#which of course is only making me more upset

[imhalfplastic]

still in paris (final)

⊹ overview - pairing: mingyu x f!reader genre: contemporary · slice of life · soft romance · slow burn · text-heavy dialogue themes: subtle connection, emotional timing, media speculation, finding softness amid the noise cw: mentions of public scrutiny, mild language, sfw

summary: there were no rules. no promises. just two people learning how to be near each other without breaking the spell. not everything was said, but enough was felt. and that made it real, even if only between them.

from kai: and that’s the end. i know. i’m upset too :( i wrote this with a soft ache in my chest and a stupid grin on my face. if it makes you feel even a fraction of that, i’ll consider it a win. thank you for reading all the way through (and pretending not to fall in love a little). there’s a little something at the end for the nosy ones. you know who you are. 💌

now playing: dimanche soir - lynn

ps: this is part 3! the last part of still, in paris. if you haven’t yet, i’d suggest reading part 1 and part 2 first.

ELLE KOREA

Mingyu Talks Prep Mode, Paris, and Knowing Exactly What He’s Doing

With Dior’s Autumn/Winter show just around the corner, SEVENTEEN’s Mingyu is officially in prep mode. Between fittings, rehearsals, and a tight schedule, the singer-turned-global-fashion-favorite took a moment to talk to ELLE Korea — and yes, he still somehow makes multitasking look good.

“I’m excited.” he says about the upcoming trip to France. “There’s something about that city that makes you want to look twice at everything.”

Of course, we couldn’t let him go without bringing up something slightly more personal.

Actress Y/N Y/LN recently joked in an interview that even after Dior Fashion Week, she wasn’t entirely sure if Mingyu had her number.

He lets out a small laugh, head tilted.

“Well… she figured it out eventually.” he says, not offering more.

Then, with a grin that says he’s not going to elaborate, he shifts back to safer ground:

“Anyway, Dior’s pulling some beautiful textures this season. I can’t wait to see the full styling direction up close.”

A smooth redirection — and a non-answer that says plenty.

—

Interview by ELLE Korea Digital Team

Photos courtesy of PLEDIS Entertainment & Dior

you land in paris just after sunrise. you don’t make it out of the airport.

something about a “randomized security check” and “passport verification protocols,” which sounds fake but official enough to be annoying. you text your manager. she says, “sit tight”. you text mingyu. he says, “shit.”

you’ve been stuck in terminal 2E of charles de gaulle for going on four hours, and you’re starting to forget what real air feels like. the coffee tastes like cardboard. someone’s crying three seats over. you’ve already read the dior show briefing twice and still can’t remember if the theme is “post-apocalyptic renaissance” or “deconstructed melancholy.”

the worst part? he’s already there.

mingyu how’s paris?

you which part?

mingyu the glamorous airport terminal you’re currently trapped in

you honestly? top 5 most humbling experiences of my life

mingyu can’t believe we flew to paris just to text each other

you sounds on brand

mingyu what did they think you were smuggling?

you my winning personality, probably

mingyu dangerous

you deadly

mingyu paris isn’t ready

you neither are you

he sends a picture of room service toast that looks depressingly dry.

mingyu this was breakfast

you looks like it was a cry for help

mingyu you could save me

you i’m the one detained by the french government

mingyu do you want me to send a car when they finally release you?

you and go where?

mingyu my hotel room

you you’re absolutely insane

mingyu kidding unless you’re into it

you you’ve been in paris less than twelve hours and already lost your mind

mingyu you say that like i brought one with me

you you’re unbearable

mingyu you’re smiling though

you unfortunately

the pre-show guest list leaked a couple nights ago. your names are there. side by side. people notice. people post. people compare. people guess.

rumors are already trending before either of you leave your respective countries. you’re not surprised. it’s not new. but this time feels... closer. because they’re not wrong.

after the “see you in paris” things shifted. more texts. longer ones. less teasing, more real things.

you talked about stupid things: your favorite shape of pasta, the most cursed press looks you've survived, how he hates being bored. you talked about real things too. what makes you feel like yourself. what doesn’t.

it didn’t stop being fun. the banter, the bits, the casually inappropriate jokes. but now there were pauses. 

space for something else.

he made it easy to be honest. you made it safe for him to flirt.

somewhere in the in-between, you got closer to that impossible thing he once said he wanted: being normal.

or at least pretending well enough that it felt real.

you finally get cleared around noon, a full five hours after landing. when you step outside, the light feels aggressive. the city, too.

you don’t go straight to the hotel.

you send a message instead.

you free woman

mingyu should i alert the authorities again

you you should send better toast

mingyu im waiting for you hope you like unnecessarily tiny vegetables

you as long as they come with unnecessarily big wine glasses

mingyu only the finest

you take a deep breath and head to the dior headquarters to discuss the final details with the staff before the show. though you won’t be walking the runway, you’ll be there as an ambassador. attending the event, supporting the brand, and helping set the tone for the evening. they go over the dress code, seating arrangements, and any last-minute adjustments. the energy is buzzing but professional, and you find yourself quietly excited to be part of it all.

you make it to his hotel around two. you’re not staying there. you both agreed that would be too much. but he’s waiting in the lobby anyway, sunglasses on indoors, pretending not to be a walking headline. he grins when he sees you. you pretend not to notice.

“they let you out...” he says, eyes flicking up as you approach.

“had to bribe them with a selfie.” you reply, slipping your phone back into your bag like it’s no big deal.

“worked on me too.” he grins, and you try not to smile, but fail.

you don’t kiss. of course not. you hug for a second longer than you should. he smells like hotel soap and something warmer underneath. you say nothing.

you end up at the restaurant inside the hotel. it’s all marble and tall windows and servers who seem mildly allergic to joy.

you sit across from each other like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world.

he lets you pick the wine. you let him mispronounce half the menu. the bread is warm, the conversation warmer.

“you still haven’t told me what they thought you were smuggling.” he says, tearing a piece of focaccia in half.

“charm. quiet defiance. possibly a lighter.” you shrug. “they didn’t specify.”

he laughs softly, like he’s trying not to scare it away. you smile into your glass.

“so...” he says, leaning in just slightly. “what’s it like? being mysterious and untouchable?”

you raise an eyebrow. “you tell me. you’re the one in sunglasses indoors.”

he reaches up and takes them off. “better?”

“depends. are you gonna make eye contact now or just stare at the bread again?”

his foot shifts slightly under the table. not quite touching. but close. your leg doesn’t move.

“you’re meaner in paris.” he says.

“you’re softer.” you reply.

“you like it.”

“maybe.”

the food comes. he watches you eat like it’s a rare event. you pretend not to notice.

“how many texts have you ignored since you arrived?” he asks, gesturing at your phone.

“twelve.” you say. “six from my manager. three from people pretending they’re not watching.”

“and the other three?”

you pause. “two are from friends. one’s from my mom.”

he nods like that makes sense. “she think you’re in danger?”

“she always thinks i’m in danger.”

“maybe you are.”

you glance up. “and you? how many are pretending they don’t care you’re at lunch with me right now?”

he smiles. “oh, all of them. especially the ones who care the most.”

the wine’s half gone by the time you start laughing for real.

not at him, but near him. and he watches like he knows what that means.

“this is nice.” he says, softer now. “you. here. talking to me.”

“you act like i never do that.”

“not like this...” he says. “in real life. without cameras or deadlines or pretending it’s just funny.”

you look at him. he doesn’t look away.

“we’re still pretending a little...” you say.

he shrugs. “yeah. but it’s quieter now.”

he pays the bill before you can reach for it. you don’t argue.

on the way out, he opens the door like a habit. you pause at the threshold.

flashes. clicks. a few muffled voices.

you keep walking.

in the car, you send him a text.

you congrats we just broke the internet over grilled octopus and a glass of wine

mingyu worth it

you they’ll think we hooked up

mingyu we didn’t even touch

you i know

mingyu they don’t

you should we let them keep guessing?

mingyu obviously

you get to your hotel and finally exhale. the room is nice. too nice. clean in a way that feels temporary. you kick your shoes off like it’s your place anyway.

you check your phone. a few dozen notifications.

you don’t care. not in the way you used to.

for once, you’re not spiraling through every headline or hovering over your PR team’s crisis folder. you just drop your phone on the bed and head to the shower.

you feel... light. like whatever just happened wasn’t for them. and that’s rare.

the water runs hot. you wash the airport off your skin. the wait. the noise. the pretending.

but not the way he looked at you across the table. not the way his voice softened when he said “this is nice.” not the way it didn’t feel like a setup.

you dry your hair half-heartedly and slip into a hotel robe that still smells like laundry detergent. you scroll past a blurry photo of you leaving the car.

you smile. just a little. not because they think something happened but because something kind of did.

just not the part they’re guessing.

you lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

you think about how quiet he was between jokes. how much space he gave you, even when he didn’t want to. how easy it was to say maybe and mean more than that.

you close your eyes. the room is quiet. and so is your mind, for once.

you don’t know what tomorrow looks like. but tonight, for now, feels soft. and you try to sleep.

you really do.

you turn off the lights. you close the curtains. you adjust the pillows like that ever helps.

but your body still feels like it’s moving. maybe the jet lag. maybe the adrenaline. maybe the fact that you saw him today and it felt like something started without either of you naming it.

you check your phone. no new messages.

you scroll past another headline. another speculative post. someone posted a poll: “will they arrive together tomorrow?” 68% say no.

you open your texts.

you are you awake

the dots appear fast. he was either already texting you or just waiting.

mingyu unfortunately

you same

mingyu can’t sleep?

you won’t

mingyu should i come read you a bedtime story

you i think that’s the opposite of helpful

mingyu wow just say you hate comfort

you laugh into your pillow.

you you’d make it weird

mingyu probably

you but in like an oddly effective way

mingyu you think i’m oddly effective?

you you’re something

you lie on your side, one leg curled up, the phone glowing in your palm. you’re not smiling, exactly. but the corners of your mouth disagree.

mingyu can i ask something

you dangerous start

mingyu when did this stop being just funny to you

you who says it did

mingyu you’re texting me at 2am

you maybe i’m just bored

mingyu nah you’re not bored

you so what am i

mingyu enamored

you maybe

mingyu i like maybe

you i know

you tap out a message, then delete it. then type something else instead.

you tomorrow’s going to be a lot

mingyu i know

you but i’m okay

mingyu me too

you do you think we’re being insane?

mingyu absolutely but like charmingly insane

you i want to do it anyway

mingyu good because i was already picturing it

you of course you were

mingyu black car. matching levels of smug. coordinated mystery.

you coordinated mystery is so us

mingyu we were never subtle anyway

you dior’s gonna love it

mingyu our managers might cry

you mine already has quietly. on the phone. five minutes ago.

mingyu mine said “i support you as a person” which feels like code for “please don’t do this”

you too late

mingyu how late is too late?

you like we’ll-show-up-and-they’ll-know late

mingyu they already know they’ve known we’re just… confirming

you soft confirmation no press release just proximity

mingyu the quietest kind of chaos

you stare at your screen. let your thumb hover. type. delete. type again.

you you sure?

mingyu about you? yeah

you this could change things

mingyu maybe they’re supposed to

it’s simple, the way he says it. not dramatic. not trying to convince you. just… honest.

you you’re being weirdly calm about this

mingyu that’s how you know i mean it

you i kind of hate that it makes me feel better

mingyu you don’t hate it you just hate admitting it

a pause. longer this time. you turn onto your back and let the ceiling blur.

mingyu want to know what i think?

you no tell me

mingyu i think we’re doing this exactly the way we’re meant to quiet a little stupid

you a lot stupid

mingyu but it’s us and somehow that makes it feel right

you let it linger. the quiet. the possibility. you don’t rush to fill it this time. you know tomorrow will be loud. you’re just letting tonight stay soft for a second longer.

mingyu will i see you tomorrow?

you if things go my way you’ll be seeing a lot of me while we’re here

there’s a pause. like he’s smiling on the other side of the screen. like he’s letting the idea settle in, too.

mingyu that sounds dangerously close to a promise

you maybe it is

mingyu careful i’ll hold you to it

you turn the phone face down on the pillow. not to shut it out. just to let the feeling stay a little longer without interruption.

you close your eyes. you’re not asleep. but you’re somewhere near it. somewhere softer.

in the next day, the car pulls up a little before ten. perfect timing, as always.

you step out of the room, the dress fitting like it was made for this night. your stylist called it “accidentally coordinated.” you called it “dangerous.”

your phone buzzes.

mingyu your chariot’s here

you roll your eyes but smile anyway.

he’s already in the car when you step out of the hotel. tinted windows, tailored suit, quiet confidence. you slide in beside him and shut the city out.

for a second, you just look at each other.

then:

“you clean up well.” you say.

