#yes those tags have zero sense

[meowsticmarvels]

reposting this from my twt bc its funny but olike. im still thinking about this. sigma with glasses could be real methinks... mostly because it would be really funny but also I Love giving characters stuff like that actually

[hongjoongspoetry]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 3 – You Know You're On My Mind

⛸️ Summary: Would you rather A) represent Seoul at the Spring Championship, B) find the answer as to why Mingi was ignoring you or C) stay in your shared flat for the winter holidays? How smart of you to go with option D), none of the above.

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst!!!

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: Female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, brief alcohol consumption, petnames (princess, beans), a lot of tears and crying, probably incorrect use of hockey terms, fist fight, blood, verbal fight, Mingi is really mean but also aware he's being a douche, Dasom is a good friend, more side characters!!!

⛸️ Wordcount: 16.6K

⛸️ Author's note: I freaking love angst 😈 Hence why I've looked forward to the third part of Cold Hands, Warm Hearts! A warning, I have absolutely ZERO knowledge about hockey so the things you'll read concerning the hockey game may or may not be wrong idk. I've tried watching a lot of hockey games on YouTube, but they move so fucking fast I can barely wrap my head around what's happening lmaooo.

I also wanted to write my own comments for the chapter (something I should have done since the first part tbh), but I've been home with a fever for some days now and I honestly can barely sit up, let alone write extra stuff so I'm sadly skipping out on that. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this part and don't be shy to tell me your thoughts 🩷

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Click on me!

December 9th, 2024. 

The day was marked in Mingi’s little red calendar he kept away in his backpack �� not that he needed the reminder, the day was practically burned into his mind — and the fanciest suit he owned was ironed three nights prior with the help of his best friend and roommate, Jeong Yunho. One would think it was an important day — as to explain why he woke up at a presentable hour with enough time to spare for a few errands and a brunch with his roommate — an exam determining his final grade or something to do with his hockey, but no it was just the day of your competition. 

Currently sitting in a sandwich shop, thumbs twirling and eyes set on the flower shop across the street, Mingi contemplated whether bringing a bouquet  — maybe roses or those tulips, they were quite popular nowadays — would be too much or not at all. The two parts of his brain clashed and before he could make a decision Yunho came back with their orders, a teriyaki chicken sandwich for Mingi while he ordered something nasty looking with a really fancy and long name that Mingi couldn’t bother remembering. 

“There you go.” Yunho settled in the seat across Mingi and dove right into his food, letting out a moan of approval. “Best sandwich in town, no kidding.”

“Do girls like flowers?”

Caught mid bite, cheeks coated with crumbs and mayonnaise, Yunho looked up at Mingi who already had his eyes set on him with a seriousness that rarely outshone his happy and goofy exterior. 

“Uhm, I suppose. I mean the girls I’ve given flowers to liked the gesture. Why? You looking to impress someone, Mings?” A teasing smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “Is it a quick fuck?”

“Dude?!” Mingi hissed and quickly threw a glance around the room making sure no one overheard their convo and labeled them as creeps.

“Oh, come on, we’ve talked about worse things than some sex deets.”

“It was a simple question, Yunho-ya. Do flowers equal happy girls? Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool.”

Sensing this wasn’t a topic Mingi was all too keen to talk about, Yunho gave him some space and took another bite of his sandwich. Then he remembered their conversation three days ago and how Mingi begged him to help him iron his suit and teach him how to properly handle a tie, and if that wasn’t enough of a reason then he could always use the we’ve-been-friends-since-diapers card and pry whatever information he wanted out of him.

“Is this about that figure skating girl?”

“Absolutely not… Do you think she’d like roses or tulips?”

Mouth full of bacon, tomato, lettuce and bread, Yunho mumbled out a barely audible answer. “Roses. Definitely roses.”

“I’m just saying if Hyunjin brings you roses I’ll jump in front of the ice resurfacer!” 

Keeho laid flat on your bed, legs dangling in the air and chin propped on both palms as his eyes burned holes on your back. While rummaging through your closet you threw a random shirt over your shoulder, purposely aiming it at him and you knew it was a success as he let out a surprised ‘ack’.

“That’s what you get for being noisy,” Dasom chirped and rolled over him, her feet hitting your pillow and arms reaching the end of your bed.

“You guys promised to help me pack! I’m so going to be late.” 

An empty duffel bag sat on your bed beside the entanglement of limbs that were your friends. Despite waking up a whole twelve hours before your planned departure, you were running late or would be if you didn’t leave in the next fifteen minutes.

“Fine, but I’m just helping because I know you’ll make it big one day and I can use it to be a multimillionaire influencer. Yoon Keeho, best friend of the South Korean Olympic figure skater. It has a nice ring to it, no?”

Another shirt hit him in the face, this one coming straight out of the dirtied piles of clothes in the corner.

“No more throwing shirts!”

“Up we go, Kyo.” 

Dasom repositioned to sit criss-crossed in front of your bag and began neatly placing necessary things inside; towel, spare change of clothes, bobby pins, hairspray, your skates. 

“Where’s your suit?” She asked while zipping the bag.

“My coach still has it. Something about seeing it before the comp would bring bad luck or whatever. Like it’s a competition not a wedding and Keeho, get out I need to change.”

“I bet a round of lamb skewers Hyunjin is proposing after the comp– I’m leaving, I’m leaving, put that down!”

As the door closed you quickly stripped and threw on a sweatsuit bearing the logo of Tiny University printed on the front and back. Knowing you were practically working on autopilot while your nerves skyrocketed, Dasom didn’t want to step out of bounds and send you into a potential spiral of panic and stress but she was also very curious, and her greed won over her morals. With a soft call of your name she asked the million dollar question. 

“Did you only invite Hyunjin?”

You froze with your hands in your hair, a bobby pin between your fingers and an extra in your mouth as your gaze fell on her. Flashing you a derpy yet reassuring smile that warmed you up like the sun on a summer afternoon filled with sugary strawberries and pink lemonade. 

“No… Not just Hyunjin, I actually invited Mingi too, but I… don’t know why.” 

You plopped down beside her and played with your fingers. It all felt so silly and you didn’t even have the time to think about him or Hyunjin or anything boy related overall. Not that it was a bad thing, in fact it was great, but that meant your mind was completely occupied of nailing your choreo, imaging everything that could go wrong and to not let anything go fucking wrong. 

“Maybe it just felt right,” she whispered, as if the words were made of steel and you were of twigs that would break at the slightest contact.

Sighing, you nodded and fell back on your bed with Dasom in tow. There wasn’t much left to say. You couldn’t remember what drunk-you thought when inviting Mingi nor did you want to know. All you knew was that your heart did that little leap thing before violently kicking at your rib cage when he said he’d be there and that was concerning but not more so than your competition taking place in a few hours. 

If Mingi showed up, great.

If he didn’t then that was great too, is what you forced yourself into believing.

Mingi stood before a body-length mirror and kept running his hand through his neatly made hair. Yunho placed a palm over Mingi’s shoulder and the shifting motion immediately subdued only to proceed as the hand withdrew. 

“Stop moving around dude, you’re making me nervous!” 

Taking a step back, Yunho quietly assessed Mingi, searching for creases in his black suit or stray hairs standing up funny. There were no faults, his tall friend — that was still slightly shorter than himself — looked perfect appearance wise. It was the slight twitch of his finger and sweat collecting at the nape of his neck that gave him away.

“Why are you so nervous, Mingi-ya? It’s just a figure skating competition, nothing more nothing less.”

Taking a hold of the perfectly wrapped bouquet of heart-colored roses he paid a good penny for, Mingi pouted and shrugged his shoulders as if a toddler being put on the spot for doing something bad.

 “I don’t know.”

“You want me to come with?”

Yunho, dressed in an old tattered shirt and bright red basketball shorts with his naturally dark hair growing at the roots and taking on the look of pudding, was ready to drop everything and jump in his brand new suit planned for their graduation if that’s what Mingi needed.

“No, no. I’ll be fine, it’s just… Don’t you think it’s too much? Flowers, a suit? It’s a figure skating competition not a wedding.”

“Does it matter? Personally, if it were me, I’d rather see the girl I invited put in the effort even if it means wearing nice clothes over something raggedy. This shows you care.”

“I guess…”

Mingi jumped as Yunho reassuringly landed his hands on his shoulders, giving him an encouraging squeeze and smiling so his cheeks puffed up. “Come on, let’s get that tie fixed and then I’ll give you a lift.”

“Ah, the privileges of not having a driver’s license.”

“You mean the privileges of being a passenger princess?”

“Yah, Yunho-ya!” Came the whine as Mingi followed his friend like a kicked puppy on a rainy Monday morning. 

The arena was packed and while it wasn’t an unusual sight for Mingi — always being a witness of how the bleachers slowly filled up during his warm ups —  it was weird seeing it from an outside perspective. Everything seemed so much smaller and compact compared to when he was on the ice squinting past the blinding headlights to barely even catch a glimpse of the audience. Other than practice and hockey game, Mingi had no reason to visit the arena. There was no other sport that piqued his interest enough to stand in line, pay an overpriced entry fee and freeze his ass off on a plastic chair. He’d usually just enter through the changing rooms and skip all that yet there he was, all glammed up and standing behind a family wearing shirts with the name of some random chick printed in big bold letters. 

Thinking about it, Mingi couldn’t actually give less of a fuck about figure skating and months ago he didn’t care who represented Seoul or if they were even capabale to compete with the other cities. 

“All my friends are going to be there.”

“Nice friends you have.”

“We are friends,” you said matter-of-factly, your ‘S’ coming out with a lisp. “Alllll my friends are going.”

“You want me to come to your competition princess?”

“You’ll come?!”

You slinked your arm through his and squished it against your chest, cheek pressed to his bicep as you looked at him. One would believe Mingi hung up each and every single star individually in your name for you to look at him that way.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I’ll be there.”

It was your stupid yet endearing eyes that did it all. The little shining glint that completely vexed him and before he knew it, the promise slipped off his tongue and was spoken into existence. Mingi didn’t get to indulge more in the memory of the beauty that was your face as the lights dimmed and an enthusiastic voice boomed through the speakers, welcoming everyone and announcing the start of the preliminary that would determine the female representative of Seoul at the annual Spring Championship. 

Honestly, Mingi didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know a lot of things; how long this would be, what time your performance would start, was he supposed to find you after or before they announced the winner? It also didn’t help that he was sweating through his dress shirt despite the freezing temperature inside. 

Performance after performance passed and he was yet to catch sight of you. Honestly speaking, Mingi was growing impatient. The numbers weren’t anything extraordinary — he had seen you do much better even when ending on your rear — and he wasn’t here to watch some mediocre ladies flip around to classical music. The weight of his phone burned in his suit pocket and he was itching to reach for it. He was three taps away from dialing Yunho and making the taller man pick him up again. Oblivious to the curious and soft eyes peering at the bouquet in his lap, Mingi stared at the ice rink with a far away look on his face and bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Those are beautiful,” a voice came from his left. It was comforting and full of kindness. 

Snapping his head towards the person, Mingi faced a woman looking old enough to be his mom. The compliment pulled at the corners of his lips and soon a full blown boxy smile took over his face as his eyes creased into crescent moons. 

“Thank you.”

Mingi contemplated whether to hand her the darned flowers and leave while you still hadn’t caught sight of him, that way his money wouldn’t go to waste and the flowers wouldn’t end up in the bin outside the venue.

“I’m Chaeryeong’s mom.”

“Song Mingi,” he curtly answered with a little bow of his head.

“Are those for your girlfriend?”

As kind as this woman looked she sure was twice the amount noisy.

“No, they are for a… friend. She’s competing today.”

“Oh, when is she up?”

At the sight of his uncertainty, she handed Mingi a pamphlet with several numbers followed by first- and last names of the competitors. Quickly scanning the sheet of paper he landed on your name in last place and with the twenty-ninth performer taking her starting pose right as Mingi looked back up again. The urge to squish his face against the pamphlet was immense. 

“She’s last.”

“Oh! That’s Hoseok’s kid. She’s amazing and if it weren’t for my Chaeryeongie I’d root for her.”

Pride swelled in his chest and heat nipped at his cheeks. He tried suppressing the fond smile forcing its way out but failed.

“It’s actually my first time watching her perform but yeah, she’s pretty… p-pretty cool!”

“Really? Well, it’s better late than never.”

Why Mingi was getting flustered was beyond him. Not wanting to think about it and eventually fall down a rabbit hole he always did when thinking of you, he nodded and took the praise with the lady leaving a pat on his shoulder.

“Mmm, you’re smiling! Are you sure she’s just a friend?”

Mingi lowered his chin and avoided the teasing eyes of Chaeryeong’s mom. No way was he talking about girl problems with a random lady at a figure skating competition. 

“Would you spare my seat? I just need to go to the restroom.”

“Of course, son.”

With one last bow he ran up the stairs leading to the main hall and straight for the male restroom which  — to his delight  — was empty. Mingi released a breath of unease and stopped by the sink hoping to wash away the sweat collected on his hands. Looking at his reflection in the oblong mirror, he pursed his lips and splashed cold water on his face before lightly slapping his cheeks.

“It’s easy. We hand her the flowers, tell her she did great and then we leave.”

Mingi couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous over talking to a girl. Thinking about it, he talked to you all the time. Yes, most of it was hidden behind jokes and teasing remarks, but it still counted as talking.

“Welcoming our last performer of the night…”

The booming voice of the announcer echoed through the whole building and with a quick ‘shit’ falling from his lips, Mingi dried his hands off his expensive pants and ran back into the arena receiving weird stares from other people, but he wasn’t about to miss the start of your performance after waiting for over two hours. In sync with you gliding out on the ice he flew past the double doored entrance and caught himself on the metal railing. Mingi realized there was no need to go back to his previous spot, not when he had a great view of the whole ice rink from where he stood and a great look of you posing in the middle, one arm elegantly thrown over your head and the other following the length of your figure and stopping midthigh.

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, angelic, breathtaking, enchanting, marvelous and other adjectives wouldn’t do the justice to describe how truly captivating you looked. 

The first thing that caught his attention was your costume. It was a long sleeved dress transitioning from dark to light blue with sparkly beads going down your chest, across your abdomen and arms in a tilted motion as if the foam of multiple waves. Your costume had a tiny skirt which Mingi was sure would swirl prettily when pirouetting and twirling in the air. The upper part of your dress took on the shape of a heart and went down your back in a v-form leaving your collars, shoulders and back completely exposed. Your hair was styled in a sturdy updo matching the elegance of your suit and while Mingi couldn’t see your make-up, he assumed it would reflect the colors of your dress and accentuate your facial features in just the right way.

The starting notes of your chosen song erupted from the speakers and Mingi’s breath got caught in his throat as you glided across the ice, his heart beating in rhythm to your every landed jump. You moved with grace and for once the teasing nickname he reserved just for you had no malice objective behind it. You surrendered yourself to the music and allowed it to guide you, your body resembled the elements of nature and became an entity that was no longer your own. Moving like the ripples of a wind, flowing and rising as though you were water yet curving fiercely as a controlled fire and flourishing like a sunflower yearning for light.

It was beautiful. You were beautiful. 

Mingi would rather have spent two hours watching you skate than those other amateurs and he was slightly bitter your number only lasted for four minutes. 240 seconds of no breathing or thinking, just existing to admire you as if you were a painting exhibited in the most famous art museum in the world.

As you were entering the last moments of your performance, the music picked up and you mentally prepared yourself to do the main stunt. There was no turning back now and with confidence pumping in your veins, you inhaled and propelled yourself off the ice. Time slowed down and magically you could somehow hear the amazed gasps of the audience. Your body spun, and spun and spun and you felt the start of gravity doing its work. As if caught in a sense of Déjà Vu, the sharp point of your skates chipped the ice and threw your landing off course, and before you knew it, you landed on the outer side of your thigh. The crowd gasped again, the tone much more horrible than a few seconds ago, and all you wanted to do was continue to lay on the cold surface, but the show was yet to be over. In hopes of saving your score, you recovered with a double-axel which wasn’t nearly as appealing as the one you failed, but at least you landed it.

The performance ended with you posing in the middle — much like you practiced — and waiting for the last piano notes to run out. Despite your big fail the arena erupted in chaos of applause and whistles. Thanking the spectators with three respectful bows — each facing a different side — you skated off the ice with shaky legs and a heart hammering in your ears falling right in the arms of your coach. Mingi didn’t move until you rounded the corner towards the locker rooms and disappeared from his sight. 

A short static echoed in the hall as the AUX was rather harshly unplugged from your phone, making you lose your footing and fall on your ass.

The ice beneath was hard and cold, and it numbed your whole left leg except for the burning pain that flared up in your backside. You had to physically hold back tears as you stood back up on shaky legs.

“Majestic as always, princess, but I’ll have to deduct ten points for that eye captivating fall.” 

A chorus of laughter and gloves pounding against the plexiglas averted your attention for a split second, and the picture of an audience watching wasn’t much of an imagination as the whole hockey team stood by the entrance of the rink. 

Mingi sighed at the memory and stalked back to his seat where the kind family and bouquet of roses waited on him. 

“You missed her performance!” Chaeryeong’s mom exclaimed and handed him the flowers.

Mingi smiled shyly, then scratched the back of his neck. “Ah no, I watched from up there.” He turned and pointed at the spot he was standing in not even thirty seconds ago. “It was a better view so yeah…”

Chaeryeong’s mom smiled tenderly with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “What a relief! You got me worried for a minute but I should’ve known you wouldn’t miss it.”

“She was amazing,” Mingi stated and received a smug look from the woman.

“Mmm, I told you so. It’s a shame she fell. Well, we’re going out for a breather but we’ll be back so please save our seats for us.”

You sat in one of the locker rooms, head in your hands and feet tapping on the floor. The performance couldn’t have been more perfect, all for it to go to shit in the end.

All the hours, sweat and energy put into practice was a waste and you didn’t have to wait for the winner to be announced to know whether it was true or not. It was ironic really, despite being in a competitive sport, you hated the concept of competitions. The idea that there could only be one winner always got to your head like a parasite planting eggs of anxiety. Your number was great, but your fall made the other girls as good if not better and that really got you spiraling. 

Not to mention neither of your parents could make it, the timing clashing with their working schedules besides driving back and forth from your hometown was too exhausting for one day. Keeho and Dasom weren’t there either, occupied with work or school projects making it unreasonable for you to be angry with them. You also didn’t spot Hyunjin or Mingi in the audience which wasn’t that much of a surprise as you could barely make out the people in the front row, but nonetheless, the lack of support was weighing on you. That’s why in these situations, you were so grateful for Mr. Jung. Not only being your coach, but for stepping up as a ten man army of supporters.

A series of knocks snapped you out of your thoughts followed by Mr. Jung’s voice on the other side.

“You ready, star? They are announcing the winner.”

“Oh, look! I think they are announcing the winner!” Chaeryeong’s mom exclaimed as she sat back down in her seat.

The competing figure skaters went back out on the ice in a neat row, all dressed in various shimmering suits creating a palette of multiple colors. The whole crowd quieted down as the announcer asked for silence and simultaneously caught everyone’s attention. Not Mingi’s though, no his eyes were set on you who — together with the other girls — lined up behind the host. 

Hands trembling and breath caught in your throat, you didn’t allow yourself to think of anything. You felt like your head was underwater. It wasn’t scary or suffocating, but not a great feeling either as you couldn’t hear anything clearly thanks to the blood pumping in your ears. Somehow you could make out the distant voice of the man holding the mic, but no words were being registered. Focusing on the white translucent puffs of your short inhales and exhales, you didn’t hear the thick voice announcing the winner. It all happened incredibly fast. One second everyone was at the edge of their seats — you imagined them to be nibbling their nails like in the cartoons — and the next thing you know, the whole arena exploded in cheers. You were so out of it you hadn’t even heard the announcement of the winner. Although it didn’t matter, because a second later the call for a girl who wasn’t you sounded through the speakers as she was welcomed up on the podium. 

“Everyone! A round of applause for Seoul's representative of the Spring Championship 2025!”

You felt yourself sink deeper and deeper into the ocean as a booming wave of applause and whistles scattered around, shaking you to the core. Tears sprung to your eyes and you silently thanked the makeup artist for using waterproof cosmetics, the last thing you needed was for everyone to notice your emotional breakdown. The winner skated up to the host and he rewarded her with a bouquet of various flowers and a sash reading ‘Seoul Representative 2025’ in gold letters. You imagined him to be wishing her good luck and words of encouragement before letting her shine in the light of attention and praise.

After bowing to the girls, judges and audience you skated out of the rink and threw yourself in Mr. Jung’s embrace who patiently waited by the open board door. His heart smile didn’t hold quite reach its natural form and came out more pained than what he’d like to and his creased eyes mirrored your own sad expression. The flashes of a dozen cameras quickly annoyed you as well as the sound of the gadgets going off and you tried your best ignoring them, but each flicker was like a stab to your heart.

You were supposed to be the winner. The camera was supposed to be on you, not on that girl.

“It’s alright, starshine. Winning is not always guaranteed,” he whispered and hugged you tighter as you started crying harder, hot tears soaking his shirt. 

He stayed with you a while inside the locker room. The silence and your occasional sniffles were the only sources of sound, besides the light chattering noise outside. 

“I’m still proud of you.”

The simple sentence brought another fresh set of tears to your eyes and you hung your head in defeat, and slight embarrassment. 

“I know you think it’s not fair and that you should be the winner of tonight's event, but that would have been too easy and that’s just not something life is… We’ll break down and start again.”

Mr. Jung had always been exceptional at shifting between being a serious and humorous coach, but the current words spoken came from someone who had experienced failure before. From one loser to another, his little words of wisdom helped you get on your feet even if you felt like you were at the lowest point of your adult life. It would still take days to get over your disappointing performance, but you’d be alright. With a pat to your head, he ushered you to wash the blue feelings off. 

