#I am almost always the person who gets the job of image description writing at my work and volunteer spaces

[betty-bourgeoisie]

It occurs to me that, sense there does seem to be an uptick in new people joining the Hetalia fandom and things are a little less 'the same five people reblogging from each other' then they were even a month ago, it would probably be good to start doing image description on fandom posts for accessibility

#Hetalia #maybe we could even organize a side blog with multiple mods where the point was just to add image descriptions of things 🤔 #seems like a lot of work #but also I am in a constant state of bitterness #over the fact that even though I'm dyslexic and have a genuine disability that makes writing things hard for me #I am almost always the person who gets the job of image description writing at my work and volunteer spaces #because I am the only one who gives enough of a shit about accessibility to write them 🙃 #I would maybe be willing to make a 'how to write image descriptions' post tho #part of the issue is obviously that most fandom content requires a much more in depth image description #then say an informational graphic #so it's harder to make it standard practice in fandom cultural spaces then it is in more social justice focused circles

[smooth-goat]

1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (is it hats? 👀), 11, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 26, 30 sorry for so many lol

aafjdskal thank u for so many !! its totally fine and encouraged in fact

Art programs you have but don't use

I still have the downloads for a full adobe suite--I needed them for college. But I've since let my subscriptions lapse when I dropped out.

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

I've had this one novel idea bouncing around in my head since I was eleven, where in the 1300s this massive trade city in modern-day Pakistan was set under strict quarantine as the Black Plague came over from the Gobi Desert westward. Years pass, better trading routes are found, and the city is lost--except the survivors of the plague's descendants still inhabit it as a small village, unknown to the outside world. Now, around 1909, a disgraced Russian archaeologist and his niece go down to this lost city in hopes of saving his job, only to find there's still people there. The story is about the little family hosting them and the line between academic study and colonialism. It's always been on a back burner because any real development would require paid consultants, but I do privately write little things for it.

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

Hmmmm I think young children. I don't have a lot of experience drawing them so it's a struggle for me to communicate their age with proper proportions.

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

Digital, really. I do work in it sometimes but really only when making animatics/animation, since I don't have a cost-effective setup to do so otherwise.

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in?

A few years ago, I spent a great deal of time on an animatic for TAZ Balance set to "Ball Cap" by Mother Mother. I had almost the whole thing in rough boards but lost steam refining them.

9. What are your file name conventions?

Just a brief description, mostly. Not really ever a proper ~artsy~ title. Examples would include "Sea Lion.jpeg" or "sisu v_01.png" the "v_01" stands for "version 1". For animatics I put keep everything in the auto-generated folders and just rely on the little image preview to keep things straight. My writing is filed under the actual published title, or a wip title. An example of that would be "moominpappa gets wrecked.docx" which, if properly titled, would surely be turned into something more moody and pretentious.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

Yes it is hats!! For technical or research aspects I love all sorts of different clothing. When I'm working out clothing patterns I love figuring out complex construction details like 1890s cycling skirts or the flap neckline in the Herjolfsnes find undershirt. But strictly drawying: it's hats. The swoopy lines are so much fun and they add so much character and mood.

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what?

I am a creature of ADHD; I have to have something on when I'm drawing. Sometimes it's a youtube video that I'm just listening to. I also have Spotify playlists I've made for different characters or relationships or AUs I have. I've spent most of my time on the Hunter animatic listening to Innuendo Studios' series "The Alt-Right Playbook".

14. Any favorite motifs?

No shocker here: disability. In my more private drawings I focus a lot on chronic pain and interactions with the inaccessible physical world. I'm also a sucker for Victorian floriography, as anyone who's browsed my ao3 works' titles could notice. Also in unpublished works (visual and written) I like working in the intersection of disability and sex. About how the body moves in sexual acts, how to accommodate for disability, the extreme vulnerability sex places on a disabled person, and the interaction of pain and pleasure that happens when sex is a physically painful act.

15. *Where* do you draw?