“you say that like i don’t always.” he smirks.

you glance down. he’s in black. subtle silver detailing. something structured but soft at the edges.

you recognize the shape of your own look in his. not identical, but aligned. a rhythm.

“did we just invent couplecore?” you ask.

“we might’ve just gotten styled into one...” he replies.

“they’ll think we planned it.”

“we kind of did.”

“thought we were aiming for vague.”

“this is vague. photogenic vague.”

his hand rests on the seat between you. yours, too. not touching. but close.

the silence feels full. like it knows something you haven’t said out loud.

he doesn’t move his hand. neither do you.

“so...” he says, voice quieter now. “you ready?”

you inhale slowly. watch the city move past the window like it’s not watching you back.

“no.” you say. “but i want to be.”

he nods. “that’s enough.”

the car slows. flashes start before the door even opens. you reach for the handle. he beats you to it.

he steps out first, then turn. extends his arm like it’s nothing. like this is all normal.

you hesitate. not because you’re unsure but because this is the moment they will remember.

you take his arm.

your eyes don’t leave each other’s.

and then you walk.

together.

the carpet is a blur. lights. voices. too many lenses and not enough distance.

he leans in, just slightly.

“ready for our public debut?” he whispers.

you laugh under your breath.

“it’s not a debut.” you say.

“no...” he agrees. “just an escalation.”

you pose. not too close. not too stiff. his arm never leaves yours.

click. click. click.

no statements. no performance.

just tension and taste.

inside, everything is white and gold and vaguely futuristic. you’re seated front row, of course. the name cards said so long before you arrived.

his hand brushes yours once, lightly, when he sits. not on purpose. or maybe exactly on purpose.

you don’t pull away.

the lights dim. the music swells. the show begins.

you lean slightly toward him. barely.

he doesn’t say anything. just leans the same amount back.

like gravity. or a secret.

-

the lights come back up. there’s clapping, camera shutters, the polite chaos of fashionable people pretending they’re not already checking their phones.

you and mingyu stay seated a little longer.

“was it just me” he says, leaning slightly toward you, “or did every single model look like they were about to start crying?”

you smile. “it’s called deconstructed melancholy for a reason.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i thought that was just my vibe.”

you turn your head slowly to look at him. “you’re more ‘flirt disguised as existentialism.’”

he grins, delighted. “see? this is why i let you sit next to me.”

“you didn’t let me do anything.”

“you’re right. i begged.”

you shake your head, but you don’t pull away. he’s still too close. and you don’t mind.

you walk out a little slower than the rest. not trying to make a scene, not trying not to. he keeps pace beside you, brushing your shoulder now and then like it’s muscle memory.

“we could go to that afterparty...” he says casually.

“you could.”

he glances at you. “not tempting?”

“i don’t feel like pretending to enjoy techno remixes of frank sinatra right now.”

he laughs. “you just described the whole vibe.”

you pause, your heel catching slightly on the carpet.

“i want something quiet.” you say.

he doesn’t hesitate. “i know a place.”

fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting across from him in a tiny café on a side street that doesn’t show up on influencer guides. the windows are fogged up from the warmth inside. your heels are off under the table. his blazer is draped over the back of your chair.

a single security guy sits discreetly two tables behind. you pretend he’s not there.

there’s a crepe on your plate and powdered sugar on your thumb. you don’t care. neither does mingyu.

he leans back, one hand holding a fork, the other tracing slow circles on the paper napkin.

“this is the best decision we’ve made all day” he says.

you raise an eyebrow. “and the coordinated outfits?”

“runner-up.”

you sip your drink. “and the arm-in-arm entrance?”

he grins. “tied with this.”

you roll your eyes. “your ranking system is broken.”

he shrugs. “you mess with the order every time you look at me like that.”

you pretend not to hear him.

but your smile gives you away.

you don’t go back to the hotel right away.

in the car, after the last bite of crepe and the last laugh that made your chest ache just enough, mingyu leans forward and murmurs something to the driver. you don’t catch it all. something about “a few minutes” and “somewhere quiet.” you don’t ask where. you just rest your head briefly against the window, watching the city soften around you.

paris at night feels like a fever dream. lamp posts spill gold across cobblestone. the windows of cafés glow low and warm. even the river seems to move slower, like it knows you’re not in a hurry anymore.

in the back seat, you and mingyu don’t speak. but his knee nudges gently against yours with every turn, like he’s reminding you he’s still there. you don’t pull away.

he glances at you once. you feel it more than see it. but he doesn’t say a word. and you like that about him. the way he can just be next to you without trying to fill every inch of silence.

the car slows near the palais de chaillot. the driver parks discreetly on a side street lined with quiet buildings and iron balconies, the eiffel tower glowing in the near distance like a secret.

mingyu gets out first, then offers you a hand without saying anything. you take it.

the sidewalk is cool under your shoes. you wrap your coat tighter around your frame as the breeze tugs at your hair. he stands beside you, not too close, not too far.

there are people around, of course. a couple. two teens taking blurry photos of the tower. but no one points. no one follows. for once, the world lets you have a moment.

you walk together to the edge of the terrace. from here, the tower looks like it’s breathing. lights flickering. blinking. then, like magic, it starts to sparkle.

“timed that perfectly.” mingyu says, low.

“didn’t know you ran paris...” you reply.

he grins, hands in his coat pockets. “i don’t. but i might start.”

you glance sideways at him. he’s looking at the lights, but his face is soft. not the face of someone performing. not the idol face.

just him.

you hug yourself against the breeze, and after a second of hesitation, he steps a little closer. his shoulder brushes yours. he doesn’t pull away.

you both stand like that. shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the city like you belong here. like this belongs.

“this feels like a dream.” you say finally, quietly. the words leave your mouth before you even think them through.

“it does.” he says. and then, after a pause: “but honestly... ever since we got closer, every night’s felt like this. like i’m not quite awake.”

you blink. your chest tightens. not in the scary way.

in the way that feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something right.

you look at him.

he looks at you.

there’s nothing ironic about it. no joke to throw between the beat.

you end up sitting on a low stone ledge, the view wide open in front of you. a quiet hum of the city behind. the occasional sound of laughter from someone passing through.

but where you sit? it’s still. his coat brushes against your thigh. he starts telling you a story about one of his trips to paris alone. how he got lost looking for a pharmacy and ended up buying overpriced sunglasses instead. you laugh so freely you surprise yourself.

“you laugh more here.” he says, watching you.

“maybe i like who i am with you here.”

his gaze softens. you don’t look away.

the ride back is slower. the driver doesn’t rush. he knows the rhythm now.

you sit close in the back seat. his hand rests gently on your leg this time. not asking for anything. just being there.

when you pull up in front of your hotel, neither of you moves right away.

the street is quiet. the kind of quiet that dares you to break it.

you turn to him.

“so...” you start, not sure where that was going.

but he doesn’t wait.

his hand lifts to your cheek. it’s soft. steady.

and then he kisses you.

it’s not sharp. not hungry. it’s slow. reverent. real.

the kind of kiss you only get once per city, if you’re lucky. the kind of kiss that makes everything outside the car feel like noise.

when it ends, he doesn’t pull back far.

“goodnight” he murmurs.

you whisper it back, breath catching. “goodnight.”

and as you step out into the night, you realize you’re still smiling.

not because of the kiss.

because you finally know how it feels when the right thing actually happens.

-

you wake up before your alarm.

the sun’s low and gold through the window. there’s a hum under your skin, but it’s not nerves. it’s the aftermath of something real.

you reach for your phone.

the lock screen is chaos. mentions, tags, cropped photos, edited videos. there are side-by-sides, slow-motion gifs, captions like “what do you mean they’re not dating?”

you scroll through the mess and sip the coffee someone left outside your door. still warm. your phone buzzes.

[CALL: manager]

you sigh before answering.

“please tell me this is about breakfast...” you say, stretching.

“i wish.” she mutters. “first of all, you looked good.”

you smile. “thank you.”

“second of all: pledis has called me four times in the last hour.”

you flop back on the bed. “what do they want?”

“a statement. or a denial. or a timeline. they’re not being subtle.”

“you mean they want to pretend they’re surprised.”

“yep. and i’m pretending to be unavailable until after your dior debrief.”

you grin. “i knew there was a reason i liked you.”

“just don’t say anything yet, okay? breathe. show your face. be cool. let them panic for a few more hours.”

you hang up feeling, weirdly, calm.

today isn’t a full show day.

the ready-to-wear presentation happened yesterday. that was the moment. the coordinated arrival, the camera flashes, the front row smiles that weren’t fake.

today is for the follow-up. quiet rooms. polished offices. a brief meeting with dior’s comms and creative teams. just to align messaging, future campaigns, individual partnerships.

you’re both here as ambassadors. separate. professional. or at least, officially.

the ride to the dior hq is quieter than yesterday’s. mingyu’s already waiting in the car when you come down. he’s wearing black again. wide slacks, a structured coat, silver rings that catch the light when he lifts his hand in a lazy wave.

you slide in beside him.

“ready for the world’s most delicate PR meeting?” you ask.

“only if they give us snacks.”

“you just want more free chocolate.”

“i want you to ask for free chocolate. they like you more.”

you laugh. “you’re delusional.”

he leans back in the seat, relaxed in a way that says: he knows he’s not.

at dior, everything feels the same but different.

they greet you separately, but usher you into the same room. the assistants make small talk. the comms team is all soft smiles and “we’ll keep it elegant.”

no one mentions last night.

but the undertone is loud.

you sit beside mingyu. he doesn’t reach for you. obviously. but your knees touch under the table.

and neither of you move.

they talk about your individual roles, your upcoming content shoots, how yesterday’s buzz should be “acknowledged but not chased.” you nod. you agree. you sip water like it’s all business.

it is. but it’s not just that.

at the end, one of the brand directors says, casually, “we’re lucky to have you both.”

and it’s the first thing that feels honest in the room.

outside, the sun is brighter now. the street is already busy with people pretending not to look.

