#yes of course this is normal of course OF COURSE!!!! and of course I AM normal about this! WE ARE ALL SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS!!!!!

[alpali]

There was nothing more you hated than overly cocky guys. Especially when they had the talent to back it up.

That’s how you felt about Oikawa Toru.

The ace in the volleyball team, the ace in his studies, the ace with the ladies. His whole presence was infuriating to you.

You had to admit yes, you had no reason to hate him. But you were a little hater at heart. So of course when you catch his attention. He is not leaving you alone. “There’s my favorite girl! How’ve you been hm?” He quips, taking the empty seat right next to you. You glare at him with at least what you think is the most deadliest look ever. But to him you look so adorable he bites his lip, trying to stifle a laugh.

“What do you want shittykawa.” You grumble and his face pales.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been hanging with Iwa-Chan.” He blinks and you blink, your face contorting in anger once again.

“Who the hell even is that!” He visibly looks relieved and sets his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Anywho, how do you feel about coming to one of my games. I’ll dedicate all my killer serves to you.” He winks and you look disgusted.

“I’d rather die.”

He pouts.

“When are you gonna stop acting like you hate me.”

“This isn’t an act.” You mutter.

He grins.

“You know you’re really pretty when you’re mad.”

“Don’t you have a bajillion minions to tend to? Leave me alone.” You roll your eyes.

“Who needs them when I have you!” He smiles and he means it. But you’ll never know that.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

When you’re gone for a week. His demeanor begins to diminish. At first he just thought you were avoiding him. But now he was worried. And it was starting to affect his volleyball playing.

“I thought this girl hated you anyways. Why do you even like her.” Iwaizumi crosses his arms.

“You don’t get it.” Oikawa sighs.

“Just admit it, you like the chase. Once you get her you’ll get bored and dump her like you do with the rest.”

“You make me sound like a terrible person!”

“You are.”

“Am not!” Oikawa says, sticking out his tongue.

Oikawa sighs once again as he’s on his way to his first class, he had a routine. He grabs a coffee, pops his head in your class, teases you to no end, then goes to class.

Hes about to walk past your class until he sees you peacefully sleeping on your desk. He blinks, watching from the outside as your chest rises and falls. His heart beating a little faster. He walks in, squatting in front of your desk. He knocks on it a few times and your eyes drowsily open.

“Class is gonna start soon sleeping beauty.”

You look a little dazed, you don’t even look that mad at him. His cheeks flush up at how pretty you look. His face inches away from yours. His hand shoots out to your face.

“You’re drooling.” And Oikawa giggles, completely enamored with you.

You push his hand away but he quickly holds it. But what shocks him the most is you aren’t letting go. However you snuggle back in to your arm.

“It’s my first day back. Go away.” You grumble. Which doesn’t even sound like it has any malice intent behind it.

He gulps, not used to you ever being this…normal with him. He holds your hand for a little longer, basking in the moment.

“Fine. Only because I think my heart is going to explode.” You send a glare at him but to him it’s just a meaningless pout.

“See ya later cutie.” He winks at you.

He completely fawns over that interaction for weeks. His volleyball team is tired of hearing it at this point. “Yet she still hates you.” Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“I’m getting closer! I feel it.” Oikawa clenches his fist, a glint in his eye.

“You’re so delusional.” Iwaizumi laughs and Oikawa crosses his arms.

When Oikawa is leaving school he sees you sat on the grass, sat under a tree. He immediately perks up, walking over to you.

“Hey~” He smiles and you narrow your eyes at him but they lost their full emotion. He plops down next you, your hair blows with the wind and he sighs, lovesick.

“Stop looking at me.” You pout, your cheeks heating up.

“I can’t.” He smiles and you huff, yet you look conflicted. And that worries him. He’s about to ask what’s wrong but your words cut him off.

“Why do you even like me—or keep talking to me.” You cast your eyes to the side, picking at the grass.

He’s taken aback.

“I don’t know, I like the way you make me feel.”

“You mean you like the chase?”

He groans.

“Are you sure you don’t talk to Iwa-Chan?” He throws his head back, your blank face answers his question.

“No it’s not the chase. I just, I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never felt this way before.” He blushes but you’re still not convinced.

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff and he pouts.

“You don’t give me the chance to!”

Which he is right. You pull your knees to your chest, your red cheeks on display.

“Why do you hate me.” He asks and you answer without missing a beat.

“Because you’re cocky. You’re not humble and you get everything served to you on a silver platter. It’s irritating.”

He frowns at that because you’re completely wrong and he lets the hurt be evident on his face.

“That’s not true…” He seems small and you look at him skeptically.

“Ok maybe I do like to gloat. But I’ve earned it. I worked very hard to get where I’m at.”

It’s silent.

All that’s heard is the wind rustling the leaves above.

“Sorry.” You mumble and he blinks at you.

“Guess I misunderstood you.”

You still don’t meet his eyes but he brightens at that.

A chance.

“That’s ok. Can we start over?” He wiggles his brows and you roll your eyes. Yet a smile cracks onto your face.

“Yea, we can start over.”

[lxvebun]

If you ever write caleb dating headcnaons but Highschool or college au I will hand you my life on a silver platter

Nonnie >:) I am humbly awaiting your delivery🫴

Caleb x gender neutral reader. Reader is not mc. Yearning, lovesick Caleb<33 fluff! Brainrot format. English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes<3

Masterlist

Golden boy!Caleb who seemingly has his entire academic life together. Good grades, popularity, some not-so-subtle favoritism from his teachers, colleges just lining up to take him-

Golden boy!Caleb who, despite having it all, still feels like he's lacking something. Sure, he's proud of his achievements, his grades and, yes, popularity isn't a bad thing but these things come rather naturally to him. Every day is starting feel mundanely the same.

Golden boy!Caleb Who's normal routine is pleasantly interrupted when the teacher informs him that he has been assigned to guide a new student around the school, and he should wait in the main hall for them.

Golden boy!Caleb who thinks you're the prettiest being he has ever seen. "Hello's" drying out in his throat and heart picking up in pace as you begin to walk towards him.

Golden boy! Caleb who feels something click into place as you lace your hand into his and introduce yourself. Feels the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, melts a little as he feels the warmth of your skin still lingering on his palm after you pull away.

Golden boy!Caleb who realizes you're what he has been missing all this time.

Golden boy! Caleb who stutters out his own name through nervous smiles. Caleb who feels something warm curl in the back of his mind when you smile with him.

Golden boy!Caleb who's quick to let you in on all the schools secrets. The best study spots. Which floor to hide on when you need a break, how to get away with forgetting to turn your library book in on time, and of course, the best places to eat your lunch in peace. (Doesn't mention that he eats his lunch there as well)

Golden boy!Caleb who takes advantage his teacher's favoritism and asks them to assign him as your desk mate for the rest semester. "Just to keep an eye on the newbie, of course🙂‍↕️"

Golden boy!Caleb who usually didn't care about what other people thought of him, now finds himself putting in a lot of effort to get you to warm up to him quickly. Wether it's sharing notes, lunch breaks, even answers to a test! he's at your beck and call.

Golden boy!Caleb who is horrendously flirty with you, but you just see this as him being nice </3

It's just Caleb being friendly when he practically forces you to give him your bag to carry, slinging it over his shoulder with zero strain despite the heavy books.

It's just Caleb being friendly when he shares his lunch with you when you forget yours, even going as far as buying you a new lunch despite your protests because "lovely things like you should eat well"😵‍💫

It's just sweet, friendly Caleb that uses his Evol to get those pesky books off of ridiculously high library shelves during your study sessions.

Golden boy!Caleb who sometimes feels like tearing his hair out at your obliviousness

Golden Boy!Caleb who thinks you're actually just messing with him on purpose now when you show up to school wearing one of his hoodies—the one he forgot after your last study session. He can practically feel his heart trying to splinter through his ribcage to reach yours.

Golden boy!Caleb who tells you to keep the hoodie on for the rest of the day because its cold. Thats the only reason...nothing else....

Golden boy!Caleb who wears that hoodie to bed that night, delirious off of your perfume. Caleb, who replays the way the sunlight kissed your skin golden through the schools windows, replays the sound of your laugh as he finally got you to crack at one of his jokes over and over again, before he drifts to sleep. His dreams undoubtedly about you.

[weirdmageddon]

first i wanna say whenever i said “differentiation” above i actually meant “individuation”. sorry got them mixed up they’re kinda similar words

#op had no clue you were looking at the tags thank you for the very #very smart addition with all your sources (wow) #felt like I was reading a paper I felt educated! #I love how I didn’t get that into what I was trying to say in tags but you completed my thought anyways #multiple times I went ‘that’s EXACTLY what I’m saying’

whaaat of COURSE i'm looking at the tags. i soak up what people have to say like a sponge. i think i was looking for a discussion and you got the ball rolling by bringing new information to the table i didn't know, but immediately knew how it fit into all the connections i've made, and i accidentally just gave birth to an essay?

i swear i wasn't even intending it to be a full-fledged essay. i just have a lot to say. there is a LOT i keep in my head because i don’t expect most people to have as in-depth of an understanding as me about it, but when it can actually pass as relevant to a discussion i’m so happy to be able to put it out there without alienating myself. from my perspective, twas a normal post for me to make when i have a lot of information i've been sitting on. and i like citing sources so that people can read more if they're interested. but this is probably unusual or for most of the people reading this, i mean who else have you seen casually posting something like this, BE REAL

also, YES "that is EXACTLY what i'm saying" that is one of my favorite feelings ever. i live for that. so glad i could expand on your thoughts!

#also jung in the houseeee!! idk if it’s just my family but we love jung over here #I really gotta read up on it my grandma is a therapist who practices only in jungian(?) #clearly im uneducated on the proper word here it’s also 4 am so forgive me #anyways yeah my gma big into jung then my mom and my brother and I was just talking about the dream book he has today #so I went ‘omg! Jung!’ while reading this #it’s always so nice to see someone with knowledge and passion throw down #I was just gonna stick to canon or in text examples

canon or in-text examples are great too, they’rereally the basis for everything. but i see connections between my interests and can’t help but smash them together in a way that deepens them individually cause they complement each other.

personality typology, carl jung’s ideas, socionics, etc. are given living breathing context to manifest within so it's not just a cerebral abstract theory. it’s reunited with the substance that these psychodynamic theories originated from in the first place.

the venture bros is inextricable from its creators because so much of themselves and their experiences are put into the show. i remember doc once said in some interview “we plumb our own lives”. in the commentary jackson said one of the streets in the show was designed based on a block from his childhood and that these are the same kinds of steps he'd sit on. or in the art book, “what’s one of the most embarrassing things that happened to me in my life that i can write from?” their philosophy is both very “write from what you know” (that’s also what i do). so analysis of the show and its characters, and by necessary extension, the creators, is deepened with tools that allow the analysis into the nature of self that complements the development of characters.

#also I didn’t want to get too into it in my tags bc I do feel uncomfortable theorizing the existence of a character #bc I knew Jackson mom passing had to be such a strong part of him but I felt uncomfortable going into that #they also made this show in their 20s? 30s?#the time frame where you end up thinking about your identity #there’s a commentary where doc mentions he at the time couldn’t let go of internally gay bashing himself #a thing his bullies did that he has now internalize but he found it weird bc he’s so old now and alone so why is he doing it? #and then I went there it is there is that proof I needed to know this is a breathing art

to tell you the truth, when i was writing i actually wasn't thinking about that at all. “feeling uncomfortable theorizing the existence of a character because you knew jackson's mom passing had to be such a strong part of him but felt uncomfortable going into that”. so reading you think that made me feel a smidge guilty/embarrassed in hindsight now for not even considering that. because, yeah, i don’t know jackson in person, i’ve never interacted with him personally. but i know enough about him as a person just through the show itself and how he reveals his personality through his relationship with doc hammer, his own words, his actions and writing decisions and that makes me just…..objectively confident about what he can handle?

i think the reason i didn’t feel uncomfortable talking about it is because i have no reason to think that jackson himself would mind it if he were to hypothetically read this. i don’t think i’m being presumptuous when i say i believe he’d find it interesting and insightful that i linked those things. i think he’d find it a lot more interesting and perceptive than... i dunno, a lot of the interview questions they’ve been asked? from my perspective it's like a “hey, i see you” kind of thing.

i mean come on they had the episode Assisted Suicide which LITERALLY depicts rusty’s id, ego, and super-ego as characters with their own clever designs and shit (it was written by doc hammer but still jackson publick was part of the production and the idea of it.) i really doubt either of them are averse to psychological exploration, so long as it comes from an informed foundation and not someone who literally doesn't know what they're talking about.

like yeah it is personal in the sense that it is personal to his life, but that doesn’t necessarily mean uncomfortably sensitive. you can talk about personal things and still have an ability to neutrally reason about it as a fact of life, or even joke about it. if you think about it that's basically what the whole show kind of is. that’s a big part of the actual spiritual composition of the show, right? (and based on comments i've read around, that's probably why it's got an antidepressant effect for a lot of people.)

as doc says, "we grew up weird and we're doing our best to just spread our version of love. Which is trying to find out who we are." well that's exactly what i'm doing too. exploring psychological forces is the stroke that's underlying the entire show. “how did these actions affect the internal development and emotional development of xyz”. i believe that's part of why why the narrative is so effective and plays off the character's dynamics so well and how they organically evolve.