For digital art I have this whole setup at my desk, where the drawer is pulled out for my tablet and my laptop on the desk proper--all for Good Grade In Occupational Therapy purposes. (really because I'm 5'2 and the height of the chair I'd need to comfortably draw on the desk doesn't let my feet touch the floor). Sketching I do on the couch or in bed. I bring my sketchbook around a lot and will do it on the go. Sometimes when I'm going on drives, I pull over with a good vista and draw there sitting on the hood.

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

colored pencil!! 1000%. i do Not like working with colored pencils. The grip required for them is too small without buying a separate grip, which I have to take off and on every time I switch colors, which is Often. and they work sooo slowlyyyy. i like media like watercolor, oil, and markers--stuff that lays down lots of color quickly and can be refined later. i like a certain messiness or rawness. paint impasto, visible canvas grain, fingerprints, water splotches, etc

19. Do you eat/drink when drawing? If so, what?

Not always sketching because I'll do that in lots of places. Digitally yes always. I know I shouldn't because of the spill risk but I am a simple man and I always need to have a little drink. Usually soda or hibiscus La Croix.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

I really like drawing hands! I know they're the classic artists' bane but sux to be you because I have lots of fun with them. (For the longest time I thought I was messing them up because I'd use my own hands as reference and they'd come out looking Wrong. Years later I've realized the Wrongness I was seeing was a combination of my hypermobility and large arthritis knuckles.)

21. Art styles nothing like your own but like anyways

oh, lots! the hyper-stylized, cartoony stuff is so interesting to me. the functions of digital art are largely a mystery to me so it's just fascinating how well people use the medium. Especially the color-block lineless art that reminds me of papercut art. And I've always enjoyed how the Professor Layton games approached character design--a great deal of stylization and caricature which is so different from my own drawings of people. i also really enjoy 17th century english woodblock prints. when i paint its usually kind of impressionistic with lots of blurry lines, so the stark black and white and geometric shapes they have is so different and cool to me.

26. What's a piece that got wildly different interpretation from what you intended?

wrt art I can't really think of any! most of the finished pieces I've done were for classes and therefore weren't highly-creative projects open to a great degree of interpretation.

wrt writing For Sure that time i got accused of being a pro-lifer when I wrote "Ginger Tea and Parsley Oil" lmao. i have no idea how any competent reading of the text would come to that conclusion

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated?

wrt my visual art, most of it isn't published online but rather shared in art classes or with friends. In those cases, I think the response was pretty appropriate relative to time spent and my own opinions of it. From what's been posted online, definitely my icon! I probably spent 50 hours on that drawing cause it's actually two complete drawings laid on top of each other, with the top one torn to reveal the sepia one beneath. But ain't that just the way--whatever you spend the most time on will never get as much acclaim as what you only spend a few minutes sketching. wrt my writing, most underrated is probably "Black Cohosh". It's the piece with the second-lowest hit count but also one of my favorites. I get why it's low--it's dark and moody in a fandom that enjoys fluff and focuses a lot on canon/oc interaction. But I really love it fjdskla

#long post #birdsong #ask meme #asked and answered

[talkingwoman]

Wanted:  A Mentor for an Adorable Motormouth

GQ Timothee, a sobriquet I use to describe the unique version of this actor created by Dan Riley in what he modestly (??!) describes as his trilogy of articles on our favorite moptop, emerges as someone almost unrecognizable to his faithful fans in all but the truly wonderful photos included in each installment in GQ.  This man, Timmy,  is IMHO in serious need of a mentor, someone on the level of Kevin Costner in the movie Bull Durham was to the young, wild and crazy pitcher played by Tim Robbins:  “C’mon kid, it’s time for us to work on your cliches for interviews when you get to the Bigs.”   Especially necessary for our Timmy when he is at the mercy of a highly experienced interviewer who fancies himself a “Tim whisperer”, full of insider information and shrewd insights into the personality and character of his subject.  Since Riley does not share whether he tapes his encounters with Timmy on their “rambling walks around NY”, relies on notes, or bothers to fact-check with his source when he composes his article, we can only hope that he uses the best practices associated with celebrity journalism (did I just utter an oxymoron?).