“we’re splitting up from here...” mingyu says as you both reach the car.

“not forever.” you tease.

“just till later.” he smiles.

he hesitates for half a second, like he wants to say something else. but he doesn’t.

instead, he reaches for the car door and opens it for you again. you glance up.

“see you.” he says, kissing your cheek.

“you better.” you reply, sliding in.

the rest of your day is a blur of polite nods and tight-lipped smiles. a quick shoot for a fragrance campaign. a lunch with someone from the US team who keeps saying “the internet’s obsessed with you right now” like it’s a compliment.

your phone never stops buzzing.

every time you silence it, it lights up again.

halfway through reviewing moodboards, another message comes in. not from your agent, not from your team. from him.

mingyu so pledis wants to release a statement just heard it from hell’s upper management

you my manager said the same thing apparently they’ve been calling her nonstop not even pretending they’re surprised

mingyu what do we do deny? plead artistic vision?

you we could say we were method acting for a silent film called “strategic proximity”

mingyu beautiful critically misunderstood deeply romantic if you get it

you exactly we were just... experimenting with closeness

mingyu we could go with something vague and poetic like “mingyu and y/n are currently meeting with very good feelings”

you “due to unforeseen chemistry, both parties will remain in touch” no further comments

mingyu “developing situation. extremely stylish. definitely suspicious.”

you honestly? could work

before you leave the showroom, your phone vibrates again. this time, from your manager.

manager update: pledis + our comms just wrapped a call. official line goes out in an hour.

“any personal matters involving the artists remain private. both parties are fully committed to their respective professional responsibilities. there will be no confirmations or denials regarding their personal lives.” that’s it. breathe.

you let the words settle. a neat, neutral bow on something that’s anything but neutral. before you can type a reply, another message pops up.

mingyu they really said: “mind your business, respectfully”

you i kind of love it

mingyu we sound very mature very composed very not texting in all lowercase while secretly smiling

you so we’re mysterious professionals again?

mingyu mysterious, yes. professional… we’ll see. meet for coffee after your fittings?

you only if it’s strictly business

mingyu absolutely. agenda: 1) coffee 2) stare at you 3) remain unbothered

you wow. HR would be so proud

you tuck your phone away, heart calm but a smile playing on your lips, too genuine to hide.

the world will call it “no comment.”

but between you two, it’s a quiet agreement: your lives first, your work unhindered, your feelings spoken in whispers only you understand.

fin.

[BONUS PART]

“France is kind of our thing”: Y/N Y/LN wins Best Actress at Cannes and publicly acknowledges SEVENTEEN’s Mingyu — industry quietly reacts

CANNES, FRANCE — Actress Y/N Y/LN took home the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival last night for her performance in The Quiet Hours, a drama praised for its emotional depth and intimate storytelling.

In her acceptance speech, Y/N thanked the independent film community and the creatives who continue to support her artistic journey. She also acknowledged the film’s cast and crew, and closed her speech with a rare personal note:

“And to Mingyu… thank you for being here. Always.”

Mingyu Kim, member of the South Korean group SEVENTEEN, was seated in the audience and visibly moved by the moment. Asked backstage about their relationship, Y/N smiled and replied:

“France is kind of our thing.”

No further comment was provided by either party.

Timeline: From fashion week to Cannes stage

Speculation surrounding Y/N and Mingyu first surfaced shortly after Paris Fashion Week last year, when a video of the two interacting at an afterparty gained attention online. What followed was months of online speculation and “soft launch” moments.

Eight months ago, the pair appeared together at the Dior Autumn/Winter Ready-to-Wear show in France. They arrived in the same vehicle, posed side by side on the carpet in coordinated looks, and were seated in the front row. Though no official statement was made, their appearance was widely interpreted as a subtle confirmation of a personal connection.

Since then, the two have been spotted on multiple occasions — including in New York during a global brand shoot, in Seoul where Y/N attended SEVENTEEN’s world tour kickoff, and in Y/N’s hometown over the holidays.

Both parties have remained professionally active. Y/N continues to earn praise for her work, while Mingyu maintains a demanding international schedule with SEVENTEEN. Despite ongoing public curiosity, both artists have avoided overt confirmation or denial.

Their respective management companies previously issued a joint line stating:

“Any personal matters involving the artists remain private. Both parties are fully committed to their respective professional responsibilities. There will be no confirmations or denials regarding their personal lives.”

Industry weighs in: ‘A new kind of visibility’

Following the Cannes moment, professionals across the entertainment and fashion industries have offered subtle approval of the way both artists have handled their public image.

“It was poised, modern, and intentional,” said a senior talent strategist from a leading media agency. “They’re redefining what public looks like — not by oversharing, but by showing up.”

According to a Paris-based fashion editor who attended the Dior show:

“The styling that day was not incidental. It was a quiet match. The fashion world picked up on it immediately — not just because it looked good, but because it was timed perfectly.”

Although Dior has not made public statements on the pair, insiders say both Y/N and Mingyu remain strong individual collaborators for the brand.

A luxury marketing executive described the couple as “a high-value pairing with cultural reach across multiple markets and industries.”

Carefully built, quietly respected

Entertainment industry professionals also praised how Y/N and Mingyu have managed to remain visible without making their relationship the center of attention.

“They’ve kept their personal dynamic from disrupting their careers,” said a Seoul-based publicist. “That’s difficult when both are under constant watch. But what we’ve seen is a relationship that was never rushed or explained — just gradually accepted.”

Their approach is being described as a case study in “soft visibility” — where the absence of scandal and the presence of consistent, genuine moments do more to confirm a connection than any official statement could.

“They’re not hiding,” said a film festival organizer. “They’re just not explaining. And that’s starting to look like strength, not avoidance.”

One sentence, many meanings

Y/N’s remark — “France is kind of our thing” — began trending within minutes, sparking renewed analysis of the couple’s timeline. But perhaps the most notable reaction has come not from fans or media, but from industry voices who are quietly taking notes.

“They’ve shown that authenticity doesn’t need a press release,” said a creative director at a global agency. “Sometimes, all it takes is showing up for each other. Repeatedly.”

As of now, neither party has made additional statements.

But after last night, it seems few are still asking for one.

Y/N Y/LN and SEVENTEEN’s Mingyu Just Soft-Launched Their Marriage and We’re Not Okay

Still in Paris. That’s it. That’s the caption.

And it’s also the internet-breaking phrase that Y/N Y/LN and SEVENTEEN’s Mingyu used this week to casually post what appears to be their wedding photos on Instagram.

Yep. They got married. And they did it the only way they know how: quietly, beautifully, and extremely on-brand.

Let’s rewind for a second

It’s been exactly one year since Y/N thanked Mingyu in her Cannes acceptance speech for Best Actress with the now-iconic:

“France is kind of our thing.”

From there, we got:

Coordinated outfits at Dior shows;

Blurry vacation pics from fans;

Matching story posts with suspiciously similar views;

The same hoodie in two different cities;

A few red carpets. A few more matching looks;

And zero official PDA — until it really mattered.

Now, fast forward to this week…

According to sources close to the couple (and by “sources” we mean people way cooler than us):

Y/N and Mingyu tied the knot in an intimate ceremony aboard a Bateaux à Roue, one of those vintage riverboats that cruises along the Seine. Yep. The Seine. In Paris. Because of course.

The guest list was reportedly small — just family and a few very close friends. Think candlelight, laughter, probably a string quartet, and maybe the world’s softest vows whispered in English and Korean. But we’re speculating. (Sort of.)

Then came the Instagram posts

No wedding announcement. No magazine exclusive. Just two perfectly lit photos, posted hours apart. One on her feed, one on his. Both dressed in wedding attire — she in a stunning minimal silk gown, him in a tailored black suit with an undone bow tie — standing close, grinning like they know exactly what they’re doing.

And the caption?

still in paris

Cue: the collective internet scream.

Fans immediately recognized the reference — the words that titled the story from the beginning. And now, apparently, the words that mark its next chapter.

So… are they officially married?

No reps have commented (shocking no one). There’s no press release, no publicist-approved quote. But honestly? They don’t need one.

They’ve built this relationship in their own rhythm, outside of PR timelines and inside jokes only they seem to fully get. The posts say enough. And if “still in paris” was the softest possible way to say “we’re together” back then… now it might just mean “we’re forever.”

Twitter? In shambles.

“i knew ‘still in paris’ was gonna ruin me again someday” “they’re so annoying i want ten years of this” “can’t wait for still in seoul: the sequel”

We’re not crying. You’re crying.

Anyway — congrats to the softest couple alive. May your lives be as aesthetically perfect and emotionally grounded as your soft-launch strategy.

[Dispatch Exclusive]

Kim Mingyu and Y/N Y/LN Are Married — Inside the Couple’s Private Wedding on the Seine

After two years of speculation, soft launches, and carefully sidestepped questions, SEVENTEEN’s Mingyu and award-winning actress Y/N Y/LN have officially tied the knot — and they did it exactly their way: no press, no press release, and just enough elegance to make the internet lose its mind.

A Ceremony by the Water

Sources close to the couple confirm that Mingyu and Y/N were married in Paris earlier this week, in an intimate ceremony aboard a Bateaux à Roue, one of the classic paddlewheel boats docked along the Seine River.

The couple boarded quietly in the early evening, accompanied by their closest friends and family. The ceremony took place at golden hour, under soft light, with the river slowly moving behind them and not a single camera in sight — at least not the professional kind.

“They didn’t want attention. It wasn’t a secret, just private,” one source shared. “Everyone there was someone important to them.”

The event was described as short, heartfelt, and deeply personal. No grand décor, no paparazzi-proof tents, no fireworks — just soft jazz playing in the background, wine glasses clinking, and two people promising each other something real.

The Guest List and Style

The wedding was small by celebrity standards, with fewer than 40 guests, but filled with familiar faces.

From Mingyu’s side, several SEVENTEEN members were in attendance — including Jeonghan and Wonwoo, who arrived quietly the day before the wedding and reportedly stayed in a nearby boutique hotel.

Y/N was joined by her longtime stylist, two of her closest friends from university, and collaborators from her early indie film career — the ones who’ve seen her off-camera, before any Cannes or netflix series.

Her wedding dress, confirmed by Dispatch, was a custom Vera Wang: a minimalist silhouette with modern tailoring, off-white with structured sleeves and a slight train. No veil. Just clean lines and quiet confidence. Mingyu wore a tailored black suit — classic and sharp.

“They looked like themselves,” said a guest. “No costume. No performance. Just them, dressed up a little more than usual.”

Dinner on the Seine

Following the short ceremony, guests stayed aboard for a candlelit dinner. The menu included seasonal French dishes and a lot of laughter.

There was no MC, no cake-cutting, and no formal timeline. Just unhurried moments, passing plates, soft speeches, and quiet toasts. One moment that stood out to several attendees was a short, emotional toast Y/N gave after dinner:

“She stood up without warning,” said one source. “And just said thank you. As if that was the only thing that ever needed saying.”

