you sound suspicious? What were you doing that you sound guilty for?”

Mingyu sends silent thanks that Jeonghan can’t see the red in his face now and channels every acting lesson into calming his voice. It’s excellent practice trying to deceive his manager, and nearly impossible. “Guilty?” he laughs, “I was just at a store, lounging around you know.”

“Uh huh, sure sure,” Jeonghan drawls on the other end of the line, “You better get back to this hotel room in less than three minutes. That’s the time limit on my self-restraint for not eating all this food myself. And also the time limit for when your brother will inevitably call and question how terrible I’m doing on a job he volunteered me for.”

“I’ll be right there!” Mingyu replies cheerfully, always heading down the little shortcut between buildings he had discovered in the town that purposefully goes around the current filming site. The one key to keeping a day off a day off was to make sure Director Han never saw your face. The “hotel” is more of an old mansion repurposed into some sort of pseudo hostel and most of the actors and directors from various sections fill up all the available rooms. The rest of the crew has to drive twenty minutes to and from the nearest Hilton each work day.

He greets Joshua and Jun, the owners at the front desk (who are kinder than most, but he assumes since they are also sleeping here every night they want to furnish hospitable relations), and then heads up the wide staircase to find his room. He has to open it with an actual key, not just a card, but he always insists that’s part of the character of the place.

Jeonghan has two pimple patches on his chin and a fork midway to his mouth when Mingyu opens the door. A quick scan assures him his manager has only made a slight dent, and there’s still enough for him to eat without being famished.

“Cheol’s on the line,” he huffs, motioning to the phone on the coffee table before continuing to shove his face with linguini.

“Hyung!” Mingyu greets cheerfully, plopping onto the couch beside Jeonghan. “How are you? How are your kids?”

“Still evil and devious little creatures,” Seungcheol laughs. “But they seem to be liking Hamlet, surprisingly. How is the filming? Is Jeonghan taking care of you?”

Jeonghan, at the mention of his name, grabs a slice of garlic bread and shoves it into Mingyu’s open mouth. Mingyu tries not to choke but assures his brother everything is fine when he catches his breath. “He’s the best manager in the whole world,” Mingyu says through a mouthful of the pasta, “absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” Seungcheol replies. “I’m going to try to visit one of these weekends since your set is only thirty minutes away. One of the weekends I’m not drowning in grades to submit.”

“Aw, you really don’t have to!”

Jeonghan snorts beside him. “It’s not for you. He found out that his favorite cinematographer is on this project.”

“Hey!”

“I’ll tell her you said hi,” Mingyu snickers.

“Hey! Mingyu!”

He hangs up the phone before his brother can say anything, and it earns a sound of amusement from Jeonghan.

“Ugh, why does filming take so long?” he groans, leaning back further into the couch.

“You’re not even the one doing the acting. All you do is sleep all day.”

Jeonghan ignores him. “Come be a manager for my little brother, he said. It will be fun, he said.”

“You could always quit and become a florist.”

Jeonghan makes a choking noise. “So who’s Yn?” he asks suddenly.

Mingyu brushes him off. “Just someone in town I was talking to.”

“Like ‘talking to’ or talking to?”

“Like they literally own a store and are legally required to speak to me so I can pay them money.”

“Aw. You should get out and date more, go find yourself a nice girl or guy. Let the paparazzi trail you,” Jeonghan says, “Your career is so squeaky clean and devoid of controversies it’s almost sickening.”

“Hyung, are you telling me to like, purposefully go out and have a scandal?” Mingyu sputters, “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me the opposite? As my manager?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “I was promised fun with this job. Nothing is fun right now.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes once more before getting up to throw away the trash. Jeonghan still hands him the script for tomorrow’s scenes (complete with highlights and notes) but is already under the covers of his own bed before Mingyu can get sappy and thank him. Drats, he knows him too well. Mingyu lets it go though, and turns off most of the lights before settling in his twin bed that smells like sea salt (the hotel went the full seaside-beach theme). He uses a small reading light shaped like a leaf that Soonyoung gave him for his birthday and in between memorizing formulates a little schedule of when he can escape the set to go visit the bookstore again. It’s for the actual books, he falls asleep telling himself.

. . .

the only thing we share (is this small town)

When he finally gets a chance to escape (he has to bribe Seungkwan with a bakery smuggle later that night if he swears he never saw him leave behind the trailers), he goes to the bookstore. Logically. He still paid for those books, it’s not too early to go back. There’s a moment he considers getting Soonyoung but he sees him on the verge of yelling in the Director’s face about safety protocol for this one scene where Tiffany climbs a tree. It’s better to abandon him than get caught up in a mess like that again.

The bell over the door is like a soundtrack to the slow motion movie that his life has become when Mingyu makes it to 105 North Tower just to have the breath knocked out of him. It must be the early morning light from the windows framing Yn’s face in just the right way, making them glow even though Yn probably would have still been pretty in a pitch black room (he needs to work on that metaphor). Or maybe it’s the fact that Yn has a large box in hand and they’re standing on a step stool unloading books because they’re too short to reach the top shelves. When Yn turns they throw a twisted type of unsure grin at Mingyu like they weren’t expecting him but are already thinking of a million ways to make fun of him. Or torture him. All of this is a bit convoluted for his heart’s health. The scowl Yn quickly recovers isn’t enough to hide the fact that they were smiling when they first spotted Mingyu. Mingyu should know; he has 20/20 vision.

“Hi Yn,” he finally says, easy publicity smile plastered on his face.

“Hi,” Yn replies. They are stacking the books neatly onto the top shelf of new arrivals. “You came back.”

Mingyu nods. “For the books.”

Yn smirks like they know he’s lying but Mingyu is probably projecting, again. “Give me a sec.”

Mingyu says “Of course” and then tries to seem like he’s interested in the shelf of Western fantasy novels because he’s not sure what he’s really supposed to do with his hands or how to not actively stare at the Bookkeeper (It’s been one day!). He hears when Yn gets off the stepstool and tosses the empty cardboard box to the side, and turns around when he thinks she’s behind the counter. There’s rustling around and then Yn sets the stack of books on the counter and pushes them towards him.

“Is it weird to stay in here and read?”

Yn shrugs. “Customers like to. There’s a reason there are chairs everywhere.”

“Ah,” Mingyu nods, “thank you.” Because he’s not sure what else to add. He makes it back to the True Crime corner and its purple bean bag again. It’s comfortable and every so often he can hear Yn shifting around, arranging shelves and unboxing shipments. It’s still muted, like they’re trying to be more quiet knowing that someone else is here. Mingyu smiles to himself, and tries to actually read. Which is what he came to do.

It’s at least an hour or two later when his back is sore enough that he figures he should get up and leave. A text from Soonyoung comes asking where he is, followed by the assurance that he would meet him there and yes, Mingyu can use his backpack to smuggle the contraband books back onto set without Jeonghan noticing. It’s a deal, so Mingyu picks up two more titles to buy at the counter. Soonyoung needs the workout anyway.

Yn is typing away at their computer, again, and pretends not to notice Mingyu until he sets the books on the counter again, one stack for those already bought (the twine tied into a poor imitation of the bow it was yesterday, he’s not good at tying bows, okay) and one for the new ones. Yn reads the titles and then looks back at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you only read about murder and serial killers and missing persons?”

“Well, it’s like a main interest of mine. I like reading about real cases. Cold cases especially. The serial killers and just kinda a part of that.”

“You know it makes you look more and more like a serial killer yourself.”