To be clear, I am not impugning the ethics or talent of Dan Riley.  Do I think he exploits his continued association with Timmy to get what he wants for a cover article?  Yeah, that’s his job.  He did not achieve his journalistic reputation for writing puff pieces.  I note with some hypersensitivity that Riley always manages to insert a measure of snark into his descriptions of Timmy, e.g., in the article when Timmy was in Woodstock and smashed a collection of empty bottles and said to Riley something like “I just wanted to hear what that would sound like...” seemed to signify the persona of a young actor experimenting for effect, even if disingenuously.  In the current piece a certain amount of shade is thrown on Timmy for showing up late (uninvited, Mr.Riley?) at Riley’s apartment in the heat of a NY night dressed in layers, a cap, and a mask, which in case the reader didn’t get it, Riley proceeds to point out was an outfit  certainly more likely to attract public attention than avoid it.  He then seals that observation by describing Timmy’s  subsequent, somewhat reluctant interaction with fans who recognized their favorite star on the street.  

Mostly, however, Riley lets the comments attributed to his subject speak for themselves and it is here that our boy babbles his way into more disclosures than are prudent or of any value to his own image.  Language and anecdote trip up Timmy  with alarming regularity in his interviews.  I am not at all sure how caissons (as in rolling along in the Marine Hymn) fit into the idea of adultifying as a person,  bedeviled by his actor’s gift? Fame?  Even more confusing is his reference to the 27  club of famous folk who died too young as if their cases apply to his 27yr old self.  Note to Timmy:  these folks, including Janis, Amy, Jimi, Jim, et al were seriously addicted to dangerous substances.  The comparison of accidental overdoses to your existential identity issues really looks lame, even misguided.  Similarly, just joking about being a 17 yr old with the soul of an 81 yr old man comes off as way too self aggrandizing.  What does even a guy at the advanced age of 27 know about the souls of 81 yr olds.?  Wiser to let others describe you that way than to self appoint your status as  resident sage.

Qualifying his pronouncements is an area that Timmy needs much help with from that mentor we are recruiting for him.  Two simple words, “to me” would be such a help in discussing subjects upon which his opinions may well be suspect based upon limited experience or simply wrong-headedness. The discussion of “good” HW and “bad” HW is a stellar case in point.  Such broad and bald descriptions are likely to provoke sneers about Timmy’s entitlement to share his opinion as if it is fact, and further compound the issue by naming people who are part of one category or the other is quite audacious.  “Old” HW is likely to respond with hostility as they may indeed already did in denying Timmy an Oscar nomination for his acclaimed and elsewhere nominated performance in Beautiful Boy.  Recall that in 2018, Timmy took a very public stance announcing that he would never work with Woody Allen again and also donate his salary for RDNY to the MeToo movement.  Apart from attacking an industry icon for alleged events that took place before he was born, and for which Allen was never charged, Timmy allegedly told Allen’s sister, Letty Aronson, a producer with an impeccable reputation that he took his action to improve his chances to win an Oscar for CMBYN. Is it a certainty that the audacity or opportunism of his action cost him a nomination?  Obviously not, but the genuine surprise registered among film critics and fans alike when the Beautiful Boy performance did not receive a nomination invited a lot of speculation to that effect.  BTW, Timmy’s team did not dispute Allen’s account of these events in his recently published memoir.

Of course, to the Charmie community, nothing in the November issue of GQ is as arresting as Timmy’s comments regarding Armie Hammer.  I have much I might say about this portion of the interview, but am not yet willing to commit these ideas to a written, indelible format.  Yep, I’m still struggling with the how could you, why would you angst inducing content of Timmy’s comments. Maybe later, maybe never will I share this.

For any of you who have made it to this point, thanks for your attention (endurance?).  Obviously, these are just my opinions, but the article hit me hard. I still love Timothee Chalamet, respect his tremendous talent, and lament the uncertainty that Riley’s article thrust into my consciousness.  But, wow, are those photos of Timmy stunning, or what?

#heartsandparts #estellaestella onlyastoryteller saradobiebauer choupistikfaitdesbetises alittlefrenchtree thebitetheapple mysteryofcharmie

[helenazbmrskai]

Bangtan Studios

Guess who’s writing fanfiction instead of studying? Yeah, it’s me. I really should study but this idea just couldn’t let me live until I wrote this down. I can’t believe I wrote a 10k long fic again when finals are so close. All the same please enjoy this baby that I wrote for two days straight!