Mingyu reportedly kept one hand on the table near hers all night, occasionally reaching over to pour her wine or whisper something that made her laugh.

“They weren’t putting on a show,” one stylist shared. “But they also weren’t hiding. It felt like this was always the plan.”

No Press — But Still “Still in Paris”

Earlier this week, both posted a photo on Instagram wearing their wedding attire, simply captioned: "still in paris."

The internet connected the dots immediately — a callback to the moment everything between them began publicly, at the Dior Autumn/Winter ready-to-wear show in Paris, almost two years ago.

Since then, the relationship has been consistently private, but never denied. Now, with wedding bands visible on Instagram, their silence is the only answer anyone needs.

What's Next

As expected, neither Pledis Entertainment nor Y/N’s agency have released official statements. According to Dispatch sources, the couple has no intention of issuing one.

“They’re not hiding anything, but they don’t owe anyone an announcement either,” a friend of the couple explained. “It’s personal. That’s all.”

Their management teams, reportedly aligned for months, continue to follow the same philosophy: let the work speak for itself. Let the rest remain offline.

It’s been two years since the world first started to suspect that maybe there was something more between them.

Turns out, there was. And this week, they made it forever.

In their own way. On their own terms. Still — and always — in Paris.

-

previous

[c4tluver02]

flat tire

wc: 2.9k

summary: On your way home you get a flat tire, good thing there just so happens to be a cute boy outside that can help you out!

cw: feminine!reader, no use of y/n, i have no idea what its like to get a tow truck so if its wrong no its not, fluffyyyyy <3

The heat that fills the inside of your parked car almost makes you retreat back into your AC filled work space. Key word almost. 

The need to get home and change into pajamas overruled any irritation from the hot stuffy air. You quickly turned the air up and made your way home. But when you were at a stop light you noticed the next exit you needed to take to get home was closed off due to road work. The sigh that escapes you is heavy, another thing that fuels your irritation. There's another way home, a longer way, but still a way. It takes you through a few fancy neighborhoods that have speed bumps and large neon green signs that tell you children run around. It makes the route another 10 minutes to your already too long of a drive but it's all you got.  

Trying to make the most of it you allow yourself to look at the nice homes, the ones you’ll probably never be able to own. But they do say to dream big, right? 

The houses are decorated with summer trinkets, it being mid July everyone was outside and in their pools. Which these big houses definitely have and you even see some of them due to the fences they have. Tall white wood as an excuse for a wall to keep privacy, but really they want you to see their fancy big backyard with the huge pool and additional hot tub. It’s easy to look into the homes as they all have large windows that no doubt allow beautiful light to surround the room. Maybe you shouldn't have given yourself the luxury of being nosy, now you have another thing to be upset about. 

And because you were too busy looking at the homes you don't realise the glass bottles that litter the ground, beer bottles broken and some normal ones sitting on the sidewalk. You can feel your back tire lower before you hear it. Your other three tires barely make it through to let you park close to the sidewalk. 

Of course one of those rich assholes had some party and didn't pick up a single thing outside. Out of sight out of mind. Now you’re the one paying for it, along with the heat, and the road work. Speaking of heat you’ll have to get out of your cool car to go knock on some door to ask for a phone. That brings a whole new type of stress to you, the idea of someone in this neighborhood actually helping you. They’d probably assume you're trying to sell them something and shut a door in your face. 

Now that you’re out of your car you can hear the music coming from a backyard. It’s two houses in front of you and all you could think is if you were paying this much for a house your neighbor better be silent. But right now, in this moment, you’re thankful for it. 

Walking up to the gate that matches the basically see through fence, you can see a guy in the pool. He’s got a net in his hand, seemingly cleaning the leaves that fall from his tall trees, and you can see his head move slightly to the music. 

When you try to knock on the wooden gate it’s nowhere as loud as it needs to be to block his music. Yelling to get his attention seems like the worst thing to do but it’s really your only option. 

“Excuse me!” You say with a loud voice. 

You say nothing more since he gets out of the pool. Thinking he heard you but instead he grabs a beer from the cooler that sits next to his pool chairs. He shakes his head trying to get water out of his ears and it makes his hair rise as well. His beer doesn't match the bottles that popped your tire which you are automatically thankful for. If you had to tell him some loser left out glass and it was him you for sure wouldn't be able to use his phone. 

This next attempt you say another “excuse me” but it’s added with some slight jumping on your tippy toes. Hoping your head is seen over the gate so he could be more aware of your presence. 

And thankfully it works! His head turns quickly to the noise but the half of your head that’s showing is what makes him walk over to you. 

“Uh, hey?” Now that you can finally see him up close you can see the water drip off of him. The muscles in his arms are highlighted by the sun along with the bright pink sunburn he's gaining. 

“Hi. My, um, my tire went out. Well I drove over glass. But I didn't even see the glass in the road because, erm, I wasn't looking. I mean of course I was looking at the road but- Sorry my tires popped and I need a phone to call someone.”  

With everything going on the last thing you thought about was how you were going to ask for help and maybe that shows. The whole thing coming out barely coherent but his nodding along makes you think he got the jist. 

“You need to call a tow truck?” He asks, his voice is nice and low. Very calming for your situation right now. 

“I think? I dont know I’ve never had a flat tire. Do you know how to fix one?”  The ideas are coming into your head and then your mouth spits them out just seconds after. It’s probably very unhelpful for him. 

This whole conversation has been had through the gate but Steve feels okay to open it. Letting you and your problems in for him to deal with. You give him a quiet thanks and make your way to the chairs that sit under an umbrella. 

“M’sorry to bother you but I heard the music and you’re already out here.” The apology is sweet but all Steve can see is your long legs that poke out of your skirt. You have a nice white top on and flats that match the skirt. 

You’re really no better thought, his tan skin and nice hair has you in a daze. One you’ll blame on the heat later when you overthink everything you're doing right now. The hair on his chest is the cherry on top, he looks very good almost like you caught him at the perfect time. 

“It’s okay, do you know if you have a spare tire?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. The way he pushes the corner of the towel into his shorts makes them go lower, exposing more of the hair that travels downward. 

“Um, no I don't.” You say sheepishly, it comes out after a beat of silence and you pray he can't see you ogling at him. 

“Okay then you probably should call a tow truck.” He gives a light laugh. His mood is great for the fact that some girl just interrupted his chill pool day. 

And when he turns his loud music off you feel like you could hear a pin drop. It’s too silent now, and you’re unsure what to do. Maybe ask to use his phone, or ask for his number, neither of which you are feeling brave enough to do. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I should call.” Is what comes out, along with a nod to further your agreement. 

He gives you a motion that says ‘lets go’ as he walks towards the sliding glass doors that lead inside to the kitchen. The heat has basically dried him off already, only a few drops of water fall as he walks. His back is like the stars in the sky, practically hundreds of little moles fill it up. 

Once you both make it inside you stop squinting your eyes and his sunburn looks almost 10 times worse than it did outside. It makes you wonder if he can feel it or if the heat took over his whole body. 

“I can go get a phone book to see what the number is?” Steve has a feeling you wouldn't know it even if this had happened to you before. Being inside must make you feel better as you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Yes please, I’ll just wait here.” You say rocking back and forth on your feet. That gets you a smile from him and thankfully you were planted there or else you might have completely collapsed. He’s extremely pretty and he’s being very nice to you. It’s a lethal combination for a girl. 

When he comes back he’s already flipping through the pages. And then he puts it on the counter which makes you think he’s found it, you step closer to him but he doesn't move away. His finger runs along the page as he continues searching and you can smell the chlorine on him along with a hint of sunscreen. How did he burn when he had sunscreen on? 

“Ah! Okay here it is, the phones just on that wall.” He points to the wall behind you with one arm and the other stays put on the number you need. 

“Thank you.” You seem very shy to Steve, a bit of a different attitude than when you were a rambling mess asking him to fix a stranger's tire. 

Still he gives a small ‘mhm’ with another beautiful smile. This time you had the wall behind you to hold you up. 

When you pick up the phone and dial the numbers you can feel his eyes on you. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. It makes his biceps pop out more and his hand comes up to push his hair back from his eyes. 

The call doesn't take long at all but apparently you're a good 40 minutes away from the only tow truck in this town. It won't be here for a second and if they need to take the free way that's under construction then it might be even longer. If this cute boy wasn't here you’d bang your head against the wall. 

“So, they won't be here for about an hour. But, um, thank you for your help, you’re truly my life saver.” You give him a smile that will be stuck in Steve's head for days. 

“Where are you going? They aren't here?” The way his voice is laced with confusion almost makes you laugh. 

“I mean you probably want to get back to what you were doing?” 

“I was just cleaning, nothing important. You can stay, if you want. I don't wanna force you to be here or anything” His strong start and kind finish is what finally gets a laugh out of you. 

“Okay, I’ll stay, thank you.” 

“Did you want to go back out? We can sit by the pool.” All your brain is thinking is “cute boy in pool” and because you don't want to speak to him in caveman all you do is nod. 

He slides the door open and lets you walk out first, you think you might explode when you get home. Before he walks towards the pool he grabs a towel and sits it by the edge, giving you a nice spot to sit so your legs don't burn from the ground. 

Steve gets fully in the pool though. Only his arms come out to hold himself to the wall of the pool, he’s very close to you, any closer and he’d get you wet. 

“So how did your tire go out again?” Steve remembers but he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Well, I was looking at the nice houses and I didn't realize there were beer bottles broken in the road and I drove right over them.” The pout on your lips is driving him a little crazy, your legs gently kicking back and forth are what take his eyes away from you. 

“Yeah there was a party down the street a few days ago, they never clean their mess.” His scoff is just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I never even take this way, but the exit I take was closed so I had to take the long way.” You couldn't say why you explained this all to him but you felt like you should explain why you were in a  random area. 

“Well at least I was out here, m’glad I could help.” His shoulders are getting redder by the second, it makes you want to scoop some water onto him. 

“Oh me too, it was you or probably some mean old person who definitely wouldn't have helped me.” 

Steve feels like he’s laughed 10 times within the last 5 minutes talking to you. “There are so many mean old people in this neighborhood you truly got lucky.” 

You continue to giggle with him, a nice few seconds of silence passes between you two. Just the sound of the water moving around your legs and the birds chirping. It’s not awkward like you’d think it would be, just relaxing in the moment. 

“You do know your shoulders are like completely burnt right now right?” 

“Shit, are they? I swear I put on sunblock.” He does what you've been wanting to do and splashes some water on himself, not that it will block the sun but maybe help the skin feel cooler. 

“Want me to go get it so you can reapply?” You saw it sitting near the cooler that was full of beer earlier. And really if he asked for your help you couldn't deny, he’s done so much for you after all. 

“Yeah if you don't mind.” 

Getting up is not easy in a skirt, especially when a boy is lower than you are. Steves lucky you turned just before his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red from seeing the white underwear you sport. 

When you come back Steve steps out to reach the stairs of the pool. Both of you are ankle deep now at the top stair and he turns his back to you. His skin burns when you touch it and you're not sure how he didnt feel it coming. Steve knows, you have distracted every single one of his senses. Your perfume, your short skirt, your long legs hitting his arm in the water, and your cute giggle. Everything about you knocks him off his game. 