Mingyu sputters. “What? No, I like, actually like to help on cold cases. You know, like, I’m friends with this detective, okay? And there’s a lot you can do as a regular person just scouring databases and really boring online stuff that’s really helpful to the cases but, once again, very boring to most people.”

“Hm, some killers actually like to associate themselves with law enforcement in order to make them less of a suspect, or maybe just to get the thrill of being close to being caught but never being suspected.”

“Aw come on! Just let me explain how I got into this…topic in the first place, okay?” Mingyu insists, still laughing.

Yn eyes him suspiciously but there’s a playfulness there. “Hm, yes, please tell me exactly how you aren’t a serial killer by sounding exactly like how a serial killer would try to explain himself.”

“Oh my gosh,” Mingyu groans. “I took forensic science in high school, okay? And we had a detective come in and talk to us about his job and he showed us some really gross pictures–”

“And that was when you realized you actually wanted to kill someone.”

“--What? No!”

Yn giggles then but waves him on. “Continue, Mr. Serial Killer.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes but presses forward. “He was a cold case detective and so he talked to us for a while about this one specific case he has been working on for years and they were close to finding the perpetrator, hopefully, through some of that online DNA tracing. You know, like the ancestry.com databases and stuff? Well, I became kinda invested in it and bugged him until he let me help. It’s a lot of volunteer work, actually. Just diving into online archives and tracing matches. I was helping him when they cracked that case actually,” he adds, suddenly feeling shy. He looks anywhere but at Yn who is finally not teasing him anymore, but that only lasts for so long, and when he looks back the bookkeeper has their head tilted and they’re giving Mingyu this unreadable look.

“So when you are not making millions of dollars being a top-billed actor,” Yn finally says, “you are actually a helpless nerd who scours internet databases for DNA matches for cold cases.”

“I’m not famous, I’m like a B-list actor,” Mingyu protests feebly. He doesn’t even make that much. He can feel his own skin on his face heating up to melting point and he’s not sure the color is any less incriminating.

“So how’d you get into reading?”

Yn laughs something a little bitter then, but worn down, like they’re settled in the distaste. “I used to hate it actually, but there’s not much better to do when you are stuck with a full leg cast for nine weeks. I thought I’d go insane with nothing to do so I read. Anything that was in my mom’s library actually, which meant a ton of Austen and Dickens and Dumas. Old dead English people.”

Mingyu laughs along with them, even though it feels like he’s stumbled on something still sore. He doesn’t ask more about the broken leg, it seems like a can of worms he doesn’t even have the right to approach as a perfect stranger.

“Why do you have a whole section for true crime if you think it’s weird then?” True crime is familiar, a safe topic to steer back to.

Yn lets out a deep exhale, their cheeks puffing in thought. They look at Mingyu somberly. “Actually, there’s a reason for that, you know.”

Mingyu immediately lets his teasing topple away into something more serious. “What’s that?” he asks, in a bit of reverent quiet voice.

Yn sighs and looks out the window and then back at Mingyu like they’re debating something. Then they leans forward across the counter. Mingyu has to channel all his thinking off the way Yn’s face is suddenly so close to his and their eyes have this drowning effect if you look directly in them for too long, in favor of how serious Yn says the next words. “There was actually a string of murders about eight years ago,” Yn finally breathes out.

Mingyu pulls back–from shock at the words, not an internal fear that’s he going to suddenly lean forward and kiss her without warning. “Seriously?” he breathes out.

Yn nods. “Everyone said there’s a serial killer but he’s never been caught.”

“Oh my God.”

They sigh again, looking back down at the desk. “It’s really scary actually. I think there was a murder a few years ago the police can’t explain and everyone thinks he’s still out there, looking for his next victim.”

Mingyu inhales a sharp breath. “Is he—oh my God, like, there’s really a killer in this town? And the victims—and the police and—oh my God.”

Then Mingyu sees it: the amusement in Yn’s face that’s not anywhere near their lips but practically glimmering in their eyes. He can feel the scowl coming. “You—” He hears Yn break before he sees them, cackling laughter and chuckles that they can’t hold back.

Mingyu pushes away from the counter to stalk off back to his corner away from Yn’s excessive amusement at how gullible he is. His intention is petty and a bit childish but at least it would prove some point, but he doesn’t get far enough to execute it. Somewhere between walking and turning around his shoulder rams into the end display of one of the shelves where a stack of copies of someone’s self-help book had been arranged neatly in order. Mingyu manages to destroy that in three seconds. Loudly.

There’s silence for the pass of a heartbeat before Mingyu even dares to look up and meet Yn’s eyes, wide and so amused, if not a bit shocked.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

That does it for Yn, and they have to lean against the counter with one hand while the other holds their stomach and they laugh. Directly in Mingyu’s face. So loudly and openly their eyes shut and–is Yn crying?

Mingyu huffs out a few times but the smile is unavoidable, especially when Yn’s laugh sounds like this. Yes he can feel the spines of several books digging into his ankles where they fell but he can’t stop staring and smiling. Like someone stole a sample from a heaven soundtrack and put it on loop and–oh. He might be crushing on someone he’s only known for two days. Soonyoung would lose it over this. You always fall way too easily. He doesn’t care though, not now. Instead, he crosses his arms and tries to appear bitter (it’s not working when all Yn does is continue to laugh at him).

He lets Yn continue to laugh even when he huffs and bends down to start picking up the books. He hears the laughter taper down a little bit when Yn finally comes around the counter to help him.

“You’re extremely talented,” they say (gosh, when did their voice get so close and how much longer can he keep staring at the ground to avoid looking up at them in a daze?) “much more in entertainment than acting.”

Mingyu scoffs at that and stands up straight. “Is that just from my horrible first, second and third impressions or have you actually seen anything I’ve acted in?”

Yn stands up straight and maybe he’s a little obsessed with the way they barely reach his shoulders. Yn navigates around him to set the books on the stool and then to fix the shelf itself. “I haven’t seen anything with you in it yet, but you do attract a certain amount of attention.”

“Haha,” Mingyu says blandly. Except when Yn looks back at him their smile is just so sweet. His mind starts spiraling reflexively. “Wait, you’re not going to ban me from coming to your store ever again for destroying property, right? I can pay compensation for it if you really need me too—“

“Mingyu,” Yn laughs, “It’s fine. No permanent harm done. I feel like if I ban you from here I might be held liable for the deterioration of your mental health.”

He doesn’t know how to explain how happy that makes him. The fact that a cute Bookkeeper in a seaside town is letting him come back again. The fact that he wants to make a million excuses to keep coming back.

. . .

the rest of the world was black and white (we were in screaming color)

Soonyoung insists on coming with him, presumably because he’s physically close to murdering Director Han with his bare hands if he doesn’t get a mental break. Seungkwan handed him a note through one of their side characters (Tiffany’s little brother), asking for a specific book and of course Mingyu cheerfully takes it as a God-given burden [excuse] to talk to Yn again.

“You seem to be frequenting this establishment frequently,” Soonyoung says not-so-slyly.

“Don’t say a word.” Mingyu glares. Because they are like two feet away from 105 North Tower and there are plenty of other, more appropriate times to embarrass him to death. Probably as far away from Yn and their pretty eyes as he can get.

Soonyoung pulls a dramatic shoulder shrug. “I see nothing, say nothing. Nihil agio.”

Mingyu scrunches his nose. “I don’t think that’s the right Latin.” Except even if he’s bickering with his best friend he’s still nice enough to hold the door open for him and let him step in first. He regrets it when he steps in afterwards and almost topples over Soonyoung because he freezes within two steps, unmoving.

“What are you—“

“Jeon,” Soonyoung says lowly.