While you did that, Mingi found himself once again in the bathroom, wet hands combing through strands of hair in an attempt to look less disheveled and more like he had his shit together (he did in fact not have his shit together). He sniffed the collar of his suit jacket and then his armpits, and as he didn’t detect the smell of sweat, but the aroma of his favorite cologne — that smelled of bergamot and lavender — he straightened the jacket and went out to accomplish his mission or rather plan B. 

Instead of congratulating you, like he initially planned to, he’d do something else — and what that was, he had yet to figure out — but from his own experience, he’d known better than to give you praise, especially after losing by a few points. 

Skipping two steps down the stairs, he stopped by the see-through doors instead of continuing down the hallway with several changing rooms. Mingi didn’t know what room you were assigned to and even if he did, he wasn’t planning on barging in while you were possibly getting dressed or showering. The vision of a soapy you sent heat rushing to his head, both of them, but were quickly discarded as you came out. 

You looked different from the girl twirling on the ice minutes ago. Wet hair and dressed in comfy clothes, no fancy make up or extravagant details, but a solemn expression and puffy eyes. It didn’t matter though because you were still beautiful, he thought and fixed his tie out of sheer anxiety, and opened the door. Your name swayed at the tip of his tongue and was just in need of a small push to reach your ears. Eyes entirely focused on you, Mingi missed the boy walking towards him and slinking through the opening created by the taller man.

“Thanks, bud.” Hyunjin didn’t spare Mingi another glance as he headed straight for you. 

At a loss for words and frozen in place, Mingi just watched you fall comfortably in Hyunjin’s arms and as if a masochist he stood rooted and felt his heart squeeze painfully as you melted in his hold, your sobs filling the bleak silence taking residue in Mingi’s head. 

One, two, three and four seconds later, Mingi headed home, hands stuffed in his pockets and roses left in the trashcan by the smoking area outside. Thinking back to it, he should’ve given them to Chaeyeon’s mom — or whatever her name was — at least then they’d be rotting away on someone’s kitchen table and not in a random bin on the streets of Seoul.

Entering the shared apartment with Yunho nowhere in sight — something Mingi was grateful for — he stripped out of the expensive clothes and pushed them to the back of his closet, saving his future-self from a painful reminder of what did and didn’t happen. Somewhere in the rational part of his mind, he knew not to be angry with you, but the other part, the selfish and angry one, put the entire blame on you. If there was one thing hated more than losing, it was to be made into a fool.

“I can’t believe I lost,” you said and downed a shot of soju. 

Hyunjin quickly snatched the soju bottle from beside you before you could pour yourself another shot, your sixth one to be exact.

You frowned and placed your palms against your heated cheeks. “I’m never figure skating again.”

After the little meet up with Hyunjin, he requested (more like demanded) on treating you to food, and while you insisted he admitted he’d do it either way if you lost or won. That was how you ended up in a meat house, sitting around a table for two as Hyunjin grilled the food. 

“Don’t be silly. If you give up now you’ll never win.”

You rolled your eyes and the frown turned even deeper. Gazing down at the sizzling meat, your mouth watered and stomach rumbled impatiently. You could already taste the savory flavors just by looking at it. 

“I can’t believe you dragged me here looking like this.” 

Hyunjin raised a brow, genuinely not understanding what you meant. To him you looked just fine in a pair of leggings and hoodie, and it didn’t matter that your hair was still wet or your face bare of makeup because you were perfect.

“What’s wrong with the way you look? I think you’re cute.”

A fire lightened in your core and rose up to your cheeks, ears and neck, and the air in the restaurant changed too, suddenly feeling as if you were a chicken sitting in an oven. As your heart didn’t do its usual badum-badum-badum, you realized the effect Hyunjin had on you didn’t appear. You were surprisingly calm. Unbothered even and instead of buzzing with joy you were counting down the seconds until it was time to leave. 

Not to get you wrong, you loved his company. You’d been dreaming of days like these since the first time you laid eyes on him and now that you had it, all you wanted was nothing more than to jump in bed and just go into hibernation, and forget about the world.

Something was telling you though, that even if you were eating meat and celebrating your win, you still wouldn’t feel the spirit of a winner. Deep inside, you knew the root of it. The reason as to why a gray cloud hovered over you — besides losing — and it all led back to the absence of a certain hockey player.

“Here, try this.” Hyunjin gently hand fed you a piece of beef and other fillings wrapped in lettuce. “It’s good, huh?”

“You good there, princess?”

You reeled back, momentarily stunned by the unexpected presence. Mingi grinned at your reaction and sat back. Very satisfied with his work. As he readied his own computer, you took in his appearance and found yourself growing more irritated. There was no denying that he was attractive. Thick pink lips, a straight and sharp nose and a very prominent jaw. His brown eyes were surprisingly relaxed and didn’t resemble those of a fox. The boy was even blessed with not one, but two moles. His knitted sweater was an ugly shade of moss green but it looked good on him, much to your dismay. 

You sighed and sucked through your teeth, “Why are you here?”

Why wasn’t he there?

It was as if the universe was out to get you. 

First, you lost a spot at the Spring Championship. Then you failed an assignment that took a month of your life to get done, and if that wasn’t enough, the representative face of Seoul at next year’s championship was plastered all over town. She was even on the newspaper thrown in your mailbox, which you hadn’t subscribed to! If it weren’t for your personal duo of Chip and Dale, you’d skip school just to avoid it all. 

To say, you were feeling down right shit would be an understatement, and everyone around you could feel it. That was probably why Mr. Jung canceled a whole week’s worth of practice and you couldn’t have been more relieved.

Figure skating was the last thing you needed right now.

Besides your friends and coach giving you space or peppering you with love, there was another person to be added in that equation. Hyunjin made sure to spend more time with you, always asking to go out for lunch or a stroll in the park that usually ended up with window shopping and eating ice cream. 

“Felix and Changbin have been dying to meet you, you know,” Hyunjin stated as he scooped a spoon of chocolate ice cream.

“Really?” 

You remembered Changbin solely by his Halloween party and you pushed aside the other memories that came along with that night. The other boy, Felix, you knew a little next to nothing about. 

“Yeah, they haven’t stopped pestering me about it, especially Changbin.”

“Mmm, have you been talking about me, Hyunjin-ah?” 

The black haired boy grew red at the teasing and nearly choked on the plastic spoon. 

“Wh-what!” 

It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered and it sure was a different sight from his usual composed self. Your chuckle filtered between the giggles and chatter of multiple friend groups. It was a surprise to see so many people outside in the snow. Hyunjin eventually calmed down and returned to his natural skin color, and he proceeded with caution at his next question, slightly afraid to walk straight into another teasing trap.

“They are going to watch that hockey game… if you want, it would be a great time to meet them.”

Truth to be told, you had completely forgotten about that sport and it had everything to do with Mingi, the only connection you had to the hockey team of your university. The last time you saw him was a few days before your performance and you hadn’t seen him since, at one moment you thought he disappeared to another country, but Keeho’s confirmation of seeing him on campus debunked that theory. It wasn’t that weird though, considering you hadn’t stepped foot in the ice rink and didn’t share any classes with him, courtesy of majoring in two completely different studies.

You wouldn’t say it to anyone, not even Dasom, but the less you saw of him, the more bored you got. Obviously, you didn’t miss his irksome comments or that stupid pet name he’d use at any given moment, yet the days seemed to go slower without the pain in the ass of a man. Going to that hockey game would maybe change that, and what better excuse than to go with Hyunjin?

“Of course! I mean,” you cleared your throat. “Of course, I’ll check if I’m free and then I’ll let ya know.”

“Great. It’s next Friday and, unluckily, I pulled the short straw so I’ll be driving… So if you can and want, there's space in my car.”

Parting your mouth to answer, the left side of your brain suddenly halted all your speech function as you caught sight of a familiar figure. 

In the many places of Seoul, he just had to be in the same park as you. Wearing a blue tracksuit with the slogan of a wolf on the front and running sneakers adorning his feet, told you he was out on a late night run. It was quite unfair how even with his hair sticking to his nape and sweat trickling down the sides of his face, Mingi still looked great.

You and Mingi had never been friends — that much you knew — but for him to just run past you without as much as a nod of acknowledgement had you questioning if something was wrong. His exhausted eyes morphed into a nasty glare as they landed on you, which served as a nail in the coffin to your theories.

“Was that Song Mingi?” Hyunjin asked from beside you.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“What’s wrong, bean?”

Laying upside down on your bed with feet tucked beneath your pillow and your head a few inches from the edge apparently wasn’t a normal thing to do if Dasom assumed something was going on.

“Nothing, everything is perfectly fine.” 

Everything was perfectly fine if you ignored the fact that Mingi was angry with you and was intentionally avoiding you like the plague.

“Mmmm.” 

Dasom fell back and mimicked your position, arms thrown out and eyes locked on the ceiling. Some days were like that, spent doing absolutely nothing. Wrapped in big fuzzy blankets laying in either her or your bed, getting lost in space or scrolling endlessly through tiktok until the clock struck the early hours of the morning.

“You still going to that game?”

You huffed, “Yeah. I promised Hyunjin I’d go and he wants to introduce me to some of his friends in return. Is Hongjoong still coming over?”

“He hasn’t rain checked on me yet, so I think so.” She drummed her fingers against her shorts-clad thighs. “Isn’t the game at eight?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Cool.”

You slid down to the floor, brows furrowed and lips titled. “What time is it?”

“Now?”

“Yes, Dasom. Now.”

“Hmmm, it’s currently seven-thirty.”

“It’s seven-thirty!?”

The blood rushed up to your head at your abrupt movement and the whole room spun as black spots clouded your vision. Left with no choice you laid back down and clutched your skull as you tried taking control of your own body again, all while assessing the situation. The game started at eight and you had approximately thirty minutes to get changed and figure out a way to get there before then. The messages Hyunjin sent you earlier today flashed in your mind and you were starting to regret turning down his offer to pick you up, at least then you wouldn’t risk being late and embarrassing yourself in front of his friends.

“Okay, I’m jumping in the shower real quick while you put together an outfit for me that doesn’t scream ‘I spent five minutes on this’ as I walk through the doors.”

Jumping to her feet with an imaginary tail wagging left and right, she saluted. A determined yet excited look on her face. Besides writing poetry in the dim light of your fridge at three AM, Dasom had a big passion for fashion and would always play dress up with you during your childhood days. 

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

A trail of water followed from the bathroom to the bedroom and stopped below your feet. You stood with a towel wrapped around your bare body as you watched Dasom finalizing your outfit. The clothes on your bed were a baggy gray sweatshirt with bold letters spelling out ‘TORONTO’ — borrowed from Keeho and never returned — and a pair of blue jeans. It didn’t give too much, but was still appropriate for where you were going.

“Okay, go put it on. Have you figured out a way to get there?”

Shimmying on the clothes you heaved out a breath. “Nope.”

“Want me to call Kyo?”

“It’s a Friday so I’m sure he’s pre-gaming with Jiung and the others.”

“That’s true… I mean I could always give you a ride on my bike?”

You laughed at that. The bike in question was bright purple, almost lilac-ish with shimmering tinsel handels and star shaped wheel clips. It was cute, but embarrassing at the same time. Plus it would be a shit-show, you sitting on the carrier holding on for dear life while Dasom would do her best not to run people over. She was not the most trusted driver, hence the lack of a driver’s license (that she’s tried for five times and failed every single one).

“As much as I love you, I’d rather be late than arrive on that oddity and risk a broken arm or leg.”

“Hmpf, well if you don’t appreciate Melody then you can walk there!” She crossed her arms and pouted, her lower lip jutting in a show of feigned hurt.

“I don’t really mean it, Dae-Dae, I love youuuuu! I’ll come back with something nice to make up for it.”

The sour golden retriever-looking girl immediately brightened at the mention of a treat and wrapped her arms around you, her chin digging above your sternum. 

“Can you buy those shrimp chips that I like?” 

“Deal! I seriously gotta go now, I’ll text you when I get there. Kisses and hugs and all that bullshit!”

For once you were grateful not having a car as the parking lot was packed with them and other vehicles. It must have been a big deal if some people just blatantly abandoned their cars on the sidewalk, yellow tickets flapping on their windshields. The match was in full swing and it was everything you could expect of a hockey game. Red and blue blurs of jerseys zoomed past you, the sound of blades against ice, the livid roar of the crowd, cutting blows of a whistle, sticks cracking against the puck sounding like thunder and the thump as an opponent was checked against the boards. Seeing the bleachers full of people wasn’t something you expected when you crossed the entrance. The sides were divided into two parts — red and blue — and while you weren’t about to backstab your own university by sitting with the ‘enemy’ you found no empty seats between the Blue Wolf supporters. The other side wasn’t anything better except for the few vacant seats here and there, and more nude chests and faces covered in paint. 

This was everything but your scenery. 

Staring through the plexiglas you tried spotting the familiar mop of black and white hair you hadn’t seen since God knows when. You gave up as you quickly realized the gear covered almost the entirety of their faces and body proportions, making everyone look identical to one another, the only thing differentiating them being the numbers and colors of their jerseys that did little to help as you didn’t even know his. A pair of hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and you jumped at the unexpected touch, hastily turning to see who the culprit was and coming face to face with a grinning Hyunjin.

“Boo!”

“Don’t do that!”

His beautiful laugh reached your ears and emitted a chuckle of your own. He coaxed you into his body and enfolded you in a warm embrace that you reciprocated, chin on his shoulder and arms going around his waist. It was first when the hug broke that you could finally take in his full appearance. His whole attire — suit pants, a tucked in turtleneck and leather boots — were completely black except for the long and expensive-looking jean coat and red beanie showing support for the opposing team.

“Let’s go, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.”

Without missing a beat he took your hand in his and intertwined your fingers as he gently maneuvered you through the crowd. Every few seconds you flinched as the people jumped up from their seats, cheering or groaning at what was happening down below.

From across the rink in the bench area adjacent to the ice, the red and blue players filled the booths closest to their goalkeepers. The game was in full swing with both teams scoring a point each and neither willing to let up on their explosive paces. The substitute players were all buzzing from excitement or nerves — probably a combination of both — as they shouted encouraging words to the starting lineup. Like the remaining defencemen of the blue team, Mingi sat in the middle with his hockey stick high up in the air and shoulders squishing against his fellow position players, but his eyes weren’t trained on the puck flying from one player to another. No, they were set on the pair of figure skaters on the other side of the rink. More precisely, he was focused on their interlocked hands and the subtle exchange of smiles.

A red light and the loud blaring of the goal horn went off in the arena as the opposing team managed to hurl the puck behind the blue goalkeeper and Mingi could argue it was how he felt on the inside seeing you together. The big crowd jumped from their seats, waving their red merch and screaming words Mingi couldn’t hear over the angry voice of his coach.

“Matthew, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Wow… This is really annoying. We’re only ten minutes into the first period and we’ve already received two points,” Jungkook fumed.

It was weird that neither Mingi or Jungkook were a part of the starting lineup, considering they were up against one of the better teams of the season. Trusting that their coach was making the right decision of keeping them off the ice, Mingi didn’t try persuading him to be put in. There were still two and a half periods left of the game, leaving plenty of time for Mingi to change the course of the match if needed to. It also gave him more time to keep an eye on you and simmer in his own rage, if he just hadn’t lost you in the three seconds he looked away. Frantically searching the bleachers for a girl with a blue scarf wrapped around her neck, you were nowhere to be seen.

“Song!”

The abrupt call of his name snapped him out of his search and he was met with the beetroot red face of his coach. 

“Are you deaf?!”

“Nu-uh. No, sir!”

“Then get off your ass, you’re going in.” As Mingi stood up, his coach threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. “Remember what we talked about. There are scouts watching and they’ve heard great things about this Song Mingi, so show them you’re not all talk, yeah?”

Mingi pushed in his mouth guard and nodded determinedly.

Coach patted him encouragingly and gave one last pat on his helmet for luck.

“Good, get in there and put a stop to their number three.”  

Everything turned to background noise as Mingi leaped over the board and his blades slashed against the cool surface. There was only him and his defending zone, and the fact that you were somewhere in the crowd, probably watching him or getting cozy with that stupid figure skater. The grip around his hockey stick tightened at the image and he hated the effect you still had on him. He should’ve been worrying about being on top of his game and impressing the scouts, and not what you were up to.

Mingi and Matthew held the blue line and passed the puck between each other as the remaining blue players skated around in the offensive zone, searching for an opening to get the puck handed to them. As Mingi slid the puck to Matthew, the bigger defender quickly hurled it to the next player only for the pass to be cut off. 

Going backwards, Mingi immediately retreated home while putting pressure on the puck carrier and simultaneously keeping him from having a clear view of the net. He skillfully managed to push the opposing player (without physical contact) to the side in the defensive zone. He quickly realized that he was closed off and sent the puck diagonally backwards to another red player who moved with such speed, Mingi knew he wouldn't be able to stop the additional player in time. Protests erupted from the bench as all fourteen substitute players had a hunch of what was going to happen.

To his aid came Matthew and the two defensemen managed to shut down a possible counterattack. As the remaining players entered the defending zone, the puck was still in the possession of the red team. It landed in the hold of their number three, who was a few diagonal meters from Mingi. The winger locked gazes with the blue defender and sent him a smug smirk, tauntingly saying ‘watch this’ as he winded his hockey stick up to his shoulder and readied himself for a slapshot.

Losing all control of his body, Mingi changed the trajectory of his movements and skated almost backwards while getting in number three’s sight of line. Mingi waited for the perfect timing and when the red player rushed forward to skate past him, Mingi jutted out his hip, flipping the opponent over him and stealing the puck in the process. Cheers erupted in the arena and Mingi soared at the jumbled praises and roars of encouragement.

“This is Felix and that’s Changbin, they attend TOP University. Lix-ie, Bin-ie, this is the friend I’ve been telling you about,” Hyunjin introduced you as the crowd calmed down.

The two guys weren’t dressed in anything over the top, basic hoodies and joggers or a pair of jeans with small accessories showing their support for the Red Tigers which made you feel out of place with Keeho’s blue scarf wrapped around your neck. You recognized one of them as the guy who hosted that halloween party; buffy build, a triangle shaped head, but kind features.  

“Hey.” 

The deep voice that greeted you didn’t match the sunshine-face of the other boy beside Changbin. A sprinkle of freckles covered his nose and cheeks, his eyes crinkling as he offered you a sun-like smile that matched the color of his hair.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you gently said and sat in the spot beside the sunshine-boy.

“It’s great to finally see the girl this one’s been obsessing about,” Changbin butted in with a teasing grin and earned himself a slap on the thigh by Felix.

“Just ignore him, he loves to tease.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I know banter when I hear it,” you smiled reassuringly and looked at the game below. 

One would think that because ice was your dome, you’d easily understand other winter sports, but you were truly having trouble keeping up with whatever was going on in the newly polished rink. The puck was traveling a hundred miles an hour and the skaters were freakishly fast, you could barely keep up with who was attacking and who was defending. It seemed like the moment one team scored, the other was immediately taking back a point. On top of all, you had zero knowledge about the rules. To say you were surprised when a — what looked to be dangerous and illegal — tackle occurred, would be an understatement. You expected at least someone to jump out of sheer anger, but no one batted an eye. They just kept watching and the players resumed as if it were the most normal thing of the day.

“Do you want to die?” Chan growled as he bumped shoulders with Mingi, getting all up in the defenseman’s face.

The chants of the Blue Wolves’ fans sent another surge of adrenaline through Mingi’s veins, not that he needed it, but gave him an ego boost to return the cockiness to the max.

“I should be asking you that. Don’t think you can get past us just like that. I’ll shut you down, Chan-hyung.”

In any other circumstance and in a conversation with quite literally anyone else, the use of honorific wouldn’t have been out of place, but hearing it come from Mingi wasn’t an indication of respect. It was a ploy to humiliate him and a way to set the tone of the game. In other words, telling him not to expect an easy win. Chan didn’t think anything less.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Mingi scoffed, a smirk of triumph playing across his lips. “I already did and guess what, hyung. I’ll do it again and again, and again. You will not get past me. I’ll knock you down until your ass makes a dent on the ice.”

Returning the ever-so-kind favor of butting shoulders, Mingi pushed past him and stopped right behind his center, ready to receive the puck or defend if the odds played out in the red team’s favor.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the preliminaries,” Felix smiled empathically and placed a hand on your shoulder for support. “If it makes you feel better, I thought you were perfect and deserved to win.” 

You forced a smile at the reminder of the event. The wound was still fresh and even though Felix didn’t have any ill intentions with bringing it up, it still didn’t spare you from the bitter taste of winning — if it could even be considered a victory — second place.

“Thank you, but the jury is rarely ever wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” he started and focused momentarily on the game again. “It still doesn’t change my opinion on who should’ve won though.”

Before you could thank him again and express your gratitude to his kindness, Hyunjin joined the conversation. “Oh, I see you’ve found yourself a new figure skating partner.” 

Glancing from Felix to Hyunjin and back to Felix again, you pointed at the freckled boy. “You’re a figure skater too?”

“Yup, I've been training with Jin-ie since elementary school. A tick would be easier to shake off than him.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, everyone practically begged you to sit beside them but no, little Lixie the new student decided it would be best to annoy Hyunjin-ie in the back.” 

With a witty remark waiting on the tip of his tongue, Felix parted his lips, but was interrupted by Changbin abruptly standing up, hands clasped around his mouth and shouting, “Come on Chan! Don’t let him get away with that!”

Glancing down at the rink, you noticed number three in the red team was pushed against the border with a blue guy towering over him. Both guys seemed to be communicating through their eyes and if it weren’t for their teammates getting in between, you were sure a full on fist fight would’ve taken place in front of everyone.