Once you are done applying the cream to his back he flips around and this time you give the bottle to him. Any more of your hands on him and you might not be able to get them off. He can do the front anyways. 

“You need any?” He asks, putting it on his shoulders in a sloppy way that leaves white streaks. 

“Maybe on my arms.” Your shoulders and chest are covered by your t-shirt but having burnt arms would be awful, you’re thankful he thought to ask you. 

Before even thinking your arms are stretched out to meet him. You could do it yourself but now they are already out. He doesn't protest though, complying with your silent ask with the gentlest of hands. They rub the lotion in completely, unlike his shoulders, and it feels nice. When he reaches your hands– the lotions pretty much all rubbed in– he continues holding onto it. 

You scoot back to your spot and he walks down to his. An action that would probably be easier without his hand in yours but no ones saying anything different. And when you hear a loud honk outside both of you flip your heads. You can see a big truck with a long chain attached to it. 

Steve's hand lets go of yours and it’s crazy how quickly you already miss the feeling. He gets out just as fast to dry off as you take the towel you were sitting on to dry your legs. He wraps the towel back around his waist and you put your flats back on. 

The tow truck guy, you now know to be named Dave, tells you he’s just gonna attach your car to his. A simple thing that won't take long at all, and that he could even drive you back home. The fact that your time with this cute boy was over is soul crushing, it was probably written all over your face too. Maybe he could tell. 

“So, you think I could get your number? I mean I think it’s the least you could do.” He says playfully, his hand blocking the sun from his eyes. He looks dreamy right now. 

“Oh totally, I’ll need someone to drive me around won't I?” You finish with a grin that is transferred automatically to Steve. 

He leaves you alone with Dave for a second to grab a paper towel that has his name and number written on it in chicken scratch. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem, would you call me to let me know you made it home safely?” Of course he wants to know you made it home safe, but maybe he also just wants to talk to you even longer. 

You nod a ‘yes’ to him and Dave’s voice booms from his truck asking if you’re ready. Knowing he doesn't have all day to wait around you hop in the car and put your seatbelt on. Steve only smiles as he makes a phone with his hand to remind you to call him, as if you could even forget. 

[slightly-knot-insane]

Can we get someeeee... Shy Chubby reader with a suave playboy knight? Perhaps she's brushed off all his advances, not thinking he was serious about it. Maybe that just spurred him on to become even more serious about it, getting him stuck thinking about her more and more!

Forge Through

[ m!gargoyle x fem!reader ]

a/n: feel free to always imagine my readers as chubby. i've been chubby my whole life and curvy or chubby are my standard body types i just don't emphasize that lol. reader isn't as shy as you expected, but she is an introvert content: nsfw, mild angst, body worship, mild praise kink, p in v, creampie, oral (female receiving)

You've been friends for quite some time. And flirting has always been part of your playful chats. Any kind of conversation would easily slip into sexy banter. How wouldn't it? You were the blacksmith's young assistant, and he was a recently knighted gargoyle. Metal and stone were in both of your blood, and you hit it off right away. Which was rather strange for you since you've always been painfully shy. But he somehow managed to loosen you up with his quirky jokes and euphemisms. Your cheeks would hurt from smiling, but luckily, the blush was basically invisible because of the constant heat inside your mentor's smithy.

"Here's my favourite blacksmith!" As soon as he enters, ostentatious as always, he removes his helmet and gauntlets and kisses you on the cheek. Ever since he was knighted, he has worn his full armour almost everywhere, even though he didn't actually need it, being made of stone and all. "Always working so hard, beautiful."

"Of course," you reply. "Someone needs to fix all the dents you get from scorned exes after you steal their girls."

"Oh, you wound me!" He slams his stone fist against his metal plate. "Those dents are from our country's enemies. I serve my lord with my whole heart... just as I would love to serve you."

You chuckle, wiping your sweaty forehead. "Serve me? Serve me what - a beer? That would be nice, actually."

Your gargoyle friend stays quiet for a minute or two, as you work. He turns away from you and removes his breastplate. His undershirt is sweaty and sticking to his muscular body. You bite your lip.

"I would, you know?" His voice resembles a wave softly crashing against pebbles. "I would serve you. If you asked me to."

You stop your hammer from hitting the anvil. Utterly confused, you look at him, expecting his broad shoulders to shake from laughter. But they are not. "What do you mean by serve?"

"Oh, you know..." He starts pacing up and down the workshop, avoiding looking at you. "To please you... take you out somewhere... woo you... make love to you..."

You're not sure you heard him correctly. It can't be. He's a notorious flirt and has been fooling around with more people than you know. He always brags about his adventures and lovers, and how 'his heart still yearns to be forged by a different kind of flame'. Whatever that means. And it hurts. It hurts to hear him boast about his trysts, all while you only get titillated. "Please stop with your teasing, I'm too busy for that right now."

You are upset. Why are you upset? It's stupid, and you're not stupid. He is just playing with you, as always. And yet, with a hiss of steam, heavy tears hit the hot metal still standing on the anvil.

"Are you crying?" Your gargoyle friend is next to you, pulling you into a hug. Your face is squished against his hard chest. "No, no, no, what did I say? What did I say?"

You push yourself away, trying to stop angry tears. "That's the problem! You say too much! And don't mean it! You want to serve me? Ha, what a joke! That's what I am - a joke to you."

"What?" He runs his fingers through his long hair. "No, never. You were never a joke to me. I've always... liked you. And more than that."

"But..." You shake your head. "But weren't we just... joking around?"

He slowly cups your cheek. "I wasn't."

You recall all the times when he showed genuine affection: his little gifts, his thoughtfulness, his acts of service. Not even for a second did you think they were romantic. How can someone as handsome and popular as he is like someone as painfully antisocial as you?

"Let me show you. Let me show you how serious I am about you." He pulls you closer to him as he leans down to kiss you. And you let him. Not only that, you let him in.

You allow his mouth to cover yours, you let his arms roam around your body, undress you, caress you. His hungry mouth licks your lips and leaves bite marks all over your voluptuous body. He worships your wide hips and soft tummy, kissing them with fervour as strong as your forge. In one quick sweep of his strong arm, he clears one of your mentor's workbenches, lifts you up on it, and eats you out until you're a quivering mess, ready to fall apart in front of him.

"The only one I truly want to serve," he says from between your warm and plush thighs. "Moan for me more. I want to know what you like. Exactly what you like."

And you do. You don't stop even after you cum the first time, because he immediately flips you over and enters you from behind. He plays with your nipples as he bites your neck, and his massive cock lights up your insides.

Your strong arms barely withstand his weight as he pushes his body onto yours, rutting against your ass until he hears you climax one more time. Then he follows, releasing his load into your sore pussy.

"Do you believe me now?" he asks as he kisses your shoulder. "Do you believe I want to be your knight and servant?

You can barely talk from underneath him. "Is that... ahh... is that what you meant by 'my heart yearns to be forged by a different kind of flame'?"

His cock twitches inside you. "Exactly. Took you long enough to decipher that, beautiful. The only heat, the only flame I need is yours."

[randomlonelymusician]

I think some of the reactions to The Summer Hikaru Died from English speaking fans are very, very telling.

On one hand, you have people blatantly denying its queerness. Which gets harder and harder for them, especially after viewing the second episode.

Then you have the people denying its queerness because "it's not a BL". While I think most of the people saying this are younger or misguided by queerbait-y shows that they've seen, this sentiment still denies queerness as a part of life and a part of fiction. I thought it would be obvious that not all queer stories are romances. But I suppose there are really still people that only see queer people as the romances they have.

But then there's my least favorite type of person, who recognizes that the characters are queer in some way, but deny the fact that queerness (especially Yoshiki's sexuality) is woven into the fabric of the story. If Yoshiki wasn't queer, The Summer Hikaru Died would not be the story it is. Most of its themes would cease to exist.

The amount of people I've seen say that: "The Summer Hikaru Died may have a gay character, but it's not impactful to the plot. The story is about grief, not LGBT stuff" -- is horrifyingly sad. And the fact that so, so many people still racistly think that being queer is a western invention is even sadder.

I've seen people say that "oh, of course the author didn't mean for this to be about sexuality; they're Japanese!" is gross. Especially when Mokumokuren themself has described The Summer Hikaru Died as a "queer story".

Anyway, I'm annoyed with people, as per usual. I love that more and more people are getting into this story, but it truly makes me upset to see people try to take an explicitly queer story and water it down.

At least we have this:

And I like that even Reddit people are calling it the "fisting scene"😭

[shanastoryteller]

okay,but for realsies if I do end up watching Roswell New Mexico, what's the recommended place to stop watching before being filled with rage about writing choices, but still get the maximum time with the characters?

oh geez

ok so keep in mind this is a bad cw show!! that's the standard we're at

season 1 is legitimately good. solid writing and plot for what it is and AMAZING characters. the characters and relationships are 100% what make this show. i ended season one being absolutely in love with liz and michael. they were easily my favorite characters out of all of them, even though i really did like the others

i didn't start shipping alex and michael until season 2

in season 1 they're all, as michael puts it, "tortured lust" and now looking back i love all their scenes but at the time i just didn't find them all that compelling. it's all so high stakes that it just all feels like drama. they never get a moment to just be before they're fighting or something again

in season 2 you actually see them acting like friends. it was actually the episode where they break into the long farm that really got me, where they're laughing and conspiring together and watching wyatt make an ass of himself that they really clicked for me. i was fully invested from that moment on. the relationships and characters continue to be great into season 2 and the science and plot is sort of stupid, by which i mean very, but despite being stupid there is an internal logic being carried through the season, so that's something

season 2 is also, unfortunately, the season where maria becomes intolerable. spoilers below.