Mingyu glances over his friend’s shoulder to see Wonwoo sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee, apparently comfortably conversing with Bookkeeper. He ignores murderous Soonyoung and waves. “Hi Wonwoo!”

“Hi Mingyu,” Wonwoo says cheerfully, waving back, “Hi Soonyoung!”

Soonyoung groans. “Jeon,” he says, “I see you are ruining local air quality in my one place of respite as well. Also, hi Yn.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion while Yn pulls an amused face.

“I’ll be with my soulmate,” Soonyoung says, looking pointedly at Mingyu before stalking through the shelves.

“Bye Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says cheerfully. Soonyoung doesn’t have to turn around to throw up his middle finger. Wonwoo’s face turns confused to Mingyu. “Do you get the feeling that Soonyoung doesn’t like me that much?”

Mingyu chokes on a bit of air before composing himself and giving a consoling smile (coupled with a pat on Wonwoo’s shoulder). “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” he says, “you should go try to make him like you a bit more though. Maybe try to share some interests to strengthen your friendship?”

Wonwoo nods like he’s just been granted some divine instruction. “Sharing interests,” he repeats quietly. The wheels are visibly grinding inside his head.

“He’s in the tiger section,” Mingyu offers with a smile. Wonwoo immediately thanks him and disappears off to find his future best friend.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Yn snickers from behind the counter.

Mingyu shrugs with a smirk. “If Soonyoung hasn’t murdered him yet, I’m sure Wonwoo can survive.”

“That’s not very reassuring for my carpet.”

He laughs. Then he thinks. Finally, blurts out, (with nothing like nonchalance) “How do you know Wonwoo though?”

When Yn looks up at him over her up cup of coffee he’s only a tad distracted by how lovely their eyelashes are, the way they frame their chocolate eyes. “We grew up together,” Yn says, an amused tilt to their voice, “he used to live here, you know.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Yn laughs, but it doesn’t sound unkind, “did you come here for more serial killer books or with the goal of trying to convince me you are not a serial killer?”

He scrambles for the slip of paper he definitely put in one of these jacket pockets (somehow what makes the jean jacket a designer is how many false and real pockets it can fit). “Aha! I actually came to find this. For a friend.”

Yn takes the slip of paper and reads the title. Then Yn clicks on their computer, chewing their lips in contemplation. “I don’t have it in the store but I can get it in just a couple days, would that be okay?”

“That’d be perfect!” He says. Because that’s another perfectly valid excuse to return again, to strengthen their friendship of course. He desperately wants to be friends with them.

They clack some more on their keyboard, presumably placing the order, and when they blink back up at Mingyu they look hesitant for the first time. Or maybe concerned. “The order is placed,” Yn says carefully, “and it should be here around Thursday or Friday. It might be easier to let you know if I had your number.” Their cheeks are really red too, it must be the heat getting to them. “So you can know as soon as it’s delivered.”

“Oh, yeah sure!” Mingyu says, quickly fumbling for his phone to hold it out for them. Yn takes it and their hands brush. There’s no electric shock but there might as well be from how Mingyu freezes. It’s the onslaught of thoughts about how soft their hands are and how he might want to hold them and never let go. It takes two seconds for Yn to input their contact and call their own phone.

“What are you saving my contact as?” He asks, seeing a glimpse of the screen. The grin YN gives him is a bit mischievous as they tap away and then turn the phone towards him. He only gets a second to read, “Definitely Not a Serial Killer Mingyu.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath of air. “Glad to see you enjoy messing with me just as much as everyone else.”

“It’s fun, you’re easy to mess with.”

Mingyu hums and taps on their simple contact name “Yn” to edit it to “Bookkeeper” before showing it to them.

“That’s definitely not my job title but okay,” Yn laughs.

“I thought you usually sent order information through email,” Wonwoo says, appearing from nowhere. A partial question, a partial way to make Yn turn a shade redder.

“I don’t use my email,” Mingyu blurts. Not a perfect lie, but he really doesn’t. Jeonghan reads and sends all his emails.

Wonwoo shrugs. Soonyoung is calling him from the door, complaining loudly about the decrepit status of their society’s morals. He really needs to stop by the coffee shop and get him one of those special edition smoothies to cool off before they get back on set.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from turning around at the door and giving Yn an unrestrained, beaming smile. “See you later, Yn!”

Their grin is a little crooked, shy, but it’s there and that’s enough for now.

. . .

no body (no crime)

Is it flirting if he texts them every chance he’s free on set? Is it the content or the frequency that matters in these situations? Because Yn’s talking about this neighborhood cat that lives around the business street and everyone takes turns feeding and it’s not exactly flirting but they’ve also been consistently messaging back and forth for a couple days. He kind of wants to pull out his phone and text them now, except that he’s at an actual cast dinner and it’s late enough in the night that it would cross some unsaid line they’ve set up.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of someone else yelling drunkenly, another exhortation to drink as much as they can. Mingyu frowns down at the beer in front of his plate. The food is good. The fact that his director is breathing down his neck insisting they all get ridiculously drunk when he would rather do anything else is not.

He would prefer Jeonghan to be here, but unfortunately his manager was stuck with the rest of the crew eating whatever fast food they could order en masse to the hotel. No, this was for the “main cast” and directors. Which basically meant that Director Han was being a hierarchical jerk, which Mingyu did not like at all.

He’s squished in between Seungkwan and Dino, their head cinematographer (super young but he already had a ton of movies on his resume so people worshipped him like a prodigy, in general he was also pleasant to hang out with so Mingyu also worshipped him, mostly for social reasons). Soonyoung is MIA, though from the texts Mingyu had glanced at earlier, he was invited but feigned sickness to stay as far away from the Director and Jeon as much as possible. Wonwoo was all the way on the other end of the table where the director and Leigh were sitting.

“If he gives another toast just to make us all drink together one more time, I swear,” Seungkwan mutters beside him, making a face at the alcohol Director Han is dumping into Leigh’s cup on the other end of the table. Wonwoo gently dissuades him to stop and hands Leigh a cup of water.

Mingyu barely touched his alcohol and he was no longer hungry for anything on the table, but he chews extra slowly on the fries just so he has something keeping him occupied and out of too much attention.

One of the senior actors, Harold, played a kindhearted small business owner who helped Leigh with timely and sage advice in her time of need. In real life, Harold was bitter most of the time and snobbish to most of the actors on set, including Mingyu. Which he didn’t quite understand because they barely had two scenes together and he had avoided him most other times. Still, Mingyu must have been doing something wrong because Harold is sitting directly across from him and the one time he laughs a little too loudly at a joke Dino makes about Minghao, he feels the full force of the old man’s wrath.

“Can’t they get more mature actors to fulfill the parts these days?” He remarks too loudly, overtly scornful. “I swear they just pick anybody with a nice body these days and no talent.”

Maybe Mingyu could have brushed it off and cried about it later if the whole table hadn’t stopped, if Director Han hadn’t heard and laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You know we appreciate Mingyu for his wonderful appearance on camera, but he also knows his lines, so I have to forgive him for other inadequacies.”

“Anybody can memorize a couple lines,” Harold scoffs. “Talent is what’s missing from the kids these days.”

“Hey,” Seungkwan snaps. He looks about ready to pop and maybe start screaming at a senior actor for something that doesn’t really matter and really shouldn’t be made into a big deal, so Mingyu grabs his arm and shakes his rapidly.

“It’s fine, just leave it,” Mingyu says quietly.