“You’d think Chan was his boyfriend and not mine,” Felix said to you — more so screamed over the loud cheers and hollers of distress — and watched an agitated Changbin slump back down in his seat, eyes following the flying puck kissing the net of the red goalkeeper.

“Boyfriend?” 

“Ah, right, of course Hyunjin wouldn’t talk about his friends. Anyways I’m dating number three in the red team, maybe you’ve heard of him. Bang Chan or Christopher, whatever seems fitting.”

Your mouth turned into an ‘o’ as the puzzle pieces clasped together. Felix never stopped smiling and even chuckled at your reaction. He found you endearing and understood why Hyunjin wouldn’t stop talking about you during their study sessions. 

“I take it, you know him?”

“Mmmm, I wouldn’t say I know him but we had a brief encounter at a halloween party.”

“Ah, that’s cool. The world is really small, isn’t it?”

The buzzer beat you to an answer, indicating that the twenty minutes of the second period were out. 

“Oh, and that’s halftime,” Felix said and stood up to stretch. 

Changbin shot him a deadly stare, as if the figure skater cursed out his entire family. “You know it’s not called that. It’s an intermission!”

“Eh, we don’t keep up with all that in Australia. Halftime is halftime in whatever sport you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were Australian,” you admitted.

“What, really?” He said in English and then switched back to Korean. “All the people I meet point out I speak with an accent so I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, now that you’ve said it I can actually hear like the faintest accent. Oh, that’s embarrassing of me.” You sheepishly smiled and scratched the back of your head.

“Nah, not really. Anyway, Bin-ie and I are gonna get some snacks, you guys want anything?”

“I’m alright, thank you though.”

Felix threw you a thumbs up and looked at Hyunjin for his reply.

“Yeah, surprise me with something good.”

“Gotcha! We’ll be back like a lil’ before they start if we don’t get held up by the bathrooms. Changbin sure does love to take his time there.”

As the duo followed the crowd out, you and Hyunjin fell into a comfortable silence and listened to the chatter of the people around you. For being your first time at a hockey game, you weren’t bored at all, despite being oblivious to the set of rules. Keeho did say something about fights being legal and you sincerely hoped to avoid that. The sport on ice you were aware of was so less violent, flashy and fast paced. It was so different from your figure skating which was more or less art or a story being conveyed by body language. 

Nonetheless, you were still having a good time, even though much of it was spent getting acquainted with Hyunjin’s friends.

“So… what do you think of the game so far?”

Snapping from the ice taken over by a bunch of kids chasing each other and falling on their rears, you hummed and looked back at Hyunjin who already had his eyes on you.

“It’s interesting. I mean, it’s nothing like figure skating, obviously, but it’s cool… Do you guys always do this? Watch hockey?”

“Mmm, not always, but whenever Chan has a game we try to show our support just like he does whenever Lix or I have anything going on with our figure skating.”

“That’s sweet of you. That’s actually really cute,” you gushed and the thought reminded you of your own friend group. How Keeho and Dasom showed up at your competitions or the many times you and Keeho attended Dasom’s poetry slam.

Hyunjin leaned closer to you, a playful smile across his features. “I don’t like being called cute, but considering it’s coming from you I’ll let it slide.”

Taken back by the almost flirtatious side of Hyunjin, you bashfully looked away and cheekily covered your mouth, hiding the way your smile expanded at his comment. Hyunjin, attentive as always, took notice of the action and chuckled.

“How, uhm…” 

You leaned back in your seat and braided your fingers together as the change of topic went from cheerful to sullen.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of those two, but yeah… How you holding up?”

Still trying to hold up your happy expression, you faced him and tilted your head, and Hyunjin had to physically hold back from planting a kiss on your cute nose. 

“I’ve been alright. There’s not much I can do to be honest and I don’t want to dwell on it more than necessary, you know?”

“That’s understandable. Why think about the things that make you feel bad?”

“Exactly. I’ve decided to focus on the more happier things in life.” You grimaced as a hockey player tripped and smacked head first into the plastic glass. “Even if that is watching people get concussions for just 13.000 won.”

Hyunjin burst out laughing, elegantly covering his mouth with the back of his hand and tipping his head backwards. A laugh of your own lingered with his and the multiple cheers in the air. 

“Three for three, Jeon Jungkook does it again! The nimble winger of the Blue Wolves can’t be stopped!” 

The announcement sounded through the arena a few seconds after the red lights flashed behind the Tiger’s goal and buzzer erupted, nearly rupturing your eardrums. Jungkook was really on a blast tonight, you thought as you followed his retreating figure, making a mental note of remembering his jersey number. Although you had yet to find Mingi, you felt proud for at least figuring out Jungkook and Chan, completely dismissing the fact that you barely knew a handful of players on the ice.

“You’re doing great out there, Kookie.” Mingi dunked him on the back as they retreated to the neutral zone. “Make that into five out of five and I’ll treat you to some lamb skewers.”

The smirk stretched across Jungkook’s face could only be described as menacingly and with  him in his element, Mingi knew they weren’t going to go down without a fight. 

“Add steamed dumplings into the mix and I’ll double it.”

As the referee held the puck in the air between the red and blue centers, the rest of the players prepared themselves for another brawl over who put the puck behind the opposing net. Mingi was warm all over, and the extra weight of pads and equipment was taking a toll on his body, as well as defending his home base, but each time a player was stopped, the pride was enough to resurrect his energy. Glancing slightly to the side, everything moved in slow motion as he briefly made eye contact with the supporters of both teams. Some were screaming at him out of happiness and others with harmless distaste, angry at his ability to shut down the reds’ plays and advances. Moving further up the rows, it was like a headlight lit up a spot in the crowd, and suddenly, amongst the hundreds of people, he could make you out like a tulip in the middle of a meadow.

The hold around his stick tightened seeing you squished between pretty boy and an unrecognizable face, and Mingi promised he didn’t care. He didn’t care as pretty boy whispered something in your ear and he definitely didn’t care as you flung your head backward, and let out what probably was the most angelic laughter known to heaven. Smoke erupted from his nostrils and the moment the puck was in possession of the red team, the vibrant colored jerseys irked him like a matador irritatnig a bull. As the puck was in play, all sound ceased to exist and Mingi zeroed in on the players advancing forward. 

Mingi would describe it as being underwater with all the noise distant and his movement sluggish no matter how hard he tried to lift his limbs, and if  he wasn’t so aware of his surroundings, Mingi would certainly think he was losing one of his five senses. 

See, although ice hockey was a sport all about seeing and physical contact, hearing was an important part too and if Mingi wasn’t revolted by your presence, he wouldn’t have missed the referee signaling an offside, and he wouldn’t have skated into the first player daring to cross the blue line that separated the defending and neutral zone.

The referee immediately blew his whistle and fully extended his right arm, fist clenched and eyes set on the defenseman, and time turned back to normal as a pop-like sound burst in Mingi’s ears. He barely managed to realize what happened when another body collided against his, pushing him straight into the boards. Chaos ensued as multiple players got involved trying to ease the situation, but the damage was already done and Mingi was sent to the penalty box — purposely avoiding the heavy gazes of the blue bench — along with whichever guy flew into him.

He cursed out loud as he slumped down on the bench. This was embarrassing on so many levels. It was one thing to ram into someone as payback, but lashing out for no apparent reason and after the whistle was (almost) unacceptable. He wanted to laugh at his stupidity; so much for not caring. 

“What happened?” You asked no one in particular, surprised at the sudden turn of events.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Ah, that Song Mingi, always up to no good,” Changbin grumbled, more so to himself than you. 

You snapped your eyes to the plastic enclosure the blue player was sent off to and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Through the year you had known Mingi, you’d never guess he could really use his size and strength to quite literally floor another person. Hockey was a rough sport, that wasn’t news to you, and considering Mingi could use his strength to his advantage, it was probably why he was so sought after. You couldn’t shake away this feeling of awareness. Just now realizing how… big Mingi actually was and you didn't know whether it was relief or pride, knowing that of all the times you pushed him over the edge, never once did he raise a finger at you out of anger or spite. 

Mingi may have been an asshole with 70% height and muscle, but he wasn’t a bad guy. 

“That’s called roughing,” Felix started explaining. “It’s like… I wouldn’t say it’s an illegal move, but if done out of motive or in a way to really hurt the other player, it could lead to a minor penalty — a timeout — or game misconduct. But it all depends on how bad the situation is.”

“So he won’t play until the end of the game?”

“Nah, he’ll probably be out in like a few minutes,” Hyunjin answered for you and clapped as the red team scored, evening out the score board to five-five.

“Then the blue team will be a player short up until then?.”

“Pretty much,” Felix confirmed and popped a chip in his mouth.

You didn’t see how that could be fair, but then again, ice hockey wasn’t your forthe and as no one in the crowd was making a fuss over Mingi’s penalty — except for pointing out his poor judgment — you didn’t say much else, but hum in agreement. For twelve minutes, you didn’t pay attention to what was happening on the ice, only applauding when the crowd did and slumped back in your seat as the supporters groaned in disappointment. Your full attention was set on the lone player in the plastic box. 

Worry, confusion and pity circled your mind and you wondered if this was how everyone felt seeing the placement of your figure skating competition. As soon as the thought made home in your head, you shooed it away, reminding yourself to focus on the happy things and not everything that was blue. 

Forcing your eyes from Mingi, the most blue thing in the arena (both clothing and emotion wise) you zoned out and the players blurred into small vivid spots twirling on the ice like flies above a bowl of fruit. You didn’t understand where the worry came from or why it decided to take shelter in your stomach. It probably wasn’t Mingi’s first rodeo in the penalty box and wouldn’t be the last on either, and you recognized his sudden outburst as the one you saw a glimpse of at the party, right before you left him with that blonde police officer. 

Mingi never lashed out in anger and if he did, you were never on the receiving end of it despite giving him back a tenfold of insults he greeted you with. Seeing him quite literally floor a guy his size, made your guts twist in discomfort. It was an emotion that didn’t look good on him at all. 

The game was growing more intense with each minute passing and the atmosphere amongst the audience was also getting rowdier as the teams were practically neck and neck, neither willing to let up. The second Mingi stepped foot on the ice again, the whole arena blew up with cheers. It was like the almost extinguished torch of hope re-awakened into a bright and lively fire, and you too held onto the light of hope that the Blue Wolves would take it home, definitely because of your loyalty to Tiny University and not the growing affection for a certain defender in said school. 

The puck was flying from one side of the rink to the other in just a matter of seconds with all players, excluding the goalkeepers, circling around and cashing the rubber like stone. 

“Here, wanna help me hold this up?”

You didn’t know how you missed the big sign leaning against Felix’s legs, but you did. With a nod of agreement, you both took hold of each side of the white cardboard cutout and quickly looked at the glittery blue writing on it. 

I am Chan’s #1 fan. 

“Don’t judge, I made it like last second.” A blush kissed his cheeks and his eyes squeezed into crescent moons as you read the corny line.

“No, no! I think it’s cute.”

With ten seconds left of the game everyone in the arena stood up which made you and Felix raise the sign even higher. When everyone thought the game would end in a tie, a player from the defending line of the blue team somehow managed to steal the puck from two red players and sent it hurling across the rink, right in the sanctuary of his teammate’s stick who calculatedly launched it towards the red goal and past its keeper. The buzzer went off and chaos ensued. From what you could see all the Blue Wolves players crowded the scorer and dunked the defender who sent the winning assist, while the fans raised the volume through the roof. Whistling, cheers, laughter, even some old fashion booing circulated the arena.

Not all that upset with the outcome of the game, Felix applauded and turned to his friend who seemed to be quite butthurt. “Song really is crazy good, isn’t he Bin-ie?”

“Whatever, he’s lucky Jake sprained his ankle and couldn’t play today or he’d have them all eating ice. Ha! Get it, cause they’re playing on i–”

The rest of the conversation was tuned out as you focused on the celebrating team, trying to catch sight of eighty-nine. Your eyes traveled from one bulky player to another and then, as if your prayers were answered, the player came right into view. 

Mingi walked beside a shorter guy clad in blue and you assumed it was Chan by the sole way he pointed up at you and the other guys. Your suspicion was confirmed as the helmet was removed and Chan’s face was illuminated by the strong lights. You could just make out the faint movement of his mouth, saying something to the giant beside him. 

“Good to know your girl is cheering for the right team, Mings.”

Mingi followed the invisible line leading to where you stood and scanned the group of friends. He immediately recognized Hyunjin and the buff one, and he didn’t even manage to take a proper look at the third boy as his eyes found yours. Beautiful as ever, he thought and admired as much of you as possible. Your face, clothes, make-up and everything about you was perfect, and the passive aggressive comment was almost brushed to the side until he zeroed in on the paper in your hands. It was in that moment that the rose-tinted glasses slipped down his nose, jealousy quick to seep into every corner of his existence and he remembered why he’d been avoiding you for weeks.

Before he could send you a sharp (and unjustified) glare, he redirected his anger to the guy beside him. 

“Oh, don’t be like that. She was the one to look at me first.

Mingi wasn’t a violent person, he really wasn’t, but there was no acceptable excuse for why he did what he did. 

As if born ready for this day, Mingi used his teeth to tear off his gloves and pounced on Chan. One hand grabbed around the collar of his red jersey as the other was colliding with his cheek. He managed to get in two more punches — the first successfully collided with Chan’s jaw and the second just barely missed the bone of his nose — before Chan used his own limbs to defend himself. The red winger grabbed hold of Mingi’s helmet and snatched it off his head, and seized the chance to send a fist flying in his face, returning the punches he received from the blue defender. Red bruises quickly littered across their knuckles and warm blood covered their skin, the thick liquid pouring from both Chan’s nose and Mingi’s lip.

The crowd was going wild, the whistles of the referees were being ignored and it didn’t take long before the remaining players of each team were trying to separate the two brutes. 

“Oh my God!” 

Felix and Changbin flinched at your gasp. 

“He’s fucking crazy. Hey! What the hell?!” Changbin jumped between the seats and rocketed down towards the ice with the rest of you hot on his heels.

The silence was deafening. Everyone was curious as to what was going on and why a fight ensued now that the game was over, usually the nose breaking happened on ice and not off. Whispers and rumors spread like a wildfire, some claimed it was the aftermath of adrenaline while others thought of something more extreme like hard drugs taking over. Nonetheless, the crowd riled them on, clearly finding joy in the brawl. You weren’t anywhere near when the referees and teammates broke them up, Mingi being forcefully sent towards the locker room as Chan stayed laying on the ground, crimson face and teeth no longer pearly white.

“What the hell, Mingi,” you muttered under your breath and slipped through the mass of people, running to where you assumed he’d be. 

Your head was working a hundred miles an hour with the images of Mingi hunched over Chan, fists violently beating the blonde and a lot of blood covering his face. You were sure you’d never get them out of your head and you shuddered at the amount of red that ran down Chan’s nose. For the sake of the giant asshole you grew attached to, you hoped it wouldn’t put a stop to his career, both school- and sportwise. It would by far be his dumbest decision yet. For what even?

A group of reporters stood outside a door you assumed was reserved for the Blue Wolves and if that wasn’t enough of a give away then it was the loud cheers and victory singing echoing out to the hallway. In reality you wanted nothing more than to barge inside and interrupt their celebration — how they could celebrate after that bloodbath was still something you couldn’t wrap your head around — but you did no such thing. The moment the door opened you pushed the reporters aside and flew in with your head first, paying no mind to the perverse wolf whistles and cheers of the adrenaline drunken boys. You didn’t even bother with them as your eyes scanned the room that smelled of sweat and axe deodorant for him. Jungkook, seemingly the most normal one there (which spoke volumes), quickly understood why you were there and approached you with no teasing glint or malice in his gaze.

“Try looking by the abandoned gym on the ground floor. There’s a vending machine there we usually go to so I assume if he’s taken off somewhere it should be there.” 

You wasted no time in turning on your heel and practically sprinting down the route you repeated like a mantra. First floor. Abandoned gym. Vending machine. First floor. Abandoned gym. Vending machine.

Lo and behold, he was right there and if it weren’t for the worry growing in your belly you’d go back upstairs and reward the playboy with a big smooch to his rosy lips. 

Mingi sat down on the floor, legs up to his chest and forearms folded on his knees. His sweaty forehead was leaning against the skin of his arm and an anxious rhythm of his heart beat in his chest. It was hard to miss the red on his knuckles. Inhaling a shaky breath as if it would steady your own heart, your feet stopped before him falling right in his line of sight. Surprised at the unexpected company, Mingi looked up and got a first row ticket of the concern swimming in your eyes. You didn’t know what to expect going after him, but the annoyed — almost disgusted — scoff he let out cut through you like a knife and twisted as he looked back down. Despite the act of annoyance aimed at you, Mingi wasn’t actually that annoyed with you but rather with himself because after everything he still had the urge to reach for your touch and he hated it. His jaw clenched at the circumstance and his nails dug in the palms of his hands. You weren’t even supposed to be here, it made everything ten times harder than it should’ve been.

Having had enough of his pity party Mingi and the weight of your gaze judging him, he pushed up from his position and walked right past you. No hello, no second glances, just walking as if you were a ghost he couldn’t see let alone feel. His movements halted when you latched onto one of his wrists, knowing that if he truly wanted to get away he’d shake you off like a ragdoll and be on his merry way. Although he was with his back facing you, the fact that he stood  rooted to the ground was the approval you seeked to continue with your winged attempt at getting him to speak.

“Mingi, what the hell was that?” 

The two of you weren’t heavy on the use of honorifics, but hearing you spit his name out like that surely sent a shiver down his spine. You weren’t pissed off, he noticed, you were actually worried and it was quite amusing. The nerve you had of showing up after that fiasco to interrogate him about his actions. Who the hell did you think you were?

“Huh? Why did you do that?” Shaking his arm, you tried again. “Can you please say something? I’m worried for you and your silence isn’t helping, please just say something.”

Mingi didn’t budge and you were starting to lose it. The avoidance wasn't enough, now he was blatantly ignoring your attempt at helping too.

“What is your problem?! I’m trying to help you, something’s obviously happened so why won’t you tell me!”

Ripping his wrist out of your hold, he turned around and it took every particle in you not to cower at his sharp eyes staring you down. 

“You want to know what my problem is?” His loud voice bounced off the walls and punched you right in the gut. 

There was so much anger in his gaze, his tone and his body. Everything screamed of anger and you didn’t even know why you were on the receiving end of his emotions. You were just trying to help.

“You! You are my fucking problem!”

“What?”

“As if you don’t know what you’re doing. Acting all nice and cutesy like we are friends, like you’re interested in ever befriending me which now that I think about is so stupid because you and I? What a joke. We’re a fucking joke!”

“What are you even talking about?!”

Mingi scoffed again. He looked to the side, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. There were so many thoughts going through his head and all he could think about was what words to use to hurt you the most. To make you feel the hurt he did.

“First, you invite me to your stupid competition and then you come to my game sitting with him! Was this all a game, huh? To get back at me for all the dumb shit I did to you because if it is then wow, you’ve really proven yourself to be more shallow and boneless than I ever thought. I mean, you’re really going out of your way to get under my skin and act like a fucking–”

Mingi closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, the veins on his neck were more prominent than ever and his face was almost identical to the red color of Dasom’s hair. He really needed to calm down before he said something he’d regret. Not that it mattered, the damage was already done and he knew the aftermath was already biting him in the ass. Shit, the look of your glossy eyes was quick to make his inside burn with remorse.

Each insult was a poisoned arrow aimed at your heart. The words physically hurt you more than ever before and you weren’t aware just how mean Mingi could be. Your previous bickering never stooped on a level this low before and it brought tears to your eyes but even that wasn't enough to stop his rant. Not wanting to be caught vulnerable in front of the guy who was practically stepping on you with his shoes, you quickly wiped away the tears that managed to escape.

Mingi knew he was taking his frustration out on you and he knew it wasn’t fair because you hadn’t done anything wrong. It all kept piling on his shoulders. All the instances he saw you two together; the joint practices, your embarrassed giggles any time Hyunjin breathed, watching him console you in the hallways like a poor reenactment of a romcom, sitting so close together at his game, shoulders touching a little too close for Mingi’s liking… If that stupid piece of cardboard was a bomb waiting to be activated, then Chan was the flame that set everything off. 

“Oh, great. This is really great now you’re fucking crying too. You think some tears are going to make me feel bad? They won’t, I don’t care anymore okay? I’m done with you and your fucking shit. So go back to your prince fucking charming and don’t even bother looking for me, you hear? I’m fucking done!” 

You shrunk back at his unwavering and stern voice. Having nothing more to say Mingi stormed away, blood boiling and hands shaking as the final words set in. The last you saw of him before gut-wrenching sobs wrecked your body was the door slamming up against the wall and back the doorframe so hard the walls vibrated. And later that same night when Mingi got home, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you decided to never look at him again, let alone speak with him. 

Different emotions tore you apart and it was hard to make sense of anything that happened in the past ten minutes. The questions — what, why, how — were endless and you wanted to go home, preferably dig a hole in your bed and not come out until better days, whenever that would be you didn’t know. Tears burned your cheeks like lava and snot tickled your nose, dropping off your chin and onto your shirt. With the already wet sleeve of your sweater you wiped everything off your face, not in the right mind to care about what Keeho would say about his precious shirt. Like a baby cub seeking its momma bear for comfort, you retreated home yearning for the closest touch of a mother you could find.

“You have reached the voicemail of Choi Dasom. Please leave a message after the beep.”

After the fifth attempted call, you gave up and continued trudging home. Dark clouds hovered over Seoul and the light pelts of rain quickly became a downpour. Being picked up on Dasom’s bike didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Unlocking the front door of your shared apartment you were greeted with Hongjoong and Dasom sitting awfully close on the couch. They jumped apart as you harshly dropped the keys in the fruit bowl and froze at the sight of you; bawling, wet and shivering. Skipping the formalities you wasted no time diving in the shower and by the time you ventured back out, Hongjoong was nowhere to be seen as if the boy was never there to begin with and you couldn’t have been more relieved. You’ve had enough boys for the next ten years of your life.