(p.s. i’d love to have a new edition of the art book that accounts for the movie, assuming they’re not under some NDA about the scrapped season 8 ideas.)

and you’re right it IS breathing art. that’s how the show was made. the creative process was more spontaneous than having the whole thing planned out.

10:28

Chris: But I want to talk about the creative process here. I think fans of Venture Brothers will know the feeling that there’s this kind of amazing tension that drives the show, between planning and discovery. And you’ll have whole seasons or specific episodes that are kind of these amazingly intricate clockwork plots with these insane payoffs, but then there’s also this element of pure discovery, of something that was a toss-off joke or someone who happened to be a background character in one scene, because they were a background character in that scene having to become a main character three seasons later. So, I was just wondering... could you speak to that tension between planning and discovery?

Jackson: Uhh, more discovery than planning. And then just having a dumb memory and ticking on stupid things. And always like, from day one, the least important background character... I insisted that everybody look a little interesting. You know, like everbody’s appearance implied a story we weren’t telling you. And that paid off a few times. We got a few main characters out of that, ultimately. You know, like White and Billy were just these two weirdos at a science convention. And Doc was like, “I wanna write for the little eyepatch metal hand guy. Why does he have that?” You know? And then once you start doing that, you're like... “I gotta tell the story of how he got his metal hand! Cause I got nothing else.”

Chris: Yeah.

Jackson: So yeah, mostly discovery and accident and uh... mental catalogue of everything... that, you know... that sits in the back of your memory for years and these molecules just bounce off of each other.

Doc: Yeah. And we talk about these characters- we spoke in their voices for months. (Jackson laughs) Every day, at the expense of every relationship we’ve ever been in. (Jackson laughs harder) When we invented Sgt. Hatred’s voice, the guy at the deli-

Jackson: Oh my god... (wheezing laughing)

Doc: The guy at the DELI was like “what is WRONG with you”, I’m like, “(Hatred's voice) Eyeah, I’ll be havin”…

Jackson: (laughing)

Doc: “The black and white...”

Jackson: (mic peaking, Hatred's voice) “EYEAH go ahead and uh Slap auh smidge a mustard on that, would ya?”

Doc: Through the voice we developed the character, and everything came from that. And since we’re obsessive about these voices and these characters, we lived them... We can’t have a conversation for more than ten minutes without doing an impression of one of our characters. And usually ones we don’t do. So you get to hear our horrible impressions of each other. That is just the way we thought.

Sean: So this season, why did you decide to explore so much of the Venture past?

Doc: Did we?

Jackson: Did we?

Doc: I think the season before this we got even crazier. We had to answer Billy questions that nobody asked.

Jackson: Right. Yeah, that was the season with old Billy, ORB, uhh..

Doc: Yeah. We went 100 years into the Venture past. So this one we kinda stayed...

Jackson: We did a little Spanakopita, we did a little um, in the Rose stuff and the... but those were pretty quick flashbacky things.

Doc: Little quick flashbacks...

Jackson: But also the show is all about these people who are kinda.. haunted by, and trying to live up to their pasts and what the promise of what their life was supposed to be like. And it’s... the history is constantly pouring more shit down on their heads. Like, we’ve always had a show where things come back to get you like that.

Doc: Even things that happened so long ago and nobody knew about until that moment. Yeah, we work in past, present, future... it’s that kinda show.

#vbros is still to me and morel Orel shows that are created with intention #and by people who were working through a thought so clear you can see it from space #and that intention is something so interesting and unique #anyway amazing analysis

you’re also so right, and thank you for kind words

if i had the opportunity to talk to doc and jackson, i’d love to see what they have to say about what we touched on: about hank’s developmental arc always feeling like it would fit the end of the vbros and kind of culminating in its overarching theme of individuation (whether they explicitly knew it or not. it’s in the material no matter what because that’s what organically happened to the show itself), and what they had wanted to do with him before they had to cut it down to movie size. was hank going to really Go Through the psychological ringer or what. how much were we going to see of that that was cut out.

also the unintentional retreading of jungian ideas in the show (though a lot of superhero stuff is about playing with identity in these ways that could be examined through analytical psychology like bruce banner and his other side, the hulk.) i wanna hear about how playing with the self and personalities and self-discovery factors into it all. hank’s alter-egos being a personification of psychic structures, or complexes/sub-personalities? (was i right about my interpretation?)

how similar is the relationship hank has to his alter-egos to the relationship jackson publick has to hank and the monarch as characters he created? like hank's alter-egos, they could both be considered autonomous mini-personalities stemming from jackson’s own self, as he said hank (and monarch) contained the most of him, drawn from his “own dumb thoughts, actions, and misbeliefs”. like a meta fractal thing. and that’s part of the creative process just as much as anything else about the show, probably one of the most vital to the quality of the characters yet subconscious and not really talked about. i'd looove to dive into that with them.

especially with hank’s no mommy plotline and how personal that was to hank, which reflects jackson’s reality. we can’t really see who worked on what scenes since the movie was collaborative, but i want to know who was writing hank. his emotions felt so authentic but it also felt big because we’ve never seen hank so serious, you could feel a shift with hank buckling down which made it feel important. my guess would be jackson since his understanding would enable him to channel that masterfully into hank which makes it so compelling. but i could be wrong since i know doc said he can write eight pages for psychological issues (look at me doing it too god fucking damn it) but writing action is like a tiny footnote.

basically i wanna talk to them about everything i said up to this point in this post. if anyone reading this has connections, get me in contact. i’m invested in this now.

whereas dean was tormented by being a clone and hank wasn’t, not having a mom or mother figure seemed to torment hank a lot more than dean which is interesting.

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 8: Is This a Shōjo Moment or Am I Just Delusional?

wc: 4930 words

Y/N had spent the entire weekend avoiding eye contact with her friends.

It wasn’t easy, considering they had spent approximately 48 hours analyzing her life choices like a panel of international scholars.

Jungwon’s betrayal had been swift and merciless—dropping the whole “Y/N has a crush on Soobin” bomb in the group chat like he was announcing breaking news. After that, it was over for her.

She had been interrogated. Mocked. Harassed. 

No, it wasn’t the fact that she had a crush on someone outside their usual social circle—her friends couldn’t care less about that. What truly entertained them was how utterly hopeless she was about the whole thing. The disastrous flirting, the way her face cycled through five different shades of pink at the mere mention of Soobin, and, of course, the fact that she literally stole a book because she was too busy staring at him. Y/N couldn’t even be mad at them for teasing her—she rarely got crushes, let alone one this intense, so naturally, her friends had made it their mission to mercilessly roast her for it. 

The relentless teasing was unbearable. They were calling her the smitten swindler. The daydreaming delinquent. Sunoo even changed her contact name to "flirty thief”.

It had gotten so bad that Y/N actually considered changing her name, transferring universities, and moving to a remote mountain village where no one would ever ask about her feelings for Soobin.

Worst of all?

She couldn’t even deny it.

Because yes, she had been spending a suspicious amount of time at the manga shop lately. And yes, maybe she had started looking forward to seeing Soobin, in the way someone might look forward to a season finale of their favorite show. And maybe she liked the way he got all flustered when she talked to him, how he had that adorably awkward charm that made him so easy to tease. Maybe she wanted to keep talking to him, to see how much pinker his ears could get, to hear him stammer over his words just because she looked at him for too long.

Maybe.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that she was going back to the shop today. She hoped the stolen manga volume episode was settled and long forgotten. She was glad she fixed it immediately  and wouldn't be at risk of being known as The Girl Who Scammed Soobin Out of Five Bucks.

Y/N was just about to turn the corner when she almost collided with two suspiciously frantic figures.

Beomgyu and Heeseung.

They skidded to a halt in front of her, wide-eyed, looking like they had just robbed a bank and were making a dramatic getaway. Beomgyu’s hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he had been manhandled by fate itself, while Heeseung clutched a half-eaten bag of chips like it was evidence.

All three of them stood there for a long, tense moment.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What… are you two doing?”

Beomgyu recovered first, throwing an arm in front of Heeseung like they were shielding themselves from interrogation.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly.

Heeseung, not as quick on his feet, pointed a single, accusatory finger back toward the manga shop. “We weren’t messing with Soobin.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I never said you were.”

Beomgyu elbowed Heeseung so hard that his friend stumbled.

���What he meant to say,” Beomgyu said, plastering on his best innocent smile, “is that we were just leaving. Completely normal exit. Totally not escaping after tormenting Soobin for the past fifteen minutes. 100% not before our shift ended.”

Heeseung coughed. “Allegedly.”

Y/N crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You guys realize you’re making this sound way worse than it probably is, right?”

Beomgyu gasped, hand to chest. “Are you saying I look guilty?”

“Yes.”

Heeseung nodded. “Yeah, man. You look guilty as hell.”

Beomgyu shot him a betrayed look. “Bro.” He quickly brushed it and continued to Y/N “How about you? You returned!”

Heeseung crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “At this point, we should be charging you rent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Hilarious.”

Beomgyu smirked. “It’s what I do.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait… why are you here again? Don’t tell me…” His expression turned mockingly serious. “Have you become one of us?”

Heeseung gasped, playing along. “Oh god, she’s joined the dark side.”

Y/N snorted, tilting her head. “I don’t know. Do I get health insurance?”

Beomgyu scoffed. “Of course not, we're not a corporate empire.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t commit,” she sighed, placing a hand over her chest in exaggerated disappointment. “My loyalty can only be bought with dental coverage.”

“I respect that,” Heeseung said solemnly.

Beomgyu nodded. “Fair. The best we can offer is unlimited terrible opinions on anime and occasional emotional damage.”

“Tempting.” Y/N replied.

Beomgyu grinned, nudging Heeseung. “Damn. She’s really holding out.”

“Unbelievable.” Heeseung sighed.

Y/N rolled her eyes, pushing past them. “Anyway, I'm heading inside, bye.”

“Tell our dear Boobie we said hi,” Beomgyu called out.

“Or don’t. Either way, he’ll be thinking about it for the next five hours,” Heeseung added.

Y/N laughed and stepped deeper into the shop. 

The familiar chime of the door made Soobin freeze.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

It was her.

Soobin had barely survived the last time Y/N had been in the shop. He was still recovering from the emotional whiplash of hearing her laugh at his dumb jokes and have a great time with him and his friends. He had spent 48 hours straight reliving their last conversation, analyzing every word, every glance, every microexpression like it was a final exam.

And now?

Now she was back.

Soobin panicked. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides. Should he greet her? Should he pretend to be busy? Should he disappear behind the counter and pray for divine intervention? WHY WAS SHE LOOKING AT HIM?

“Hey,” she said, all casual and cool, like she wasn’t the architect of his current mental breakdown.

Soobin, a certified disaster of a human being, cleared his throat and said, "Hey."

Nailed it.

Y/N wandered toward the shelves, pretending to browse, but Soobin could feel her presence like a rogue asteroid hurtling toward his entire existence.

"I just ran into Heeseung and Beomgyu," Y/N said, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. "They looked like they were fleeing the scene of a crime. I’m guessing they ran off to avoid closing the shop?"

Soobin let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah… they do that sometimes. Their favorite trick is disappearing the second it’s time to do actual work."

Y/N laughed. "Classic. And let me guess—you just let it happen?"

Soobin shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean… I don’t really mind closing up." He offered her a small, shy smile. "I like the quiet."

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. "That’s kind of nice, actually."

Soobin blinked. "What is?"

She gestured around the shop. "That you don’t see it as just a chore. You actually enjoy the time alone here."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. It’s… peaceful. It’s like my own little world when I’m here by myself."

Y/N hummed, eyes flickering toward the shelves, the dim glow of the overhead lights making the space feel cozier than usual. "I get that," she said softly, before turning back to him with a teasing smile. "Still, you should make them suffer a little. Next time, fake a power outage or something."

Soobin laughed, the sound light and so unfairly cute that Y/N almost forgot what air was.

"I’ll keep that in mind," he said, his gaze lingering on her just a second longer than usual.

She kept looking at him, her expression thoughtful. "You’re closing soon then, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Soobin said. He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until closing. Ten minutes until he could collapse in private and overthink this entire interaction for the rest of his life.

Then she said the most unexpected words Soobin had ever heard:

"Do you have plans after this?"

The words barely registered. Was he hallucinating? Had he fallen into an alternate dimension? Had he died and ascended to a better reality where Y/N casually asked him questions that required coherent responses?

He blinked. “Uh. No?”

Y/N smiled like that was exactly the answer she had been hoping for.

Oh God.

"It’s insanely hot outside," she said. "I was thinking of getting ice cream. Want to come?"