Seungkwan glares at him. “But they—“

“Come on, Mingyu! Lighten up the mood and take a shot!” Director Han yells, reaching over the table. Mingyu tries to hide his grimace, but his cheeks are hot with shame and he wants to be anywhere but here. Leigh is looking at him, overly concerned and Wonwoo looks ready to protest but Mingyu’s already been too much of an inconvenience for everyone. So he reaches for the glass and throws the shot back without hesitation, hating the burn in his throat and eyes and the way he just wants to get out.

Director Han cackles and makes most of the table cheer loudly. Mingyu sits back down, counts to seven, leans over to Seungkwan and tells him he’s gonna slip out back to the hotel.

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan asks at the same time Dino leans to ask the same thing. He’s an actor for goodness sake, no matter how untalented, so of course he throws his best smile and assures them that he’s just a little tired and Jeonghan is picking him up, a pitiful lie.

Thankfully, they let him go after he promises to text Seungkwan when he gets back, and he slips out the restaurant front door trying to ignore old man Harold’s glares. It’s only when he stands out on the empty street that he remembers he left his jacket inside. Well, walking—wandering—is the best option to preserve body heat. Unless there are really serial killers roaming about here. Then again, he thinks he’ll be safe enough with his ridiculous height and unhelpful arms.

He should have expected his feet to betray him in this way and lead him exactly here. Except he barely has time to connect how he ended up at the bookstore before Yn looks up from where they have a key in the lock of the front door. Yn stops, looks up at him, surprised.

“Mingyu?”

He scrambles for some excuse because he barely had enough time to put on his actor smile and he’s sure he looks absolutely miserable right now (since that’s how he feels) and he really doesn’t want Yn to see him miserable for a stupid reason like people saying things at a work dinner and he showed up when they’re already closing and probably doesn’t even want to see him right now. “Oh sorry,” he says eventually. “I thought you were open later.”

Yn stops, their hand still on the door and gives him this look like they’re trying to measure all of Mingyu in teaspoons. Yn pockets the keys and shakes their head. “I’m not closing for the night,” they reply, “I was just stepping out to get a bite from the corner store. Do you want to come with me? I can come back and unlock the doors.”

It’s an olive branch of sorts, probably the most open Yn has ever been to him and all he can find to do is nod and let Yn lead him down the street. He has an internal panic of trying to remember how to walk next to someone he has the tiniest crush on without being weird and settles for trying to hunch his shoulders with his hands in his pockets. Yn doesn’t seem that bothered and walks easily, familiarly down the street.

“My friend owns the shop,” they say eventually, breaking the silence. Awkwardly. Which Mingyu realizes is weird because in their few interactions he’s never been the quiet one and now Yn is here trying to make up for that, talk because they know he doesn’t really want to. It’s melted-candy sweet.

“Oh really?” He manages out.

They nod and point to the one store lit up on the corner. “His family ran it and he took it over and now he’s trying to do something with it because he wants to do music full time.” Yn holds the door open for him once they get there, and maybe he forgets it’s weird to stare at an acquaintance because their smile is small but glowing in this weird convenience store light. He almost stumbles inside but catches himself and ignores how Yn laughs lightly behind him.

“Hey Jihoon,” Yn says. That’s when Mingyu notices the guy behind the counter, with his laptop up and headphones, who barely looks up when Yn greets him but does a double take when he sees Mingyu.

“Who’s this?” He asks, squinting at Mingyu, and maybe now he can see why the two of them are friends. Or maybe that’s the brisk blunt attitude of everyone in this town.

“A friend,” Yn replies, “Mingyu this is Jihoon.”

“You’re working on the movie?” Jihoon asks, but he doesn’t seem antagonistic, maybe a little curious. So Mingyu tries a smile and nods. “Cool,” Jihoon says and apparently that’s all because he goes back to his computer immediately.

“Do you want anything?” Yn asks him, already wandering through the aisles. He spots the top of their head over a shelf of chips.

“I ate just a little bit ago.”

“Pick out something to drink then,” Yn says. “And don’t say no, just say you’ll owe me a favor later.”

For some weird reason that’s the thing that makes him crack a smile, a real one, for the first time in hours. He just heads over to the refrigerated section and pulls out a lemonade before Yn can change their mind. He sets it on the counter with the rest of their scavenging and Jihoon scans all the items before he frowns at Yn. “Aren’t you going home?”

Yn stops for a second, eyes darting to Mingyu and then back at Jihoon. “No,” they say, “I’m going back to open back up the shop. Like usual.”

Jihoon blinks at them for a second, hums and then pushes the card reader towards them as a sign to pay. He waits until he hands back the receipt to say, “Have fun,” so seriously it sounds like a threat. Mingyu doesn’t try to read into it much, childhood friends have weird ways of communication all time. (He should know, Soonyoung has been stuck around him for too long.)

Yn turns on most of the soft yellow lights when they get back, but not all of them, and pulls a high stool from one of the aisles to the front of the counter. Yn goes back around and sits in their usual spot, then gives Mingyu a look until he realizes the first chair was for him and sits down. It’s a bottle of convenience store lemonade and a bag of gummy worms, not a date.

It doesn’t make him any less nervous. It may have to do with the fact that Yn looks really pretty and wears baseball caps all the time. They open a drawer and pull out a deck of cards with a red swirl design.

“Do you know how to play anything?” Yn asks, already shuffling them with a practiced ease. It’s a little mesmerizing seeing them fold the cards together, form a bridge and split the deck to do it again.

“Go fish?”

Yn snorts at him. “Here. I’ll show you how to play butterfingers. It’s fast paced.”

Mingyu just nods while they start to set down the cards. Five down, one up, one up five more down. Then Yn splits the rest of the cards between the two of them. “Okay,” they point to the large deck face down on Mingyu’s side, “these are your cards and you have to get rid of them as quickly as possible.”

“As quickly as possible?”

“Yep. You can only have seven cards in hand at one point though, and you have to put them down in one of these piles in ascending or descending order and…”

He doesn’t quite catch all the rules until they are actually playing, and by then it’s a flurry of fingers, and once Yn starts giggling in between telling him all the things he can’t do, they can’t stop. He doesn’t want them to.

Yn wins the first round, unsurprisingly, and Mingyu still has at least twenty cards in his deck. The second and third time they play, he gets into it enough to get close to them, both of them yelling in frustration when they only have a few cards left. He only wins the fourth time, and with that Yn insists they have had enough and he lets them take the cards back only a little disappointed.

“I used to do boxing,” Yn says apropos of nothing. Mingyu almost chokes on his drink. Now he’s thinking about Yn punching someone and is ashamed to say it’s kind of hot. (Soonyoung would take this moment to scream in Mingyu’s ear that he’s screwed.)

“Oh really?” Mingyu says, wide-eyed (except he doesn’t want to seem too surprised and offend them or not surprised at all and thus not interested—maybe Jeonghan is right when he says he should interact with people more outside of filming scenes.)

They nod though. “I went to college on a scholarship for it and was going to all these championships—you know nothing about boxing do you?”

Mingyu ducks his head, laughing, “I know nothing about sports in general, you know. Forensic science detective nerd.”

Yn clicks their tongue in fake disappointment. “Nerd indeed. For your simpleton mind to understand, I was really good at it, and I really liked to do it. Jihoon used to do it too, but he wasn’t as good as me,” they say, adding a wink.

“Wow, so humble,” Mingyu jokes.

“I was good, and I loved it and I thought that’s all I ever wanted to do. And then…”

And Mingyu waits because he thinks he knows where this story goes, and Yn has the same distant look in their eyes as the other day talking about reading books in lieu of being able to do anything else.