“Beans?” 

It was probably the dumbest thing to cry about, but your lips still quivered and the tears you just managed to stop surfaced at the nickname. The girl caught you in her arms and you buried your head in her shoulder as your cries got louder. Dasom offered you solace with gentle rubs to your back and patiently waited until your labored breathing became even. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered and slowly guided you to your bedroom. 

Attentive as always she helped you get under the covers and shuffled in beside you to which you immediately buried your face in her bosom, her hand slank under your neck and connected with the other at the back of your head. You lay there in each other’s presence and listened to the coexisting beat of your hearts. Dasom didn’t try coaxing the troubles out of you and you heaved out a big breath. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at the constant tears and after waking up from passing out of exhaustion, you knew you’d be a victim of an unbearable headache and heavy feet. The whisper of your name was loud in the silent room and you hummed in reply, letting the other girl know you were in fact awake.

“You wanna talk about it?”

The most obvious thing would be to talk about it; talk about why you burst through the door, face wet and not entirely because of the rain. Your mom always told you to never sleep with an empty stomach, a busy mind or a heavy heart and while you didn’t appreciate the advice at the minute, future-you would (hopefully) think back to this moment and thank you for your courage. Dasom followed in tow as you sat up criss-crossed, taking your hands in hers and giving them comforting squeezes every once in a while. By the time she was pulled through the story of your evening — meeting Changbin and Felix, having a good time with Hyunjin, to seeing Mingi beat the living shit out of Chan and then him lashing out on you — the clock struck somewhere between two and three in the morning, courtesy of a few short crying breaks in between. Glancing up at your friend who was still digesting the events, you felt lighter at the thought of having your very own sun sharing warmth and hope wherever she went.

“He likes you,” she eventually said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You sniffled and wiped at your nose again, hands falling to play with the bedsheet. 

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know who I’m talking about?”

You thought you ran out of tears hours ago but were proven wrong as a new batch stung your eyes and eventually trickled down your sore cheeks. Dasom pulled you in another soul crushing hug and held the back of your head, nails gently massaging your scalp.

“Why are you crying, bean?”

Through tears and her thick cardigan you replied. “Because we aren’t talking about Hyunjin, are we? He’s the one we should be talking about.”

“But we aren’t and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It felt wrong crying over someone who held no significance in your life just a few months ago. The same guy who riled you up like it was his daily dose of sunshine and who set it as his life mission to have you curse him out. The guy who called you stupidly cute nicknames and walked you home at night, offering up his jacket to keep you warm and safe from colds. The guy who didn't turn up to your competition and then lived in your head like an annoying song playing on repeat refusing to disappear. The same guy who shook you to your core with his angry words and fiery gaze.

“Why am I like this?”

“Like what?” 

Dasom wasn’t foolish. She knew what you were going through and could only hope you’d come to terms with the unknown feelings rather than to be the one revealing the reason behind your heartbreak. 

“Drawn to a guy who’s mean and an asshole when I have the perfect one right there, waiting and catering to my every need.”

“I know I’m supposed to hate him for the things he’s said to you and I do, I really do bean…. so if you think I won’t at least glare him down in the hallways then I’m revoking your position as my best friend… But I’m going to be completely honest with you, bean because that’s what you deserve. I think something else must have triggered him to lash out, it couldn’t just have been because you were simply sitting beside Hyunjin.”

She gently played with your hair as the words sank in.

“He really hurt me.”

“I know, bubs and I’m so sorry. Know that nothing excuses that behavior.”

“Then why do I still think of him even when he’s shit. Why won’t my brain let me be happy with Hyunjin?” You broke from the huge and fell back on the bed, hands gripping the sheets as if they held all the answers to your questions. 

“Hyunjin is safe. We all like the safe and predictable, right?” 

Your nod of agreement spurred her on. 

“But Mingi, oh Mingi, is exciting. He drives you crazy, keeps you on your toes and throws you off course yet you can’t ever really get enough of him no matter how much it annoys you. I see it and I’ve been seeing it for months now and I promise this is the most objective version of me speaking right now.”

“But I like Hyunjin,” you whined, refusing to accept your own feelings.

“And you like me and Kyo too,” Dasom whispered softly, like a breeze passing through a field. “But we don’t fall in Mingi’s category.”

The days leading up to the holidays were spent within the four walls of your room waiting for the time to pass until you’d take your suitcase and haul ass across the country, definitely not because you were afraid to stumble across the very person you were avoiding. After the not so pleasant discovery you didn’t know what to make of yourself or your feelings. You couldn’t just phone him and proclaim your undying love because last time you checked, he explicitly made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. You from a few months ago would throw a party big enough to think it was for a quinceañera or a sweet sixteen celebration with this information, but the present-you acted like Bella Swan during the disappearance of Edward Cullen just a tad bit less depressing.

Dasom was the first to leave. Her parents surprised her with a vacation to Jeju-island and her flight left the first morning of winter break. Keeho was still in the city but with college out of the way, he took on more working hours than usual. His immediate family lived in Canada and the plane ticket would be more expensive than the salary he’d get over the next two weeks. With your two friends unavailable you passed time thinking about the one who shall not be named and realized how unfortunate the whole situation was. You also realized you probably wouldn’t act upon your feelings as you didn’t with Hyunjin and would just let them flow until evaporating into thin air. 

Speaking of Hyunjin, you and him still texted back and forth albeit the conversations were slow and not nearly as exciting as you once found them to be. Your sudden disappearance at the hockey game was covered with a quick lie of ‘not feeling well’, which he immediately believed because, why wouldn’t he? Christmas wasn't anything special. It started with an early message of Hyunjin wishing you a Merry Christmas attached with a selfie of him in a Santa hat and fake beard, and the rest of the day was spent inside with your family watching movies and drinking hot cocoa. 

The new year was welcomed on the couch where a bump would sooner or later be formed and that alone was enough to explain the excitement level in the household. You all went to sleep a little after midnight and as you laid in your childhood bedroom, feet almost sticking out of the small bed, you mindlessly scrolled down the explore section of Instagram. A pang of sadness struck you at the picture staring back at you through the screen. It was a post of Mingi and his friend — the golden retriever looking one — posing on a snowy mountain both clad in skiing gear. The taller of the two had an arm slung over Mingi’s shoulder who, in return, sported a boyish grin and held up a peace sign. The split lip had healed perfectly and the only indicator of him being in a fight was the slight plum colored mark under his eye (courtesy of a nice punch delivered to his nose). At least someone was happy with you out of their lives. 

Angry, sad and just tired, you exited the app and shoved your phone under the pillow drowning out your scream. You didn’t even know why his post landed on your feed. Wasn’t the explore page supposed to show videos of millennials doing cringy trends and not the most recent activity of the dude that shit all over you.

This continued on for days. While you were decomposing in your room he was updating his Instagram account as if a celebrity. Pictures and videos of him clubbing until the early hours of the morning, pretty girls and tables full of alcohol captured in short stories and then a complete 180; sharing clips of him flying down snowy mountains, doing stunts and whatnot.

If he was so upset with you, why were you the one wasting days self wallowing? It wasn’t like you could party away the worry. Your hometown was the size of a nut meaning A) you knew everyone and their mother, and B) every person in a ten mile radius was well-over the age of forty and the closest thing that came as a party would be the retirement home down the street. Then again, playing bingo with the grannies was better than binge watching gut-wrenching dramas. At least you’d be clearing your ‘to watch-list’.

The weeks passed in a blur and, before you knew it, you were back in the comfort of your apartment with two days to spare until classes started rolling again. Dasom would be home the day after and Keeho was either passed out in his apartment or working his second shift of the day, leaving you to unpack the chaos sealed inside your suitcase. Swirls of snow beat violently against the windows, turning the outside world into a winter wonderland. The heavy weather picked up on your journey home and as you traveled halfway back to Seoul, the ground was slowly being covered in white flakes. You only got so far with your unpacking when a series of knocks rattled against the front door. 

“What’s uuuuup?!” Keeho screeched as you opened the door and an equally excited Dasom rolled in with her red large suitcase. 

“What are you doing here?!” 

They pulled you into a hug. Keeho’s loudness and Dasom’s giggles warmed up the place in no time and you immediately felt better.

“Surprise!”

“I hate you guys!” You exclaimed and squeezed their waists, head resting on Keeho’s shoulder with Dasom’s nose buried against your chest.

“Don’t lie, we know you love us. Now let’s get this bitch started!”

Scurrying to the kitchen Keeho brought back three animated cups; one with Naruto, Totoro and–

“You’re not drinking beer from the cup plastered with a picture of my dead cat!”

“Of course not, that one’s yours. Mine’s the Naruto one and Dasom gets Totoro, for obvious reasons.”

Said girl skipped quickly to the pantry and pulled out multiple bags of snacks. The huge smile on her face got you all curious.

“What’s got you all happy?”

“Nothing, I've just missed you guys! Jeju was fun but it would’ve been better with you there,” she pouted and poured the snacks into separate bowls.

“Pfft, don’t listen to her. She’s been texting that Cruella de Vil boy all winter break.”

Her smile grew and grew until it was a full blown grin and you squealed in delight, genuinely happy for your friend despite the green monster gnawing at the back of your head. 

“Tell me everything, c’mon!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” The fun and what would be the start of a girls’ night was interrupted by Keeho. “I should be the one asking you that, little miss I’m in love with my greatest enemy.”

Gasping, you turned to Dasom. “You told him?!”

“So it’s true?!” 

He leaned towards you and nearly snickered as your hands covered your mouth — if it weren’t for the serious circumstance — and stared at him with wide eyes. You walked right into his trap and as you told him everything that happened — the good and the bad — Dasom threw her hand out, palm facing upward..

“Pay up, pretty boy!”

“They aren’t even together!”

Dasom, a feral little chihuahua, jumped on him and a wrestling match took place in the middle of the living room. You couldn’t find it in you to be mad or upset. Leaning back against your arms, you watched them with a smile tugging at your lips. This is what you missed back in your childhood home. As much as you loved your family, the one you built in the heart of Seoul was very dear to you.

The ding of your phone snapped you out of your love-struck daze.

Hyunjin [07:16 PM] you back home yet?

You [07:16 PM] yeah, arrived a few hours ago

Hyunjin  [07:16 PM] im glad

Hyunjin  [07:16 PM] how was it?

You [07:17 PM] Good to see the family again but God did I miss my bed

You [07:17 PM] What were you up to?

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] yeah no kiddin ik exactly what u mean

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] Nothing much, did a lot of practice on the choreo w Iseul

You [07:17 PM] Ohhhh how’s that coming along?

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] it’s good but nowhere near perfect

You scoffed at the reply.

You [07:17 PM] I’m sure you’ll get it down in no time

Keeho harshly grabbed your shoulders, peering down at the screen but not comprehending any of the words.

“And who are you texting?” 

“Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin!” Dasom sang, already tipsy from the soju she downed while you were busy typing away.

“And what does Mr. Popular want?"

Hyunjin [07:19 PM] wanna help me practice? 

Author's note pt.2: There's one thing I'd like to say regarding this chapter. When it comes to significant others, situation ships, partners, etc do not ever let anyone speak to you in a condescending matter. It doesn't matter how upset they are or what you've done for them to explode, you should never, and I really mean NEVER let anyone talk down to you. The only reason I didn't make MC obliterate Mingi is for the sake of the story, otherwise I'd have her drag him along the streets of Seoul like a dog, lmao. Anyway, if anyone speaks to you like Mingi did to MC in their fighting scene, please either leave/break up or put them in their place. You deserve to be treated with respect and love as much as anyone else.

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 1

Source for the pic

Firestarter 1

Word Count: 3056

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Special Warning 2 : Below the summary is the masterlist. I advise reading the introductory chapters first, as they give a sense of the story, introduce characters and locations and, this chapter starts off immediately after the Sanji chapter.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: Here's the first chapter of Ace's story. I've been having a blast writing this, I do hope you enjoy it as well. If you want to be tagged when I post a new chapter, let me know! Also, don't be shy, I'd love to read about your thoughts! Thank you! ❤️

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

Next Chapter

After lunch you take another quick stroll through town and ask around for some part-time jobs, but nothing’s available so you return to your car, ready to go home and hoping Nami and Robin can help you find that job, like they promise they would. 

But the car doesn't start. 

You try to do what your father said, as silly and idiotic as it may seem. You pet the dash of the car and the steering wheel and coo at them in a soothing voice. 

“Hi, sweetheart. You're going to work for me now, aren't you? You're a pretty little girl, aren't you?” 

Rolling your eyes and inhaling deeply, you turn the key again and the engine sputters and chokes almost catching but it doesn't and you grunt. 

You spend the next fifteen minutes alternating between spewing pretty words at the car and shouting ugly insults, but the car is dead. Finally you give up and call your dad. 

“Dad, the stupid car won't start!” you whine like a teenager, not caring because you're annoyed and upset. 

“Have you tried-...”

“Yes!” You interrupt. “I've tried everything! I've tried being nice and petting it, and I've tried being mean and hitting it. None of it is working!”

You hear Ace's loud guffaws in the background and instantly blush. “One of those options usually gets me started!” He shouts and you ignore him. You hadn't realised you were on speaker. Shanks starts to go into detail about what you should do but you just sigh in exasperation. 

“Can you come help me, dad? Please?” You add another little whine to your voice because that might do the trick. He sighs on the other end and concedes so you tell him exactly where you are parked. 

You still try to get the car to work while you wait, but it only makes you more and more frustrated. On your last attempt, you make the engine overheat and smoke billows everywhere, so you get out of the car, open the hood and wave your hands around to disperse the smoke. 

The smell of burnt oil and smoke is overpowering, and you are soon assaulted by a coughing fit before the cloud dissipates and you manage to take a look inside. Supporting  your weight on your hands, you lean inside, certain that you can find whatever is wrong with it despite having zero knowledge of mechanics. You have absolutely no idea what you are looking for. 

“Princess, you wanna kill me?” Ace's voice is deeper than you've ever heard it, and he manages to surprise you enough to elicit a small gasp. 

“Ace!”

He's leaning against the hood of his jeep, legs crossed, a hand on his chest and a smirk on his lips as his eyes drink you in. At least he has a shirt on for once, which is a first since your reencounter. “You can't lean like that while wearing a tiny dress.” He emphasises with hand gestures so you get his point. “Someone might see more than you intended.” His smirk grows. 

Your eyes pierce his without any hint of amusement. “Are you saying that you saw my butt, Mr. Someone?”

His laugh bubbles up in a sweet sound as his freckles dance along with the vibrations and you have to force yourself not to get dragged along into laughter as well. 

“I'm not saying that. I just don't want someone else to see it.” You can't control the small blush that fills your cheeks with embarrassment. The way Ace manages to make you flustered is almost infuriating. 

“Where's my dad?” You ask, deadpan. 

“Couldn't make it.”

“Meaning?” You are proudly becoming Ace-fluent and understanding that everything he says has a double meaning. 

“I volunteered.”

“That's what I thought.” You sigh and he laughs. “Can you actually help?”

He moves away from his jeep and approaches you, supporting one hand on the hood and the other on his hip while casually glancing over the engine. “That's totally fried.” He points at the engine and shakes his head. “You'll need to come with me.” With another languid smirk he points at his jeep. 

“You're bullshitting.”

“I resent that.” His hurt-boy act almost convinces you. 

“No you don't!” 

“I don't. I just like to see you mad at me.” 

You huff and place both hands on your hips while glaring at him. “Be serious, Ace!”

He sighs and this time actually leans properly into the hood, starting to mess with some parts. You have no idea if he's just touching things for the sake of it or if he actually knows what he's doing. 

“I know what I'm doing.” Is he a mind reader? “I help Franky at the firehouse all the time. He's the mechanic, but I know a few basics.”

“Firehouse?”

“Yeah, I'm a firefighter!” He exclaims as if it's something you should've known by now. 

“I didn’t know that.”

“Luffy works with me there as well. It’s hardly a job when we have as much fun as we do.” He chuckles softly. “I guess we’re lucky firefighters since there are barely any accidents where people get hurt. It’s mostly forest fires or small car accidents.”

You nod. “The perks of a small town.” You mumble as you lean closer to see what he’s doing and your shoulders bump and brush together. He’s warm and taut but you focus your eyes on his hands, paying no mind to your closeness. You notice that he’s screwing some oily nuts. He uses just the tip of his middle finger to turn the nuts, and the precision with which he does so is insane.

And he smells nice. How can he smell so good if he’s been working with your father all morning? He smells like…  nature! Some sort of sandalwood or cedarwood with a fresh hint of pine. It’s intoxicating and you try to breathe as little as possible near him.  

“Yeah, and that’s why I have time to help your dad and learn new stuff. Franky’s the genius mechanic, but I’ve got a few tricks.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, but you don’t look at him.

You're still distracted by the nuts and the amount of oil making his fingers glisten as he twirls them. You’re not usually a very carnal girl, but Ace does things to you and your body. Uncontrollable things. Inadvertently, you wet your lower lip and let it catch between your teeth, humming at his answer, or at his actions, you can't quite tell, except that hum sounded quite close to a low grunt. “That's… interesting.” 

Wow. Awesome brain power. You almost kick yourself for that but he immediately catches on and stops his motions, his eyes looking at you hungrily as they pause on your lips and the way you're biting them. Then travel up to your eyes and it’s almost as if he leans into you, like magnets being pulled close together. So close. 

“You alright there, princess?” He exhales sultrily as his warm breath tingles near your face, and you gasp, coming out of your bliss and scratching your head with nervousness. 

“Yes, yes. I'm fine.” You train your eyes back on the car’s insides. “So, is it overheating?”

“Damn right it is.” He mumbles making you look up once more and his eyes never leave your lips. Your breath catches as you pull away from the hood to gain some distance from him. 

But as you do, you take a step back towards the open road, just as a car is going by. 

“Watch it!” He yelps as his oily hand grasps your forearm with a strong grip, that’s sure to bruise, and he pulls you towards him making you collide with his chest with a sound oomph. “That was freaking close!”

Your heart is banging against your chest in an insane rhythm, the adrenaline of almost being hit by a car making you tremble and gasp for air. Ace’s hand is still gripping your forearm tightly and it’s starting to hurt but you can’t seem to find your voice. 

“Drive slower, asshole! You’re in the city” He screams at the car, his other hand wrapping protectively around you and settling on your head, pulling you flush against him. It’s a weird dichotomy, this feeling. One hand holds you tightly with a deathly vice while the other protects and soothes you with a soft caress.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent - that strong wooden scent - trying to ground yourself and will your heart to calm down. 

“Are you alright?” He mutters your name softly, trying to shake you out of your slight shock. 

Nodding fervently you pull back, away from his warmth and his intoxicating scent. You find your voice and force it out with a shaky breath. “You’re hurting me, Ace.”

He eyes you quizzically for a moment before realising he’s still holding your arm as if you’re about to be taken away from him. His grip relaxes instantly and he raises his hands releasing a string of apologies. 

“Ah, crap, sorry. I didn’t realise I was still holding you that tightly.”

Your arm hurts and will definitely bruise, but you don’t want him to feel bad about saving you, so you give it a quick massage and dismiss the subject with a smile. “Thank you, Ace. That was quick thinking.”

His face seems deadly serious and you had yet to witness this side of him. “It shouldn’t have to be necessary. The asshole was driving way out of limits. I should’ve gotten his plate number to give to Zoro.” He sighs as his eyes leave the road and finally settle back on you. “You sure you’re alright?”

The slight edge of his voice makes you realise he was also scared, despite not showing it, and you are deeply grateful. “I really am.”

“Oh, shit. I smeared oil all over your arm, hang on.” You look at the arm he was gripping and it is, indeed, covered in greasy oil that transferred from his hand, but you’re fine with it, you’re about to go home, anyway. Yet Ace doesn’t relent, he seems to be looking for a rag or something to wipe your arm with.

“I think I have some wipes in-... no, Ace! That’s not necessary!” But you’re too late. Off with the shirt he goes and now you start to think that he might be allergic to any kind of shirt since he’s always so keen on having his torso bare. 

“I’ll clean you up in a second.” He uses his shirt to wipe your arm and you sigh, knowing full well that this is a useless fight and you can’t win, so you just let him do his thing. 

A string of giggles and high-pitched squeals makes you turn your head to the sidewalk. Sure enough there are two girls giggling in each other’s arms, ogling Ace’s form and you frown.

“Hiiiiii, Ace!” They say in unison, their voices hitting a note that would’ve been able to shatter the finest of crystal glasses. 

Ace’s job is thorough, though, and he only turns when there’s no trace of oil on your arm. But when he does turn, it’s with a cheeky smirk and a tip of his hat. “Hello, ladies!” He leans his hand back into the hood of the car so he can give his full attention to them.

They giggle some more and you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Pathetic.” Mumbling curses between your teeth, you close the hood with vigour, making Ace yelp because you almost caught his hand in the process. “Sorry.” You scorn, not sorry at all. 

Then you reach inside and take out your purse and car keys, locking it in the process, and walk towards Ace’s jeep.

“Let’s just go.” You state coldly.

Why are you acting so jealous? It’s not like Ace is anything to you. You’re not special, you’re nothing to him. 

And you don’t want to be anything to him. So maybe get a grip and stop acting bitchy?

The girls wave goodbye at Ace and one of them tells him to call her because she misses him. You’re not quite sure how your eyes don’t fall out of their sockets from the force with which you roll them. 

Acting bitchy it is, then, you decide as you settle into the passenger seat.