i was actually fine with it up until the last episode of season 2. maria betrays her best friend, the only one who's shown to know all her internal struggles and who goes to an effort to support her, by getting together with the man he's in love with behind his back after explicitly telling her best friend that she won't pursue him. i didn't like this choice, but

maria doesn't have to be perfect. so far in season 1 she's shown hints of impulsiveness and selfishness and thoughtless cruelty, but she's also shown the huge effort she goes to to be more than that, to be the fun friend and the good friend, to legitimately care about people and try and help them. maria of season 1 was interesting and multi faceted and a good character doesn't always have to make the right choices or do the right thing and can of course be capable or doing good things and bad things simultaneously

the thing that makes maria's (and to a lesser extent, michael's) actions in season 2 intolerable is that she's never held accountable for them

alex isn't allowed to get mad at her and michael ever. neither of them ever apologize to him for getting with his best friend/love of his life. he's never allowed to be upset with them about it - including after the infamous 2x06 threesome. alex is visibly, noticeably upset about what happened the morning after. michael doesn't get it and never gets it. maria uses it as a way to force michael to make a choice once and for all - her or alex

again, this isn't really a problem. it's conflict which stories need to progress

except it's not allowed to be

no one ever acknowledges how shitty this was of maria. michael never comes to understand alex's feelings about having sex that involves a woman (and his supposed best friend) as a gay man and with the man he loves and wants to be with who then chooses his best friend over him again. this is a really interesting, complicated thing for the show to navigate

except they don't

we don't see alex for an episode and then when we do he's actively trying to move on from michael with someone else in a way he hasn't been the rest of that season. maria's plan of using this to push alex away clearly worked and yet it's never really addressed. the next time we see michael and alex interact, michael says, surprised, "you came." and alex replies, "you asked." which is among one of my favorite interactions between them, but doesn't tell us anything. it implies that michael knows that alex was upset after the threesome and that he might not come, when alex has spent the whole season so far being at his beck and call, and alex affirming he's still here for michael, but that's as an explicit acknowledgement about everything that happened that we get

maria is fairly disparaging of michael even when she's with him, both before and after finding out he's an alien, and refuses to give him any say in her life and changes the subject to sex or something else when he tries to discuss anything serious with her. michael is stagnant with her, unable to grow because that's not what she wants from him. by contrast, all of his scenes with alex are about his emotions and what he wants and who he wants to be and who alex believes he could be. the contrast is really startling, and again could have been super compelling, except it's another thing that's never acknowledged. all the characters talk about how great michael and maria are together and there's no reckoning. michael even says he loves her and she has to break up with him. which is another thing that could have made sense, michael making a desperate bid to keep this thing he's hurt alex over worthwhile, for this relationship to be anything but another fuck up in a long line of fuck ups, while maria has finally figured out that what she wanted from michael wasn't michael, but an idea of him, an idea of someone that could love her exactly as she is without ever challenging her, which isn't really love. we could have salvaged it!

it's not salvaged. they play it straight. maria never has any reckoning for her actions and choices, no come to jesus moment, nothing. the narrative treats everything she does as good and fair and beyond reproach, which is why i didn't mind s2 on the first watch and hate her parts of it in retrospect. what i thought was a character arc and set up for growth was just bad writing

michael and alex never have a conversation about maria or her michael's relationship. they just move on as if it wasn't a big deal. it's crazy

season 3 is very bad, but malex gets together and liz is delicious and we get some great kyle scenes. season 4 is nearly unwatchable. if you watch either, i'd just skip around to scenes involving characters you like and ignore the rest as much as you can

[sfth-confessions]

To the person with the Ditch hot take who wanted to know what about Ditch gets people so much (maybe not strictly a confession, but I hope it's okay to send anyway?):

I think Derek and Titch are so compelling because there's clearly history between them and Titch's initial rejection of Derek makes sense and doesn't just feel like he's being a shitty person.

Derek has been working for Titch for a while, so they know each other already at the beginning of the story. Despite being coworkers something happened that led to them having sex at one point and that makes Derek comfortable enough around Titch to touch him in ways you wouldn't usually touch a coworker - which Titch does not seem to mind at all. Only when Derek calls himself his lover does Titch make it clear it was a one time thing for him. Yet the reasons he gives as to why there can't be anything more between them are that he's a workaholic and too stressed to focus on a relationship, not a lack of feelings for Derek. Which is why it makes sense why Derek doesn't give up so easily. Derek also chooses the worst possible time to talk about their relationship, as Titch is very worried about his livelihood in that moment, which makes Titch's initial rejection understandable to me. Also, despite not being ready to admit his feelings, Titch does still tell Derek that he helped him through this difficult time in his life and trusts him enough to join him in confronting OLM. Showing that he does value Derek. He also hesitates when Derek asks what he is to him, when he could've just said "assistant" or "friend", so very clearly Derek's feelings are not one-sided. Derek is also not just some lovesick puppy running after Titch - when he realises Titch doesn't have the guts to stand up for him, he leaves. Titch is clearly conflicted about the whole thing, but him being afraid to confront OLM is geniunely something that makes sense. She literally cursed his land, of course he'd be afraid, I don't take that as Titch being a bad partner for Derek. Derek very clearly knows Titch has feelings for him because despite being upset and leaving, he asks him to come back when he works out his priorities, knowing that that's the real reason nothing is happening between them. Which Titch confirms when OLM calls him out afterwards.

So there's clearly a lot of build-up to the confession that makes it feel natural to me. Well, as natural as improv can be.

Talking about this ask

[awsugar]

I would looooove to hear a play by play of the show and all the things they did !! It seems like it was so cool!!

a real play by play woudl require me to research and watch other peoples videos to remember everything that happened

and im nt gonna do that rn BUT i can say it was like. ok so.

pre-show i saw most of the characters backstage. which i was kinda like. why are they even allowed back there. like why can i see this!!! besides the fact that i could also from where i was on barricade see the people who were walking around the stadium which includes the behind the stage area on higher levels, i was like. idk I JUST THOUGHT That the people in costume should have remained hidden until the last minute. and that includes my chem because i saw mikey and ray backstage in their uniforms before they came out on stage. and since i saw them in the wings of stage right and i was on stage right barricade a lot of people to the center and more left stage area saw them too and like im not saying its a HUGE DEAL but since they tried to keep everytihng so under wraps i think they should have not let anyone see that until it was literally the time for their entrance. and thats just my opinion.

but anyway they did come out and even though i saw backstage their uniforms it was like nothing i could have imagined.

they came out in their tbp uniforms but reimagined to fit the DRAAG aesthetic and it was actually insane even though i had seen it backstage, had heard a lot of speculation that they would end up wearing their unifroms but i don't really know anyone who actually thought that they actually would even me! we were at wwwy, both years, and like the combination of how they were making fun of the nostaglia cash grab first time they played, and in contrast to how tthey did the black parade at wwwy last year where everyone was once again doing like a nostalgia plot while mcr did the most beautiful tribute tbp that i could have imagined. they will never follow the crowd. and i think that a lt of us thought that them wearing tbp uniforms at wwwy would have been a cheap imitations and like lowered the value and i did and do feel like that about the SAME OG outfits at THAT show but whatever it is, this feels completely new and different. the uniforms ARE different although true to their original styles and shapes and specifications, like you know id be real upset if they had the uniforms again and franks striped sleeves were gone.m but like i was saying, they have managed to do it in a way that isnt a completely cheap imitation of what once was, and thats because i think they truly respect what they have done. and of course they do becaus eif they dont who would, but the black parade is a piece of art that was meticulusly crafted and they know it better than anyone.

so anyway they came out and we were all gagged gooped etc. btw the end and dead live are something i never want to give up again. that one meme but its: ive only had the end and dead for 8 months but if anything ever happened to it i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. two of the greatest songs ever!!!!!

there were some skits that im sure you saw online, there was a part where we voted for the next politician with the signs that they gave us, they didnt really give us any info on who we were voting for and so i voted NAY and then they executed them all on the bstage so <3

there were a number of skits that didnt like impact the plot that much to me. theres so much still to unpack. theres so much that doesnt even make sense now and we cant even try with some of it i think.

but notably the guy who seemed to be some sort of inspector previously in the show and who also slapped gerard and made him put his jacket back on at different parts of the show. well at the end after he slapped gerard and after gerard did a new mama verse which wasnt really a verse because it lasted multiple MINUTES!!!!! the inspectior came back out bvut this tiem he was in a clown costume (btw there was pyro the whole time) and he stabbed gerard like at the end of faomus last words, gerard died, frank was kidnapped, they all were i tihnk. the clown finished with blood and then revealed a suicide bomb undder his clown suit. and he blowed up. exploded. in our faces. he did it right where i was on barricade we couldnt see afterwards for like 4 minutes lol???

i was also surprised by a reprise of the end which made snese to me because that s an element of musical theater that is pretty common..

and then after a cellist came out and played on the b stage for a few minutes they came out in new outfits except fr gerard, also on the b stage they came out, and played like 10 other songs from the rest of the albums, pretty much not just their most popular but some of their best.

they also played my favorite song of all time (heaven help us) while on the b stage and i didnt expect it at all

gerard said that the b stage set will change every show (frank is making the setlists as per usual) and also that they have a week in between to workshop the main set and that that is likely to change as well which is???? terrifiying and crazy??

also gerard said he loves us. he said he LOVES US. i wanted to cry.

after that pretty standard they played and ended tyhe show i know i didnt give a full play by play but thats just what i immediately remember. it was the best ever.

im serious tthey sounded amazing, the production was next level, and gerard was more interactive with the crowd and more on his game than ever. like he peaked yesterday and i think the peak can only go up. which is wild.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

So, what do you think of that frog plushie with Gabriel's voice? The idea is heartwarming, but it was only introduced after Gabriel died a terrible father.

For those not watching season six, the scene in question comes at the start of El Toro De Piedra. Marinette and Adrien are going through a box of items from when Adrien was six which leads to this:

Adrien: Woah hey Froggy! (He pulls out a frog plushie from the box) I love this plushie! (Adrien squeezes the plush it plays a sound mimicking Gabriel's voice) Froggy (toy): Knock knock. Adrien: Who's there? Froggy (toy): Papa. Adrien: Papa who? Froggy(toy): Papa corn. Adrien: I forget it did that. Marinette: That was your father's voice? Adrien: Yes. When I was a kid he could always make me laugh and then he started travelling... Thank you Marinette it's nice reminiscing about Papa corn.

Frankly, the plushie thing just confused and annoyed me because it's another example of season six's baffling writing around Gabriel. When they decided to have Marinette lie and present Gabriel as a hero to everyone, I assumed that they were going to lean into that and have Adrien view his father as a hero, too. That's not what they're doing though. The episode starts with the above scene and ends with this:

Adrien: Yeah, I'm fine. It's just...things were so hard with dad in recent years. How did he go from Papa Corn to father....I wish could face him like Ivan said and understand, but when he was still here I didn't try and tell him anything and now it's too late. Still I'm glad I got to remember Papa corn today thanks to you.

So the plushie is used to allow Adrien to remember what Gabriel was like before Emilie got sick leading to a scene where Adrien laments that his father drastically changed, causing them to have a strained relationship that never got resolved. At no point does Adrien talk about looking up to his father or viewing him as a hero. He even compares Gabriel to Ivan's father Raul who is a known supervillain. I look at that and go, "Why are we bothering with the lies if the writing is going this nuanced route with Adrien? Why let him have these complex feelings about his father if you're keeping him in the dark on the supervillain stuff? What's the end game here?"

Seriously, look at the above and ask yourself what would need to change if Adrien knew the truth. I think Adrien would need to be more conflicted, but that's about it as far as changes go. You could still have him remember good times with his father, be sad that those good times ended, and wish that he understood his father better. He's processing the Gabriel trauma just without the full picture and - as a viewer - it's both bizarre and upsetting! Seeing Adrien go through the grieving process knowing that it's all going to reset when he finds out the truth is aggravating!

Of course that's assuming that he learns the truth and grieves again which are big assumptions. I genuinely have no idea what this show is planning to do with the lies because the writing around them is so baffling! I also don't really care anymore. It's all so stupid and pointless that every new twist in canon just makes me go, "Sure, why not. Throw that BS in the mix, too. It makes about as much sense as the rest of this nonsense."

Speaking of BS, the plushie reveal annoyed me for another reason! A while back, I talked through the flashbacks in Werepapas and how they massively retconned the timeline for Emilie getting sick. El Toro De Piedra takes that retcon and seems to retcon it again because the plushie is explicitly from when Adrien was six and Adrien says:

Adrien: Yes. When I was a kid he could always make me laugh and then he started travelling... Thank you Marinette it's nice reminiscing about Papa corn.