Yn exhales and taps the counter. “And then,” they start again lightly, “I got in a wreck and totally messed up my left leg and my arm and I went through rehab but by then I would hurt myself more if I kept up boxing so I had to give it up.” They flourish jazz hands, “Now I’m here with a tiny bookstore and a dude who probably should be asleep right now.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

They flush. “Because you looked all…sad and I’m not good at cheering up people.”

“So you tried to cheer me up by telling me your tragic life story.”

“Yes,” they deadpan, “so you could see how miserable I am and realize you are fine compared to me.”

Mingyu chokes on his laughter. Yn throws a gummy worm at him.

“But seriously,” they say after a moment, “I was trying to tell you that it’s going to be okay.” Yn waves their hands around for a second, grasping for the words. “Whatever has got you down, you can come back from it.”

Mingyu stares down at his drink, fiddling with the loose label. “Did you ever have people doubt if you were actually talented and then feel like you have to do something to prove yourself but you’ve already been working so hard you don’t know what else you can do to prove you can do it?” Which, objectively is a lot to say to a somewhat-acquaintance, somewhat-friend who you find cute, but for once Mingyu is just glad to have it off his chest. Glad because Yn doesn’t seem weirded out and merely leans back in their chair, thoughtful for a moment.

“I think that…” Yn finally begins, “whoever told you that is an idiot.”

It’s hard not to laugh at that, the way they say it so bluntly and seriously and simply. He can’t stop laughing actually, leaning against the counter to catch his breath because his stomach hurts so much and Yn is laughing with him, all their teeth showing and it’s so cute he doesn’t really know what to do and he’s struck by the fact that it’s been less than a week and—dang. He really likes them.

. . .

i don't wanna think of anything else (now that i thought of you)

Logically, the next step in realizing your crush is turning into something more substantial like liking them, would be to ask them out. Except Mingyu never thinks of things like this simply.

For one, Yn owns a bookstore that they work at all day, and going on a date would probably be really inconvenient for their schedule and thus instead of something nice, Mingyu would just be an obstruction to their daily life. Maybe they’d only go out with him because they seem to be really nice like that (opposed to their cold, disinterested exterior, which—God—is another reason he really likes them.)

For another, he’s Mingyu. He’s broken their bookshelf and intruded in their life and he’s technically a part of the huge obnoxious film crew that has invaded their pleasant hometown. He also almost cried in front of them (he’s pretty sure Yn could tell). Overall, he doesn't have a lot going for him when it comes to someone who has been nothing but cool. And cute. And really a lot more out together than him.

And maybe he’s overthinking too much, staring at his cup of coffee intensely enough to garner concern because someone clears their throat above him and he finds Jun, hotel owner #2 there, looking vaguely concerned. It’s offset by his bright pink apron and pig-shaped oven mitt on one hand. He was obviously the one serving breakfast this morning except it’s 12:32pm and most people have already gone. Except for Mingyu (apparently.)

“Hey, do you want any extra English muffins?” Jun asks, smiling eagerly.

“Um, do I have to pay extra?” He asks hesitantly.

“Nah, I have a lot of brunch leftovers,” Jun says. And then he turns around and disappears into the kitchen before Mingyu can formulate a response. He comes back a few minutes later with a plate of toasted English muffins, carefully topped with butter and raspberry jelly. He sets the plate down and then claims the seat across from Mingyu without asking. Which he doesn’t mind, it was nice enough to give him free toast.

“This is really good,” Mingyu says through a mouthful.

Jun’s eyes sparkle. “Thank you. I made them myself.”

Mingyu hums and takes another bite, trying to figure out if Jun wants to talk to him or just stare at him while he eats.

He’s saved by Jun pulling out his phone and tapping rapidly before turning the screen to him. “Do you want to see my new baby?” He asks, even though he’s already shoving the phone in Mingyu’s face.

There’s a cute close up photo of a calico cat on screen black patch of fur over the left eye and orange over the right. Mingyu coos immediately. Jun practically beams.

“Her name is Bohemian Rhapsody,” Jun says. “Or just Rhapsody. Joshua is fighting me about it.”

“She’s so cute,” Mingyu says still smiling while Jun scrolls through more photos.

“She’s a rescue actually. I drove like two hours to the shelter after I saw a video of her and I just wanted her to like me so bad.”

“But she did, didn’t she?”

Jun’s smile grows impossibly warmer. “She did. I almost didn’t go see her though.”

“Why not?” Mingyu asks. (He’s almost abandoned his toast now.)

Jun shrugs. “I guess I was scared, because what if I drove all that way with all the love in my heart and the cat didn’t even like me enough? Then I wouldn’t even know how to start to adopt her. It was impulsive too. We’d have to figure out how to keep a cat around the hotel and dealing with customers and everything.”

Mingyu hums in understanding. “What made you decide to go in the end?”

“Joshua told me to,” Jun snorts, laughing. “But also I told myself if it’s something real, we can work out everything, but I shouldn’t ever let myself regret letting someone go before I even get to find out.”

Mingyu nods slowly as the words sink it. Ironically, he can’t tell if they are talking about a cat anymore. Jun looks curiously at him before finally getting up from the table.

“You seem happier now,” he decides, “I’ll bring Rhapsody around sometime if you’d like to see her.”

“Thanks, I’d love that,” Mingyu says genuinely.

And maybe he thinks about Jun’s weird words of wisdom for too long, through several scenes he has to shoot and all the way up until he’s back in the hotel room eating take out with Jeonghan and Dino.

“I’m gonna go ask them out,” he declares. Jeonghan barely looks up from his burger.

“Finally,” he mutters.

Dino blinks owlishly. “Who?”

“Yn,” Mingyu grins, “I’m gonna ask them out.”

“Ah,” Dino nods slowly. Then he stops again. “Wait who?”

“His bookstore lover,” Jeonghan says through his mouthful of food.

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jeonghan says, “Soonyoung wouldn’t shut up. He keeps more tabs on you than I have the energy to.”

Dino snorts. “That sounds kind of excessive. Anyways, how are you going to ask them out?”

Mingyu opens his mouth before he realizes that he has no clue. He can’t exactly waltz up to the bookstore and declare his love for them, then Yn might actually be convinced he’s a serial killer/stalker. He has to be smooth but romantic, neither of which come naturally to him. He has to do something they’ll like but he’s not even fully sure what they like besides boxing and books, but isn’t that the point of asking them out in the first place? Hey, I’d like to get dinner with you to get to know you better, with the hopes of knowing you enough to know if you’ll kiss back if I kiss you? When did dating become so complex (he has a non answer for that, except Soonyoung snarkily replying that he’s never even properly dated anyone before.)

Dino pats his shoulder consolingly. Apparently his inner turmoil is outwardly obvious again. “Take your time there, bud.”

. . .

something gave you the nerve (to touch my hand)

“Didn’t you buy this book before?” Yn begins tentatively. When Mingyu twirls around to face them they’re holding up a book on Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. Crap. There goes his attempt at nonchalance and smoothness.

“I actually don’t need to buy any of those books,” he blurts out.

Yn smirks and looks down at the stack. “Sense and Sensibility, How to Raise Your Pet Turtle, The Ultimate Collection of Ted Bundy Articles, and Crime and Punishment,” they read off, “yeah I think I could tell you picked up some random choices.”

He’s already blushing but this is good. This makes him commit to his choices. “I actually came here for something else…”

Yn raises one eyebrow. “Did you come to just give me more books to put back on the shelves or because I have such an enthralling personality?” They joke.