He could feel his soul exiting his body.

She was asking him to get ice cream? Him? Choi Soobin? A certified weeb who still hadn’t figured out what to do with his hands in social situations?

His brain short-circuited. He hadn’t been prepared for this. What was he supposed to say? Play it cool? Was there even a way to respond coolly when your crush, who was miles out of your league, just casually asked you out—because that’s what this was, right? An outing. A one-on-one, post-manga-shop, middle-of-summer outing.

Soobin had officially stopped responding.

Meanwhile, Y/N was going through her own mental catastrophe.

Why did she ask? Why did she say that? What if he said no?

The weight of her impulsiveness crashed down on her like a tidal wave. This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to build a friendship, to gradually get closer to him, to not accidentally reveal how much she had been thinking about him for the past few days. But no—her mouth had worked faster than her brain, and now she was standing there, waiting for an answer, exposed.

If he said no, she would die. Right here. Right now. Instant cardiac arrest.

She tilted her head, feigning casual confidence, but on the inside, she was screaming.

Soobin, on the other hand, was experiencing a full-fledged existential crisis.

She had no idea. No idea that he had spent the past two days thinking about every second they had talked, replaying her laugh in his head like some kind of deranged romantic protagonist. No idea that he had debated texting Yeonjun to ask if it was normal to feel this level of panic over a girl saying your name. No idea that she was the reason he had stared at his ceiling last night, questioning everything he knew about his own emotions.

And now she was looking at him, expectant.

Waiting.

Soobin swallowed.

“Uh—”

Say yes. Say yes, you idiot.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m free.”

Oh, thank god. Y/N barely stopped herself from sagging in relief.

“Cool,” she said, trying to sound normal, casual, like her heart hadn’t just tried to escape her ribcage. “It’s way too hot outside, so, you know… ice cream seemed like a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Soobin agreed, still in shock. “Good idea.”

Neither of them moved.

The silence stretched, awkward and ridiculous, as if neither of them actually knew what the next step was. Y/N was still gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline. Soobin’s hands hovered near the counter, still unsure where they were supposed to go.

"Cool. Let’s go." Y/N finally broke the awkwardness. 

Soobin sprang into action like he had just been given a mission of national importance.

He turned so fast he nearly took out an entire display stand, then scrambled to grab the shop keys. Fumbled them. Dropped them. Picked them up like it was all part of the plan. Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing as he hurried to lock up, jamming the key into the lock with the grace of someone defusing a bomb. She had never seen someone so genuinely flustered by the concept of ice cream.

He took a step back, stared at the door for a moment. Then checked the handle. Checked it again. Paused.

Y/N tilted her head. "Worried it’s gonna unlock itself and run away?"

Soobin cleared his throat, stuffing the keys into his pocket like he totally wasn’t just overthinking how doors worked. "Nope. Just being thorough."

"Right," Y/N smirked, crossing her arms. "Because closing up the shop is such an intense, high-stakes operation."

"You never know," he shrugged, playing it cool. "One wrong move and suddenly, the shop is haunted."

Y/N snorted. "Tragic. A ghost manga shop. Forever doomed to misplace volume twos."

"Exactly," Soobin nodded sagely, as if that was exactly what he had been worried about all along.

Finally, they started walking, the warm summer air settling around them like a lazy embrace. The city buzzed softly in the distance, but here, in this quiet stretch of sidewalk, it felt like they had slipped into their own little world.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, neither in a rush to fill it. Soobin walked on auto-pilot, his brain desperately trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

That she was actually here.

Next to him.

Wearing that dress.

Soobin swallowed hard, forcing himself to look straight ahead instead of glancing at her every two seconds like some kind of love-struck idiot. But god—how was he supposed to function when she looked like that? The streetlights cast a soft glow over her, catching the curve of her smile, the way her hands absentmindedly played with the tie of her bag. She had pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling around her face like some kind of dream, and Soobin was losing his mind.

Like—was she aware of what she was doing to him?

Was she trying to make him suffer?

Because it was working.

His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders stiff with effort as he tried to act like a normal human being. Like his heartbeat wasn’t currently attempting to break the sound barrier. Like this was just a regular walk with a regular friend to get regular ice cream.

Not some insanely perfect, slightly surreal moment where the girl he’d been secretly obsessed with for ages had just casually asked him to hang out like it was no big deal.

Was it a big deal?

For her? Probably not.

For him?

Catastrophic.

Soobin risked a quick glance at her—just a peek, just to see if she looked as relaxed as she seemed—and oh, bad idea.

She was smiling softly, eyes flicking up toward the sky like she was just content to be here. Completely unaware of the fact that Soobin was fighting for his life.

As for Y/N, for the first time all day, it felt like she could breathe.

She shouldn’t feel nervous. This was fine. It was just ice cream.

And yet—her heart had other plans.

Because Soobin was right there, walking beside her, hands stuffed into his pockets like he was trying to look cool and casual –and failing, but in an endearingly awkward way. The soft glow of the streetlights highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell a little too perfectly over his eyes, and it was honestly a little unfair.

Since when was he this cute?

Since when did his voice make her stomach flip whenever he spoke? And why did she suddenly care so much about how she looked right now?

She had thrown on this summer dress without thinking, tied her hair up in a quick ponytail, and hadn’t even looked in the mirror before leaving—but now she was hyper-aware of every detail. Was the dress too much? Did she look too eager? Too much like she had been thinking about this all day?

Which, to be clear, she absolutely had been.

But it wasn’t like she could admit that.

No. She had to play it cool. She had to pretend that this wasn’t a big deal, that she wasn’t freaking out over every single thing he did—the way he kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, the way he had triple-checked the shop’s lock like he needed to stall for time, the way his lips kept parting like he wanted to say something but kept overthinking it.

He was nervous.

And somehow, that made her feel better.

Because if Soobin was nervous, that meant she wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

Y/N exhaled slowly, eyes flicking up toward the sky, pretending to be lost in thought while, in reality, she was panicking.

Did this mean something to him? Or was she just reading way too much into this?

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, watching as he pretended to be completely fine when he was very much not.

And god—he was adorable.

"Relax, Soobin," she teased. "It’s just ice cream."

Just ice cream.

Yeah. Sure.

Just ice cream with the girl who was rapidly becoming his entire world.

Soobin forced himself to nod, ignoring the way his palms were sweating. "Right. Just ice cream. Totally chill. Super normal."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You keep saying that, but you look like you’re preparing for a boss fight."

Soobin laughed nervously. "No boss fight. Just… casual dessert consumption."

"Okay, now you’re making it weird."

"I know," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know how to be normal right now."

Y/N laughed, nudging his arm lightly. "Don’t worry. I think it’s cute."

Oh. Oh.

Soobin froze mid-step, his entire body locking up like a glitching video game character. Heat flooded his face instantly, spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, the kind of overwhelming warmth that no amount of cool summer air could fix.

His heart slammed against his ribs, beating so fast it felt physically impossible to appear normal. He could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, in the way his breathing completely betrayed him—shallow, uneven, a total giveaway.

His brain? Useless. Completely wiped.

Every coherent thought? Gone. Vanished. Evaporated into the night air.

Because she called him cute.

And now, Soobin was approximately five seconds away from having a full meltdown before he could even enter the ice cream shop. 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The ice cream shop was small but full of charm, the kind of place that felt like it had been plucked straight from another decade and preserved in a bubble of nostalgia. The floors were checkered in black and white, slightly worn from years of foot traffic, while the pastel-colored walls were decorated with vintage posters of old-school sundaes and milkshakes, their edges curling slightly from age. A massive neon sign in bubblegum pink script hung above the counter, glowing softly against the pale yellow paint:

"LIFE IS SHORT, EAT DESSERT FIRST."

The air smelled like sugar and vanilla, mixed with the cool, almost frosty scent of fresh-made waffle cones. The hum of the old freezer in the back blended with the occasional cheerful chatter of customers, their voices muffled under the soft tunes of a jukebox in the corner, currently playing a faint, crackly rendition of some forgotten ‘60s love song.

A row of bright red barstools lined the counter, their vinyl cushions shiny and slightly creased from years of customers swiveling around excitedly while waiting for their orders. Behind the counter, an old-fashioned glass display case showcased rows of toppings—sprinkles, chocolate chips, crushed Oreos, chopped nuts—all arranged in little stainless steel trays. The ice cream tubs were lined up behind it, colorful and inviting, from classic vanilla to an electric blue cotton candy that practically glowed under the lights.

Soobin tried not to read too much into that.

"This place is cute," Y/N mused, stepping up to the counter, her eyes flickering across the pastel menu overhead. She traced a finger along the glass display, inspecting the toppings. "I feel like I just walked onto the set of a ‘60s diner movie."

"Yeah," Soobin nodded, a little too stiffly. Still recovering from being called cute. "I come here a lot. They know me."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Got a secret ice cream addiction?"

Soobin blinked. Oh no. Did he just make it sound like he came here alone all the time? That was embarrassing. That was so embarrassing. He scrambled for a recovery.

"Uh—no, I mean, like, with my friends. Sometimes. Not… like, alone. Not that it’s weird to eat ice cream alone! People do that! I just—"

Y/N snorted, cutting him off. "Soobin, relax. I wasn’t about to judge your solo ice cream adventures."

He groaned, covering his face. "I—can we just pretend I never said anything?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully, turning to the menu. "This is getting filed under ‘Things To Tease Soobin About Forever.’"

Soobin sighed in defeat as the employee behind the counter—an older lady with bright purple glasses—gave him a knowing smirk. "Your usual, sweetie?"

Y/N turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Oh, so you do come here often."

Soobin felt exposed.

"Just, uh… sometimes."

Y/N grinned, clearly enjoying this too much. "What’s your usual?"

Soobin hesitated. "…Cotton candy."

Silence.

Y/N slowly turned her head to look at him, like she wasn’t sure she heard correctly.

"Cotton candy?"

Soobin shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

Y/N pressed her lips together. "Like… bright blue cotton candy?"

He nodded stiffly.

A long pause. Then—

She burst out laughing.

"Hey!" Soobin protested, ears turning pink. "What’s wrong with cotton candy?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Y/N waved a hand, still giggling. "It’s just… I thought you’d be more of a ‘chocolate fudge’ or ‘cookies and cream’ kind of guy, but no—here you are, ordering the most childlike flavor possible."

Soobin crossed his arms. "And what’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she said again, biting her lip to hold back a fresh wave of laughter. "It’s just unexpectedly… adorable."

Soobin groaned. "I literally can’t win with you."

"Never," she agreed.

The employee chuckled. "And what’ll you have, sweetheart?"

Y/N took a moment, scanning the options. "Hmm… I’ll take a double scoop. Coffee and caramel."

Soobin eyed her. "You make fun of my cotton candy, but you’re out here getting the most ‘retired old man’ flavor combo?"

"Listen," she said, as if she were about to impart wisdom, "coffee ice cream is elite. You’ll understand when you grow up."

Soobin scoffed. 

They took their ice creams to a booth by the window, the shop buzzing with low conversation and the occasional clatter of spoons against glass. Outside, the summer night stretched lazily, warm air still lingering despite the late hour.

"So, let’s talk serious business," Y/N said, leaning forward. "If you had to pick one anime character to fight, who would it be?"

Soobin frowned, licking his ice cream. "Why would I want to fight anyone?"

"Because," she said, as if this was common knowledge, "sometimes a character just deserves to get drop-kicked."

Soobin considered this. "Okay… maybe Mineta from MHA?"

"Strong choice," Y/N nodded approvingly. "Now, are we talking one punch, or are you committing to a full-blown brawl?"

"Depends. Do I get powers?"

"Nope. Just raw Soobin strength."

He scoffed. "Okay, so I die."

Y/N grinned. "Probably. But hey, it’s the thought that counts."

Soobin shook his head, smiling. "What about you?"

He asked the question casually, like this was just a normal conversation between two normal people getting ice cream. Like he wasn’t currently having a minor crisis over how pretty she looked.

Because God, she was so pretty.

The soft glow of the neon lights reflected in her eyes, making them shine a little brighter, and her lips curled into the kind of easy, confident smirk that made his stomach feel light. Her hair, still pulled up in that loose ponytail, framed her face perfectly—like she had stepped right out of a coming-of-age movie where the effortlessly cool girl always steals the scene.

And that’s what got him the most.

More than just how pretty she was, it was how cool she was. Not in a forced, try-hard kind of way, but in that effortless, annoyingly natural way that made everything she did seem interesting. She wasn’t just some untouchable campus princess, like he once thought. No—she was funny, quick-witted, and so ridiculously at ease in a way that he would never be.

She could poke fun at him without making him feel stupid. She could carry a conversation without making it awkward. And somehow, she had completely flipped the dynamic—because Soobin had always assumed he’d be the one intimidated by her, but now?

Now he was realizing that she wasn’t trying to be intimidating at all. She was just… her. And maybe that was the coolest part of all.