But in Werepapas a young Adrien says:

Adrien: Does that mean that daddy doesn't love me? Émilie: Why would you say that? Adrien: Because we never see daddy. He's never here.

Oh, and just for fun, it doesn't fit this line from Origins either:

Adrien:(gets up while still holding Plagg) My dad's pranking me, right? Wait, he couldn't be. He has no sense of humor.

Or the fact that Emilie was supposed to be the one with the sense of humor or at least so said Feast:

Adrien: Mom's the only one who could make me laugh like that. Thank you, Plagg.

Consistency!!! (Yes, I'm salty that they're not embracing Emilie as the jokester. It's one of my favorite headcanons that I only have because of the scene from Feast. It was a nice way to hint at her having an actual personality plus I loved the idea of the mom being the funny one instead of the dad.)

Moving on!

My main point here is that we don't know Adrien's age in Werepapas, but it can't be much older than six, but now we're being told that Gabriel was an active father when Adrien was six which means that I'm once again totally lost as to what the timeline is for the Agreste plot. I also no longer care. I'm not putting more effort into this than the writers.

[finniestoncrane]

jerry x fem!reader. fluff, smut, ANYTHING idc i love your writing sm 💚

Jerry x Fem!Reader, word count: 600 hehe watch me get all soft and fuzzy over my stinky beloved junk drawer and his habit of using the silliest little exclamations when he's stressed or frazzled URGH MY HEART!! 🖇️ request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff

Jerry was fidgeting nervously as you entered the study. He was so focused on whatever he was doing with his hands in front of him that when he noticed you were behind him, the sound of your voice alerting him to your presence with a startle, he jumped forwards and stumbled into the wall. His forehead hit it with a dull thud and he turned around, fingers pressing against the reddening mark to try and push whatever bump might form back in.

"Jeez! Knock next time, yeah?"

Worried that you might have upset him, and a little bit concerned by his tone, you offered him a smile as you apologised.

"I'm sorry, Jerry. I didn't mean to interrupt you, I was just a little bit early for our date and thought... Maybe we could spend extra time together. Is that ok?"

Flustered by your openness about your desire to be around him, he could feel guilt and embarrassment crawling over his face in a red beam.

"Yes. Yes! Of course! I just got a little startled, you know how I am."

You did. After only knowing him for such a brief time, you felt like you might have been able to tell him more about himself than even he could. And you loved him all the more for it. It was almost instantaneous. Like the kind of thing you could only imagine in a tacky romance, but playing out for you in reality.

With a gentle sigh, you stepped to him, fingers teasing at his bow tie and straightening it up. Your eyes flicked towards his, and you noticed the way he was staring back at you, in complete shock and awe at how close you were willing to get, how intimate the act of assistance was which you participated in with ease.

He almost managed out a smile before his nerves kicked back in.

"Do you... Do you think I'm ready? Should I shower? You're very close, I worry..."

Your fingers reached up to his messy hair, teasing out a couple of paperclips and smoothing down the flicks before you stroked the loose strands and tucked them behind his ear.

"I think you smell delightful. I wouldn't have you any other way."

The heat on his skin prickled on your palm as you kept it steady against his neck. It was impossible to resist the urge to place a kiss to his soft lips, your nose pressing into his. Your eyes were closed, but his remained open in a cartoonish expression of surprise behind his glasses. He kissed back, only slightly. You were the one leading this first physical expression of affection, and he was so grateful for it.

When you broke away from him, a light chuckle breaking the somewhat awkward silence, Jerry laughed in response. An awkward, louder than intended sound that he followed by adjusting his glasses and running his hands through his hair, making a mess where you had just tidied.

"Our first kiss. Wow. I... I didn't expect that until after the date, y'know? When you walk me back to my drawer?"

"You can get another one later if you'd like."

"Of course I would! I would like that very much. I might even invite you in, but it's a tad cluttered. As long as you don't mind getting close to me."

You leaned in once more, fingers straightening the papery lapels of his jacket, not bothering to make an attempt to neaten him up anymore. You actually preferred the tousled, dishevelled look. It's what you fell in love with, after all.

[sleepdeprivedl]

Feathers and Freedom (malleus x reader), part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Another year passed. The last twelve months have been one of the most wonderful times in your life. It consisted of slipping out of your house to see your lover whilst also balancing the random odd jobs you’d do in the village. Most of the time it was working at the apothecary or tavern for a bit of extra coin to help support your family. It wasn’t much, but it helped for day-to-day needs.

That being said, your sister’s condition was worsening. A few extra coins made from serving beer no longer cut it. Of course, your grandfather had money saved, but that wouldn’t last forever. Which was why you’d come to your decision.

Trekking across the rolling fields, you made your way to the familiar edge of The Moors. The tall stones stood as imposing as ever, and the wind rustled through the leafy canopy. A whispered invitation. You drew in a deep breath, getting ready to call out for Malleus, only to stop as a large gust of wind battered against you. Malleus descended from the sky, landing softly on the ground before you, wings tucked neatly against his back.

“Malleus, I need to talk to you,” you said solemnly.

He picked up on your heavy mood immediately, gaze narrowing in concern. “MC. Is there something troubling you, Child of Man?”

“...I’m leaving.” You couldn’t quite meet his gaze as you spoke. It had been a hard decision, but it was something you had to do.

He didn’t answer right away, and you risked a glance at his face. Wrong move. He looked shocked, like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said. “...What?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m leaving. Soon. I’m going to work at the castle.”

“Why?” Thunder rumbled in the distance. Was there a storm coming? You shook off the random thought. Doesn’t matter.

“My sister’s condition has been worsening over the last couple of months…my family needs more money. My grandpa has some saved up, but…it’s not enough. It’ll run out soon, so I’m going to go work at the castle.”

He frowned as he listened to your words, obviously upset. He didn’t want you to leave. “Can’t you work in the village?” 

“I could, but the Queen is offering a more generous pay than can be found here. Apparently she wants someone who can make more…hearty meals than the fancy cuisine they currently offer since that’s what she ate in her childhood.” It was true. The Queen’s cook from when she was a child often made her more homey meals than what is typically found in court, and after being married to the King and moving here she’d found she quite missed it. So, she’d had someone go to the nearest village—which just so happened to be yours—to ask around for someone willing to take up the position. A bit of an odd request, but you supposed you’d do the same if you were in her shoes. Only eating fancy food all the time would probably drive you crazy after a while.

“...And you will not reconsider this decision?” Displeasure was etched across his face, though he didn’t seem like he was going to argue with you.

“...No. I’m sorry, Mal.” You sighed. “I would stay if I could, but my family needs my help. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

His expression soured even more, eyes downcast. “I see. I suppose this is farewell, then?” Another crack of thunder split the night, closer than the last one. The wind was beginning to pick up as well, and raindrops began to fall. One by one.

“Just for a little bit! I’ll still come and visit, I promise.” You took his hand in yours, trying to provide some sort of comfort. “Queen Leila is known for being kind, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I missed a day every now and then.”

Malleus looked back at you, gauging the sincerity in your eyes. You held his gaze for several moments, communicating silently. “...I suppose it will be bearable. So long as you keep your promise and come back to me, my Child of Man.” He still wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. But, your family needed you and you said you’d visit. He could make do with that. Maybe.  Well, he’d have to find a way to cope…eventually. For now, he held you close, the storms of his inner turmoil bleeding outward and reflecting in the tumultuous sky. Yet, even as the thunder rolled and the wind whipped into a frenzy, you remained safe and untouched within his wings. You would come back to him. He was sure of it. Even if you had to leave for now, you’d be back soon. You wouldn’t break his heart, right?

a/n: a bit shorter than the other two parts but oh well. might be ooc again, creative writing is lowkey hard lol. I got mer-form jade tho so im happy about that :D now I have to save back up :(

[ummitscalledcoping]

regulus dramatically slams open the door to the gryffindor dormitory looking for sirius, only to find a bewildered looking remus sitting in bed with a book.

tears are already welling in his eyes and his lips start trembling as he realizes his big brother isn’t there to comfort him.

he starts to cry and remus quickly hops off his bed and limps over to regulus, foregoing his cane. he pulls the small boy into his chest as full out sobs wrack through his body.

“reggie, what’s wrong?” he asks gently once sobs ease to weak sniffles.

he guides regulus over to his bed and sits on the edge, pivoting his body so he’s sitting cross legged facing the younger boy.

he doesn’t expect regulus to crawl right into his lap, but he wraps him up tight in his arms as he cries some more.

“i—hic—wore a really cute and really slutty outfit yesterday—hic—and nobody said anything about it,” regulus pouts.

remus blanches for a moment, not expecting that, but recovers quickly.

“sweetheart, do you not know how hot you are?”

regulus lifts his head from where it was buried in remus’s chest and stares at him indignantly, tears streaking his ruddy cheeks.

“well obviously i know i’m stupid hot, but i need to make sure everyone else knows it to”

remus gapes, unsure how to respond.

“ugh! you don’t get it,” regulus groans, slumping back against remus’s chest.

he pauses for a moment before lifting a tentative hand to stroke regulus’s curls.

“no, i suppose i don’t. but clearly you’re upset about it. could you help me understand?”

his voice is soft and regulus can’t help but feel warm and fluttery despite wanting to bury himself in existencial anger and moan about how no one understands him.

“it’s just…yeah i’m hot now. i mean i guess i always was pretty—you know, black family genes and all that—but that’s just it. i was a pretty girl. but being pretty didn’t make up for the fact that i was so awkward and different from all the other kids.”

remus could relate to that.

“and then when i started to transition it just made me more different which only made me even more awkward because i never knew how to act to get people to like me.”

he tenses in remus’s arms then pulls away slightly, staring resolutely in his lap as he fidgets with his hands.

“it was too hard. nothing i ever did seemed good enough so i just stopped trying,” he huffed wryly. “and wouldn’t you know, once i stopped trying to fit in and just focused on being myself, that’s when everyone started to like me.”

remus looks him up and down in surprise. he’s never heard regulus be anything but unapologetically confident. he didn’t even think he could feel insecure, but of course he does.

“anyways. i’ve gotten to a point finally where im comfortable with myself and i actually feel good and right in my body. and like, objectively i know i’m hot. but… i don’t know. i feel so egotistical for saying any of this—”

“you’re not.”

“—it’s just… sometimes i feel like im still just that weird girl.”

“oh reg…”

his cold detached mask slips back on so fast it looks jarring against his tear stained cheeks. remus flounders for a second before finding his words.

“you’re not—that. no one sees you like that, and i’m sorry anyone ever did. you’re just—you’re like so hot and so confident all the time—or at least you seem like you are—it’s kind of intimidating. i think people are just afraid to say anything because they’ll think you’ll think they’re weird. or they just assume you already know and probably hear it all the time.”

regulus shrugs, then lets out a suffering sigh.

“yeah, i guess that makes sense. i’m just being stupid about all this.”

“no, reg, you’re not.”

remus grabs his chin gently between his fingers and tilts his head up so regulus will look at him when he says it.

regulus stares back with big watery eyes and remus has to fight the urge to look away.