“I came to see you,” he says. But of course, he’s doing this all wrong, because Yn freezes head-to-toe, staring down at the counter. Like Cheol always says, at this point it’s all or nothing. He takes a deep breath. “Which is weird because it hasn’t been that long since we’ve known each other but I think I really like you and I want to go on a date with you and get to know you more, and I don’t really do that with anyone. I haven’t wanted to as much as I have since I met you.”

There’s this terribly awkward silence in the store for a minute that leaves Mingyu regretting every life choice that ever led him to this point, starting from when he first dropped out of college because of a casting call.

“Will it scare you away if I say I know I like you?”

Yn bites back a smile. “Not exactly. Does that mean you want to go on a date or something?”

“One date at first,” Mingyu says, “and then as many as you’ll agree to go on with me after that.”

Yn spins in their chair back to their computer, tapping away at their keyboard but Mingyu can tell they’re nervous by the way they keep messing up and hitting the backspace like they can’t type anything right. In their defense, he’s pretty sure he can’t even read words properly in this state.

“Okay,” Yn finally says.

Mingyu inhales sharply. “Okay? Like yes? That easily?”

Yn laughs at him. “What’d you think I was going to say?”

“I thought you’d at least make me clean the whole store to earn your affection or something,” Mingyu says. “I kind of have been panicking over this for enough hours that my brain came up with plenty of terrible scenarios.”

Yn rolls their eyes at him, but their smile is so pretty it’s distracting. “Where are you taking me on the first date?”

“I will admit I didn’t think that far ahead. But I have tonight off. Unless you are busy. Then we could do it some other time. Or never if you change your mind.”

“Tonight is good, Mingyu,” Yn says, “I’ll pick the place. You pick me up here at seven.”

It’s perfect, he can feel his excitement betraying him in the way he’s grinning like an idiot. “Seven is good. Seven is great. I’m perfectly free at seven.”

Maybe he has to leave and maybe Yn’s laugh is a soundtrack on repeat in his head for the rest of the afternoon until he sees them again.

He is dangerous close to showing up in a tuxedo before Jeonghan and Soonyoung talk him down from it. Somehow Minghao shows up to their hotel room an hour before he’s supposed to meet Yn with a suitcase and a frown that says he knows all the horrible fashion decisions Mingyu would make on his own.

“I was called for an emergency situation,” he says solemnly.

“It was getting desperate,” Jeonghan says from the couch, “he was trying to put on zebra print.”

Minghao looks physically sick for a moment before gathering himself. “Okay, who are you trying to impress? What are they like?”

“Short,” Mingyu blurts out, before hurriedly adding, “super sweet but acts like they’re mean but also they’re kind of nerdy and they used to do boxing and they wears baseball caps all the time.”

“I can…manage with that,” Minghao says carefully, already unzipping his case and sorting through some of the clothes. It doesn’t take him to wind up with an outfit that looks just the right mix of fancy and casual to not send Yn running. Which, at this point he’s still confused as to why they haven’t run away yet (his brain unhelpfully supplies that there’s still time for that to happen.)

“You should get going,” Jeonghan says, “don’t do anything stupid, but if you do make sure it’s on camera.”

“Always so encouraging and heartwarming,” Mingyu calls back to him. Minghao actually manages a decently comforting smile at the door.

Soonyoung tackles him into a hug and gives him a genuine grin. “Relax and have some fun, Mingyu,” he says, “you deserve it.”

He gives him a tight-lipped smile because he’s starting to get paranoid about time and nonexistent traffic. “I’ll try.” God, he already feels sick from nerves.

The nerves slush around in a toxic mess inside his stomach all the way through his brisk walk (not running because if he shows up to their door sweating like a dog there’s no way this date won’t go wrong). But Yn must have some magic in them, because the moment he sees them, leaning against their storefront in a green cardigan and floral pants, the nerves dissolve away.

(He jogs the rest of the way to them, because they are running late already and not because he’s that excited to see them.)

“Hi Yn,” he breathes out when he stops in front of them. Yn lost the baseball cap for the occasion and their bangs are out across their forehead when they smiles back up at him.

“Hi Mingyu,” Yn says, trying to sound bored. They push off of the glass door and start walking, “you like fish don’t you?”

He’d like to know if Yn knew he actually loved fish or if they were just saying it because of the coastal town setting. Still he follows after them and says he does. Then he can’t help but start to tell Yn how his older brother Seungcheol hates fish and once he pranked him by putting sardines in his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Which, Yn insists sounds terrible, but then they tell him about their brother Vernon and how they once gave him a cup of iced soy sauce instead of an Americano.

Yn takes him to a smaller restaurant down the street where the owner welcomes them familiarly (and throws intrigued glances at Mingyu.) Yn doesn’t pay attention, and tells Mingyu to tell them more about how he started acting while they order some dishes he doesn’t catch the name of.

It’s not a very interesting story, he finds himself saying each time before he starts another long narrative he gets too caught up in the retelling of. But Yn just smiles each time and listens to him. He gets them to talk too (when his cheeks overheat from how much they just…stare at him) and is rewarded with several tales of Wonwoo and Jihoon’s high school antics.

Maybe they sit there for two hours and don’t notice it. Maybe Mingyu wants to kiss them even more.

“Can we do this again?” He blurts out, after the owner comes back with the third refill of their drinks.

Yn immediately glances down and Mingyu is forced to think that he’s done it again—went and ruined a perfectly good thing. But then Yn looks up again, serious, and doesn’t give him a chance to overthink when they look at him like that. Like they see him.

“I’m scared, you know,” Yn says quietly, “because I don’t want to like you this much if you are going to leave in a few weeks and never come back. I don’t want a summer love or anything like that, but I don’t want to be the one who holds you back from your movie star dreams.” They say it with a bit of weak sarcasm but the genuine fear leaks through, Mingyu can tell.

Impulsiveness be damned, he reaches across the table and gently takes Yn’s hand into his own.

“I’m scared too,” he admits, “but I don’t want to give up on something before it starts because of that. If we…if we like each other than we can figure things out. I don’t have to give up on my dreams, but I also don’t have to stay in the same place.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he begins, “that we should just keep going on dates, and figure it out as we go. Is that too stupid?”

Yn squeezes his hand back once before they smile. “It sounds nice.”

. . .

call my bluff (call you babe)

There’s a fair that comes to the town in the middle of fall, and happens to coincide with their filming schedule perfectly enough that Director Han already decided long ago they need to get some key scenes there. Mingyu is only scheduled for a scene the first half of the first day and the rest are scenes between Seungkwan and Leigh’s characters, finally starting to come to terms with their obvious romantic feelings. So of course he mentions this to Yn, oh-so-inconspicuously, and they take it with a grin and a bored question of “Do you want to hang out there after you are finished filming?” And of course, Mingyu eagerly agrees (it’s a wonderful idea, he should have thought of it himself.) “I haven’t been on the Ferris wheel in forever,” Yn mentions casually, which Mingyu already understands is the closest they’ll get to admitting that they really want to ride the Ferris wheel. Well, Mingyu can figure out how to grant that wish.

If only he weren’t dreadfully scared of heights.

Jeonghan, for the first time in the three years Mingyu has known him, looks furious. Like, borderline about to throw someone out the window furious. It makes Mingyu take a step back even though he’s not even the point of this anger.

“Him going on the Ferris Wheel was never part of the script,” he says sternly, “in fact, from my own recollections, one of the stipulations in the contract was that he not be forced to perform any extensive height stunts. And you want him to film a scene on the top of a 212 foot ferris wheel that you just threw into the script last minute? The answer is no.”

Han is red in the face, puffing out his cheeks as he spits out his next words. “Things change during filming all the time, and right now it is the best opinion to capture the emotion and feeling of the scene. Are we supposed to throw art to the wall because one actor cannot suck it up for a single, essential scene?”