Soobin swallowed, suddenly very aware that he had been staring.

"Oh, easy," she said, not even hesitating. "Makoto Itou from School Days."

Soobin nearly choked on his ice cream. "Y/N—that’s not a fight. That’s a crime scene."

"Exactly."

He stared at her. "…Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"Too late," she teased, stealing a small bite of his cotton candy ice cream.

Soobin froze.

Because suddenly, his brain wasn’t thinking about anime fights anymore. Suddenly, it was too busy processing the fact that Y/N had just eaten off his spoon like it was no big deal while he was sitting here actively dying.

He needed to distract himself, fast.

Soobin reached for his drink—his beloved Coke Zero.

And in a tragic twist of fate, his brain-to-hand coordination failed spectacularly.

The cup slipped. His fingers fumbled.

And in the span of one horrifying second—

Coke Zero. All over Y/N’s bag.

Soobin’s soul left his body.

"Oh my god—Y/N, I—"

Y/N looked down at the mess, blinking. Then, to his absolute shock, she just shrugged, not fazed at all.

"It’s fine."

"Fine?!" Soobin gawked. "I just—your bag—I—"

"It’s just a bag, Soobin," she laughed, dabbing at it with a napkin. "Relax."

Relax. Relax?!

Did she not realize that he was on the verge of collapsing from sheer mortification?

"I—let me take it home and wash it," he blurted, already reaching for the bag. What the fuck am I saying? Wash it? 

Y/N pulled it back. "It’s really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," he insisted. "I ruined it. Please. Let me fix it."

Y/N studied him for a moment, lips twitching.

Then, in a move that should have been Soobin’s first clue that she was up to something, Y/N let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Alright," she relented, dramatically sliding the bag toward him like she was making a high-stakes business deal. "But only if you promise to take very good care of it."

Soobin nodded furiously, sitting up a little straighter, dead serious. "Of course. I’ll have it back to you in perfect condition."

And he meant it. He was going to treat this bag like a priceless artifact. He’d hand-wash it, air-dry it, maybe even apologize to it for what he had done. There was no room for error.

Y/N tilted her head, clearly amused by how intense he was about this. A slow, knowing smirk crept onto her face.

"Great," she said, way too casually. "In that case…"

She extended her hand to him as if expecting him to give her something. 

Before Soobin could even process, she asked him “You’ll need my number."

Soobin’s brain flatlined.

He stared at the phone in his hand like she had just asked him for the nuclear launch codes. Like this was a trick, a test, a hidden camera prank where, any second now, someone would jump out and yell, "GOTCHA! YOU REALLY THOUGHT?"

His ears burned. His palms definitely weren’t dry anymore.

Meanwhile, Y/N just waited, looking perfectly at ease, like this was no big deal—like she hadn’t just turned his entire world on its axis with one simple sentence.

Soobin swallowed, struggling to function. 

Because, okay—sure, maybe she was just being practical. Maybe she was thinking, I need this idiot to return my bag, so obviously, I should give him my number.

But also…

Was this an excuse?

Was she doing this on purpose?

Because if she was, she was evil.

Soobin gave her the phone with shaky fingers, hesitating only for a fraction of a second before she started typing in her number. Y/N could feel his eyes on her, like he was watching closely, studying her as if trying to uncover her true motive. 

Y/N grinned as she saved the contact, tapping at his screen before showing it to him.

“Y/N 🫡”

He blinked. "…What’s with the salute?"

She shrugged, giving him his phone back. "Just making sure you know your bag-washing duties are of the highest importance."

He put his phone back in his pocket quickly, carefully, like he might accidentally ruin this moment if he held onto it too long.

Soobin huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Of course. National emergency level."

"Exactly." She leaned back, twirling her spoon between her fingers. "Oh, and don’t think this means you get to ignore me after you return the bag."

Soobin’s heart did something weird.

He blinked at her, trying to decode the sentence in real-time. "Wait. What?"

Y/N smirked, teasing, playful. "You have my number now. Use it."

Soobin’s brain short-circuited for the second time that night.

And Y/N?

She just sat there, eating her ice cream like she hadn’t just sent him into emotional cardiac arrest.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: this is the cutest chapter so far ig, i'm down bad for shy nervous soobin!! cotton candy THE BLUE ONE is my fav ice cream flavor btw hehe he has her number now, imagine him trying to text her i'm dying already! please let me know what you guys think in the comments hehe tysm for your support!! <3

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn@lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver @lveegsoi

[irmakkockan]

SECRET RELATIONSHIPS EP 8: SORRY, THIS IS MY WORST TAKE BUT I JUST NEED THE CRAZY

This is the hardest goodbye.

I just can’t deal with the fact that it’s over. Like, how? What’s next? I genuinely don’t know what to do with myself.

So, was this crazy, or was it FUCKING CRAZY?

OF COURSE, the kidnapper was Jaemin. I mean, that man is DERANGED. And I totally called it - “UNTIL WE DIE NATURALLY OR I KILL YOU” was his note (lol in fact lmao) - but I never imagined he’d take it that literal right in that moment. I was SCREAMING every time he said something unhinged or did something even crazier.

What this show did so well is how it built Jaemin’s insanity knot by knot. When his smile disappeared the moment he turned away from his students. When he kept causing problems between Daon and his family. When he paid someone to take Daon’s naked pictures. When he paid someone to hurt Daon’s sister. We should have known this would happen. This was inevitable. And yet, watching him lose it completely was so much fun. But honestly, ninety percent of this belongs to Kim Hoyoung. HOLY FUCK, sir. You were a sight to behold, and I’m committing to every single series you’ll ever act in.

Now, what about my actual obsession, my one true love, Suhyeon? Guys, don’t come at me. I know that man should be in therapy and nowhere near a human being (but I can fix him, okay??). I AM AWARE. My love is ninety percent Cha Jung Woo, ten percent for THE BEAUTIFUL CHAOS THAT COULD HAVE BEEN. The series is over. Just let me live.

I don’t know how I feel about Suhyeon freezing and even stepping back when Jaemin charged at Daon. Like, the show wants us to call him a coward (and Jaemin DID, which is just… wow), but this man almost MURDERED a guy for trying to assault Daon. He beat him with his bare hands. What I actually think happened is that the writers needed an easy way for Suhyeon to finally let Daon go. That’s why I’m conflicted - because, yes, on-screen, he’s a coward, and obviously Daon deserves better, but it feels like a cop-out for his character. Suhyeon deserved another kind of realization that he’s lost Daon, not just freezing up and letting Jaemin of all people call him out. UGH.

Also, um, maybe - like how are we normalizing throwing yourself in front of a knife for someone else? Like, I get it. I get the symbolism, the sacrifice, the whole “kill me instead” moment. But. Is this really a requirement for love now? Because I cannot deal with this being a standard. YES, I KNOW IT LOOKS LIKE I’M JUST MAKING EXCUSES FOR SUHYEON. I AM AWARE. This is my last post on this series, guys. JUST BEAR WITH ME.

At this point, I can finally acknowledge the manhwa now that I’ve read it. Manhwa-Suhyeon? Less violent but still problematic. That forced kiss scene still happens (there is even some sex!). But there’s an undercurrent of emotions between him and Daon - something that never quite went away. Which makes their final separation even more painful.

And this also makes so much more sense when we think about the contract. Both in the series and the manhwa, Jaemin tells Daon that he rejected him because he knew Daon had always been in love with Suhyeon. The contract was Jaemin’s entire plan to stop their love before it ever started. But in the show, this deep love feels more like Jaemin’s delusion, whereas in the manhwa, it’s actually true. What Daon felt for Jaemin wasn’t even remotely close to what he felt for Suhyeon. AND THAT IS MY VINDICATION. 😭

So, I think the show did Suhyeon and Daon’s final goodbye dirty. In the manhwa, you feel the hurt. Even though Daon knows he won’t end up with Suhyeon, there’s still so much pain in their parting. In the show? We barely even see Daon react. And that undermines the entire reason Jaemin pulled his contract stunt in the first place. IT WAS BECAUSE DAON LOVED SUHYEON ALL ALONG. 😭 But I know most people won’t care about this as much as I do - so I’ll just sit here and suffer in silence. Apologies for the rant.

Of course, the best scene in the entire finale was Jaemin and Suhyeon’s confrontation at the police station. A fucking masterclass in acting from both Kim Hoyoung and Cha Jung Woo. I think I’ve rewatched that scene at least five times now. And honestly? I’m still impressed that Suhyeon managed to grab Jaemin and lock them in a room despite being surrounded by cops. LOL. Suhyeon, you crazy, perfect bastard, I love you. 😭

And then, of course, we get the happy ending - Daon and Seonghyeon are together, Suhyeon is finally free of his obsession (and sad, yet always hot), Jaemin is locked up where he belongs. What more do you need?

I did enjoy the kisses and the softness, but for me, the show ended the second Jaemin and Suhyeon walked out of the scene and took all the crazy with them (pls don’t kill me).

DEAR SECRET RELATIONSHIPS, I LOVED YOU SO. GOODBYE. 💔💔

[pinkcutiepiee]

Bucky Barnes Proposing💌

Day 5 of 5 of my Valentines Writing Event💌 || Masterlist🍓

Warnings; mention of anxiety but nothing in great detail. Not proofread

Apologies about the delay on this one!!

Bucky had never known anxiety like this before. Usually, his solution would be to seek you out for comfort. However, in this instance, that is not an option. Not unless he wants to spoil the surprise, that is. He's worked so hard to make this perfect, and now at the last minute, his palms have become clammy and his mouth dry. His heart seemed to be beating 10x its normal rate - and he felt almost as if he'd forgotten how to act like a normal, functioning human.

When you arrived home, he somehow felt worse. Words become trapped in his throat and everything becomes paralysed as you embrace him. He struggles as you pull away and ask him if everything is okay. Allowing you to talk about your day, he feels himself returning to his usual self. The muscles in his face don't feel so tense, and he finds that he is becoming more vocal now, too.

Sensing the subtle changes in him since your arrival home, you don't comment on it, but make a mental note. Bucky’s struggles with anxiety isn’t anything new - so coming home to him not acting like his usual self wasn’t unusual, but did not stop you worrying.

“How about a trip to the beach?” He asks out of the blue. It’s not that you don’t enjoy going to the beach - it just seemed a little strange that he asked. You haven’t been to or even spoken about going to the beach in months. You accept anyway, the idea of spending the evening with you favourite man watching the sunset sound like the perfect way to end the week.

Once you finally arrive at the beach, Bucky seems anxious again. You catch him trying to control his breathing one too many times before asking if he’s okay as you sit on the blanket you brought.

“Of course, doll,” he smiles before kissing your lips softly. Playing with his hair, you smile in the kiss as you feel him relax under your touch. Deep down, though, he was as anxious as he’d ever been. It’s now or never, he thinks.

As you pull away from the kiss, mumbles what sounds like 'here goes nothing' before speaking, then pulls out the most beautiful ring with shaking hands - your hand coming straight to your mouth as you gasp softly.

"I planned a whole speech for this, but I don't think I'll be able to make it through it all...” he starts with a deep breath, and you can already feel the tears fill your pretty eyes.

“I just want to let you know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me… you saved me at a time when I thought I could never be saved and believed I didn't even deserve saving. I love you with my whole heart, and words cannot express how grateful I am for you,”

You’re sobbing at this point, and even if you hadn’t seen the tears fall from Bucky’s eyes; the cracks in his voice would’ve told you that he was also crying. He stops before asking the question, taking a moment to compose himself and take a deep breath.

“I would be honoured if you were to become my wife, will you marry me?" He looks you in the eye as he asks, and you can tell he looks scared. Scared that you’ll reject him. You’re going to spend every day for the rest of time showing him just how much you love him, to show him that he deserves it.

“Yes, of course I will,” you sob, as he places the ring on your finger. When you kiss your now fiancé, you taste the saltiness from his tears, and you’re sure he can taste yours. Once you’re done, you sit and watch the sunset together; looking forward to forever.

[sockatoothewafflebird]

PART 2 OF WAFFLES YAPS ABOUT TIME BUDDIES BECAUSE NO ONE WILL STOP THEM

if you want context for this here's THIS post. it is very long. this one probably will be as well.

ahem ahem. where did we leave off... ah, yes. The Realization.