He finally climbs into his jeep and you’re about to ask if he’s seriously going to drive without a shirt on, when he reaches into the backseat - leaning towards your side and making you turn to the window so you don't have to face his naked chest right up your nose - and retrieves another crumpled shirt, putting it on in a swift movement. 

Your eyes follow his earlier movement, to see if there’s an infinite pile of shirts back there, and you release a light snort through your nose at the sight you discover. There’s a folded duvet and a pillow, and thinking about the size of the bed of his jeep, your head instantly makes the assumption on why he keeps that in his car. 

You don’t want to do it, you don’t want to think about it, it just happens. Your mind is stronger than your will and, in a split second, pictures of you and Ace in the back of that jeep course through your head.

The open night sky above you, shining with stars, little dots that act as sole witnesses to your acts of passion;

Languid kisses that trail from your neck, to your chest and end in your lower belly, promising more;

Feather like touches that start on your entwined hands, where he places them above your head. His fingers trace the inside of your raised forearm, tickle your armpit, and follow along your side to your ribs, settling on the bone of your hip, stealing your breath away;

His body slotted above yours, his knee between your legs, keeping them open for him as his chest lowers above you and his lips claim yours;

You shake your head vigorously, mentally chastising yourself for what your mind conjured. He’s a player! You don’t need another fuckboy in your life. Hell, you don’t need another man in your life, period!

“Do you want me to call Kid? He owns the mechanic shop and he can tow your car.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it later. Just take me home, Ace.” You realise how cold you sound and you’re pretty sure he realises that too because he keeps looking at you with his eyebrow raised.

“What happened to your mood, princess? I’m sure Kid can fix your car in a heartbeat.”

He’s seriously that clueless? Figures.

Setting your sight on the open window and the view outside as he starts the jeep, you shake your head.

“Sure. Don’t call me princess.”

Ace settles an arm behind your headrest and turns his body to look back as he reverses the jeep and you force your head to stay still and your eyes to stay glued on the post office signpost across the street.

Fuckboy, player, womaniser. Fuckboy, player, womaniser.

You keep repeating that mantra without fail until he finally faces forward and drives the car. There are few things sexier than a hot man reversing the car like that and you’re not about to add that image of Ace to your already scrambled brain. You refuse. 

“Are your panties in a twist, princess?” He chuckles.

“Two things, Ace. Three, actually.” You raise your fingers as you go and this time you actually look at him. “Don’t talk about my panties, don’t talk to me the rest of the way, and don’t call me princess!” You emphasise the last sentence and end with a hiss and a huff followed by crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the window. 

You can almost hear the cogs turning inside his head. You’re pretty sure he’s reliving every interaction with you up until this moment and why you’re acting pissed. But you’re not about to admit to him the real reason. 

It’s a freaking stupid reason!

You’re not entitled to be upset. You’re not even entitled to be jealous or pissed. Yet, here you are. So you might as well just roll with it. But you’ll never admit it. Ever.

The ride is tense and it seems longer than it actually is, so you can’t wait to jump out of the jeep as soon as he parks it outside your house, but he presses the button that locks the doors and you sigh while turning to him with a raised brow and pursed lips, waiting for him to speak.

“What did I do?”

“That’s a good start. Always admit to guilt. Men are always at fault.” You snort and try the door, even though you know it won’t budge. 

“Princess, look at me. I really don’t know what I did wrong.” The uncertainty in his voice almost makes you cave, but there’s that freaking nickname again. And it’s getting under your skin. 

“Don't. Call. Me. Princess.”

“That’s it? Is that why you’re upset? ‘Cause I can stop. I don’t want to, you’re my princess.” He jokes but you’re not in the mood for jokes. 

“You know what I think, Ace?” Your angry stare bores into his eyes as his smile suddenly dissolves. “I think you call all your girls princess, or sweetheart, or gorgeous or another stupid, infantile pet name, because you can’t be bothered to learn their actual names!” Your hand grips the handle and you try to open the door again, this time with more force, yet it still doesn’t budge. “At least that way, you’re safe when you actually forget their name because they’re just another notch in your freaking cowboy belt!”

He just stares at you, jaw slack, while his hand grips the wheel. 

“Open this door, Ace! I want to leave.”

You huff again but it takes him a moment to react. Downcasting his gaze he nods and unlocks the door without another word. 

“Thanks for the help.” You tell him before slamming the door and climbing the steps to the porch. This was not how you had envisioned the end of this afternoon. 

At all.

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

WELL HELL THEY’RE GAYYY

In context, for real, seriously, Kallus being Fulcrum was like a “oh cool, as I knew” cause meeting that Lasat was the turning point for his life.

Zero Hour absolutely 10000/10. What the hell kinda finale did I just watched. It doesn’t dwarf S2 in my book, but it’s so damn good.

But I genuinely don’t know what it was, in the last half of the third season with like, Through Imperial Eyes, I don’t know, he just catches my eyes more?

It’s not like how I felt when I saw Zeb, considering I knew his character from when I watched S1-scattered S2 as a kid, and already had him tagged as a favorite simply because of how expressive he was (and ears/the cat base for his species)

But Kallus, it was weird. Like, I genuinely hated his hair with a passion throughout the early seasons, and being an Imp, it was kinda like, oh I dislike him, he’s just gonna be another one of those weekly villains to them. Which he was for a bit!!

I’d never seen The Honorable Ones before, but it changed my freaking life when I did. The mercy that Zeb grants (with the condition of wanting a fair fight, which sure, his morals aren’t quite in it for killing an unarmed, injured, kinda hot, man), the trust, if grudgingly, that slowly builds between them due to their circumstances, and bleeds out of their circumstances to each other. Trusting each other, enough for them to trust sleeping around each other. Enough for Zeb to offer him a place with the Rebellion.

And the cracks in Kallus’ beliefs grow further, and he turns from the Empire almost immediately after Bahryn.

I’d like to think that Kallus never truly enjoyed any of the work he did for the Empire. He’s described as being surprisingly compassionate for an Imperial. That’s evident in his actions that differ from his fellow officers. While he is ruthless in pursuit, he isn’t amoral or heartless.

I also think it begins as a truth, I’m sensing some childhood trauma here too, but a truth that he thinks he needs to be this cruel and merciless to survive in the world. But that gradually gets worn down by his moral compass and his values changing. I think they were already deteriorated but Bahryn was the tipping point for him. And he’s risking everything he’s worked for, for the Rebellion (just the Lasat, but we don’t need to know that. .)

I feel like he harbors a ton of guilt for his actions, especially after he’s joined the Rebellion and is surrounded by people he tried to kill not long ago. Do I want that to be explored in S4? Yes. Will it? Probably not. But fanfiction has my back.

I don’t remember what the original point of this post was anymore other than a “here are my feelings and thoughts because nobody asked”

I see the Hot Kallus thing now tho. Looked pretty cool beat up and bloody. The stray hair works wonders :^

Anyways, was the teeniest bit disappointed that Kallus and Zeb didn’t talk directly in the finale, but it’s given me ideas for little fill in fics that have most definitely been done before but I’ll still write probably.

[oflights]

wip snip 8.1

thank you for the tag, @buhloodweeeave! your snip looks like so much fun!

my current wip is a fic called Travelling Together (based on that w.s. merwin poem, yes, i am who i am). the premise is this:

After the tadpoles are gone and everyone goes their separate ways, Astarion and Gale realize they can still hear each other’s thoughts. Probably because they’re soulmates.

and here's a snippet!

“Astarion?” Gale gasps out loud. “When did you learn Sending? I thought you lost the sending stone I gave you! Did you find—wait. I’m not Sending, but you’ve been responding to me; how is that possible? Did you discover a new kind of stone? A more advanced working of the spell? You must tell me all about it—” Gale! Astarion shouts in his head. Somehow just the sound of his name in Astarion’s distinct voice, angry as it is, sets Gale’s heart fluttering slightly, which is quite pathetic and embarrassing, actually. Ugh, stop—you’re thinking far too fast and too much, I can’t make heads or tails of it. Slow down, will you? Just—think. Quietly, slowly. “That’s not exactly my strong suit,” Gale says, and Astarion immediately counters you don’t have to talk. Just think. As if you’re Sending. “But I’m not Sending,” Gale says, and then he flinches because he feels like someone has just smacked an open palm over his face. He stares down at his hands, which haven’t moved, and looks around his kitchen again. It’s still empty, if warm and cozy, the morning sun dappled on his honey-colored floorboards and baskets of fruits and grains hanging from various hooks, humming with spells to stay fresh. There’s the wall of shelved preserves and drawers of ingredients, everything in its right place. A fire crackles in the hearth, ready to cook his breakfast, and a few birds land periodically on his windowsill, twittering merrily as if they know that Tara’s not about. But for those birds, it’s just Gale here, alone in his kitchen.      Did you feel that? Astarion asks in his head. Gale narrows his eyes at—at nothing. His still empty kitchen. He’s beginning to wonder if he might still be rather drunk. What about this? Invisible fingers pinch at Gale’s left nipple, sharp and sudden, with a familiar twist—“Ouch!” Gale yelps, clutching his hand over his chest. “That was—how did you—that was entirely inappropriate given the current state of our relationship—or lack thereof—” Gale Astarion cuts in mentally, even managing a long, mental sigh. Stop talking. You’re giving me a bloody headache. I woke up with a headache Gale thinks forcefully, lips pressed together in consternation. Did you give that to me? From your waking musings, I believe the headache is from the alcohol last night, you lightweight Astarion tells him. Gale feels his face go hot. So you heard—I mean, you can hear— I can hear your thoughts, darling; at least the ones that make sense. Some of them are too fast for me, especially when you’re talking—and gods, that makes so much sense. As his knees suddenly go a bit wobbly, Gale sits down hard in the nearest kitchen chair and stares despairingly, still at nothing. I don’t understand he thinks pointedly, beyond caring about the admission. He doesn’t even mind Astarion’s answering jab. Well, that must be a first.

tagging @ashamedbliss @junietuesday @hausofthestars @shallanigans and @koalamatcha to share snippets (with zero pressure!!)

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/753405110589259776/note-spoilers-on-this-ask-for-anyone-who-hasnt

I’m this anon, and using your anon box to reply to a bad take in the reblogs of it lol.

1. aO3 treats the show and book series as separate fandoms for Bridgerton. My friend’s genderbend fic though is based on the books — thought I made that clear here. And yes book fans were being genuinely homophobic in her comments, not just her interpreting them not shipping it as “homophobia.” It was full of “get out of OUR tag” and claiming just writing a female character in a male version or shipping her male love interest with a guy was “misogyny,” exactly as I said. It’s a huge problem in the fandom. The main Reddit sub is so full of homophobia that queer fans had to spin out a separate inclusive sub called r/bridgertonlgbt. I’ve heard of people on TikTok being called “bourgeois degenerate” and “groomer” just for questioning why it’s supposedly such a dramatic and horrible change to make Michael into Michaela in the show.

2. Can we finally fucking retire the really tired, knee jerk “book is always better” attitude that has never been universally true anyway lol. The books Bridgerton are based on are pretty middling het histrom that repeat plots so much between them that that’s one of the big changes the show has had to make — just not have seasons 1 and 2 follow the same plot beats like books 1 and 2 did. The show has had to make a lot of changes just because it has a bigger audience than your average het histrom reader and while I haven’t loved every shift, it is overall better for it. Or just like, focusing on more than just each season’s main couple like the books only do — also better! The subplots are some of the most fun parts of that show, but also, it makes sense that people are going to continue to want to follow their favs from season to season and not just zero in on each couple. Yes I’ve read all the books. They simply are just not that great, TV is a different medium than books anyway and so certain changes are necessary, and frankly most of the loudest parts of the “book fandom” online who complain about the changes are people who read the books because of the show anyway. They’re all wildly inconsistent in what they consider acceptable changes: they’re largely on board with making the universally white books more racially diverse, but not adding queerness and gender diversity. Why is one ok but not another? Especially when a lot of them are ok with sad or bittersweet queer stories in subplots like Brimsley’s but not happy stories for main characters. Why is that, I wonder? A lot of people are pretending to be “book snobs” as a mask for bigotry, or just have bad taste, but regardless I think we need to get over the idea that stalwart defense of some mediocre and overly tropey romance novels is more elevated or intellectual and like the show isn’t an improvement in being less lazy about the cliches of that genre than the original author. (Seriously, I read a lot of romance novels, so this is not a knock on the genre as a whole or its readers — but the Bridgerton books are SO lazy and SO repetitive. Honestly I think a lot of the book defenders need to read more histrom themselves. Then maybe they’d see how weak and lazy those books can be compared to what else is out there.)

Fandom please learn basic things about how adaptation between different mediums works 2k24 also stop assuming that consuming a story in text form over another is an inherently intellectual activity

--

A pretentious friend of mine who loves Shonda Rhimes was going on at me a while ago about how she ~always reads the book first~ and then waiting for applause as if that's unusual!

She then tried to launch into how shocked she was by the books being... well, lowbrow trash, but she had some complex and boring way of explaining this.

I was like "Honey, you do know what a regency romance novel is, right? Right?!"

I mean, there are adaptations that are nearly exactly like the middle tier of romance novels. They're movie length and they air on Lifetime. This was a change not only of medium but of overall target audience and vibe.

[gamerwoman3d]

Pretend I'm Him 

Imagine secretly banging Kuai Liang before the shit hit the fan at Ying Fortress.  In the aftermath of the fallout, the grandmaster wants a word…

[My apologies to other genders - lady anatomy used, from the start this time. Additionally, you don't have to agree with what this reader character thinks: just understand her information has been filtered. She is not omnipotent. Her information about the fallout is limited to what her clan/grandmaster has said about those events.]

Tags: SOFTER Bi-Han.

[Yes this is MK1 Bi-Han x Reader]

[🔞Spicy/Explicit after the cut🔞]

Imagine this non-committal relationship with Kuai Liang that was supposed to remain a secret. Imagine sneaking out on the regular, just to feel his hot tongue on your clit. You learned every soundproof nook and cranny of the Lin Kuei stronghold like your lives depended on it, not because any threat to either of you existed here at home, but rather because if you were forced to go more than a couple of days without sex, you felt like you just might die.

And then there was some bullshit at Ying Fortress. You were already so pent up waiting for Kuai Liang to return. You knew it was serious because his brother, the Grandmaster himself, went with him to oversee the mission.  Your heart jumped for joy when you overheard that the Grandmaster finally returned, only to discover that Kuai Liang and their adopted brother were marked as traitors, and would likely never be returning to the fortress.

Sure, you were worried for Kuai Liang, for the clan, for the future. Hell, you even felt some concern for your Grandmaster's broken heart. And maybe you were a little scared for yourself: Kuai Liang wasn't the enemy when you were sleeping with him, but you did sleep with said enemy, and had some concerns about what that might mean for you if that fact was discovered going forward. After all, the Lin Kuei stronghold was your home. Its walls protect your friends, family, and your entire support network, all clumped together in this small community which calls the stronghold home. Their protection might be at risk if the clan begins to suspect you of colluding with a traitor.  But deep down, in your shadowy id, the second you heard the news, your initial gut reaction was "FUCK. WHAT AM I GONNA DO TO GET MY NEEDS MET, NOW?”

No one can blame you. Every day that Kuai Liang was gone was a day that you burned inside for the lack of him.  You were so excited when you thought he was coming home, so energized, so ready to extinguish the flames, so wet.  

What a fucking letdown. And it was days ago.

You stared at the blank encrypted messaging app on your phone. If you messaged him, and were discovered, it could be taken as an act of consorting with the enemy. If you didn't, it might seem to him like you didn't care. If you reached out, he might think you were stalking him to help your clan hunt him down. But the only way to stop overthinking it was to reach out and see what happens.

Kuai Liang didn't answer. You weren't being left on "seen" - it was as if he lost his phone entirely.

No closure. Fantastic. Could it get any fucking worse.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. Not Kuai Liang, as you had hoped, but your best bud. You answer on the first ring, only to be interrupted by your breathless friend's frantic whispering.

"Hey! Sub-Zero's looking for you. I dunno what's going on, but I gotta go.”

You'd rather be back in school as the kid walking shamefully to the principal's office. You'd rather be back at bootcamp pounding sand in freezing temperatures.  You'd rather be a deer stuck in the headlights of a speeding semi.

You snap to your senses and delete the encrypted app from your phone.  You straighten yourself up and do what you do best - Sneak out, and sneak around the Lin Kuei stronghold.

You hid for a minute to think, watching from the shadows as your Grandmaster's best people searched for you in an unobtrusive manner. Then, you decided to take yourself to him. His family's private domicile was far enough from yours that your immediate family wouldn't have to see or hear whatever went down. Maybe you could keep your secret a bit longer that way. Or maybe he'd murder you on the spot.

His back was to you as you approached the garden at the front of his home. He stood unmasked, and spoke to a pair of his men. The men each stole a glance at you, prompting Sub-Zero to turn and glance over his shoulder as he spoke.

He did a double-take.

He immediately dismissed the men, who walked past you as you strode up the walkway toward them.  With the whites of his eyes visible between the top of his bottom eyelid and the bottom of his brown irises, Sub-Zero's expression felt uncharacteristically soft as you approached.

"I heard that you wanted to see me, sir?" you questioned.

You held your breath.

"Yes. Don't be nervous, you're in no trouble," he said.

His voice sounded strange when he spoke gently.  It sounded strange without the muffled echo from the mask.  Both things being true at once, it was like speaking to a different person than the masked master of the training grounds. His voice wasn't the stinging gravelly growl that he used while in command. It was a husky, comforting sound, sprung from a genuine intent to calm and reassure your quivering heart.

With a wave of his hand, he invited you inside.  Someone brought tea, and he redirected it to an office in his house. Now life felt exactly like a visit to the principal's office, if upon one of the bookshelves was a photo of your shirtless lover holding your shirtless principal in a headlock.

Your eyes fixated on the photo of Scorpion and Sub-Zero. It was before Kuai Liang had the scorpion tattooed, but well after his biceps had formed into what they still are, today.  You wanted to say that you missed him dearly, but damn, you missed his body.  Staring at the divots along his obliques had you dying to feel them between your thighs once more.

Sub-Zero's eyes followed yours to the photo. For a millisecond, his eyebrows knit in pain in an otherwise bemused expression.

"Tomas took that photo... the little traitor.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“Mm. Mom called Kuai Liang to nag him over the phone. I can do a convincing imitation of him so I snuck up behind him and said ‘You can’t make me!’” Bi-han mocked.

You had to admit to yourself that his imitation in that moment was spot on. But you also forced yourself to keep quiet, even as the uncanny mockery of your lover's voice made you miss him even more.  

He continued.

“Immediately, we hear her squawking on the other end of the line, and he crushes his phone so hard in anger that the screen snapped. She always believed he actually said it and then hung up on her.”

The bemused expression faded from his face, leaving behind a pained gloss over his brown eyes.

“She was mad at him for so long. I deserved the beating he tried to give me.”

Sub-Zero reached out and gently turned the photo down upon its face before opening a locked file cabinet and rifling through its folders.  He gestured to the tea and to the seating, welcoming you to make yourself comfortable.

You thanked him, sat, and took a sip of the boiling hot tea that was served to you; it would have been seen as an act of enmity not to do so.  You held the cup for warmth and comfort.  Truthfully, the hard ceramic was stinging-hot and smooth to the touch... god damn. Must every little thing remind you of his touch. You pressed your fingers into the glazed surface to feel the sting on your fingertips, in a futile attempt to disengage yourself from the current reality. Your panic over the immediate future kept a strong hold on you, even as you wished to be back in Kuai Liang's arms.

Sub-Zero closed the drawer, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers of a file he'd withdrawn. It still wasn't apparent to you how much the man knew about your relationship with his disaffected brother. And the grandmaster had yet to state what he wanted with you. If you truly were not in trouble, does that mean he didn't know? Or was he secretly ready to send you back to the character select screen? You bit back your burning questions. Moments of excruciating silence passed.

"... Keep breathing," he instructed, trying to withhold a smirk.

You gasped a bit. You realized that you weren't just biting back the questions - you were holding back your breath.  Your breath hitched and shuddered as it fought to catch up quietly.  Sub-Zero waited until your breathing evened out to speak.

"You still haven't asked me why I wanted to see you. Do you already know?" he asked.

The question was bait. And you knew it. You shook your head and said no.

He nodded. 

"You're good. You are really good," he said.

You took the compliment in silent confusion.

"I think if anyone here could get to Kuai Liang, it's you," he said.

You swallowed. You broke a sweat.

"What makes you think that?" you asked, acting as though you were innocent of having had any prior connection.

He arches an eyebrow. At the same time he thumbs a piece of paper out of the file: a receipt from the pharmacist. The receipt showed that you were issued a few prescriptions: silver based ointment for blisters, and one slightly more embarrassing cream. You remembered needing it after a particularly hot experiment with Kuai Liang went wrong in the early days of your secret relationship.

You turn red, not when he shows it to you, but when he looks into your eyes with a cocky, knowing gaze. His eyes may as well have become the headlights; your secrets become the deer. The mess was just as bloody in your mind either way. You suddenly wish patient-provider confidentiality were a more sacrosanct part of Lin Kuei military tradition. But even if it were, the grandmaster likely had methods of extracting their information. Your heart pounded. 

He knew you'd fucked Kuai Liang. 

His voice stayed strangely dulcet, full of compassion and understanding when he next spoke. His words didn't match his timbre.

"When I read this, I came to the conclusion that you both got a little too fired up.”

"Not the puns, please. I'll go pound sand in the freezing desert, please no more puns," you thought.

You didn't mean to groan aloud at his terrible pun. It just kinda happened. You didn't expect him to soften and apologize so quickly, but he did.

"I am sorry to have brought that up. I truly am. I imagine it must have been painful, or at least deeply uncomfortable for you. To the matter at hand, let us both start by committing to being straightforward with each other. That will benefit the both of us, greatly. And now I will ask you, kindly, please do not insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance, and I will not insult yours by pretending I'm funny. Agreed?" 