Mingyu’s brain flips to white noise, blocking out whatever Jeonghan starts snapping back, about to bite or attack Director Han with his bare hands. The rest of the crew is standing around, unable to even continue their jobs because Mingyu is deathly terrified of going on one of the most harmless rides in existence. Leigh even looks frustrated with him, standing to the side with her arms crossed and glaring at Director Han. It really is all his fault. He’s once again managed to become the most annoying, bothersome person on set just because he can’t suck it up like the director said.

What’s worse: if he can’t do it now, he won’t be able to do it later for Yn either.

He grabs Jeonghan’s arm to stop him and his manager swings to look at him. “I’ll do it,” he barely manages out. His throat suddenly feels so dry. “I’ll do the scene, it’s fine.”

Jeonghan’s face contorts through several emotions, all of them in the range of unrestrained fury. “No, Mingyu you don’t have to—“

Director Han practically cheers. “He said he could do it! Since your actor agreed we can actually get to work. Everyone get to their places!”

Jeonghan opens his mouth to yell again but Mingyu grips his arm and shakes his head again. “It’s fine.”

He stares down Mingyu for a heartbeat. Two. “Fine,” he says, shaking off Mingyu’s grip and walking away. Somehow, that makes him feel the most empty and desperate.

He has to do it now.

He is instructed to get into one of the carts with Leigh and two cameramen while a kid who probably isn’t more than seventeen operates the whole machine that could snap and crush them to death. Maybe he could still get out if he just—except now Leigh is sitting beside him and the older cameramen was helping the kid close their little gate and lock it shut. A thin metal gate is all that’s standing between him and certain death. At this point he’d take his chances with a serial killer.

He tries to stare at the bottom of their little cart, but that doesn’t do any good when the bottom is grated metal and he can see through it, down to the rapidly distancing ground. And it shakes. Nothing is stable and he’s going to die in less than four minutes. Logically, he knows people ride this everyday and don’t die. Mingyu-ly he can’t think straight when the panic is crawling up his throat with each second they get higher into the air.

“You should just try to channel that fear into nervous jitters for the date,” Leigh offers, with genuinely the best intent, but all Mingyu does is give a tight-lipped smile because that advice genuinely sucks.

They are halfway up in the air (Mingyu assumes) when his idiot brain decides to revolt against him and convinces him it’s a good idea to look over the edge of the cart. In the distance (barely a few inches away from him) Leigh is going over their lines and how to run the scene but Mingyu can’t think. His knuckles are white, gripping the edge of their bench, and the only thing he can consciously feel is the cool metal digging into his palms and his stomach being twisted, chewed up and strung out on repeat.

He looks over the edge and his vision goes blurry. There’s not even enough oxygen up here to breathe and he’s underwater he’s—

Perfectly screwed the moment he has enough sense to comprehend his vision is blurring in, black creeping in from the edges.

He wakes up still in the cart, which immediately scratches off the possibility of him waking up from a dream. It only takes him a few seconds to realize what happened, but by then Jeonghan is beside him, patting his face softly and more than a little panicked, asking if he’s okay.

Mingyu’s throat is a little dry, but he nods. “I’m good.”

“You are so not good, Mingyu, you idiot!” Okay, that voice doesn’t make sense because why would Seungcheol be here? Yet when he turns his head, his brother is there, looking more ticked than usual. Great.

That’s when he hears someone else yelling on set and possibly Director Han freaking out in response (“I didn’t think he’d almost die!”).

“The ambulance is coming,” Jeonghan tells him, “we are taking you to the hospital.”

“Oh my God, Mingyu, are you okay?” Leigh asks. It’s already starting to get annoying the amount of times he’s being asked this.

He sits up, slowly because he feels lightheaded and hot and freezing cold at the same time. “Hospital? I’m fine,” he says quickly. His head is throbbing but honestly if it gets them to stop he doesn’t need to mention it.

“For the love of God shut up and let the EMTs take you to the emergency or so help me I will murder you myself, Kim Mingyu,” Seungcheol threatens.

Mingyu nods quickly and leans back into the cart bench. At least they are on solid ground again.

The EMTs come, someone waves a flashlight in his eyes, and Jeonghan threatens him until he gets on the stretcher to be wheeled into the ambulance. Right before the doors close him in with his fuming older brother and manager, he catches sight of Soonyoung still yelling at Director Han, and just a little bit away, Wonwoo standing next to Yn and—crap, he had to wind up fainting in front of literally everyone in his entire life he cares about, all at once.

“How’d you even get here?” He asks Seungcheol carefully.

“I was coming to give you a surprise visit,” Seungcheol says, “not to have a heart attack seeing you almost die.”

“I didn’t almost die,” Mingyu attempts.

“Not a word, Mingyu,” Jeonghan threatens. “I’m going to sue that idiot Han so far into the ground he won’t even be able to breathe the same air as us humans anymore.” The EMT worker casually taking Mingyu’s blood looked a bit concerned at those words and Mingyu smiles apologetically.

“Yn saw me, didn’t they?” Mingyu asks in a small voice.

Jeonghan sighs. “Hang on.” He pulls out his phone and starts calling someone. “Soonyoung? Get Yn to the hospital no matter what you do…yes he’s still alive, it’s literally five minutes away.”

Mingyu groans and leans back into the stretcher. “This is already in the top three most embarrassing days of my life.”

Seungcheol pats his knee finally, his only sign of comfort.

. . .

when i fold (you see the best in me)

They take his blood, run tests, ask him a dozen questions and finally decide that he’s perfectly fine, except for some slight bruising on the side of his head where he banged it against the cart when passing out. Still not hard enough to give permanent damage, apparently.

Seungcheol takes advantage of the fact that Mingyu is stuck in an emergency room bed for the next few hours to pester him about Yn, since the only news he’s heard is whatever Jeonghan has heard from Soonyoung (which are really inconsistent and hardly accurate exaggerations). So he tells him, a little bit too much, about how Yn has the prettiest smile and eyes and they give him these warm fuzzy feelings inside but the absolute worst part of it is that he thinks he might have ruined it all because he didn’t think.

“You didn’t ruin anything, Mingyu,” Seungcheol says, “you made everyone terrified because you have a bunch of people who care about you. Maybe they need a little time to gather their thoughts, but if they stop seeing you because of something like this then…I would have to think they’re not good enough for you. But don’t jump to conclusions first.”

And he can’t really argue with that logic (which is infuriating because he’s 88% sure Cheol was using his “comforting teacher” voice on him and it worked) so he just says okay.

Soonyoung shows up a little later, already in tears, which isn’t surprising. What is surprising is that Wonwoo also comes into the room showing no signs of physical harm.

“We are friends now,” Wonwoo explains, after Soonyoung is assured for the fifth time that Mingyu is alive and not facing terminal illness.

“I threatened him to call Yn and tell them the hospital room number,” Soonyoung says, “now we are on a truce.”

Wonwoo blinks. “He threatened to let a set prop collapse on me and make it look like an accident if I didn’t call them. But I also drove him here.”

That makes Mingyu laugh for the first time of the day. “Do you still think Wonwoo is evil?” He asks Soonyoung.

He glares at Wonwoo. “He is not supposed to be nice to me, it’s ruining my strong bitter well-established hatred of him and everything he stands for. He won’t even let you get cast in his stupid crime movie when that’s all you want.”