(once again under the cut bc oh dear the bird is squawking someone stop her) (the bird is me. i am the bird)

🦜!

to put it simply, their dynamic is: gabbro fell first, but elbaite fell harder. gabbro's liked elbaite for a few years now, actually. they just haven't really thought about it.

so. gabbro is just along for the ride. whatever comes with their discoveries is just another blob of knowledge on their pile to them.

after the loops, when they're the closest to ellie they've ever been, they realize they're waaaay out of their area of expertise. they're not a very romantic person. they've never really tried to flirt (on purpose), nor have they really been flirted with all that much. (one could even say.... they got that L rizz.... *dies*) honestly they don't really mind it. they could live without romance, their facade is thick enough that they can act normal around someone the like (or love). their love is a quiet one, quiet enough they haven't really noticed it until recently.

like, ellie will be holding them in the hammock. and they'll feel all happy smiley and fluttery and warm. and they're thinking, "ah, so that's why i feel like this. good to know." and then they go about their day.

elbaite! oh boy, ellie. they're so preoccupied with trying to solve the mystery that they only realize their feelings after gabbro forces them to take a break loop and they watch gabbro play the flute. they're watching their lips. ...their lips... i wonder if they're a good kisser...

and then it's, wait, what? why would i think that? ew! but, oh. oh no. i'm not grossed out, not at all. i like the idea of kissing them, oh, oh stars, uhhm. ...oh. well shit.

and then they do absolutely nothing about those feelings because they're trying their hardest to put together the pieces of this insane puzzle that spans their entire solar system. they don'y have time to figure out the puzzle that is their feelings, thank you very much.

they don't do much about their feelings other than intense mutual pining and the occasional flirty joke that turns them both purple. then they start to become the "act like they're madly in love but theyre not even dating" trope. they care about each other, that's all that really matters at the time.

until, of course, they find solanum. this is where the au idea begins to take shape. basically due to funky eye of the universe business solanum can remember all the times ellie and gabby have visited her, and they realize there's a way to free her. so they do, and the three become the time buddies trio. ellie and gabby start to learn nomaian (they already knew some before just because ellie taught themself and then taught gabbro) and solanum starts to realize "oh wait, the way they're acting doesnt seem to be normal for hearthians! i must get to the bottom of this."

so then solanum goes sneaky mode and begins asking the two (separately, because she wants them to figure it out on their own... solanum gets the best wingwoman ever award lol) about why they're Like That around each other. Like That, meaning: flirting, cuddling, bonking heads, smiling like little kids at each other,

yknow what just. here's an example of an average interaction between the three. came up witht his on the spot but it's perfectly accurate to

--

"hey," elbaite says. they're teetering over the edge of a hole in brittle hollow's wide-open crust, peering down with an edge of mischief to their words. "wanna see who can get to white hole station the fastest?"

gabbro chuckles. "you know i'll beat you, buddy. you just want me to catch you when you inevitably come hurtling towards the gravity panels."

"aha yea, you got me. those big, strong arms are just irresistible, y'know." elbaite gently taps their helmet against gabbro's, and without warning jumps off of the crust of the hollow and into its belly.

gabbro follows, shouting something inaudible as they come out of signal range. solanum flicks her radio to long-range, takes a seat at the edge of the crust, and listens. not a sound slips from her lips. she quite enjoys eavesdropping on these two.

elbaite is laughing. "gabbs, seriously, there's a- there's a huge chunk of the crust behind you, we gotta move, lemme go-"

"nah, not until you let me admire your voluptuous arm muscles--" a loud thunk noise comes through the radio, "--OW! hey!"

"eugh. if you ever say voluptuous again i'm leaving you stranded on your island."

"but it's, like, objectively true. you're pretty strong." gabbro's voice seems to be losing its punch. "or, just strong. or just pretty. ah, both of those things together, and both separate. any of those combinations work out pretty okay. y'know. words. ...anyway."

solanum just recently became familiar with this uniquely hearthian word. there's no perfectly accurate nomaian counterpart. the word is positive, referring to anything nice to look at. it is the more casual version of beautiful, which does have a direct translation.

pretty. gabbro uses it quite often when referring to elbaite.

"...i win." a soft thump, solanum assumes from elbaite reaching the station.

"cool, cool." silence, for a moment. "catch me?"

"wh- no, i- HOUGH--"

solanum stares into the belly of the hollow. she is entirely unequipped to speak on the social behaviors of hearthians, but she knows for a fact that no pair of creatures can speak in this manner and not be utterly infatuated. (with her having studied and practiced hearthian language enough to pick up on background conversation, she's become keenly aware of how intensely romantic her companion's' interactions are. it amuses her to no end.)

---

ahem ahem. once again these dynamics will be fleshed out in a fic, someday, maybe. but for now if you want more yaps or would like to ask questions let me know and i'll keep yapping until the cows come home. or rather, until the universe ends. which is in about seven hours if the ship's timer calculated it correctly... *ahem.* to be continued, probably!

next up on waffles yaps about time buddies because no one is there to stop him: they're dating now! yaaay! next yap will be about when theyre dating! or at the very least how they start dating. tell me yoyr thoughts about this if you want i love talking to people about The Blorbos

[katerinaaqu]

Hello, how true is the idea that every monster Odysseus faced was a reflection of him. I've seen a lot of comparisons between what Odysseus crew did to the Cyclops and compare it to the suitors and people using tht as a basis for ths argument

Hope ths make sense

??

Okay I kinda see where this is coming from for the Cyclops but honestly I do not see it. Not at all. Much less with the rest of the monsters he faced.

Polyphemus cave in my eyes have nothing to do with the Suitors to Odysseus's palace but I think people by n large are confused with it and rightfully so because of how the custom of Xenia is being pictured in ancient literature. Normally anyone can ask for hospitality to everyone and then the owner of the establishment by n large is expected to accept if they wanna name themselves as faithful to the gods because hospitality is sacred. Normally the person seeking hospitality should ask for it to the owner and wait for them to return if not there and then ask permission to live in their establishment which as I said the owner by n large is expected to accept the request.

True here of course the Polyphemus case is a bit unorthodox given how the owner was not there so when the heroes came in the cave they didn't have the official permission just yet. The problem is here that we talk on a cave instead of a house so they didn't have a yard to wait to or a hall either. so in one way they passed through the "gate" which was also, though, the entrance to Polyphemus's home. The establishment was obviously not human either given how everything was large at size. However the deal is that Odysseus had brought gifts of Xenia with him, the godly wine he received from Maron in Ismarus. It was a very good gift to offer in return for hospitality. He even rejected the suggestion of his scared men to steal what they could and run because they are not thieves. So by some general definition Odysseus still honored the custom of Xenia. He waited for Polyphemus to come back home and request hospitality from him. The plan of course would be to exchange their personal information too. Ironically here it was Polyphemus the one to do so by mentioning who he is while Odysseus concealed his.

Odysseus realized the foe wouldn't respect Xenia when Polyphemus laughed at it. Arguably Odysseus already was afraid of that when he saw how Polyphemus looked and acted like. Which is why he requests Xenia but then he offers the alternative of offering each other gifts and go about their ways. That seemed like a bargaining paper, for he feared for his and his men's safety already so he hoped the idea of Polyphemus receiving a good gift and giving them something back would save them catastrophe. Unfortunately that didn't happen. Polyphemus not only doesn't respect the law of Xenia but he even twists it to a monstrous degree by consuming his guests. Then Odysseus realized he would have no Xenia there thus in a way twisting it back by not introducing himself to Polyphemus or offering a fake alias (in this case the trick of Nobody) and giving him a fake story so that he could protect the rest of his fleet as well. At that point I am not sure we can talk about Odysseus and his men violating the law of Xenia since there was no Xenia given in the first place

The Suitors followed a more normal route to ask for Xenia but the difference is that instead of honoring it with bringing gifts of Xenia back they just kept on consuming the wealth of the palace without bringing anything in return while harassing the residents and all their assets and slaves and servants. It took them full 4 years and Penelope's deception that she wanted supposed wedding gifts that they actually brought back something of value to replace what they ate. Odysseus didn't do the same. He entered the cave yes, that was because the cave was unorthodox place to stay in the first place, while carrying with him gifts of good value to give to his future host. He didn't take advantage of his host nor harassed him. On the contrary, he suffered at the hands of Polyphemus and lost six men.

As for the rest of the creatures he faced like Laestrygonian Giants, Skylla, Charybdis, Sirens...is really hard to say straight out that they are "reflections of himself". We can definitely speak on perhaps a foreshadowing of the end for example Laestrygonians spearing his men and killing them COULD be a foreshadowing of the killing of the suitors while Skylla COULD be the selection of the people that Odysseus deemed worthy or loyal enough to be trusted while he would do it But the Sirens seem more like the ultimate knowledge he might want to accquire rather than his own personal side. If anything they are also the symbol of something that sets you astray. The thirst for knowledge in its dangerous form, the seeking of something that might make you lose your path, something that Odysseus didn't do in that stage. His curiosity seems to be one of the things that brought destruction upon themselves but Odysseus also had a backup plan in this case; his ship. He was tied on the mast when it happened.

So yeah we could perhaps seek some elements of the story itself rather than seeking sides of Odysseus to the monsters he faced. I do not seem to see a mirror of personality to these creatures. Mostly I see hints or possible symbolism or foreshadowing of the final part (which was already foretold anyways) but I cannot say they represent Odysseus himself. The locations are also mentioned to the trip of the Argonauts so it seems more like a cartography of the dangerous parts of the Mediterrannean and all the local myths that Greeks connected to their presence there rather than a straight out connection to Odysseus as a persona.

Hope that makes sense! ^^;

[gingersnaptaff]

💖 for lancelot gawain and ragnelle ?? <33

Hi, Richie! Am super afraid this prompt ran away from me and also I completely fucked up the Lamorak-Morgause affair and aftermath for the 💫story💫 but it's okay cuz you get GAWAIN TIME.

(Also, I hc that Gawain's sun powers mean that when it becomes wintertime his whole body just shuts down. So it is a combo of SAD and chronic pain.)

Anyways, here u go!!!

Sunlight

Gawain supposed it to be the easiest thing in the world, fighting. He knew he was good at it - accomplished even - knew he craved the head-dizzying rush that derived from it, the wounds, the pride, the iron tang of blood. He much preferred it to lording over all, clad in ermine and silks. It was as an integral part of him as breathing. Certainly, it fizzed through his blood as well as the sun's rays, those amber-honeyed shafts of light that effervesced through his being from dawn till dusk. They hollowed him out until he could no longer bear their excruciating rush.

And then, he'd crumple to the floor as if he were a dirty dish rag, devoid of all sense and purpose.

Catatonia, his mother called it.

Witnesslesness, had been Ag's snarled retort when they'd been naught but adolescents traipsing through the sunlit undergrowth of Orkney's forests.

Yes. Witlessness.

A fine word for it, but, in truth, not exact.

Witlessness didn't take him to his bed for months on end once the skies darkened and winter’s shroud set in. Frail and feeble, he'd stagger about in his chambers back in Camelot as gaunt as a wizened old man. He highly doubted it would've sapped his vigour either. Even his hair did not escape from the loss of sun. Its normal fiery hue turned brittle, whitening to the damage shade as the snows that Orkney endured at that time of year.

And now, here he was. Back home. Back at his family’s castle. Its black, craggy walls loomed above him, a gnarled trunk of a thing. Purple raptor-emblazoned remnants snapped in the bitter wind. An imposing welcome for the first-born son, he thought wryly as he stared up at it, the boat swaying beneath his feet.

His stomach lurched. Not even the steadying warmth of his wife’s hands in his could abate the sickness that leadened his limbs.

Cowardness did not become him. Craven, that's what he was. Doddery.

Yet, at that moment, he could not bring himself to care. Let him be so. Nothing would sustain him so much as sunlight. Not even the odd, delighted tingling that had burrowed itself deep in its belly like a dagger in his side.

Orkney smelled the same as it always did in wintertime - salt and snow, and little else. Seabirds swarmed, eagerly awaiting the glut of first they thought the craft would surely supply.

A thin smile came to Gawain's lips at that. They'd be sorely disappointed.

They docked easily enough, despite the choppiness of the sea. Staring up at the castle, Gawain's stomach flipped. Blood all but evaporated from his body. The clouds, dark and foreboding, coalesce above it into a blob.

Soon it would storm.

He sighed heavily, sagging against the wall of the ship. Lancelot and Ragnelle, standing on either side of him, quickly noticed.

“Are you well?” His wife asked, the sultry smoke of her voice fugging his brain.

He nodded, tight-lipped, in reply. Nausea threatened to make his stomach revolt.

God, he'd not stepped off the boat and he already felt wretched.

“All will be well,” she murmured, running a hand through his hair. Dark eyes shining with barely disguised concern, she tutted softly at the beads of sweat on his forehead. And then, sharply: “Lancelot, grab him, won't you? I don't wish for my husband's doddery limbs to give out the second he gets onshore.”

A bark of laughter issued from Gawain's right. Lancelot's blue gaze shone with merriment, a sunlit sea despite the endless grey. “Of course,” he smoothly replied, gallant and guileless. His Breton accent was mink fur against Gawain's skin. His chest tightened, spasming all the more when Lance duly wrapped a well-muscled arm around his waist. A waft of perfume emanated from him; meadowsweet, if Gawain was not mistaken. “Come now, Gawain. You're blushing like a maid!”

He grumbled, shooting him an evil-eyed stare. His head throbbed. Mouth dry he only croaked, “Awful.”

Lancelot's face lit up. His smile sharpened into a smirk. “I'm awful? That wasn't what you said last night. You begged me to alleviate your needs and I did. What am I, if not a charitable sort, eh?”