Title ‹Bangtan Studios›

Pairing ‹Producer! Yoongi x Receptionist! OC›

Genre ‹non-idol but famous au, slice of life, like 7k of straight angst, smut, there’s some fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers au›

Summary ‹As a temporary replacement at Bangtan Studios, you fulfil the position of the new receptionist and there’s always this one grumpy producer that you can’t seem to expel from taking over your thoughts.›

Warning(s) ‹breast play, making out against a wall, teasing, oral (f), fingering, quickie, they fuck at the studio at 2 am (but no one's around), unprotected sex, me trying to be funny, also Yoongi is kind of an asshole but you’re a masochist so it’s fine›

Word Count ‹10k›

Masterlist

”Don’t worry about me L, it might seem like a little step backwards but it’s not like I have the money to rent a room and the owner said that I can use one of the empty ones after my work hours to record.”

I switch the phone to my other ear, freeing my right hand with the motion as I flip through the guest book dotting down the date on the top left side of a new page. I hear L sighing from the other end of the call but relents knowing that it’s the best offer that I got in a while and I’m adamant to grab any chance that I could get. Bills won’t pay themselves unfortunately and the rat hole I’m renting is the lowest I’m willing to go.

It’s not a stressful job per se as I’ll manage the studio’s guest list and keep track of the whereabouts of the keys that I hand out to musicians mostly, my job description might occasionally entail filling out forms if something breaks or an electrical gadget goes haywire, pretty tame to let me be able to focus on my things. Who knows maybe if I do a good job Namjoon will give me a raise and with some savings, I could finally find a place in a nice neighbourhood.

The previous assistant left on short notice and I – happened to be looking for a temporary job. I’m lucky that Namjoon is a friend of a friend who’s close with a friend of mine so I could get the job without much of a hassle.

The owner Namjoon seemed to be a decent guy in my eyes when he gave me the keys to the doors this morning, perhaps a little bit clumsy as he collided with some cleaning supplies on his way to the front door. The image itself is enough to put a permanent smile on my face that is until someone taps my shoulder forcing me to end my conversation with a curt goodbye. Namjoon won’t be happy to know I ignored the person who came in on my first day of work so I prepare my best customer smile that I used a lot while I was working as a part-timer in an ice cream parlour.

”Good –” I start when he suddenly held up a hand. The man looks significantly taller than me as I look over his appearance with a slightly raised chin, a black hoodie is covering his head that seems to be much bigger than his actual size and if the high counter that you’re behind wouldn’t obscure your line of sight of his lower half you might have seen his hands buried inside two parallel pockets.

As you reach his eyes with your gaze your confusion falters, he looks quite pissed without any real reason, well, other than the dark circles that could be seen from the outer circle of the milky way. This guy is in serious need of some sleep.

”Where’s that lady who usually sits here?” This guy must not like small talk as he cuts to the chase right after he laid his eyes on me his gaze feels like a thousand knives just penetrated my skull, it almost looks like he’s here to murder me rather than rent a studio room. It takes a few minutes before I recover to give him an answer, I force my smile to stay on as I explain the situation to him.

”Her grandmother is sick so I’ll be the one to fill her place temporarily until she comes back, My name is Y/N. Can I ask for yours, Sir?”

Grabbing a pen from the holder I patiently wait for his name so I could do my duty and add him to today’s list just like Namjoon instructed. I remember he vaguely explained this morning that famous people in the music industry pay monthly to have a room here so they could work on their music in peace.

Namjoon also said that there’s one room, the one with the number 15 that’s regularly rented by his friend, he’s the only one who has a specific studio every time while others mix between rooms all the time depends on which one is occupied at the moment.

”Yoongi. Don’t ever call me Sir.” The man in front of me wears a sour expression as I try to keep my face nice and relaxed from frowning at him myself. This guy, even though all I do is be polite and make this as pleasant as possible, nothing seems to reach that cold heart of his. Working with people all my life trained me to ignore dimwits like him but it doesn’t mean I’m not itching to show him what real attitude is.