Wonwoo twists his eyebrows together, looking back at Mingyu (who is actively trying to shrink down into invisibility). “You want to be in that movie?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to explain, or maybe make up some fumbling excuse, but Soonyoung swings his head to Wonwoo, mouth gaping open and snapping shut a few times before he manages to get the words out, “Yes? That’s why he’s been sucking up to you? Why he kept baking you stuff and talking about death and crime scenes and everything for months?”

“Oh,” Wonwoo hums, “I didn’t know you wanted to be in the movie. You never said anything. If you had asked I would have put you on. You’re a good actor, I just thought you’d be too busy with your romcom stuff.”

Mingyu bites his cheek at the compliment and tries not to break down because something he really had dreamed about for years was within his reach the whole time.

Soonyoung beats him to it, immediately bursting into tears, gross and snotty. “You’re so stupid, Mingyu!” He says through his sobs. “You are so stupidly nice and don’t know how to say no to people!”

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu mumbles, patting Soonyoung’s back.

“Stop saying sorry! Just stand up for yourself!”

Sure, his brother and best friend have said those words several times before in a few variations. Including, but not limited to: “don’t let people run over you,” “stay kind but don’t let them take advantage of it,” and “say no when you want to.” He’s said he’s listened to them, but if fainting on a Ferris wheel is anything to go by, he really hasn’t. The trouble with Kim Mingyu in one step: being too much of a pushover for his own good.

From what Jeonghan tells him later, Director Han insisted on him being admitted for at least one night, likely to cover up the workman’s comp issues that will inevitably ensue. Seungcheol tries to sleep there with him, but Mingyu pulls several cards to get Jeonghan to drag him back to the hotel, if only to have some time to himself. He definitely use the time alone to slip into paranoid thoughts about how Yn didn’t come at all the first day.

That’s probably why he’s convinced it’s just a dream when he wakes up past eleven and visiting hours have already started because Yn is sitting in the one chair in the room with their knees pulled up to their chest, nose in a book.

They glance over the page and almost drops the book in shock when they meet Mingyu’s eyes, cursing. He can’t stop from laughing at them, just a little bit. (Side effect of the giddy satisfaction of seeing them in person.)

Yn exhales in exasperation. “You drool in your sleep.”

He panics when he wipes his mouth—then glares at them again when they laugh because nothing is there. “You’re here,” he says intelligently.

Yn just sets their book on the bedside table (Northanger Abbey) and pulls a large reusable grocery bag from where it was leaning against their chair. Yn hands him a teddy bear from the top, and then maneuvers a brown box carefully out of the bottom. “I didn’t come yesterday,” they say quietly, “because 1. I kind of freaked out and 2. I went to my brother’s to get his help to bake you a cake and then greatly miscalculated the time it would take me and missed visiting hours.”

When Un opens the box on the table, there’s a small orange icing cake with white lettering saying Get Well Soon, Mingyu! with a cute Ferris wheel drawing on the bottom he wants to laugh at but he’s already getting choked up. Because they came, they wanted to come, and they spent their time actually baking him something silly and sweet. If not morbidly hilarious.

“You made that for me?” He asks quietly.

“No, for the other cute guy who bothers me at my shop for dates and then makes me worried sick about him because he fainted while filming named Mingyu.”

He laughs, finally, a little wetly. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “that was really embarrassing. I didn’t mean to worry everyone so much. I knew I was terrified of heights and that it wouldn’t end well but…you said you wanted to go on it for our date and I figured I could try to get over my fear before then but…you saw how that ended up.”

When he looks back up at them, their lips are pressed together and they stare at him for a few uncomfortable minutes before asking. “You wanted to conquer your debilitating fear of heights just because I mentioned in passing that I wanted to ride the Ferris wheel?”

“No?” He tries hesitantly, “Maybe? Yes?”

Yn sighs, exasperated. He shuts his eyes for a minute, but then feels them sitting down on the edge of the bed. His eyes jerk open the moment they tangle their hand with his.

“You’re really sweet, it’s honestly scary,” they admit softly, “and I know I already like you. A lot. Irreparably so. So I’d appreciate it if you want to be my boyfriend, that you try to avoid scaring me to death on our dates from now on.”

His head is swirling from a single, weighty word and he can’t stop his face from making a happy, grinning expression. He still tries to joke to cover up how unbelievably happy he is right now. “So you’re saying I can scare you to death when we are not on a date.”

“I’ll genuinely murder you, Kim Mingyu,” Yn says (threat offset by their soft smile.)

Later, after Yn forces him to try the cake (it’s carrot cake, entirely too delicious just to eat one slice of), Yn pauses and gives him this look that he’s beginning to recognize as a sign they’re about to be dramatically serious. “Mingyu, I want you to know even if you break my heart, I trust you.”

Gut-punch. It’s simple and yet he kind of wants to get on one knee and offer to buy them a house or at least as many books as they want but none of that is as immediate as the blood-burning urge to lean forward that he finally gives into. Slow, so that she can back away if she wants to, but Yn has the prettiest eyes and they just get closer and she’s the one who puts a hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer for that final, universe-shattering collision.

Simply: it’s sweet. Not just because of the cake, but because he’s never felt this happy being kissed by someone in his life.

He’s embarrassingly breathless when he speaks again. “Yn,” he says, “I promise you that I can’t promise not to break your heart, but I will stay with you. I’ll be there for you as much as I can and I’ll love you with everything I have. I’ll trust you and you’ll trust me and we will talk about things and most of all, I’ll do everything I can so we can be happy. Together.”

Yn smirks. “Good. If you promised not to break my heart I was gonna just break up with you right here.”

. . .

my time, my wine, my spirit, my trust (trying to find a part of me you didn’t take up)

“Are you…nervous right now?”

Mingyu stops momentarily rocking back and forth on his feet to grin back at Yn, frozen with their key in the door handle. “Meeting the fish is the most important step in a relationship, you know?”

Yn scoffs at him, loudly. “You literally meet up with my brother every weekend.”

“Vernon is a better best friend than my actual best friend,” he says, “but you’ll break up with me if your fish don’t like me, won’t you?”

Yn punches his arm for that but they open the door and let him inside, shoes off by the door. With the lights on, the apartment looks pretty much the same as their bookstore, if not with more photos stuck to every open vertical surface. Yn tells him to make himself at home and he can’t help but smile when he spots the jacket he bought them laying on the back of her couch, a picture of their pizza dinner taped above a light switch, and it’s weird how he feels welcomed in a place because there are some pieces of familiarity slipping into it already.

“They are here,” Yn says, standing over by a small table on the other side of the room. The fish tank takes up the whole table and glows green from the back light. They wait until he has his face practically pressed to the glass to point to the two black moor goldfish. “That’s Blue and that’s Red. You forget which one is which and—“

“And I kiss you to make up for it because that’s an impossible challenge,” he supplies. Yn laughs (a win for now).

He invites himself into their kitchen to cook dinner, and it’s sweet until Mingyu trips on thin air and pulls Yn down with him.

“I was breaking your fall,” he manages out.

Yn looks thoroughly unimpressed from where they’re lying on top of his chest, but they don’t make a move to push off his arms wrapped securely around them. They just…stay there and cross their arms so their chin is resting on them, looking down at Mingyu with this ridiculous grin on their face.

“You going to move?” Mingyu asks, amused.

“Nah,” Yn huffs, “I’m settled here.”

Two fish, three more free months until he’s supposed to start filming for Wonwoo’s crime movie as a detective no one believes, four thousand ways he can think about Yn in one single day. It’s simple because they are still figuring things out but the constant is that they like spending time with one another (the kissing is just a mutual benefit, Yn insists). All Mingyu knows is that they read too many books and like to make jokes about his height, and maybe…

Maybe this is a dream he can get used to letting himself live.