“You said I wasn’t in trouble.”

“You’re not. Listen… I can't afford to make a mortal enemy out of someone who can sneak around my own home as effortlessly as you have. I had my best people searching for you, but when you arrived here, my guard was down. My back was to you. If Kuai Liang had asked you to kill me, you could have done it, right then.”

It’s true. Your eyes widened. Your thoughts were so preoccupied with whether or not he would kill you, that it never occurred to you that he could be worried about your own ability to kill him, let alone kill him in his own home at any time you desired.

He sat the papers down, cupped your face with both hands, and lifted until your eyes met his. This close, you could see the dark circles of sleeplessness form beneath his eyes. Something about the out of place strands of hair on one side of his bun made you imagine him awake all night, laying on the messy side.

“I just want to be able to sleep. I try to sleep each night knowing that on any given night, you could end my life if you wanted. I’ll sleep easier when I know where you stand. I’ll sleep much easier if I know you’re going to stay on our side. But even if you don’t, Kuai Liang is out there somewhere and I fear he is lost, suffering, and alone. I know I couldn’t stop you if you want to reach him and join his side. And even if I could stop you, I would choose to let you go, in hopes that someday maybe you can talk some sense into him. And no, I do not want to see any harm befall either of you. You are Lin Kuei. The Lin Kuei are my life. You have my word that I will continue to honor and protect your family and friends to the best of my ability if you decide to leave. But stay. Please. I would do anything for you to stay. So what is it? What do you want? What can I give you that will make you stay?”

Your face turned red between his warm hands. You hadn’t been touched by a man since they left for Ying Fortress, and your body had jumped to inappropriate conclusions beneath his touch. You couldn’t answer him. He studied your face. He shook his head and spoke.

“The only thing you want is him, isn't it?”

Well… maybe the only thing you wanted was sex. You weren't quite in love with Kuai Liang, not in the way that would have you abandoning everything you knew to join him in his fight against everyone who ever supported you. With Bi-Han’s firm grip on your face, you couldn't turn your head from your grandmaster. But you broke eye contact, casting your eyes down in shame from your inability to honestly answer that Kuai Liang was indeed the only thing you wanted. He wasn't.

“I don't want to die, and I don't want to break my oaths,” you said.

“You're not breaking your oaths. I'm willing to command you to go to him. To spy. To watch over him. To guide him and make sure he doesn't get himself killed in service to Liu Kang. You'd never be marked as an enemy, always welcome to return.”

Leave everything to go babysit a grown man? Hell naw.

“I don't want to leave…” you admitted it.

“Then look me in the eyes and tell me you are not considering running away to find him,” Bi-han gently ordered.

You turned your eyes as far away from him as you could. Logically, a man that breaks his oaths and abandons your entire community was not worthy of running toward. It should have been easy to tell Bi-han that there was no part of you that wanted to chase after Kuai Liang. But instead, you replied:

“I can't. The… the sex… was amazing. And the thought does cross my mind.”

As you said it, his breath stilled. Your words caught him off guard.

“So then it is only the sex that you want? Not the connection, the heart nor the soul?” he asked.

You certainly had not treated each other like soulmates. If anything, you and Kuai Liang had treated each other like fucktoys, and you both loved every minute of it.

“That's right,” you said.

Somewhere in your gut, you realized: if Kuai Liang had loved you, considered you his soulmate, or had even wanted to build a life with you, he would be here. He would have returned. He would have done anything to return to your side, including obey illegal orders. If he ever truly loved you, he would have at least considered joining his brother in betraying God Himself. But Kuai Liang had done none of that. He chose his path with no hesitation. He was gone from you now, and if you were honest with yourself, you always knew that the two of you weren't meant to last forever.

The thought brought angry, embarrassed tears to the brink of your eyes. You hoped you could bite them back for the duration of Bi-Han’s inquiry.

“And yet, you want it enough that you feel tempted to run to him. It burns so badly that you feel tempted to aid a deserter?” Bi-Han said.

Neither you nor Kuai Liang were serious about each other. At least not enough to label each other or go public with your fling. That's why you both kept it a secret. You should have told your Grandmaster all of this with your words when he asked if you wanted his brother's sexual services more than his heart and soul: but you said it all with a cringe and a silent nod.

Yes, it was only the sex that I wanted. Not his heart. Not his soul. you silently admitted.

Bi-Han’s face twisted into a quizzical pout, not dissimilar to a look you'd seen on your lover's face in the past when he silently sought solutions as he worked through problems in his mind. The silence lasted too long for comfort; you could sense him figuring out what to do with you. His brows flashed with the strike of an idea.

“Pretend I'm him,” he said.

“What?”

Your mind jumps to a scenario where you pretend that Bi-Han is your lover and act out all the fantasies you'd saved for Kuai Liang's return. You felt perverse: it felt wrong to assume you'd been ordered to *treat* Bi-han in the same sexual manner that you would treat his brother. Surely he didn't intend for you to imagine Kuai Liang while he pleasured you in the deepest most erotic methods. Even allowing yourself the briefest glimpse at Bi-Han through a carnal lens proved devastating. One glimpse was all it took to deeply appreciate his shoulders, his eyes, his strength, his agility, his voice, his highly regimented grooming habits. Good god, you marveled at what he could do to you if he wanted. Was he really suggesting himself to be your lover? A stand in?

Imagine the Grandmaster reducing himself to the role of a stunt cock, just to keep you loyal to the Lin Kuei. Erotic thoughts banished the angry tears back into whatever well from which they sprung.

You were certain you couldn't have understood him correctly. Maybe he meant “imagine what I'd do if I were in his shoes planning my next move” or something.

You asked him to repeat himself, to clarify his orders.

“That was an offer, not an order,” he said, “I'm at your disposal. I meant it when I said I'd do anything to have rest assurance that your oaths still mean something. Use me however you wish. Make me sneak away with you if that's what excites you. I won't make you keep me a secret, yet if you desire it, I'll take our secrets with me to my grave. Whatever you want from him, I'll do my best to provide you in his stead.”

“You're offering… sex?” you asked incredulously.

“If that interests you, then yes. Whenever you want him, whenever your desire for him burns away your strength, leaves you weak, needy, or desperate enough to leave us, I want you to consider coming to me first. You won't have to explain yourself, and I do not expect you to banish all thoughts of him.”

Words failed you.

He allowed the uncomfortable silence to linger a bit too long.

He inched closer, hovered over you where you sat in a small but growing puddle of your own wetness. His face lingered near yours, his breath against your flushed cheek. You pressed your knees together. He murmured toward your ear, in a hauntingly familiar mimicry.

“Pretend I'm him,” he said in Kuai Liang's voice.

He continued to warp his timbre to mimic his brother's softer, hoarse intonation. And, for the first time in your life, you dared to interrupt him.

“Does that interest you? If not tonight, then later-” he asked.

“Tonight. Tonight, please,” you whispered.

“As you wish,” he said, perfectly mocking his brother's voice.

He leaned in until the bridge of his nose almost met yours. He stilled himself. His gaze invited you to make the first move: cognizant of the amount of power he held over you, he required a great deal of assurance that you truly wanted to do it. He let his warm thumbs caress your cheeks as he waited for you.

You shut your eyes, pressed your lips shut, pressed the shut lips against his, and kissed. He kissed back.

His lips were different from Kuai Liang's. They were firm, fitting. Kuai's lips were supple and plump enough to surround yours when kissed like this. Bi-Han’s lips could only give yours that surrounded feeling by parting just enough to gently suck your kisses, while gliding his tongue against them to tease them open.

You trembled, imagining what this sensation would feel like on your clit. You whimpered into the kiss despite yourself. You couldn't imagine this kiss as one of Kuai Liang's; Bi-Han’s kiss tasted like minty whitening gel and expensive honeyed tea. Kuai Liang’s kiss smells like smoke, tastes exactly like one might expect that a man who breathes fire and eats pussy should taste like. It was too different. It was Bi-Han. You were letting the grandmaster slip his honeyed tongue into your kisses, and into your dreams; You couldn't let yourself pretend otherwise.

You remembered the way you would melt just to feel Kuai Liang breathing. How you'd melt to feel his hands on your back. How you'd feel to be enveloped in his embrace. Bi-Han’s body was not so comfortable as Kuai Liang's. You remembered Kuai Liang's thick arms felt strong but pliant. You held Bi-Han’s biceps in your hands. They felt more like polished mahogany, stiff, smooth. The density of the man's arms was unlike what you were accustomed to; but the feeling raised your temperature.

You pushed back on his chest, pulled yourself away, and broke the kiss. He let you break the kiss, and waited for you to explain.

“Do you still feel okay?” he asked.

“Yes, it's just different.”

“Is it too different?”

“You taste different,” you said.

“What should I taste like,” he asked.

Fixated on the thought of his tongue on your clit, you bit your lip and parted your knees slightly from muscle memory. You were remembering times when Kuai Liang tasted like you in the moments after he tongued open your pussy.

When you didn't answer his question in words, he studied your body language, noting that your legs were no longer pressed together. Fear of impropriety forced you to hide this sexual part of yourself from your grandmaster for as long as you could remember.

“Ah,” he said as if reading your mind, “is that where you want me?”

“Yes, yes I want you there, but with kisses. Kisses please. I want your kisses, there. I need you to kiss me the way you did just now, only, down there,” you finally answered, keeping your eyes closed for the duration of your confession.

“You like my kisses that much?” He asked.

The sound of a smile painted his voice.

“Mmm-hmm,” you answered, “I like your kisses, I haven't had any kisses since you left for ying fortress…”

Sub-Zero realized your statement was true whether you were pretending to address him as Scorpion or not - either way, you haven't had any play since “he” left for ying fortress. He let his hands wander along your hips, stroked over your belly below the naval, just to watch you squirm.

“That sounds rough. No kisses, none at all?” he teased.

“Nooo, none! What about you?”

He shifted into his natural, gravely tiger-purr voice to whisper an answer.

“I can't speak for him on that topic, but for me it's been a long while. A lot longer than Ying Fortress.” he confessed.

Part two link here

To See My External Masterlist, Click Here

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I just can't

So leftist want all Jews dead because they label them as white (most of them) and quite a few people on the right actually think Jews are controlling the world and want them dead.

I don't fucking understand this. I really don't I do not get the "Jews are actually destroying the world and are puppeteering in the shadows" mentality. the same as I don't understand the History illiterate people who think Jewish people are not native to the Israel.

No really prove it. You can't. OH WOW some people in positions of power around the world HAPPEN to be Jewish. Ok......so what? What's your point. That's the same mentality of, "Some black people commit crime, therefore they must ALL commit crime." And yes it is exactly the same. And yes I see you leftists. You think Jewish people are all just these white landlords who are trying to take away poor "poc" peoples homes. Sorry shithead. No. Palestinians are not defendant of Philistines. WE KNOW they aren't. AND even if they were. Jews lived in that region even before they did.

I do not get this Leftists and Far Right hate of Jews. I really don't. It makes zero sense. I'm in servers in discord that talk about things like DEI, and current day issues and when I get in VC, or listen to certain people talk or hint, they are all trying to say that "The issue is Jews". HOW EXACTLY!?!? WEF is not headed by some "Jewish Cabal". There's no "conspiracy" where all Jews just have this INSTALLED SOFTWARE where they are like, "Ya know, I want to destroy every country, I want to rule from the shadows, and I just love flooding nations with those not of their ethnic groups".

WTF. No really WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK! I can't get away from this shit. It's insane to me that leftists and far right all seem to believe the most insane conspiracies about Jewish people and I legit DO NOT understand. Dear Far Right, the idea that "A few Jewish people are in positions of power and doing stupid things. Therefore all Jews are the problem" is quite literally no different AT ALL than the Leftist view of, "White people have owned slaves period, they will never be able to repent. Henceforth are all evil." IT'S THE SAME FUCKING MINDSET!

And Leftists. LEARN ACTUAL FUCKING HISTORY. And maybe stop viewing all groups you hate as "White" or "White adjacent". Stop viewing Jewish people through the lense of "Landowners" and "Rich people". You are literally participating in the same Nazi rhetoric Hitler did. You are no better than the far right.

What the fuck is wrong with the world. What? The Bible called Jews god's chosen and now the whole world just wants to just delete them? I'm not even religious but fucking hell. What the FUCK.

Mutuals. Follows. Please if you know anything I ask you weigh in on this. If I tag you don't feel obligated to respond. I'd just like your opinion on this. Because I respect your opinions.

@nerdylilpeebee @gsirvitor @siryouarebeingmocked @generallemarc

[phillippadgettwrites]

Sense, Chapter 2: Taste

Rated X / 689 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

Delightfully and unsurprisingly, Scully has the most delicious cunt he’s ever had the pleasure of eating. Had he known seven years ago that she had the sweetest, wettest—gah, he can’t even think about it without getting hard. Had he known, there’s no way he could have resisted making a move. Absolutely zero chance.

The first time he got his mouth on her, his cock got so hard it nearly shot off his body like a goddamn rocket. She has big, pillowy pussy lips and a clit like a fat blueberry, and she gets so wet it runs down his chin. She tastes sweet, and salty, and musky, sometimes like a fresh loaf of bread and sometimes like a copper penny. He delights in sampling her at different times of the month and at different points in the day: after the gym, first thing in the morning, once right after he fucked her. He gently begged for the opportunity to be the first to eat her out on her period, and her hasty acquiescence told him she wasn’t all that against it in the first place. Just knowing that she’d let him, that she trusted him that much, made it so fucking erotic she came almost instantly, and he was inside her before she stopped throbbing.

Much to his disappointment, she made a rule that they can’t spend more than three nights together before they have to spend at least one apart, and she’s stuck to it steadfastly. On the nights he’s alone in his bed, he jerks off and thinks about her tasty little cunt. He imagines eating her asshole until she screams into the pillow, then having her sit on his face until he can’t breathe. By the time he’s back in her bed, he’ll be desperate as a starving man, pulling her panties to the side and wrapping his lips around her fat clit because he can’t wait the ten extra seconds it would take to pull them down before he tastes her.

He salivates thinking about her. About the silky slip of her when she’s ovulating, those blessed days where she’s so horny she lets him take her home on their lunch break and eat her over the arm of the couch before they sit down at the table and share leftover chicken scampi. She’s generous with her juicy cunt; she says yes more often than no , and lavishes him with praise while he laps at her peach of a slit, telling him what a good job he’s doing. Once, he managed to make her squirt right into his mouth, and it ran down his throat like hot rainwater, tasting like the earth, and the heavens, and everything in between. He’s obsessed. Obsessed and shameless, no less.

Any question regarding what he’d like to have for a meal will be met with, at the very least, a suggestive pop of his eyebrows, particularly if they’re on duty and he’s on a short leash. But if it’s after hours or they’re alone in one or the other’s apartment, he’ll tell her that nothing sounds more appealing than her tart little snatch, then rub her over her pants. Nine times out of ten she goes along with it, and at this point he has to assume that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

It’s a good thing he didn’t know. If he had, he’d have laid her out on that motel bed in Bellefleur and stuffed his tongue inside her. He’d have made her come right as the power came back on, just in time to watch her face, and taste her end-of-day cunt, and see her fall apart in front of him all at once. He’d have ruined it all before it ever got started, and it would have felt worth it.

Mulder grunts and watches cum spurt out over his hand and pubic hair, running down his knuckles as he continues to stroke. He licks his lips and he swears he can taste her, salty and slick, across his tongue. Just one night. It’s just one night until he can get his mouth on her again.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

rhett abbott x oc | another au

Summary: "we always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?" aka what if they were childhood best friends to lovers? huh? what then? (wc: 3393)

Requested: YES by @saltynametag

Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope, idiots in love, a sex joke involving doggy bedsheets, and SUPER suggestive at the end there + a cliffhanger on where that situation goes

✎……uh...if ya want me to finish out what happens at the end there just lmk...

✎……MASTERLIST

It is a truth universally acknowledged that children of ranchers stuck together. Even if one of those ranchers specialized in cattle and the other in horses. 

Tessa Abernathy and Rhett Abbott were no exception to this truth. They met when they were just four years old, their fathers having brought them along to the local tractor supply to pick up a few things for their respective ranches. Both Royal Abbott and Nathan Abernathy set their kids down for only a second to look at something. But then the little tots were gone. Nowhere to be seen in the large store. They were only missing for about five minutes — neither of their fathers were even all that worried. Royal and Nathan wandered up on the two of them standing side by side on an overturned bird feeder box, looking at the baby ducks under the heated lamp.

The two of them were inseparable after that. Pre-school and kindergarten, elementary to middle school — their friendship even lasted throughout high school, when some childhood friendships were most tested. Kept together through their love of the rodeo and each other. Weekends spent at one or the other’s houses, when they weren’t traveling with the rodeo team. Pictures up in their bedrooms of shared bathtubs when they were still little, pillow forts with Nintendo 64 controllers in hand, vacations one or the other tagged along on, and dances where neither of them could think of someone else to go with. Neither of them could imagine a world where the other wasn’t in their life. It seemed impossible, when they had spent nearly their entire lives knowing and caring for and teasing one another.

Everyone expected, their parents included, that they would get together eventually. That they would finally realize that they loved each other as more than friends, bite the bullet, and start dating. But it never happened. High school came and went and the subject was never broached or even brought up once — even amongst their other friends.

Even though they both, at the time, secretly harbored crushes on the other. Little fleeting things they hoped would just go away with time. Because they were best friends. Had known each other forever. They couldn’t possibly be a couple. They would drive each other mad. Or at worst, it would ruin their friendship forever. And neither of them wanted to take that risk. So the crushes went away with time, and friends they remained.

The children of ranchers stuck together like glue.

Rhett had just finished helping Tessa move into her new place. A little cottage on her parents’ property that was entirely hers to do with whatever she wanted. Her own place after living at home for twenty-three years. She didn’t think it was that special. She was still living on her parents’ land and even renting from her parents, but Rhett thought she was lucky. She was out of the house, with her own space but still some responsibility. He would kill just to have one of the lofts in a barn to himself. But he was happy for her, even if he was a little jealous.

It was late by the time he pulled out of her driveway, the sun dipped low below the horizon and the moon hanging high in the sky. If they were younger, he would have just stayed the night. Not caring or even thinking about the implications of it. But now he was older. Now, he understood that Tessa was a woman, in every sense of the word. With soft curves and pink lips and zero inhibitions about being as close to him as possible. Now, he knew what all that could mean — what it meant to stay the night with a woman like that. 

And he knew Tessa didn’t want that from him. Never has, and never would.

Even if that twisted up something inside him he refused to understand.

But, he was about halfway home when his phone started to ring with a call from her. A picture of her sitting on top of her horse grinning ear to ear back at him greeting him as he picked his phone up from the cupholder.

“Hey, sunshine, I forget somethin’?” he questioned, small smile on his face as he answered her call.

“Um, no…” Tessa answered, voice sounding small and a little afraid.

Rhett sat up straighter as he drove, prepared to pull over or turn around at any second. “Wha’s wrong?”

“S’nothing,” she replied instantly, but when he didn’t say anything back she sighed and went on. “I jus’ feel weird bein’ here alone, s’all.”

His shoulders relaxed, his grip on the wheel loosened. He should have known she would react like this to her first night alone. Tessa might have been on the quieter side, but she was a creature of the den. She liked when there were people around, noise and comfort. Knowing that she wasn’t alone. But there she was, all alone in a little two bedroom cottage for the first time in her life.

“Y’r parents’re righ’down the road,” he said lightly, even as he pulled over into the shoulder and made sure no one was coming up or down the dark road.

He knew what she was going to ask before she even had to say it. 

“I know, but —” There was a pause as she sighed, Rhett could practically see her in his mind’s eye standing there with the phone pressed to her ear, bottom lip caught strong between her teeth. “Can you stay the night? Jus’this first night. Please?”

“M’already turned around. Be there in ten,” he said, pulling back out onto the road. “I better get extra pay f’r this.”

Her laugh, soft and gentle through the phone, was like music to him. “How ‘bout I have hot chocolate ready when ya get here?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. N’breakfast in the mornin’?”

“Yes, n’breakfast in the mornin’, ya bottomless pit,” she laughed again.

“Wait, you even have eggs?”

“Yeah.” He heard the fridge open in the background. “Ma insisted we stock up the fridge n’cabinets before we moved any’a my stuff in.”

They stayed on the phone and talked until Rhett pulled back into her driveway. He didn’t need to ask to know that she wanted him to stay on the line until he got there. He just knew.

He didn’t even knock before he came inside. Just pushed open the door and took off his shoes, greeted by the smells of hot chocolate and Tessa humming under her breath as she stirred the pot it was in. Always from scratch, never from a packet with her. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he approached, pushing his hair back from his face with a returning grin.

It felt…Domestic in some way. Her standing in the kitchen, him coming home to her, the house all to themselves. Rhett wasn’t the type to imagine things often, save for a ride he was minutes from undertaking. But he could just picture coming up behind her and wrapping her up in his arms. Pressing kisses into her neck just to make her laugh. Making her sway to the song that wasn’t playing but they both heard. Coming home to her every day for the rest of his life.  It felt so real, so effortless for him to do. For them to do. As he approached, he nearly did just what he imagined. His arms instinctively reached for her. It swelled up something inside him that, again, he refused to understand. He refused to acknowledge as he got down the mugs he put away only hours before instead of living out his fantasy.

“Thank you, f’r comin’,” Tessa said quietly as she ladeled out the steaming beverage into each of their mugs.

Rhett shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Y’called.”