”Here.” I stretch out my hand with my palm facing him, the key to studio 5 in the middle of it. For now, I’ll just bite my tongue to stop any remarks and give him a key so I could cut this very awkward conversation short.

”That’s not my key.” He sighs after inhaling sharply, clearly irritated at my lack of knowledge and my eyebrows shoot up the minute I realise he’s supposed to be Namjoon’s friend who rents room 15. How could that friendly guy with cute little dimples be friends with a literal demon from hell?

”I’m sorry, here’s your key then.” That I would have given to you in the first place if you just, I don’t know, stopped being a dick for a moment and told me. I swallow down the last part though.

I need this job and I’m definitely not going to lose it just because Namjoon is friends with a guy who clearly has some anger management issues. Right, I need to focus on the good money this place can give me. I already messed up so I should try extra hard to be on his good side as he could potentially get me fired.

The others are fine. I even get to have a chat about music with a guy around my age, he introduced himself as Jungkook and even though at first glance he looked like a total creep with his overwhelming womanizer aura and poor attempts at flirting it turned out we share a lot in common regarding our music tastes.

After that encounter with Yoongi, the people I met throughout the day were pleasant to converse with and had actual manners. Everyone (or at least civilised people) know how to say ’thank you’ and ’please’ but apparently, this is not in this guy’s dictionary.

I wonder why he looks like someone just murdered his dog while he was sleeping (hoping that’s not the case though because that would be just sad and I want to curse him without feeling guilty about it).

Back to the topic, I don’t know what that man’s problem is but I hope he spills that coffee I saw in his hands during my lunch break all over himself by the end of this day. I don’t even know why I got so riled up by this random stranger being rude to me. Not that his opinion should matter, he’s a stranger just like I said.

I leave around 8 pm that day with a sour mood and a growling stomach to match it. There’s only one key missing but Namjoon called me this afternoon to fill me in that Yoongi stays over time, like, all the time so I can just go home as soon as my shift ends and Yoongi will put back his key on the rack by the wall when he heads home.

It was fine by me. I’m not that fond of him to want to see him more than it’s absolutely necessary. I know Namjoon could hear the edge in my voice when his name came up and he wasn’t too surprised, at least now I know he’s like this with everyone.

The shifts are long and even if my sole purpose is to hand out keys and make sure that no one sneaks in to bother the artists it’s pretty boring but none the less tiring. Maybe I should pack a book or something for tomorrow to entertain me.

Jungkook did show up to bother me when he declared it’s time for his well-deserved break from recording and that’s when he shared this interesting piece of information that he’s working together with Yoongi on a song. It piqued my interest as the chance presented itself to learn a little more about the grumpy man so I asked if Yoongi is a singer like Jungkook but all I got was an almost passed out musician as he couldn’t stop laughing. He enlightened me between snorts and suppressed giggling that Yoongi is a producer and can’t sing for shit – not my words, his.

Seeing Yoongi’s grim expression first thing in the morning as soon as I arrive at work is not how I would normally like to start my day – or any day for that matter but I keep reminding myself that the money worths more than this tiny inconvenience that is called Min Yoongi. Knowing this time what to expect I choose to go with a half-smile not too enthusiastic but not too rude either as the goal was a somewhat natural expression.

He wears a different hoodie today but the dark circles under his eyes are the same, it’s still black (like his soul probably) the only way I can tell it’s different that this piece of clothing has a print on the front that awfully looks like an anime character with a basketball in one hand. I’m not a huge fan of sports in general so I have no idea who’s smiling at the front. I’m itching to ask about it because I love animes but I refrain, he’ll just dismiss my interest as if I intentionally want to crawl under his skin.

To strategically avoid making the same mistake as yesterday. I hastily jot down his name next to the date now that I’m more familiar with what I’m supposed to do. I successfully hand him his key to studio 15 before he could fully open his mouth and ruin my mood with a single word – I have no doubts that he’s capable of doing such a thing. I’m all in for small wins as today he didn’t even have time to halt my ’good morning’ before I finished. Yoongi took the key silently and walked away, just how I like it.