With a rather put-upon sigh, Ragnelle interjected, “Perhaps you might continue your teasing once you have given our beloved your aid, good sir knight?”

Duly reprimanded, Lancelot nodded and aided Gawain across the ship and down the gang plank.

Glass embedded itself in his lungs every time he breathed. The air was frigid. Sharp. His legs wavered. Bolts of fire shot up his spine. Stomach lurching from the dreariness of his entire being, the feeling of having water-legs, and the now too-solid ground beneath his feet, Gawain knew he'd have to plead sickness in order to release himself from whatever… celebrations his brothers had planned.

“There we are,” Lancelot murmured, huffing goodnaturedly when Gawain slumped against him. Ragnelle immediately took him into her arms. Her eyes were soft, adoring.

Gawain's heart skipped a beat. The Breton knight, the Lake's Son as the bards called him, grinned knowingly, but did not tease him. He was simply content to admire Ragnelle as she deftly maneuvered Gawain over the rocky beach, lagging behind a little so as to let husband and wife have their peace.

“Does your head still ail you?” His wife said, her eyes tight and searching. Her voice blurred in his ears, while she fuzzed in his rapidly distorting vision.

He swallowed. His throat felt blocked. A wheezed crackle left his lips in lieu of words. Suddenly, as if he were a flower sagging beneath frost, the Hawk of Orkney’s body gave out. Flopped forward.

A panicked shriek rent the air: “Gawain!”

He knew no more.

----------

He did not know how long he’d slept for. Minutes dragged on, became hours. Days dragged onto months.

And the bloody snow remained.

It had been Gareth and Gaheris who had dragged his unconscious body half inside the courtyard. Agravaine and Mordred - as well as a flurry of physicians, lackeys, grooms, and other concerned members of his mother's court - had raced out of the castle, their eyes bulging with concern, their faces pale with fear.

What a welcome indeed!

Orkney’s first-born buckled under the weight of his own bloodline-ordained powers, looking as decrepit as an elder.

His mother would've wept if she'd seen it.

Alas, she had perished.

“By Lamorak's hand,” had been Gaheris’ strangely wooden response once he had enquired why their mother had not been to grace his chamber with her presence. “Decapitated her like a craven.”

‘Well, I and the North Walian had that in common,’ he’d wryly commented to himself, even as his heart panged at the loss of his mother.

His mam.

“The Witch Queen,” many in his uncle’s court sneered beneath their breaths.

“Queen Morgause,” the Orcadians would've said, their faces beaming and their postures proud. They loved her as they had once done King Lot, his father, before he had been ripped away from them, his head cleaved from his neck.

And now, his mother had suffered the same fate. Butchered, like a pig.

That ought not to have been her fate, nor his dad’s.

And those who lauded her death as they had once his dad’s ought to have been ashamed. Although he doubted their bodies even possessed a paltry scrap of it.

What made it worse was that he'd missed her funeral.

The rites were not Christian - would never be, not for any Orcadian who possessed a jot of sense - but were of a more… heathen nature. If his uncle - the man who, if Mordred was to be believed, now offered their mother’s killer sanctuary - ever laid eyes on them then he’d expire on the spot, there was little doubt of that.

No, they’d burned her on a pyre and, once all that had once been flesh was now ashes, scattered her on hills of heather and gorse.

“Prickly things, ay, but she would’ve liked that,” had been Ag’s little joke when he’d visited him in-between council sessions and other such duties. He'd uttered it around a wavering sob, while his dark green eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Mordred suggested it.”

That had surprised Gawain. That his youngest brother, so surly and standoffish towards anybody who did not bear the name Agravaine, had put forth such a sweet-hearted recommendation made Gawain wistful for the past.

He'd toddled around these grounds once, his mother guiding his steps and inquisitiveness with an astuteness that made her all the more formidable. His father, not to be outdone, had taken him under his wing in courtly matters and weaponry as soon as he’d decreed Gawain to be old enough to lift a sword.

And… And when each of his brothers came into his life, born in the bed he now laid in, Gawain had held them after his parents and vowed always to care for them. To keep them safe.

Ag's lisp had meant he could never pronounce Gawain properly, opting instead to call him Gavin. And the rest of the family had quickly caved to the second-born's insistence that ‘Gavin’ was Gawain's name for he knew his brother better than anyone. Of course, Agravaine had only proclaimed that because Gawain had caught him sobbing in the scullery late one night after some older lads had taunted him. Once Gawain had confided that it sounded ‘better’ - and after he'd beaten his younger brother's bullies to a bloody pulp - Agravaine had, in his starry-eyed adoration, taken that as writ to tell others that that was Gawain’s proper name.

Once Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred had come then, well, they had simply called him Gavin too until Gawain was certain that that was his true name. It had leached into his blood and bones to settle there like a second sun, bright and burning.

Yet… when he'd fled with them and his mother to his court he'd been forced to don the mantle of Gawain again, the King’s favoured nephew and chiefest of knights.

Not Gavin. Never Gavin.

Only the hard chrysalis of Gawain remained, sunbleached and unrecognisable.

He sniffled. Chest constricting under the weight of his own sorrow, he found it difficult to breathe. Sobs tore from his aching, bloody throat. Cold tears sapped what little warmth the furs and blankets had cultivated from him, decimating his already declining body.

When had he become as skeletal as dead leaves? Why was he suddenly weeping for all he’d lost when before he’d left Camelot he had been joyous, nay, exhilarated at the prospect of returning homebound?

With a quiet, weary sigh, he scraped a hand over his face, and moved to the side of the bed. That action brought him his first bout of bee stings, for the pain stung him so sharply that he thought a swarm had set themselves upon him. Trying to ignore the dull pounding in his head as he did, he swung his legs to the side and gripped the bed covers for leverage.

Bent-backed by nostalgia’s shroud, he stood. On doddery feet - pad, wait, pad, wait - he moved towards the fogged window where the scantest amount of light knifed through the grey.

Orkney was replete with memories. If he wallowed in them he might never escape. They dragged him down like a rock around his neck.

Bile scorched his throat once more. He wished it were sunlight. Gold and molten and sweet. He craved its cloying, saccharine warmth the way one would a comfit.

He propped himself against the window with a forlorn sigh, his legs all but giving out. It had been a struggle just to walk across the chambers let alone to get to the window. Needles stabbed his soles. Hollowness left him bereft.

The door squealed open. Gawain did not turn around, content to let the stinging white of the snow that blanketed the ground make his eyes water.

“Still no sun?” Ragnelle's voice was a soft hum in his ears. She seemed amused rather than concerned.

Gawain grunted. Words made his throat bleed.

She laughed softly, the noise ringing through the otherwise silent chamber, before walking into the room and up to him. Draping herself against his back - her lips peppered kisses against his shoulder blades and aching spine - her arms curled around his waist.

“It will come soon,” she assured him, her voice velvet. The spiciness of oud clung to her skin and Gawain let himself relax against her, softening into the wine-coloured silks that clung to the curves of her body.

He sighed. Frowned. The diamond-shine of snow glittered tauntingly outside. His head thumped against the window. Cold crisped against his skin, a dull, innervating shock, one that mimicked the ice-hot throbbing of his joints. “I wish it were here already,” he murmured, ignoring the knife-sharp twinge of a thousand lacerations reopening, as well as the blood coating his throat. “‘M only grateful for you and Lance.”

His wife smirked against his neck, pressing a kiss to his hammering pulse. “Your brothers are eating him alive, love,” she wryly declared. “You're missing all the fun. He and Agravaine have already come to blows once this week.”

Gawain huffed out a laugh. The feeble warmth of his breath iced the windowpane over and - his eyes firmly affixed on the flurries of snow that fluttered down - said, “I heard them shouting. Something about borders, wasn’t it?”

His wife hummed in agreement. Her breath sent a shiver up his spine as she murmured, “Lance is insisting your uncle would only need him to defend them if war broke out. Agravaine accused him of glory-hounding and only wishing to better himself within the eyes of the court. Suffice to say it ended with the two coming to blows.”

“To the surprise of nobody,” Gawain deadpanned, surprising himself.

“Gawain!” Ragnelle nudged him reprimandingly. “Your brother is well within his rights to feel slighted.”

He swallowed down the blood coating his tongue. “Ag's has always been a bit… hot-headed in these matters. Him and Lance are like putting a match to a powder keg. Or like rutting goats.”

“Rutting goats?! Well then, they should try and-”

“Wife!” Gawain broke in, shoulders shaking with laughter. “If they did do as you suggest then I'd never hear the end of it from either of them. No. You'd be better throwing them together in a locked room and having them fight it out.”

Gawain saw Ragnelle pout reflected in the windowpane, a distorted wisp one that lengthened her already imposing height and sanded her body of its plumpness. The windswept dark silk of her hair cascaded over her shoulders and she tossed a strand away from her face irritatedly before heaving a sigh.

He reached down and squeezed her clasped hands. The action left his bones throbbing jaggedly, as though they were smashed glass, yet it was worth it for the small smile that bloomed across her flushed face. “Was your ride satisfactory?”

“Mmm-hmm. Gareth went with me. He’d hoped to bring you back some pears or plums, but none were forthcoming. Luckily-” and here she winked before loosening her grip upon him and moving the rifle through the pouch that was attached to the belt around her thick waist. “-I was able to procure one by… other means.”

“Did you raid the stores? You're as bad as Gaheris for that, you know. My mother-”

“By other means,” she cheerfully cut across him, brandishing a pear. Green and ripe, its speckled skin shone with a golden sheen that Gawain recognised as being magical in nature, and he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in perplexity. “You conjured a pear?”

His mouth was surely agape, judging by Ragnelle’s answering snort. Putting a finger to her lips, she winked.

“How? Why?”

“You were sad.” She emphasised the word as though he were simple-minded.

“About the weather.” He laughed, brightening a little. The ache in his limbs persisted, as well as the tang of blood within his mouth, but the warmth that radiated his body filled in the cracks the withdrawal of the sun had left behind and left him dizzily breathless. Overwhelmed by this simple act of love, he scrunched his eyes shut in an effort to cease the tears that pricked his eyes and rested his head against the window once more. “Not at the lack of pears upon our table.”

She giggled, tinkling and soft, and Gawain chuckled as she maneuvered him to stare at her. Her dark eyes held a mischievous glimmer, clearly pleased with her sneakiness and the reaction that it had evoked in him, before insistently pressing the pear into his shaking hands and pecking his cool cheek. “They won't be as good as the ones your aunt procured for you, but if they aid in your recovery-”

“He's moping, ‘Nelle.” Lancelot's smooth purr cut across her and Gawain rolled his eyes as the door shut behind him with a bang, his fingers flexing a little around the pear.

“Is he now?” Ragnelle enquired as they turned to face him, an eyebrow raised speculatively. “And here I thought he was ill.”

Clad in a silken blue tabard and crimson trews, Lancelot's stroll was languid as he walked past the raging fire - briefly stopping before it to warm himself and haphazardly chuck another log on it - beholding all the liquidity of lakewater, while his eyes shone with amusement when Gawain shot him a glare. “Oh no. That's a moping Orcadian.”

Gawain swallowed, grimacing. Grief and guilt were deep set in the sunken catacomb where his heart ought to reside and he couldn't help but agree with Lance's assessment as much as it ranked him. He was moping, there was some truth to that, but more to the point he was simply too bogged down to do little else. If he was not constantly allayed by hammer strikes of agony in his limbs, or his head, or his eyes, thanks to there being scant little of the thing he needed to sustain him, then he might've felt fine. Maybe even whole.

But his memories - those sharp-clawed raptors - had scoured him clean the second he'd returned home, until he did not know where Gavin began and Gawain ended. And his body, the very essence of his being, was bare of sun and feeling; naught but an empty- pain-filled husk, dipped low beneath the horizon.

His oesophagus felt as though somebody had assailed it with a wood plane. Running a hand through his shaggy, powder-white hair and loathing its brittleness against his fingers, he shook his head. He prayed to those heathen gods that his uncle so disdained that he looked as disgruntled as he was.

Lancelot sighed as he came upon him, and duly pulled him away from Ragnelle and into his arms. The hard planes of his chest were warm against Gawain’s cheek and a silken shudder shot through him. “Come along, old man.”

Gawain huffed indignantly, scowling.

“He's as old as you!” Ragnelle laughed, smoothing the crease between Gawain's eyebrows. Even that hurt.

“In years, ay, not in looks.”

“Lance, should you antagonise him again, he'll push you out the window.”

He smiled, showing teeth, and made a show of preening. “Then I shall simply swim once I land in the moat, and climb up the walls again.”

A smirk broke across the otherwise storminess of Ragnelle's rosy visage while Gawain grunted disapprovingly in response, and rolled his eyes.

He adored Lance, of course he did and hoped he always would, for he'd embedded himself in his heart as easily as Ragnelle had. Like two entwined ivy strands they’d constrained and constructed him until he’d crumbled under their combined weight and had taken them both up.