They drank their hot chocolate in relative silence. She didn’t have all her furniture yet, so they had to squeeze together on an oversized armchair and watch some crime show on her laptop. She leaned her head on his chest, their legs tangled together as they somehow managed to sit comfortably, and again there was that feeling. That fantasy bubbling up in Rhett’s mind. His heart. His gut. How he could so easily put his arm around her and press his lips to her head. How some part of him wanted to end every day just like this. With her by his side. How he could just so, so easily pull her into his lap and kiss her like he’s always wanted. 

Like he’s always wanted? Rhett fidgeted with his empty mug, completely lost on the plot of the show in front of him. Has he always wanted to kiss her? Love her as more than a friend?

Has he been in love with her his entire life and has only just now realized it?

A kind of heat he wasn’t familiar with flooded his chest as the idea dawned on him. As the answer hit him with the force of a raging bull. Because of course he’s spent his entire life loving her. What else was he supposed to do? It’s almost what he was made for. To love Tessa Abernathy. The girl who ran away to look at ducklings with him. The girl who encouraged him to follow his dreams of becoming a bull rider in the first place. The girl who took care of him when he broke his ankle and his arm at the same time. The girl who forced him to go to prom. The girl who had spent her whole life loving him, too.

When the episode was finished and both of their mugs were emptied, Tessa disappeared to wash them out and put them in the sink. Then she came back to where he was still leaned back and spread legged in the chair with a sleepy smile.

“Y’ready f’r bed?” she asked.

He blinked up at her for a second. Could nearly picture her reaching out a hand, ready to drag him to their shared room where they could hide under the blankets from the world. But she wasn’t doing that. She was just looking at him with that tired smile and her hands messing with the hem of her shirt.

“Yeah,” he finally sighed as he pulled himself from the armchair. “Got any clothes f’r me?”

“You sleep in y’r boxers,” she pointed out, even as she led him back to her room, the bigger one on the right side of the hall.

She only had a full bed and a box spring for now. Little by little she would buy all the furniture she needed for the place, make it her own. Earlier in the day, Rhett thought her excitement about her own place and having her own furniture was endearing. Maybe even cute. But now he couldn’t stop thinking about going with her to test out bed frames and couches, moving it all in his truck and getting thanked for a job well done with a few kisses. Rhett shook his head as he followed her into the sparse room, pushing a hand through his hair again. 

He needed to get his head on straight. Tessa was just a friend. His best friend. Always had. Always would be. 

And there was that twisting in his chest again. Sharp and brutal as a knife.

How could he spend his whole life loving her and be just her friend?

“S’cold,” he explained simply, “N’it’ll be even colder out on that armchair.” 

She looked over at him with a furrowed brow as she opened one of her boxes of clothes. “M’not makin’ you sleep on that thing.”

“Where’m I sleepin’ then? The floor?”

“In here — on the bed — with me,” she said it simply, like it didn’t crush something in his chest.

“Tess…” He tried to think of what to say, how to excuse himself from having to share a bed with her when it was all he wanted to do.

“Oh, com’on. We used t’do it all the time as kids,” she argued, not finding what she was looking for in the first box and opening another.

“Yeah, cause we were kids.”

“S’not like this’s any different.”

Her words felt final, like there was nothing more he could say that would make her change her mind. And Rhett didn’t know if he wanted to make her change her mind. So instead, he stood there and stared at the bed they would soon be sharing. Just like when they were kids. No big deal.

After a minute of digging through a few boxes, Tessa presented him with an old pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt from the high school rodeo team. Also his. He narrowed his eyes at her as he took the proffered clothes she had clearly stolen at one point or another. But she just rolled her eyes — he couldn’t tell if the blush on her cheeks was him imagining things again or not.

Again, they got ready for bed in silence. Moving around each other like they had been doing it for years. Tessa offered the spare toothbrush she had for when she needed to change out her own. But all the while, something was building and twisting and knotting itself in Rhett’s gut. Anticipation? Worry? Guilt? Desire? He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. 

He just wanted to get through what was bound to be a sleepless night in the same bed as his best friend. Just so she didn’t feel alone. Just so she felt comfortable and safe. God, he would do anything to make her feel that way. Even if it left him uncomfortable and wanting.

Even if it made their little world crumble down around them.

“Y’re in Montana nex’week right? Big rodeo up there?” she questioned as she pulled back the covers, an extra on her side so she wouldn’t get cold.

“Yeah,” Rhett replied, pushing back his hair again. “Migh’even’ave a chance t’win big.”

“Maybe I could…Go with ya r’somethin’,” she spoke bashfully, sitting down by her pillow.

He gave her a look. “Thought y’had that big girl job now — they just gonna let ya have a week off?”

“S’all remote work. Imputin’ numbers and balancin’ books — borin’ but it pays. I could, I don’know, work at the hotel durin’ the day when I have to n’then be there at the rodeo at night.” 

“Could be fun,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Like the good ole days.”

“C’n even sneak down t’the pool past closin’, if ya really wanna relive those days,” she chuckled lightly, picking at the sheets.

“If’s the good ole days we’re both drunk on straight vodka, which, honestly…” Rhett groaned as he laid down on his side of the bed. “The memory of makes me wanna hurl.” 

“Yeah, might be too old f’r that bit now.” 

They both laughed at that. It was true, they were getting older. Tessa got a degree and was working a full time job now. They still probably drank and partied too much, but they hardly ever stayed out past midnight anymore. Pretty soon they would be sipping wine or IPAs at dinner and not staying out past nine. The idea, despite Rhett not regretting a single thing about how he lived his life save for still living at home, sounded nice to him. If he was sipping wine and IPAs at dinner with her. If he was calling it a night and curling up on the couch to watch TV with her.

He wanted to do anything and everything with her.

But then he noticed her sheets.

“Hol’on, y’still have these sheets?” he asked incredulously as he pulled part of the fitted sheet up to a point, looking up at her with a smile and a raised brow.

“Back off, I still like these,” she replied, cheeks pink as she shoved at his shoulder.

They were green and fleece, which were both fine, especially now that it was getting colder out. Rhett’s only complaint, and really his only tease, was that they were covered in little cartoon dogs. And he remembered them being on her bed when she was twelve. That was over a decade ago and she still had them on her bed. Rhett grinned at her again as he worked on straightening out the wrinkle he had made.

“I don’know how I feel abou’sleepin’ on ten year ol’ doggy sheets,” he prodded.

“Jus’do it doggy style then,” she replied.

Then went red in the face, shifting her blue eyes over at him with her lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew what she said. They both knew what she meant and also what it sounded like. And usually, Rhett would have just gone on teasing her. Disipated the tension by pointing out what she just said and bringing it up for the next several days. But he just couldn’t. Not when it felt like there something lodged in his throat and he was just now noticing her warm thigh pressed up against his own.

Not when his imagination, suddenly so active, was showing him images of Tessa, his best friend he’s known since he was four, on her hands and knees for him. Her skin bare and sweating, a forming bite mark on her ass, her back arched, and whining high in her throat for him to come closer. Just to come closer. Looking back over her shoulder at him, so much like she did in the kitchen, only now her eyes were glazed over and she was begging him to be inside her. Filling her. Loving her. 

Rhett coughed awkwardly as he pulled the covers up over his lap. 

“Well, good night,” Tessa offered quickly, voice high-pitched and her cheeks still bright red as she turned off the cheap lamp on the floor beside the bed.

Then she flopped down onto the bed beside him, blankets yanked up to her shoulders as she curled up on her side. Facing away from him. And he tried his best to just lay back on his pillow and go to sleep. He really did. But how could he when his mind wouldn’t stop and the object of all his desires was laying right next to him? When he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and kissing her? When he could feel the heat coming off of her skin and she was so close he could nearly touch her? There was no way he was making it through this sleepless night now. Not when all of it, his desire and his love and his years of longing, were bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. Like a pot about to boil over on the stove.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was rolled over onto his side and tugging at her arm. She rolled over to face him without any fight, just a sigh like she knew this was coming. 

“Look, I get it what I said was dumb —”

“Sunshine, I — I can’t do this,” he muttered out as he looked at her face in the blue light of darkness.

She just looked at him confused. “Do what?”

He didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to articulate anything that was on his mind or on his heart. His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to find the words that would speak it all into existence. But it just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t force it, even if he tried. It was all blank save for the pulsing need between his legs. His need for her. That really had been there all along. Even when he didn’t know it. 

So instead, he reached out for her and blindly took her hand beneath the covers. The furrow between her brows seemed to deepen as he dragged her hand across the small distance between them. But her mouth popped open and her chest heaved when he pressed the palm of her hand against the bulge in his sweats.

“R-Rhett…” she whispered, voice wavering and unreadable.

“F-Fuck, please, sunshine,” he breathed back, pushing further into her hand, further into her space. “I-I can’t anymore, please. Need you. Need you.”

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

[noxinkwell]

Let's Talk About: The Bizarre Relationship Between Readers and Writers/Authors and Book Reviews/Fanfiction Comments

So this is gonna be a rambly one and I'll put a TL;DR somewhere, I promise, but I've been on BookTok and I wanna talk about the weird relationship between authors/writers (published and non published) and readers. Let's create a discourse on the types of conversation we see online about books/literature and fanfiction. TL;DR: A book is not bad because you hate it. A character is not bad or poorly written because you hate it. And it is so freaking important to remember to think about what authors are intending to do with their writing before you make very strong claims about it. Writing is such a personal experience because of most of us (if not all of us) write from a personal place in our hearts. Getting negative feedback is not at all helpful from randoms on the internet so maybe don't share it where the author can easily see it (i.e. don't tag them, don't comment on their fanfictions).

Disclaimer:

We are all entitled to share our opinions.

The BUT to that is: We are entitled to share out opinions kindly, respectfully, and we should keep in mind keep the thoughts of those who are on the receiving end of those opinions.

Initially, I thought it was a cognitive dissonance but I'm not sure the definition quite matches up. But maybe it does, so let's go with it.

If anyone is curious though:

Cognitive dissonance occurs when a person's behavior and beliefs do not complement each other or when they hold two contradictory beliefs. 

Typical examples:

"I want to get healthy, but I'm not going to make the changes to do it."

"I could have done more work, but I watched TV."

"I really want to help the planet, but I'm not going to recycle."

To me, it occurs with readers like this: "I want to help make the writer better by giving some random concrit/constructive criticism to an author when I have zero idea on what their intentions are as a writer."

Or: "I'm going to leave a negative review for a book and it will impact other people to read the book or make the author change how they write."

I am mostly talking about this as a fanfiction writer and someone who reads more published writing than I do fanfiction (these days).

My first thing is: Goodreads. Or just comments/reviews in general on fanfiction and other literature/books.

Some of the Goodreads reviews are. fucking. bizarre. And by bizarre I mean, they are so aggressive. And they bring zero productive conversation to books. They're just inflammatory. They're not at all constructive and quite frankly, they're not helpful for readers either.

And let me just say, that is entirely fine. Y'know, I think book reviews are for READERS and not the WRITER/AUTHOR, but still... I'm not even sure what I gain as a reader reading this type of review:

*yawn* I'm really sad I wasted my time on this romance that was completely overhyped, in my opinion.

or

at any given time, i feel like i'm reading romance as a cry for help.

And when I see these types of reviews, I feel like people fail to remember this very simple thing: Not. all. books. are. made. for. you.

Not. all. fanfiction. is. made. for. you.

You. are. not. always. the. target. audience.

So why do you read it? Stop reading it—especially if you can't share that opinion in a kind way. It's not productive.

When I get feedback on my writing (as a fanfiction writer) I will always, always, always ask for specific feedback. Is this line okay? Are my characters coming across in this way? Is the pacing okay? Does this make sense? How's my SPaG? How's my prose as a whole? Am I varying my sentence structure enough? Is my character development going okay?

And sometimes, with my most trusted writing friends I will say: "Hey, give me whatever feedback you think I should hear. Give me what you feel is going to help strengthen my writing."

Because YES—in my opinion, some parts of writing is purely objectively good or bad.

So when I see reviews or comments about someone saying a character is objectively annoying or that they don't relate to them I get sad. When I see that someone says a book is bad because of xyz reason... I sometimes want to shake them because it's just not how that works.

A book is not bad just because you hate it. A character is not bad because you inherently dislike her/him/them.

A fanfiction is not bad because a character did not do something you didn't like. A fanfiction is ALSO not bad if the character was out of character from canon and you didn't like the choices they made (this one irks me the most as a beta reader and a writer).

Why am I saying all this?

Because sometimes, readers forget what the author or the writer is intending to do with their writing. Sometimes the writer intentionally makes the characters annoying. Sometimes the writer intentionally adds angst and hurt and pain and jealousy. Sometimes the writer intentionally adds TOXIC traits to a character because they thought it would be fun or because it serves the moral they're attempting to tell. Sometimes they're toxic because it's DRIVES THE PLOT.

If a character cheats or kills someone it does not at all mean 1.) the author is condoning it and 2.) it doesn't mean the character is a bad character or a poorly written character either.

It just means it didn't resonate with you.

So I want to ask you all: Do you ask yourself why you dislike something before you decide 'yes, I hate it'? Do you think about what the writers intentions are when you're reading? And hey, perhaps, this type of reading may take the fun out of it for you. And I get that. What I don't get though, is disparaging authors and writers who are trying to make a living or trying to write for fun because you feel the need to give criticism on something that you actually may not know enough about.

To top it all off, we don’t know the authors. We don’t know the writers. So an author/writing receiving “advice” or “constructive criticism” from a random “schmuck” in their writing is just not gonna over well. Writers take a lot of time practicing their craft. While we’re all entitled to an opinion, it doesn’t always need to be shared in the face of the creator. I say this kindly, sometimes, you’re reading a fanfiction or a novel and you don’t like it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you know why and it doesn’t mean that your opinion on it aligns with the goal of the person telling the story.

Constructive criticism is a WHOLE other post probably, but I'll just say this here: If you don't know how to give it, then don't give it. If they didn't ask for it then DEFINITELY don't give it. If you REALLY have to give it, think about what you’re saying before you say it. And if someone is upset with you giving concrit and they never asked for it, maybe look within and ask why you felt this was helpful for the person on the receiving end of that concrit.

Also, if you're gonna post something negative: Do not tag the author. And if you're gonna comment negatively: Don't post it on the fanfiction either.

Why? Because reviews are. for. readers. You saying that you didn't like something on a fanfiction does not do anything for the writer except discourages them. Fanfiction writing =/= Published writing.

If the author wants it, they'll ask. (And I will post something this later). Did you make it this far? If you did, damn. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Authors and writers are humans. We write from a personal place in our hearts. Sometimes we write about the things in our lives that hurt us the most. Sometimes we write about other extremely personal experiences. So getting feedback on it is scary and forcing negative feedback for them to see is not kind. Writing takes hours, days, weeks, months, and even years to do. Reading takes...a fraction of that. So before you go and destroy someone’s work with your words online, maybe think about it first.

I, too, am an avid reader and sometimes we just want validation for our opinions (good or bad). But sometimes it's important to remember how we share them.

[madstronaut]

The gif system in this post, regarding the feudal alignments within fandom?

Every member of a given fandom identifies with at least 1 of the 10 gifs listed.

The meaning of each gif is subject to interpretation to some degree.

My reblog was meant to be funny, but the more I look at the thread the more surprised I am at the amount of truth I see in it. Tumblr is a strange and beautiful place.

for you @deadbranch my chrome queen

I have prepared to flex my worthless and expensive af haha jk or am i dual anthropology and [redacted] degrees to conduct a completely subjective, PhD-level ethnographic study of branchy's gifset curation, please observe:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit A: writers and their sixth sense when they intuit me, refreshing and revisiting their blog daily to check for updates to that one-shot/fic/novel/12-part-apocalypse-opera (not even joking about that last one).

alternately, those weird fuckers who send in creepy boundary-crossing anon asks. i love to hate them but they're kind of an essential part of tumblr

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit B: im convinced some blogs out there have excel spreadsheet JIRA queuebot steampunkesque contraptions running their shit because i have no idea how they make (and KEEP TO) regularly scheduled high quality posts??? a schedule??? on this HELLSITE? tumblr i love you i dont mean that on mondays

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit C: antis. no further comments.

i freely block antiblogs and and any that are brimming with negativity/hate

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit D: me, fanfic, and ao3, most days. no further comments

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit E: me, my imagination, and my fictional harem of blorbos, most nights. no further comments as well.

Also basically 98% of tumblr as is widely known

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit F: the caption speaks for itself. on tumblr exist still many bubbles of thought, ideology, poiesis, and praxis that go on as if impenetrable and untouched by a well-known phenomenon called Reality (also known as IRL, going outside, touching grass, etc.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit G: hot people who post random face reveals. STOP TITILLATING ME (yes, I had to google how to properly spell titillating)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit H: the elder blogs. they post softly but carry big stick. they are the unspoken glue of their fandom communities. their fic/art/headcanon/etc. posts spawn a thousand more. thou shalt not speak a bad word against them. and yes, many of them are POC, so this gif pulls double duty, well chosen branchy my queen. and fuck i wish i could pull off hoops that big, anyway i digress

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit I: smut writers. they are brazen. they are shameless. they are worshipped and adored. this is the aftermath of their posting after causing tens of thousands of simultaneous la petite morts as the french say (is it la or le idfk and im too lazy/sleepy to google it rn). absolute fucking bloodbath

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit J: people who post their personal/professional/something-nal drama and air it out by tagging the larger fandom tags they're in, drawing in completely uninvolved (and often uninformed) people and getting these randos to do their dirty work for them

alternately, people who have zero interest or affiliation with said fandoms and their drama but gleefully follow along using the tags (nooooo i havent done that stop looking at me)

I would like add one more if you don't mind:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit K: cozy, safe, well-curated, moderated, well-established boundaried corners of fandom and generally lovely spaces like yours <3 and many of my other moots' blogs as well

also, catblogs

[humberg]

Update.

Aaaah here we go. Hullo everyone, I'm not sure if any of you have noticed but I have been very absent the past week. Zero interactions, zero likes, zero reblogs, just zero interaction between both tumblr and discord.

I'm not usually one to talk about my struggles, especially regarding my mental health. I'm the type of person who closes myself off from the world, I will literally become a hermit and will refuse to acknowledge anything until the phase has passed. Unfortunately, it hasn't passed as of yet but I wanted to give an explanation or an update if you will on my absence. FYI I will be talking about very sensitive topics such as depression and suicide so please don't read ahead if you feel like you will be triggered by these. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable with something I want to get off my chest. So I've added a keep reading just to be safe.

Not many people know this about me, but I am the type of individual who will hide all my feelings and self-doubts from the public eye, it's just something my brain has accustomed itself to as I don't want to be a bother to anyone.

Due to this, I have a habit of letting it fester and grow to a toxic level up to where I reach breaking point. I admit that has happened to me recently, I had been neglecting the signs. Work has been an ongoing struggle in itself with my mental health and anxiety which is forever ongoing, there is also the recent random drama that appears in blips within the community that has been a major red flag for me to avoid. And I will admit that I honestly burnt myself out making that pose mod, to the point that I have not opened Cyberpunk since I completed it several weeks ago.

I became a danger to myself, and as a result without warning, I woke up one morning with a sense of no belonging, a loss of hope and motivation for my future, the dread of having to get through the working day, and zero enthusiasm to do anything or get out of bed. Depression is nothing new for me, but this was the first time that I truly felt like it just wasn't worth it anymore. Have I had multiple suicidal thoughts to find peace? Yes, I have. Have I or will I ever act upon these thoughts? No, I haven't and never will. I myself have had first-hand experience of what it is like losing someone to suicide and I would not wish that upon anyone. To reassure you all, I am perfectly safe, I have very supportive family and friends close at hand and I am receiving help on the matter. I just felt that I needed to let you all know, as this is a big part of my life and I don't want to hide it anymore as I realise it is just unhealthy.

I don't want to seem like I am attention-seeking, far from it. Mental health is such a delicate subject and not everyone will agree and see it eye to eye. If you find this update of me sharing my biggest personal insecurity looking for attention? Fine, as long as it gives you the accomplishment of being a better person than I am. I'm just too tired of facing this alone.

I also want to say that I am very, very sorry. I have been absent for over a week and each day I have felt the guilt of not interacting with the tags I have received or giving all your content the love it deserves. I have also been very much absent on Discord, The server is always beaming with life and banter but I just couldn't find myself to face it, not just yet. I feel it is going to take time for me to get better and make sense of it all, I may still be absent from tumblr for a while but do know that I love you all very much and I do miss you. This is just one of those things that cannot be rushed.

<3

[oflights]

wip snip 4.1

thank you for the tag, @teledild0nix! your wip seems like such an interesting start and i'm excited to see more of it!

here's about 900 words of the time travel fic, featuring a draco vs dumbledore confrontation 2.0 😌 i'll tag @the-starryknight, @kittycargo, @purplehotmess, and @chamomileteafuel to post their own with absolutely zero pressure!

in this snip, draco is in the past, has just made the absolutely insane decision to take harry with him, has put the dursleys to sleep, got harry to agree to go with him, was caught out by mrs. figg, and now dumbledore's here.

Albus Dumbledore stands before him.

He looks as if he’s just stepped off the Hogwarts grounds, in his familiar purple robes and wizard’s cap, his long beard stark white against the deep color. He doesn’t look any younger than the Dumbledore Draco had known, but he supposes that’s the trick of old wizards; he exudes a timeless sort of power that used to both intimidate and annoy Draco in turn. It’s doing both of those here, mixed with lingering, flickering guilt that had risen in him after the year he was 16 along with the resentment that had grown over the same time period.

Dumbledore is possibly the very last person Draco wants to see here; he can’t think of anyone worse off the top of his head.

Draco angles himself in front of Harry, putting his hand on his shoulder very gently, as Dumbledore stares at him before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Lucius,” he says softly. Draco’s shoulders straighten instinctively, and he holds himself taller; his father is quite a bit taller than him. “You’ve cut your hair.”