”Y/N we’re going for an early lunch would you like to come with us?” I look up from the page I’m currently at placing the bookmark in the middle to meet Jungkook’s sparkly eyes and then look over his shoulder to witness a more reserved Yoongi who is clearly not happy about the idea of me joining. He couldn’t say no when Jungkook didn’t ask for his opinion in the first place before he stormed up to the front desk to grab my attention.

I take a look at my phone screen to scan the time and win some more time to create a believable excuse why I can’t join, it’s too early for me to have my lunch break anyway not that I would like to lengthen this slow day by sitting next Yoongi while I try to shove food down my throat and make awkward small talk. Yoongi hates small talk so it would be a futile attempt to dissolve the awkward tension that settled over us.

Our interactions are bare and I would like to keep it this way. I give Jungkook an apologetic smile hinting at what I’m about to say when my phone rings, saving my ass as I’m sure Jungkook would have tried to persuade me if it weren’t for the sudden call. ”Go without me I have to take this call.”

This time my apology is genuine as I see Jungkook’s lips form a pout (I know he wants us to get along that’s why he tries to make us talk) but doesn’t push the matters further as he nods. Jungkook now turns to Yoongi who is already a few steps ahead of him one foot already on the other side of the door, ready to leave the building.

”Hi it’s Namjoon, sorry to interrupt you while you’re at work but I would like to ask for a favour if it’s alright with you.”

I can’t say I’m not surprised to hear that but if there’s anyone who I’d want to help it’s him. He has been treating me very kindly ever since I started working here so I obviously didn’t want to say no.

I learned that he’s a very thoughtful person. He always makes sure to ask about work even if it’s just about small things like how I’m feeling or if I need something I shouldn’t hesitate to contact him. He’s a sweetheart and I started to consider him as one of my friends as well. I would like to be his friend even if I’m no longer his employee.  

”Of course. Is everything alright Namjoon?” I stand up from my chair ready to do anything to help him.

”Oh don’t worry Y/N, it’s just a small favour. My brother is on his way can you give him the keys to studio 11? I broke the mouse the other day so I sent him to replace it with a new one.” I nod curtly as the woman who used studio 5 placed the key down onto the counter before focusing back on the conversation. She smiled in return as if she doesn’t want to interrupt my call and waved goodbye.

”You didn’t have to say it with such a dramatic pause. I thought something bad happened to you.” Plopping down against the chair I chuckle lightly, relaxing now that I know it’s not serious.

Namjoon’s brother shows up at the same time when Jungkook and Yoongi decide to come back from their lunch around two. Both boys greet him, seemingly well acquainted with him and then I remember that Namjoon told me previously that he lets a few of his friends use his rooms with discounts.

I knew that Yoongi is considered to be Namjoon’s friend but I didn’t know that Jungkook is close with him too – in a way it makes sense. I’m not here long enough to tell who is whose’s friend yet.

”You must be Y/N. Namjoonie said he’ll call you about the broken mouse.” I accept his outstretched hand and he shakes it gently. I nod with a gentle smile on my face, searching between keys to find the right one that opens studio 11.

”What did he break this time?” Jungkook joins the conversation with ease, resting gently his head on his hands.

They share a laugh as they try to list everything that Namjoon broke with his destructive powers going as far as mentioning why the male bathroom misses a glass window (before this I had no idea why he buys coffee from the vending machine that’s down the hall but it turned out he needs to use almost half of the money he earns to replace things). I let an amused smile find its way up my face as I give him the keys.

I’ve only been here for a few weeks but this place is better than any of the previous workplaces I had. The patrons are nice, the only thing that could serve as a complaint is that the work hours are long for a receptionist desk job but it pays really well so there’s really nothing wrong. I have to admit that if Nana’s grandmother eventually gets better and she comes back to work I would really miss coming here. Not that I don’t want her grandma to get better of course. It’s just that this place grew on me.

Even Yoongi’s irritated grunts in the morning when he tries to mimic my ’Good morning’ became a routine of my life. We’re by no means close like I’m with Jungkook or Namjoon but let’s just say he’s a constant. Even though we don’t talk about ourselves – I unintentionally picked up some things about him.