His heart might as well have their names emblazoned upon it.

Wife. Lover.

Certainly, his jousting favours often did - although only he and Gareth were privy to that. He did not know why he'd informed his fourth youngest brother about his relationship, only that he had.

Gareth, as was his way, accepted this without scorn or withering comments. He'd made efforts to ingratiate himself with both Ragnelle and Lancelot, despite his other brothers’ contempt for him, and Gawain was endlessly grateful for that.

But there were sometimes where he wished that the Knight of the Lake would cease his portentousness and this was one of them.

‘Dare I say it, but Agravaine’s furore does have a certain point.’

All his strength - what little remained, anyway - rapidly ebbed away. Conversing would soon become a chore. Blood lingered on his tongue as he spoke, “What want?”

“A walk, my love.” Lancelot replied, his voice honeyed silk, as he flicked a curl of his blonde hair away from his forehead. “With you. Your Goodly Gareth suggested it.”

Gawain pouted. The snow was five hands high, if that, and he could barely summon the strength to change into clothes, let alone go out and feel the icy sting of the wind knife through his body, or the slush of ice soak through his boots. Furthermore, he would have to contend with seeing the gardens his mother had tirelessly cultivated. Hoeing weeds in winter, browning the backs of tanned hands in summer as she pulled up roots, plucking and drying herbs in storehouses, each replete with a thousand different medicinal usages that Gawain’s incinerated brain could barely recall.

She had trained him well and he'd forgotten it in the blink of an eye. His stomach dropped. All that knowledge, gone.

‘Pure folly!’ He could imagine her scathing tone hissing as she jabbed a finger at his chest, her green-grey eyes sharp. ‘It was pure folly to teach you all I knew when you'd discarded it for sword and adulation!’

He swallowed, his throat tightening around a keen.

In lieu of speaking - for that really was quite tiring and his throat could do with a rest - he shook his head, flattening his lips to further illustrate his inherent dislike of the idea.

“Alright,” Lancelot relented, wilting under the fierce glare Gawain graced him with. Exhaling, he unwound himself from Gawain and took up Ragnelle's hand, flinching at her skin's icy chill. “I suppose it's to be us then, ‘Nelle, for our dear Orcadian wolf is choosing to become a recluse.”

Gawain, choosing to ignore the barely healed scabs clotting the back of his throat, growled. Eyes narrowed, he stalked towards Lancelot, his expression one of cold, imposing wrath, and smirked at the surprised grunt that left his lips as Gawain tugged him squarely to his chest. Tilting his face up, Gawain placed a kiss on Lance's soft lips, enjoying the low, husky moan that left his lover's lips.

“Go,” he ordered, the tang of blood on his tongue replaced by Lancelot's saline-sweetness. “Let me mope. I'll be happier for that.”

Lancelot cupped his cheek. His hand was warm and smelled faintly of leather as he stroked the sharp line of his cheekbone with his thumb. They stayed like that for a few contented moments, nothing more than the sound of their chests rising and falling in sync echoing around the room, before Ragnelle murmured, “Come along, Lancelot. I want to see the flower gardens.”

At once, he snorted and stepped away from Gawain to affix her witch a mock-glare. “You wish to purloin them for your ointments, you mean.”

She shrugged lackadaisically. “I have to take advantage of my mother-in-law’s lovely gardens, or what's the point? Nobody else will.”

Gawain bowed his head, fiddling distractedly with the collar of his fur-lined dressing gown. His guts twisted. Red-hot shame lanced him in all directions and he dearly hoped that they reasoned his silence was due to the agony that weighed upon his body and not his heart.

Squeezing his hand, she murmured, “And you - rest! Don’t hobble about like a fool. You're aching again, aren't you? I thought as much. Now, into bed with you, or must I chivvy you about like a hen?”

Gawain barked out a laugh. Did she notice how much effort it took for him to remain upright? His spine burned from it, his limbs shook violently. Had she even noticed he was sagging? “No. I’m perfectly capable.”

‘Besides,’ he thought, his heart clenching. ‘I have to watch you both. I need to feel like I’m there somehow.’

Ragnelle’s dark eyes seared him, raking up and down his body as if inspecting some buttery panacea that would aid the world of all its ills. Gawain’s heart hammered in his chest, and he only exhaled once she'd tilted her head and pronounced, “If you're certain. Although if I return to find you've collapsed because of your pride then I will not be so pleased,” before, without further ado, tugging Lancelot out of the chamber and down the hall.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls, each growing fainter than the last.

Gawain breathed raggedly, collapsing against the wall, his aching legs all but giving out. Relief warred with sorrow in his chest.

The worst of it was he wished to be with them, but he did not want to be.

He would only be maudlin, inward. Poor company, as Gareth had teased him for being so many times before. “To know when winter's coming, brother, we need only look at your face,” had been his playful words the morning after they'd arrived hither and Gawain had been roused to consciousness.

With a pained grunt he steadied himself about as well as he could and waited until he heard their voices - loud, always joyful, and muffled by the windows - shattering the tranquility of the snow-drenched vistas. Feasting his gaze on Ragnelle's tall, plump form, he grinned. Her hair shone, crow-black against the white wounds of the clouds and snow-covered grounds, while her chubby cheeks grew flushed from the cold. Her smile was wide and infectious as she pointed, using the pair of shears she held in her gloved hand, to one of the plants on the fenceline opposite the rose trellis that stood beneath his window. Said plant was utterly festooned with pinkish-rued hued bulbs of rosehips.

They'd be sweet now they'd been through a frost, he knew that much. His mam used to brew them in tea. Their sour tang was redolent on his tongue throughout most of winter, when the skies were muddied and the land icy.

Lancelot, lithe and compact, stood beside her clad in a thick woolen cloak, with a wooden basket perched precariously on his arm, watching as she worked. The tan of his complexion and the nosiness of his cheeks drew Gawain’s eye to him, and he took a few moments to admire him, drinking the knight in until his form blurred.

Exhaustion soon bogged him down, mired him in its muck.

Satisfied that the two were enjoying themselves, he staggered back to bed and tumbled into a fitful sleep.

----------

Thump-thump-thump. Thump.

Gawain shot up, the covers pooling around his waist. Eyes bulging in fear he clutched the handle of the dagger beneath his pillow, a shaky breath leaving his lips. The coolness of the leather-wrapped handle against his palm comforted him. Each jewel was smooth against the skin of his thumb as he brushed them.

His father had bestowed it upon him the night before he left to battle his half-brother-in-law. “King Arthur, that mightiest of men!” he'd crowed as he'd placed a broad hand on Gawain's slight shoulder. “I'll dispatch him soon enough and you can return home, aye? Take care of your brothers and mother for me, Gavin.”

Ears ringing with his father's last words, he swallowed, rubbing at his throat. The taste of blood had lessened, replaced by a noxious sourness that made him grimace. His heart hammered in his chest while his sleeping clothes stuck to him, stinking sourly of perspiration. His father’s dark eyes faded away, replaced by the gloom of dusk. Still, the bruising purple-black of it seared his eyes as well as leaving his head hazy, a whirling dervish of thoughts and sensations that clamoured together like the pounding of a war drum.

The room was icy. The fire had long since burnt out, and he shivered, his teeth chattering as the cold scythed through him.

Goosebumps prickled his skin and he rubbed at his bony wrists in an effort to infuse them with warmth.

Alas, none was particularly forthcoming.

Thump-thump-thump.

And then a bark of laughter.

He frowned, his eyes scanning around the room.

The noise was muffled a little, but unmistakable. It mimicked the frantic thump of his heartbeat, that discombobulated ring, and he bolted upright, the dagger still in his white-knuckled grip. Slowly, the ringing in his ears receded and, blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, his mind slowly turned.

Lancelot and Ragnelle were still not back yet. And that laughter…

That sounded awfully like Lance’s warm chuckle.

Thump-thump-thump rang out again slower this time, more tentative, as though whoever had done it had been rebuked.

Without a second thought, he shambled to the window, clutching at the bedframe and posts for support, and, after a small yelp left his lips, blinked in astonishment.

There, standing atop the - admittedly shaky - rose trellis, was Lancelot and, sitting atop his shoulders, lay Ragnelle, her arm outstretched and her hand curled into a fist in order to knock against the windowpane once again. Gawain's eyes widened.

Both wore bright, giddy grins that made their faces glow even in the rapidly approaching darkness, while Lancelot showed no apparent signs of difficulty holding Ragnelle. In fact, with his chest puffed out and his golden hair gently tousled from her fingers, he looked as beautiful as he had ever been in that moment. Certainly, there was a rugged air about him that he otherwise lacked in the close confines of Gawain’s uncle’s court, and he couldn't help but laugh.

His wife waved at him, her eyes sparkling. Her dark hair was tangled about her ruddy face while her skirt was rucked over her legs in an effort to not encumber Lance. Throaty laughter spilled from her lips as Lancelot said something to her, his lips moving rapidly, and Gawain’s chest loosened.

Slowly, he took a breath. His pulse beat against his ribcage furiously as he pushed the window open - being careful to ensure that he did not hit them - and said, “What are you doing?”

“Climbing!” Came his wife’s high-pitched response, the word shot through with a childish elation. “You wouldn't come with us, so we thought we'd surprise you!”

A lump rose in Gawain's throat as he pressed a band to his heart. “You climbed up my mother's rose trellis for me?” His eyes swung between them, and a burst of laughter left his lips as he shook his head. “Fools,” he whispered, voice raw.

“It's rather sturdy, actually," Lancelot smugly declared, grinning up at him. Hands otherwise occupied with being wrapped around Ragnelle's ankles, he opted instead to wink at Gawain. “Besides, ‘Nelle insisted upon it.”

He should've been fuming at this degradation of his mother's garden - and he surely would be once he'd regained a grip on his senses - yet, at that second, Gawain pressed a finger to his smiling lips and murmured, “Did you?”

Ragnelle's smile slowly grew until she positively beamed.

“The pear was enough, my love,” he murmured, his voice rich with emotion. A mad tingling beset his limbs that had little to do with agony, while the fullness in his heart hurt. He was fairly sure that his cheeks too ached from smiling and Gawain laughed when Ragnelle lopped her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly. Her lips were soft, hungry, and she laughed against his lips. His cheeks flooded with heat as she moaned, losing herself in him, and Gawain felt a stab of inadequacy both at the fact that his lips were chapped and at his state.

Yet each of her kisses scorched that feeling away, cleansing him of all his pity. Something warm settled in his chest, a sunlight-shroud softened the tension in his shoulders and back, and he sighed at the small reprieve her kisses gave him. Pain no longer lingered in his limbs. The fog in his mind slowly lessened, although none of it abated entirely.

Gently he cupped her cheek and deepened the kiss. Tears glimmered on her cheeks and he swiped them away, even as her breath ghosted across his lips. She tasted of plums, sweet and juicy, a mouthwatering nectar that reinvigorated him, and he plundered her lips happily until they flew apart, bruise-lipped and light-headed.

“Do you feel any better?” She queried after a few moments of silence.

Dazed, Gawain could do little more than nod. He watched then as Ragnelle clambered down off Lancelot's shoulders and then he clambered onto hers.

After ensuring that he was seated securely, she lifted him to the window, bouncing on her toes a little as she did.

Crow’s feet were the first thing Gawain noted upon his lover's face. Etched onto his face, they deepened as his smile became broader, adding to his beauty as he leaned forward and spoke in a low, hushed tone that, Gawain suspected, Lancelot normally only reserved for charming Aunt Guinevere, “Ahh, what a handsome sort I see. As lovely as any tender-hearted maiden.”

Gawain chuckled. “I told you such things in confidence, my love.”

“But how sweet it is to know that you'd wish to be my wife if you could be!” His eyes twinkled in the first creamy rays of moonlight and Gawain snorted again, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Awful,” he reprimanded without a hint of bite, before tugging him in for a kiss.

Lancelot squeaked against his lips, his hands flying up to Gawain's chest. Below them the trellis squeaked a little and Ragnelle’s laughter came, rich and sultry, as close as the air before a thunderstorm.

Salinity was thick on Lancelot's lips and Gawain drank it down all too readily. Where Ragnelle had been carefully controlled hunger, the skin of a plum yielding beneath teeth, Lancelot was desperate and whiny, all teeth and tongue and saliva. It was strange in a way, seeing him lose composure, this most peacockish of knights, yet the sight made a prickle of pride curl in Gawain's gut.

Here he was, mewling like a kitten! Du Lac the Lover courtiers called him, and that wasn't half false. Du Lac the Desperate had a ring of truth to it.

Gawain tugged him closer, cupping the back of his neck. Lancelot uttered something between a sob and a moan as his hands splayed against Gawain's chest and Gawain shuddered joyously at the syrupy cloy that infused his blood.

It was not sunlight but, nonetheless, it eased the grief and pain that suffused his very being.