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him and gives his shoulder a light, entreating squeeze, gathering his own strength, tipping his chin in the air and trying to gather the exact haughty cadence of his father’s voice on his tongue.

“Albus,” Draco says coldly, nodding stiffly, the name so odd and discomfiting in his mouth. “Yes; I’m told this is a more modern fashion.”

Dumbledore cracks a near smile at that, even though Draco had been careful not to leave even a hint of humor in his tone; his father never has and never would joke even lightly with Albus Dumbledore.

“It suits you.” His eyes shift back down to Harry, the lamplight glowing faintly in his spectacles. “Hello, Harry. It’s been a long time.”

Draco fights the urge to tighten his hand on Harry’s shoulder, to shove him further behind him. An unpleasant revelation is starting to niggle at him, like the edges of a bad dream he can’t quite recall, the outline of a thought he should be upset or angry about.

It starts to fill in when Harry says, “Hello, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“I met you when you were just a baby,” Dumbledore says. “I arranged for you to live here with your family.”

He knew, Draco realizes, the thought screaming through his consciousness. Behind him, Harry stiffens up too, and crowds in a bit at Draco’s hip. Draco reaches his arm over to rest on Harry’s farther shoulder, looped behind his back. He has let go of the pouch of sand to hold his wand instead.

Dumbledore must have known exactly where he left Harry. He’d known that Draco was here—and suddenly Mrs. Figg and her cats and her cabbages, staggering out through a horrible storm, makes a whole lot of sense—and he’d have known from her reports what the Dursleys were like, as least some of it. Now Draco wishes he hadn’t destroyed the padlock and the cupboard door, just to march Dumbledore in front of it, make him stand there and explain himself.

But that’s not right, either—Draco has heard Dumbledore explain himself before. He remembers hearing about mercy, about the all-knowing, omniscient Headmaster of the school he attended as a child knowing a student had been pressed into committing murder and doing absolutely fuck-all about it. He remembers not being a killer. And for a moment, he is so angry he can’t quite remember why he’s not.

Draco draws his wand. Dumbledore hasn’t drawn his, simply looks mildly disappointed; he tilts his head to the side.

“Your wand. Another new fashion?”

Draco ignores him, glancing at the mirror. He can’t take Harry through it if Dumbledore plans to stop them; while this method of time travel was only invented after Dumbledore’s death, even an idiot would recognize the way to stop travel through a mirror would be to break it. Draco has an awful vision of Harry stuck in a mirror shard for years before Dumbledore lets him out to fulfill his Dark Lord killing destiny and dismisses it out of hand, thinking over his options.

He has a backup, of course, a small hand mirror he keeps in another inner pocket, but he doesn’t think two people can get through it intact, even someone as small as Harry. He could also try doing it the hard way, pure magic, no instruments or sand, the way a Time Master does—instinct, focus, careful and measured steps through time—but he’s not quite there yet. He’s only ever managed short and quick jumps after years of practice, and never with another person. He won’t risk it now; won’t risk Harry.

So Draco will have to incapacitate Dumbledore somehow; he didn’t really have dueling the most powerful wizard in an age wielding the bloody Elder wand on his to-do list for today, but then he hadn’t really had any of this on it.

He clutches his own wand, looking at it for a moment—Potter had given it back to him years ago, looking utterly pained to do so, forcing out a huffy sort of “Thanks, I guess,” while eyeing Draco like he was a bug a cat had spit up. It’s still one of their most positive interactions to date.

He hadn’t known until it was over that he’d briefly been the owner of the Elder wand. The thought of having a second crack at it isn’t all that unappealing.

[olderthannetfic]

I remember you sometimes (on older posts, in my unfortunate quest on trying to find things with Tumblr's *definitely functional* in-blog search feature) mentioning something like a "writer-centric" or a "reader-centric" approach/view to fandom. I was wondering if you would have more in-depth definitions for what those are?

I think I have an idea of what the "writer-centric" view might be (basically 'people can write whatever they want'?), but I have zero ideas what the "reader-centric" view might be.

--

You see it in some of the media analysis about, e.g., "representation" in fanfic:

A lot of people will discuss fic as if it were mainstream media and talk about the needs of the reader for more stories of type X or Y. When X or Y doesn't exist, or isn't common enough, there's a strong sense of blame and that this is a big problem.

It's very BNF ~content creators~ in one box and ~the readers~ in another.

You'll also see this in discussions about tags and labeling where the focus is mostly on "staying safe" or even helping readers find what they want.

Now, yes, I do think that broad trends in what people like to write demonstrate broad societal forces, including bigotry. I essentially just said "Culture affects people". Such insight!

And tags do help readers find what they want...

But a writer-centric view is that labeling is more about aesthetic preference on the author's part. They may do different or more labeling because they want to more actively court readers, or they may pare things down because they find it more in line with their own ideas about how their fic should look.

And when it comes to subject matter, a writer-centric approach is to protect people's right to write whatever. Here, "representation" or justice or whatever is about letting the writer barf out the contents of their brain without getting their stuff deleted. If each writer has an equal shot at that, we're in good shape, ethically, regardless of what their output ends up being.

It's focusing on access to posting rather than access to a stream of media to consume.

--

It boils down to this:

Is fandom about a practice, a hobby that is available for anyone to do?

Or is it about the readers having another stream of media, perhaps a queer one that supplements the not-very-queer mainstream they have to put up with?

You can see why this comes up not only in fandom racism discussions but in every single wank about BL or femslash and how much of a duty we do or don't have to be "realistic", to represent queerness well, to represent specific queerness... There's often a big focus on "Well, but lots of people don't have access to any other queer media!" And... like... sorry? How is that my problem as a writer of fanfic?

--

It goes beyond just "write whatever" into questions of justice and access, but I think that the specific questions of justice and access some people have are disgusting perversions of what fandom is supposed to be and demonstrate that they're shitty leeches who should go find a hobby they actually enjoy practicing instead of shitting on other people's diary entries.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 20. Returning Home [B7]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: Third, Snape

Setting: Unknown place during a blizzard

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting, 3. Snowballing, 7. Stormy Reunion,  8. Rosemary For Holly, 16. Keep Warm & 19. Hope

A/N: Let's get right back at it with our dear Severus and Belinna, gosh, what a state we left them in yesterday 👀

Tags/TW’s: Love/Happiness/Life, Grief, Losing All Hope, Giving Up, Battle Of Hogwarts, Snape Lives, Slight Draco Redemption Hints, Muggle Medicine, Crossing Muggle Life And Wizarding Life, Reunion(s), Going Back Home, Asking For Help, Fear, Blood, Hospital

Word Count: 3.3k

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⩤• Severus •⩥

The day he showed his most sacred place to her, he lost her. The days blurred together, a week turning into a month, the months into a year until the war arrived. Not one moment had passed when Belinna wasn’t on his mind one way or another, only hiding the memories, dreams, and heartache to present the Dark Lord with the memory of her in his arms as he cried in true despair — making the man believe her to be dead. In a sense, she was. There was never a future to be had between the two. Severus wasn’t foolish enough to delude himself into such false hopes and follies.

What he had done, to keep her safe, was to sacrifice the last chance at any form of happiness or love during his miserable life. He’d enjoyed her from afar, allowed his eyes to wander over her and his mind to have a second or two of false hope — but that was all. If he let go of his barriers, if he allowed any more to exist he would have abandoned everything he’d worked tirelessly for all these past years — nearly all his life if truth were to be told.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t worth it, to him she was worth the world. That, unfortunately, meant he could not abandon his mission to be with her. It would be the death of all if he were to fail and she would have no world left to smile that brilliant smile of hers within. How he missed that smile…

“Severus, my loyal servant,” the Dark Lord said while they both stood in the abandoned hall of Malfoy Manner. “My liege,” he replied, lowering his head for a second as the snake-like man stepped closer. “Tonight, we shall end the impure and lay waste to those who dare oppose me. We will start a new world, a perfect world where those worthy shall relish the freedom from the filth.” “Yes, my liege.” “I can feel it, the time has finally come for the world to see reason and fall in line.” “Yes, my liege. They will all bow, to you, your excellency,” Severus said as he kept his tone even, his face a stoic mask of a void. “Come, let us join the others.” And they apparated to the grounds of Hogwarts, just beyond the border of the soon crumbling defence keeping them out.

Severus could not help but wonder where you were as his feet hit the soggy grounds of the forbidden forest. He, a man of little belief, sent a silent prayer to any god or being who might have listened to keep you safe until the end. If he could lay down his life knowing you were safe, that would be the greatest comfort he could ever ask for.

⩤• Belinna •⩥

I was a shell, a little tiny droplet in the ocean, one grain of sand in the vastness of the world, a perhaps broken little thing that had lost its way. Moving from place to place for more than a year, cutting contact with all those I loved and cherished, hiding — as he asked of me. Why his love mattered more than any other I still couldn’t quite grasp. It just did. Knowing the hopes of ever seeing him again to be close to zero made me feel an even greater need to honour his wish, to help him stay safe, to pretend I was dead so he didn’t need to worry about me when he already worried about far too much.

Perhaps it was silly of me, but by Merlin, I still held on to that sliver of hope that all would be fine in the end. Despite the blackening of the world, the maddening hunts for those not pure, and the waste of life and blood I could do nothing about, I still held hope. A tiny flicker I refused to put out. My one job was to help keep Severus safe by renouncing my own existence. It hadn’t been easy giving my life up, even if it had always been mediocre and of no particular value. It was still my life I gave up. “I’d do anything for him though, so really, why am I thinking about it all now?”

The wind rustled the trees, the canopies swaying and dancing in the wind as the entire sky had gone horribly grey — as if the world knew something I didn’t. The little cabin I’d managed to rent from an old muggle couple in the south of Denmark was a cute thing, with floral curtains and a sort of comfortable ease embedded in the very walls of the place — yet today, I found no peace. I couldn’t get my heart to calm down, if it was anxiety or just longing I couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps something else entirely.

As the day passed, it only hammered harder. I was struggling to breathe when evening came and my entire body was restlessly itchy — a need to move, to run, to get somewhere. It was overwhelmingly strong. So, I paced the little kitchen. Tried to make my body calm down and settle back into its usual state. A whoosh filled the air and I jolted as a dreary-looking elf appeared on the kitchen table. “Master Draco sent me, miss.” “Master-, who?” I asked, trying to get my head wrapped around the creature who looked nothing like the other elf I’d met over a year ago. I had never seen him again after that one time. Was he alright? Still wearing those goofy clothes? “Master Draco, Master Draco Malfoy, miss,” said the elf with a lowering of its head. “My master wishes you to help, miss. His protector, needs help, miss.” “His protector? What-, what on earth are you talking about?” I asked, clutching at my chest where the incessant pounding of my heart was turning unbearable. Beyond anything natural.

“He is to die, but my master is kind, he knows his protector needs help, miss.” “His-, I don’t know who you’re talking— Haaa— ” My sentence got cut by a horrendous tensing in my chest, it felt like my heart was being pulled out of my chest and I fell to my knees. The thud echoed through my entire body, the tang of a memory filled the back of my throat. As if there was something there when there wasn't. “Miss, you need to go. My master’s protector needs you, my master asks you to help when he cannot help.” “Bloody hell, fuck—” I panted, gripped at my clothes, and tried to hold myself still while my chest heaved and seemed to nearly cave in on itself. “Follow your heart, miss,” the elf said. “Follow your heart, my master said to tell you.” “Follow my— SEVERUS!”

The elf evaporated in thin air, I crumbled to the floor. No, no, no. Severus… No… But the ache in my heart only grew stronger, unlike anything I had ever felt before. There had been days of pain, days of tensing, days my heart ached in a manner it shouldn’t have. It all started back when I drank that potion Severus had provided, that day in the blizzard when he tried to break my last hope of us ever being with each other — of him living. He hadn’t managed, I’d still had that flicker of hope and through it all, it never faltered. It nested in my heart like a secret greater than any other.

The ache was unbearable when the elf’s words echoed in my mind. “Follow my heart, follow it…” I whispered in a wheezing breath as I let go of anything and everything, thinking only of Severus as I felt my pounding heart twist in on itself and my body turned too heavy for me to keep myself from laying flat on the cold floor. It turned to soggy ground, damp and covered in roots. The all too familiar surroundings of Hogwarts grounds took shape all around me as my heart thumped harder yet the pain lessened.

I got up on my knees and hands, lifting my head to see a cacophony of spells filling the air — red, green, blue, white, streaks, and explosions. High up, by the crumbling castle, a battle was taking place and my entire body roared at the sight. My friends, my second home, my childhood, and adulthood — it was under attack and I hadn’t been there to help. I hadn’t even known it was happening as I’d cut off the world so completely. Severus… Severus, where are you? I wondered while I tried to suffocate the nausea twisting my guts from the sudden transportation.

I hissed as something snapped at my calves. Looking to the side and back, the Whomping Willow was readying itself to hit me with full force. I rolled away, its giant branches just missing me as I panted and got on my feet. The garbled sound of screams and shouts barely reached me from the castle, a dull murmur carried by the wind. My heart got pierced. Something invisible drove itself through me and sent me to my knees as the most horrendous pain spread through my entire body. My heart lurched in my chest, and I landed on creaking floorboards that seemed to sway beneath my hands and knees.

I panted, tried to suffocate the cries wanting to leave my mouth. Beyond the slightly ajar door several feet came rushing by, dressed in muggle-like clothes I knew it could only be kids. “Hurry,” I heard the all too familiar voice of Hermione Granger. “You can’t go by yourself, mate,” said Ron Weasley — his voice deeper than I remembered but still clearly his. “He’ll be in the forest, I have to do this alone after I take this to the pensive…” said Harry Potter but the voices died down as they moved down the steps and out of the Shrieking Shack.

My heart lurched again and all I could think of was Severus, I didn’t care where the kids were going, what they were going to do or who Mr Potter would be meeting in the forest — all I could think of was getting to Severus, to find him.

⩤• Severus •⩥

I thought she would come… His mind was letting go, turning fuzzy and unlike itself. The poison was spreading, the antidote he’d consumed only staving off his death but not any of the symptoms. His heart was slowing down, his thoughts turned muffled and groggy, his breathing a wheezing barely there. His body slid down the back of the bed he’d been half propped up against, he was tilting to the side and began to fall toward the floor below.

Something soft caught his head, a muffled voice from far away seemed pierced with agony as it screamed a likeness of his name. He tried to focus, tried to stave off the slumber of not dying but being wrapped up in death. “Severus…” It was her, her voice, so broken and frail in a hazy fog. “Severus, no, no, stay with me, stay with me,” she pleaded and he felt his heart thump a harder beat. But just one. You came… My love… You still have hope… You found... me…

His mind turned quiet, his body a mere lump of unmoving muscles and unfeeling skin. His heart beat slowly, just enough to keep him from dying but not enough to keep him conscious. He knew there was no hope, but he was thankful he’d heard your voice one last time. He hadn’t told a single soul of his plan, and so, there was none who could reverse the death his body would face within days from the poison filling his veins. Yet, he was at peace, knowing you were alive and that all would end once Potter learned of his role in the death of the Dark Lord. He had done his part, until the very end...

⩤• Belinna •⩥

I screamed, I wailed, I cried and I pounded his chest while his head rested in my lap. He laid atop me as he had in his office, yet, this time it was different. He was dying. There was barely a breath leaving him, I could only feel the faintest of sporadic heartbeats when I laid my palms against his chest and pleaded with the universe to bring him back to me.

“Why did you do this?” I asked, scrunching up the robes beneath my hands before grabbing onto him. Something hard lay within his cloak, I shoved my hands into the inner pocket and found a vial. There was no label, but as I sniffed it the similarity to the smell of a bezoar was unmistakable. Antidote. You took antidote! My hope soared to the sky only to plummet just as fast. That he was dying in my arms only meant it hadn’t fully worked, or it had been the wrong one, or that there wasn’t any potion strong enough to counteract the poison injected through the wound in his neck. I knew it could only have come from one thing, the creature the Dark Lord held so dear. It was no secret he had a pet snake, a giant one at that.

“Mom!” I called in shocked exclamation as I jolted into a straight position. I wasn’t crying out for her, but if the man I loved would have any chance of survival I knew I needed help — not from the world of magic I was part of, but from the muggle one my chosen family lived in. “Hold on, Sev. Just, hold on for me,” I pleaded as I worked up the courage to apparate. I knew it was dangerous, with Severus being in the state he was it could very well cost him his life. But, I had no choice. If I did nothing he would slowly die, fading away until his heart stopped.

With a deep breath, and all the will I could muster, I cleared my head of everything but my chosen home. The home I was welcome in as myself, without any pressure to only associate with those of the same blood as me. Pure blood. My muggle family was far greater than my biological one, far kinder, far better in all manners and I had them to thank for becoming the woman I now was. Please, please, please be there, I thought and held on to Severus before wishing us away from the battle to return home. Even if returning home after all this time, with everyone thinking I was missing or dead, had my heart in a different kind of uproar.

I shook my head, my hands still grasping Severus fiercely as the familiar warmth of my former home enveloped me effortlessly. The smell of disinfectant and fabric softener, the sound of the radio blaring classical music, and the all-white interior were a contrasting brightness to the gloomy dark we’d come from. No battle sounds or creaking walls were heard either.

I checked Severus over, he was still breathing and his heart thumped in its sporadic pattern with too long pauses between each beat. “Hold on, Sev, please, hold on,” I whispered as I cradled his head in my lap. “Helen, is that you darling?” came the voice of my mom from upstairs, just beyond my view from the living room floor. My heart lurched and guilt trickled in with fear — what if she turned me away now?

It didn’t matter. Severus needed help and, even if Mom would want nothing to do with me, she’d never turn her back on someone in need of her. She was too kind-hearted. “No… It’s-, it’s me,” I said and her steps faltered in the hallway. “Please-, please, help,” I pleaded while sobs racked through me, the comfort and safety of my old home — my old sanctuary — too overwhelming. “Belinna?” Mom asked, her voice hesitant but her rushed steps echoed right away.

“Mom, please,” I whispered and she stopped in the doorway, her face paler than usual while her wide eyes found me on the floor, cradling Severus with tears streaming down my cheeks that I couldn’t stop. “What-, how-, why-, Belinna!” she called out as her face crumbled into a sad relief before she ran up and dove for me, hugging my shoulders harshly. “My sweet, oh, my sweet, you’re alive,” she sobbed and kissed my head. “Mom, please, please help,” I pleaded and held Severus closer to me while she leaned back.

Severus was so pale, so cold to the touch. But Mom switched gears before I had time to say another word. The blood on his clothes, the look of him, it had her in full doctor mode instantly.

She asked so many questions and I had answers for so few. She never asked who he was, what he was to me, where I’d been or anything of the sort while she looked at him, inspected the wound, took his pulse and flashed a light in his eyes several times.

“Oh, where’s Pete when you need him,” she sighed after a while. “What?” “Well, we need to move him,” she explained and I scrunched my eyebrows at her - not understanding how she still forgot about magic after all these years. “Where do you want him?” I asked while taking out my wand. “Oh, right, yes, of course, guest room,” she said in a rush while standing and I levitated Severus up to the second floor, just barely able to swing him around in the narrow landing above before gently manoeuvring him through the door to the guest room.

Everything happened in a rush after that. Mom talked about blood, antidotes, risks, cardiac arrest and a whole bunch of doctor terms I couldn’t wrap my head around while I sat on the floor, holding Severus’s hand firmly while attempting not to break down in a complete mess.

***

Four hours later we were situated at the local hospital, Severus was hooked up to a strange machine that pumped out his blood, purified it, and pumped it back into him. He looked terrible, cold sweat lingered on his forehead, his hair sticking to it and he seemed even paler. How is that even possible? You're as pale as they come, Sev.. “Now, we need to keep him warm, the blood cools when it moves through here,” Mom said while pointing to the machine while I watched her fully dressed in scrubs. “I’ll have the nurse fetch some blankets, but you can hold the tube closest to his arm so the blood heats up from your body heat. It’ll help, darling,” she continued and I moved on noodle legs to the other end of the bed to do as she said.

I hesitantly moved the sticky strands of his hair before reaching up to kiss his cold forehead. “Belinna,” Mom said and I looked at her, not knowing what to say or do. “Where have you been?” she asked, all calm and collected but the tapping of her finger against her thigh said otherwise. “H-hiding,” I confessed. “He asked me to.” I glanced at Severus, avoiding the sad eyes of my mom. The guilt was nearly too much, it had been easier when I didn’t see all the people I abandoned. “This man?” I nodded. “Who is he to you? Who is he period?” she asked and I bit my lip, not knowing what to tell her.

“Belinna, answer me,” Mom eventually said and I caved, my shoulders slumping. “The man I love,” I said. “He’s-, he saved the world, saved so many people, and is seen as a monster. A traitor, a… He’s… His name, I-I can’t give you mom, it’s too dangerous.” “Belinna, I’m your mother and you will talk to me,” Mom declared and a second later my head was pressed into her stomach as she cradled me with all the love a mother could ever offer. I caved. All my fear, all my hurt, all my worry, it all spilt to the surface and I cried while she held me. And then, I told her everything.

…To Be Continued…

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A/N: Uffh... Gosh, this part hurt to write - reminds me too frikkin much of the movie and how that (questionable) canon ends 😩 Sevy-boy is alive, and he's getting better - now we just gotta figure out the aftermath of this entire mess 👀👍

Q: Would you rather go to a Yule Ball confined to the Great Hall for 10 hours with Severus OR have 52 hours to roam the entirety of Hogwarts and its grounds with no risk of harm but only seeing Severus once from afar? 👀 A: Honestly, this Q is mean... why did I ask this Q? Ugh... I'd have to go with option 2, roaming Hogwarts - so much I wanna see and try so 🙈

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[Dec:2023]