“do you think i’m hot, remus?”

his eyebrows shoot to his hairline as he fumbles for a response.

“oh, well i—i mean you’re—obviously i think you’re—i’ve never said anything because sirius would kill me and i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—but i mean, i… yeah. yes. definitely, of course reg, i think you’re…” he sucks in a sharp breath, letting the next word tumble out on the exhale. “beautiful.”

remus watches a deep blush spread across reg’s cheeks and thinks he might combust right there.

“you do?”

“yeah. i do.”

“i think you’re beautiful too.”

the words hit him with such force that he chokes on the air they’ve traveled.

“you what?” he gawked. “ahh you’re just saying that…”

“are you calling me a liar?” regulus narrows his gaze.

“what?! no! i—just don’t understand how you think that.”

“it’s quite easy actually. you should try it sometime.”

remus searched his eyes for any sign of jest or flattery and finds none.

he swallows the lump in his throat.

“yeah, maybe i will…”

[bellesomewherehere]

The lights turn on after a flicker, just for you to find a Sunghoon sitting on the sofa.

"Were you sitting in the darkness?" Your brows furrow as you took off your shoes and place them in the cabinet. "With your eyes open?"

"Hmm?" He looks up with pure confusion, "Sorry I was, um, spacing out." He holds out his arms after standing up to hug you.

"Of course you were," you say with a smirk, returning the hug. He feels quiet. Well, he is usually quiet, but he arrived home earlier than usual, and something is clearly wrong with the way he's still wearing his outside clothes.

"Babe? Are you alright?" You step back from the hug just to look up to his face.

"Hmm? Yeah, um, I just miss you." His smile doesn't feel forced, but you still feel weird. You decided to not ask if he doesn't want to say.

Obviously, he sees the way you were staring, "School after the shift was just a bit exhausting so I wanted to sit down first." He explains, "I ordered take out from that Italian restaurant you like, just wait till I take quick shower, okay babe?"

"Okey! I'll set up the stuff so we can eat right after." You pull him down just kiss him on the cheek. "Hey I'm all sweaty!"

"I don't care, I wanna kiss you." He chuckles, "whatever you like boss baby." "As long as it's baby and not dirty girl."

"I only said that once! And it IS dirty." You stare at him. "Fine, fine." He raises his arms to show defeat walking towards the bathroom.

You are setting the table after changing out your clothes when he walks toward the dining table with his hair still a bit wet.

"That was quick." You say while holing the boxes, "I haven't checked the food." He took over the box in your hand and gave you another box.

"This is yours."

"But how did you know what I want?" You realize and open the box he gave you and it was exactly what you wanted. You don't doubt the fact that he knows what you like, you just wonder how.

He just smiles. And you start eating. Mid eating, you stop to look at him. Sunghoon's still quiet, and he just paused between bites.

You stare at him for another minute, when he finally notices you and resumes eating. Then an assuring smile appears.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you what's on my mind. Let's finish the meal first alright?"

You look at him suspiciously but finally agree to that. You don't wanna be pushy but hey, he's the one that stopped putting food in his mouth.

"So?" You nudge him while you sit side by side on the couch. He finally makes up his mind and turn to you. You also turn to face him completely as you feel that it is going to be an important topic.

"Thing is, the professor asked if I want to join this program, which might allow me to have a bigger chance when it comes to applying my master degree."

"I might have to spend more time in lab doing research and come home later than I'm already is." He looks right into your face, trying to see your reactions.

You feel sad, but you also feel happy for him, because all he ever wanted was to keep pursuing his studies and someday work as a licensed counseling psychologist, and you know that working as a researching assistant is inevitable and really helpful for his applying materials.

He already know all of those emotions, and you know that he does because he knows you too well, and he also acknowledges the fact that you will encourage him to do so.

And you do. You hug him for a while and then hold back to frown, "I'm gonna miss you so much all the time." You're not gonna hide the fact that you still feel upset, realizing you won't get to share meals that often in the evenings. Not just because it's too hard to hide that from him, but also you both know it's healthier to let the emotions out instead of pretending it's nothing.

Days are still gonna be fine. You still love each other so much, and he still knows your order on a Thursday night, and you still hold him during nights when he can't sleep well because of the stress.

It's on days like this that you know how fascinating love works.

[emissary-of-stuff]

@destinysbounty

Here's the fic for Mergeswap Kai since my god this man has gripped my brain;

---------------------------

He wakes up absolutely exhausted, much like he does everyday. A quick glance at the clock reveals that it's 6am. 

Great.

He doesn't know why his body wakes him up so early, but figures it must be a remnant from before. He wonders about that a lot. He doesn't remember what his life used to be, but he knows it wasn't this. He feels no sense of satisfaction for what he does, just a deep-seated weariness in his bones that leaves him exhausted day in and day out. His work, his life, is so boring, so repetitive, that he finds himself daydreaming about what he used to do, who he used to be.

He lies back down, he doesn't want to be up yet. Closing his eyes, he continues his daydreams. His dreams about before are vague, mere concepts and ideas. He must have had parents, but were they alive? Did they love him? He wonders what life was like with them, what they were like. He continues this train of thought, thinking about potential friends and what they may have done.

Distantly, he wonders what time it is.

He opens his eyes and looks at the clock, 6:30. 

Sighing, he figures he should start his day. Pushing himself out of bed, he gets up and begins his daily routine.

The floor of his dorm is cold tile, but it works well as an impromptu workout space. He leans into the proper pose for pushups, beginning his usual set of reps. He didn't always have this routine, but figured he should start, seeing as his body was clearly well defined and toned. Whoever he was before clearly took care of himself, and it would be a shame to let it atrophy due to negligence. Perhaps that line of thinking is a bit vain, but he doesn't care. He likes the adrenaline working out gives him, a feeling of purpose and pride that he desperately craves, that's missing from his actual work. He shakes his head and chastises himself, the work the Administration does is important, they're helping people get back to the proper realm, back home. 

He should care about that, care about it more, like he used to when he first started. 

And yet, he doesn't. 

Not really anyway.

It's difficult to care about bringing strangers home when you can't even remember what home means to you. He has no concept to go off of, no memories to form a solid idea of what ‘home’ could possibly be. All he has now is cold white walls, oppressive lighting, and distant and demeaning coworkers and supervisors. He often wonders what home used to be, what it meant to him.

He hopes it was warm.

Wrapping up his pushups, he pushes himself off the floor, looking closer at his hands. They always sting a bit after his routine and he likes the feeling. Turning them over, he sees callouses line the inner palms of both hands, so unlike the ones gotten from holding a pen or anything from office work. Tiny scars and nicks litter his fingers, as if he was careless holding something sharp. None of this is new information of course, but he finds himself drawn to observing them nonetheless. His body is proof that he had a life outside of the Administration, that he didn't just spawn into existence one day merely to serve them. What kind of person was he like before, to gain marks such as these? Did he build things, his muscles carrying heavy materials while his hands gripped tools and got hurt at times? Or were the marks from clumsiness, an indicator not of his trade but of his own lack of awareness?

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Another glance at the clock reads 7:04, enough time before his shift, and possibly enough to take a shower and dry off properly if he's quick. Considering the thin layer of sweat from his workout and how hot he runs, he probably should, even if the office AC is cold enough to help.

Making up his mind, he heads towards the bathroom. It's small, and he thinks it would be a worse issue if he had claustrophobia. Thankfully he doesn't, and steps into the even smaller shower. Cold water rains down, and the feeling is absolute bliss. Such a feeling is fleeting to him, only achieved by his daily routine and subsequent shower. The rest of his life is dull and dreary. Wake up, workout, shower if you have time, go to work, eat, sleep. Repeat ad nauseam. It's exhausting and he despises it with every fiber of his being. He feels like he's slowly dying, whatever spark he once had fading into embers as he continues his work as just another cog in the machine. He's probably going to go into work and find his manager left him another pile of paperwork, telling him to 'pick up the slack' and how he should 'apply himself' and "be more of a team player'. It's not his fault his coworkers seem to avoid him, that his temper seems to be getting shorter and shorter due to exhaustion. Maybe if people stopped bothering him and giving him so much work he'd actually be a more pleasant guy to be around. 

But he isn't. 

He's tired, exhausted and just wants out. To leave this building and never look back, to be someone more interesting than who he is now, to be someone who matters.

Even if he did leave, and that's a big 'if', where would he go? He's never been outside, has no clue what Realm he's even in or where to find the nearest city, town, society or whatever. 

He doesn't even know if he has anyone out there waiting for him. 

He hopes he does, yet that hope seems to die a little every day. If someone cared about him, missed him, wouldn't they look for him? 

Are they?

Would he even know if they were?

He hopes he'd recognize them.

A knock on the main door startles him out of his thoughts and longing, snatching him back into his body. The water is freezing, and he scrambles to turn the knob, the feeling of ice cold metal being oddly familiar. He doesn't have time to process that as he scrambles to turn off the water and get out, nearly crashing to the floor. Damn, that bill's gonna come out of his paycheck!

Another series of knocks, louder and harsher, as he hurriedly dries himself off. Shit, his hair won't dry in time, he really should just cut it.

"You're gonna be late!"

"S-sorry! One second."

He struggles to get his uniform on, nearly tripping over his own pants as he gets them on. Tugging on his shirt and jacket, he glances at the mirror and winces. He looks like an absolute mess, hair askew and damp, uniform haphazard. 

Wrenching the door open, he sees his coworker - who he genuinely can't remember the name of right now and is too tired to care and check - look at him in surprise.

"Damn, you look like shit huh?"

He glares at him, but still makes an effort to fix his uniform, albeit a bit angrily.

"Okay, okay, no need to point it out I guess! You and I both know Boss is gonna be mad all day if one of us is late, so I’m just doing us all a favor.”

"...no need to remind me about that either."

"Yeah yeah, anyway your name tag's missing."

Shit!

He darts back inside, glancing around the room for it. There, under his chair where he haphazardly put his jacket the night before. Picking it up, he fixes it to his collar.

His coworker, that jackass, merely laughs.

"Now you're ready! Come on, before we both get reprimanded."

His coworker briskly walks down the halls, and he follows, sighing.

Another day of Agent Smith reporting for duty.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just read the new mutants issue where Charles chose to stay behind in space and my god the juxtaposition between Charles trusting Erik and Erik joining the hellfire club and wondering at his own trust worthiness. I wonder how much of Charles decision was him ultimately trying to avoid the fact that his first class had seemingly betrayed mutant kind and not be willing to face them and how much of it was Dani and Illyana's reaction to him having Karma mind control Illyana. the fact that Illyana was depending on him to ease her mind through limbo and in choosing to stay he forced karma to do it instead, probably fucking up their relationship in the process.

I love him, this is crazy, how much of this is him trying to runaway and how much is this him not trusting himself to fix things and how much is it just him trusting Erik?

i keep trying to put into words my exact thoughts about the sitch but there really is a lot for one issue aintit... oh charles you and your brain...

[bogkeep]

doodles from this morning

[sysig]

hands shaking, teeth grit, sweat on my brow: It doesn’t have to fit the timeline perfectly, it’s okay if some of the details don’t match, no one’s going to care if this one thing happens just a Little later than it would have anyway