Once they drew apart Lancelot whined softly, his eyes dark. Both their chests heaved for air. The ice of it caught the back of Gawain’s throat and made him double over in a bout of hacking coughs, while Lancelot wrapped his arms around his waist and shivered, looking akin to a frightened street urchin before he jumped up, horsed himself over the window ledge, and back into the bedchamber.

“Silly man,” he admonished, before, without even breaking a sweat, he aided Ragnelle up. “Come, let's get you to bed. There's snow in the air again, you can taste it.”

Gawain, far too tired to argue, willingly let himself be led back to bed. The pear still lay there, green as grass and shining in the moonlight, and he happily munched on it, gazing at his lover and his wife as they set about closing the window and the velvet drapes, banking up the fire, and aiding each other in divesting themselves of their clothing.

Once they had changed into nightgowns, they snuggled together. Eyes heavy, Gawain let himself be pulled back into slumber’s arms.

When the sun came he would greet it the way he would a long-lost friend, and, once the snow receded, he would travel back to his uncle’s court and avenge his mother’s death, for the sun would imbue his wrath with flame and fury.

Let that North Walian cur run. Let him limp for sanctuary in Logres!

His head would be snicked off his shoulders in a matter of months.

But, for now, he had his wife and lover. That was enough.

[heathersapples]

EMMA D'ARCY & OLIVIA COOKE "House of the Dragon" FYC Event at Saban Media Center (March 6th, 2025)

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH + BAND OF BROTHERS:

JOSEPH "JOE" RAMIREZ

Born October 5th, 1921, in Nebraska

Died April 8th, 1988 (age 66), in Martinez, California

Joe Ramirez enlisted in September 1942 (age 20) in San Francisco, CA, and he trained with Easy Company at Toccoa. Holding the rank of Private, he served in Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne. He was hospitalized in January 1945, and discharged in July 1945. After the war, he was married for many years, and had children and grandchildren. When he passed away he was buried with his wife, who had passed away 11 years earlier. Further information about him is scarce, but the brief character profile in the Band of Brothers series bible describes him as Mexican-American, and his personality as "sensitive and nervous."

Appears in Episodes 1, 3-8, and 10; portrayed by actor Rene L. Moreno

Sources below

A million thanks to @bleedingcoffee42 for tracking down this info for me!

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Customers

I am back! And we are still with Ccino :D @spotaus drabble required tag <3

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No edit or beta as always. we are here for a fun time!

*--------------*

Ccino snaps out of his staring as someone else stands before him impatiently. Ccino pulls up his best customer service smile and gets to work.

The line is long but it is for the better.

Keeps his mind off the damning newspaper that got delivered to him.

He makes his way throught the line easily enough though. Even if it is busier than usual. And with cross universe customers too. Which sucks for different reasons.

an Alphys and undyne walk up to the counter to return their things. Ccino takes it with a nod and a good day wish as he goes to wash them.

The Undyne speaks "hey... so... I know people have been... rude to you about the whole... letting the gang stay and stuff?"

Ccino rolls his eye lights as he cleans the glass "That are just rumours. I just said that we can't speak for reasons who gods that we don't understand."

Undyne huffs but ALphys mutters "Sorry... the news that Dream had been wrong was... shocking and well... people need time to process it adn stuff..."

Ccino puts the things away and crosses his arms "Anything else i can get you?"

Undyne glares "What the hell man? We are trying to apologise."

Ccino sighs "your apology misses the words 'I am sorry.'." and he stares at them.

Undyne glares but ALphys stops her before speaking again "We are sorry... YOu were right... most of us never understood what the gods did and why and assumed a lot... I am sorry... I am also sorry that the only way people were more open to it was... well..." she eyes hte newspaper before shooting him a smile "must be rough... never being able to at least tell him that you didn't judge him."

Ccino's grip tightens on the cup. Don't react.

the two fianlly take the clue to leave and do as much.

Ccino lets out a sigh in relieve and his sight finds the newspaper again. THe headline is clear as day.

NIGHTMARE PRONOUNCED DEAD.

Ccino glares at it before turning it over. Maybe he can use it to light the fire place later or something.

There is no way he is dead. Those idiots just gave up searching or looking out for him. Ccino can know. he actually read the whole piece instead of just the headline and figured out that they never found any clues that could prove he had died. They are just assuming he died because they hadn't seen any hints of him living anywhere.

Ccino knows this to not be truth. Mostly because Dream would at least tell him that Ngihtmare had died. they have an understanding after the last time they met.

Ccino huffs and looks at one of the cats "You would think they would learn a thing or two about assuming things." the cat just nuzzles his hand.

"Yeah people tend to keep assuming stuff."

Ccino jumps and turns around quickly. He hadn't heard the doorbell ring.

Before him stands another him. Blue hoody. pink slippers. black shorts. white eye lights. pretty much a blank slate of how most of them start.

Okay no that was rude. That is a bad way to think about it. Ccino met Classic. he is a great and helps sneak him quite a few supplies.

Ccino smiles brightly "Didn't hear you come in! sorry for that. what can i get you?"

the other, Ccino will just think of him as Sans for now, looks at the menu and hums before looking bakc at him "I don't want something off the menu."

Ccino raises a brow and keeps grinning "The adoption process can be started at any moment. mister....?"

Sans grins wider and tilts his skull "the skeleton. obviously."

Ccino can't help but snort "Why is that joke always funny?"

Sans looks rather smug "because it is. and here i was afraid customer service killed your humour."

Ccino sighs "oh trust me. it is tryin and testing me daily." he pets one of the cats that has gotten near "the cats make it worth it though."

Sans nods and leans on his fist "can't help but notice the little notice on your bullet board. the one about dream having messed up? What is the deal with that?"

Ccino frowns but figures out what this guy wants. curious dude it seemed who just wanted to learn stuff. Ccino shrugs "figured it would be good to keep the notice up for others."

Sans raises a brow "That is all?" He sounds... disappointed... maybe.

Ccino can't help but be a bit unnerved. this guy is really hard to read for some reason and he can't quite figure out why.

Ccino shrugs "I mean. It is also nice to see mister perfect mess up for once." ccino doesn't even fully mean it anymore. After Dream and him sat together and spoke?

ccino has more sympathy for him.

But Dream is also the reason Ccino isn't seeing Ngihtmare anymore and that shit still hurts and he is just worried about the other.

He really needs to get somekind of help because he is feeling protective over a god. that can't be healthy.

Sans chuckles and nods "Wiht that i can agree. Still weird that people would just think tiping the balance that badly would end well." he snorts and leans on his fist.

Ccino relaxes a bit and nods "exactly! Like. Sure i don't like being sad more than any other person and it sucks if bad things happen to you. but sometimes stuff jsut doens't go well and sometimes bad things happen! And i would honestly much prefer the ability to get pissed or sad about it over just the whole 'oh well! It could be worse!' attitude the whole time." it just sounds exhausting.

Ccino sighs and rubs his cheek "sorry for that." a glance.

Sans however doesn't seem bothered. those eye lights seem more intent for a moment and ccino feels himself freeze.

like a prey in the sight of a very very dangerous predator.

than the moment breaks and sans grins.

It is weird. he never actually did anything different with his eyes or anything. it was just the air around them. charged with danger. it is hard to explain.

Sans leans back "well it is nice to have some people agree with my unpopular opinion." he shrugs before poking the face down newspaper "what about the big news?"

Ccino huffs "i call bull. there is no way he is gone." he doesn't want to believe it. and unless he sees the dust of him himself or saw a video of him dying and actual solid proof Ccino will keep denying it.

Sans tilts his skull "you sound very secure. met him before?"

ccino almost answers honestly but pulls hismelf back. this is a stranger. and if anyone else knew that nightmare visits this place? No that is too much of a risk. Ccino wants this place to stay fully neutral and give his friend the ability to return here if he needs it.

Ccino shrugs "nope. never met him." ccino had gotten pretty good at lying.

sans just stares at him.

ccino just stares back. don't continue speaking. showing nerves can be a sign he is lying, which he very mcuh is, and he is trying to not get caught.

sans sighs "shame. i bet he would have liked the support."

ccino frowns and stares at sans "why do you say that? he had his whole gang right?"

sans looks a bit smugger and shrugs "still. he worked with those right? Must have sucked to be trying to fix soemthing for the good of the whole multiverse and yet have everyone curse you out and want you gone."

Ccino frowns and rubs his arm "yeah..." he imagined that before. there is a very good reason he was always excited to have nightmare visit. to have him take a seat and just drink and eat as the cats grew brave enough to attack the tendrils.

eventually nightmare would bring a book with him to read. and the few times ccino caught him having fallen asleep in the reading chair with multiple cats all over him.

yeah...

ccino has no doubt it was terrible for him.

sans nods and ccino shoots out of his thinking. fuck what could the other have seen on his face.

Sans stretches "anyway. i should head home. nice to meet you ccino." he waves and walks towards the door.

Ccino watches the other exit. he pulls up a hood and takes a sideways step through a portal that just opens for him.

weird.

Ccino frowns as he suddenly realises he never introduced himself. both himself and his guest. yet his guest did know his name.

Maybe he heard it from others or-

Ccino looks down as his hand suddenly touches somethign. a letter and a bunch of gold coins.

Ccino counts out the coins first and notices it is enough to cover a coffee and little pastry. yet the other never ordered anything?

next he grabs the letter. it is closed with a little seal with a crescent moon on it. He opens the letter and freezes.

Hello. there is someone who would like to talk to you and we think you would also like to talk to him. If you are open to speaking with him. Make sure your shop is closed for the public tomorrow. make sure the curtains are closed. In short? Do what you would normally do if NM visited you. Just make sure to do it over a whole day. If tomorrow this isn't done? We will assume you have no interest and move on. If anyone is there who shouldn't be or if you tell anyone about this? We will move on and assume you have no real interest. See you tomorrow Ccino.

At the end a small crescent moon image again.

Ccino feels his soul and head spin before he rushes to his printer and snatches a paper. he quickly writes down that for personaly reasons the store will be closed for the next day, and he makes sure to mark it with the actual date as well.

He puts it on the window of the door before rushing back to the counter and rereading the letter.

This could be a trap. He should contact the stars.

But honestly? He just wants to hope this is exactly as it says it is. He just really wants to see his friend again.

--

Hello Journal.

I am still getting used to writing in this but today was a good day and I had some big feelings again. And Dusty did say it helps to write those down.

The feeling didn't happen today but a few days ago. We were outside relaxing in the nice sunlight as we took our times to check the grapes. Oh I was with Ror that day.

Anyway. Suddenly Killer came running over looking very happy. Aparently the multiverse had decided that with how inactive i had become I probably died. So they declared me dead.

I didn't even know Killer went out into the multiverse still. I don't like that, I am afraid he will get in trouble but aparently that isn't something i have to worry about anymore.

When I first heard the news? I was happy. It was such a relieve. People will really leave me alone. For real this time.

The others were happy as well, I could tell! Cross cheered and picked me up to hug me while Horror sighed in pure relieve. Dust had nodded and offered we could celebrate by going to the tavern and enjoying our night there.

Then... I got sad all of the sudden. It confused me. Why would i be sad? Everyone would think i was gone. everyone would really leave me and my dads alone.

So why would I be sad? I wasn't even sure why and my dads didn't either. They thought it was about Dream and well... Dream always brings up complicated emotions but this was different.

Then I finally remembered. I remembered one of the few universes i liked to visit myself. It kinda felt like i got busted? When I told them about Ccino and his cafe. The spot i could just be for a while. Just exist without anythign important. kinda like a self imposed time out.

I hated that i told them. I sounded so ungrateful! Like i still wanted more. So i told them it was fine and i know why we are hiding. It is straight up for me after all. to keep me safe because i am weak and useless and-

No. Cross said not to let those thoughts run free. There. crossed out. much better.

Anyway... yeah.. I felt bad about it but they said they would look into it. Like they do when we plan to visit Dreamtale for the graves.

Well, that is it for now. I am still not sure how to sign these off... so... bye i guess? Until the next part. - NM

*--------------*

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[commander0fmyheart]

[feroshgirlsims]

I can already tell I'm gonna be extra in 2025 since I made a fake movie poster for Brytani Cho's last comedy tour 💀

(in my lore, Baako Jang is big enough to be a headliner featured on the poster, but Johnny Zest is not)

(lol, I already made a poster of this and a billboard in my game, and I have certain theaters that are offering screenings bc I am unwell)

[if-we-are-free-tell-me-why]

every time I hear someone say "oh you have to listen to Dear Evan Hansen it has such good mental health representation" I cry in Next to Normal

[eri-pl]

My dear mutuals, I just realized something.

So, there's been talk recently about breaking Papita out of Mandos and I suppose more of us may need help at some point... but we need one fundamental thing if we are to be able to save one another from some terrible prison (or, idk, recognize each other in a supermarket...):

we need to have a song in common

Like, seriously, the default scheme for breaking someone out from somewhere is: character A start singing, character joins them, character A finds character B and gets them out. Except...

I'm not sure there's any song I could sing together with any of you.

We need to make a list of songs that we all know well enough. Seriously.