I know he hates changes that’s why he demanded to know where the lady who’s always behind the desk is when it was just my first day here. Now he expects me to be behind the desk just like I always know when he’ll show up as he always comes at the same time each day. He likes his routines and hates when things don’t go the way he wants them. He mostly keeps to himself but I know he has a few good friends.

He especially looks grumpy one morning when he gets caught up in the rain on his way to the studio. I always keep a hand towel in my bag to have something to burrito my umbrella in but I luckily got here before it started raining so I offered him to dry himself.

”Stupid weather forecast, it said there’s only a 15% chance that it’ll rain today.” The boy murmurs under his breath, he snatched it from between my fingers (even if a thank you would have been nice to hear I don’t say anything since he’s in a bad mood I decided to keep my mouth shut) and started angrily dabbing his hair with the fluffy towel.

I passed him the key to his studio and he soon disappeared behind one of the doors taking my towel with him. I sigh once he’s out of my sight, accepting the fact that I’ll never see that towel again, it was one of my favourites too.

I had a lot of time in my hands so I mopped the floor when things were slow, wanting to make sure no one will slip because of the puddle of water that Yoongi smeared everywhere after his grand entrance. Now that I think about it, he looked really drenched, he didn’t even go home to change into something dry and stormed off to lock himself inside his studio like he always does.

He’ll catch a cold. I hope at least he turned on the portable heater inside. I shake my head to dismiss the thought. I try to remind myself it’s none of my concern if he’ll get sick or not. Because of the rain, he probably didn’t stop by the coffee shop he frequents, I don’t remember seeing a cup in his hands when he arrived. Taking my umbrella out of my bag I use my lunch break to get some take out and get two large coffee from the corner shop on my way back to the studio.

I anxiously gnaw on my lips, this is so stupid.

Yoongi will never accept these (especially if it’s coming from me). I pace around, moving in circles in front of Yoongi’s studio for the past ten minutes or so thinking hard about how to get a better outcome that doesn’t end up with Yoongi taking off my head because I interrupted him during work. I’m undecided if I want to take the risk of getting yelled at. Just on cue like someone heard my prayers I catch sight of Jungkook as he exits his room and I get a good idea.

Yoongi and Jungkook are friends, he’ll not question him if he decides to surprise him with food and coffee.

Knowing Yoongi and his tendencies to drink so much coffee that could power him for a week I doubt he’ll tell him to get lost. I also got him his usual as I remembered Jungkook mentioned it once that he likes his coffee black – just like his soul.

I can 100% believe that. Jungkook looked baffled when I approached him to give him Yoongi’s coffee and Chinese take out but only let him go and execute our plan when he finally promised me that he’ll never tell him it’s from me. I’ll never live it down if someone sniffs out I’m worried about him.

My plan didn’t seem to work. Yoongi didn’t come to the studio the next day. Jungkook told me later that he’s sick and bedridden with a nasty flu, not that you’re surprised. You’re only surprised when Jungkook slips a little paper to you over lunch break. The tiny note tells you an address – Min Yoongi’s address precisely.

”Why are you giving me this?” I ask cluelessly which makes Jungkook coo at my cuteness but I still don’t understand.

”I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” My chin drops down to the floor at the ridiculous declaration – this is officially the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. Happy my ass. He’d be happy to kick me out as soon as he sees me. I don’t know what Jungkook is scheming but I’m not buying it.

”I know what you might think but Yoongi doesn’t hate your guts as much as you think he does and you clearly don’t hate him because you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to get him food and coffee when there was a fucking storm outside. Wait let me finish.”

He could sense my disbelief that’s why he adds the last part quickly. I nod my head silently, even though there’s a sarcastic remark on the tip of my tongue I’ll try to keep it to myself for now.

”I think you already know this but Yoongi is not a huge fan of changes in his life. He’s an ass sometimes I won’t argue with that but with you Y/N, he keeps showing you his worst self, I don’t think that he’s even aware that he tries to scare you away. He likes you a lot that’s why he keeps acting like an asshole. It had been always him and his passion for music but now he wants to have something else. Someone else. You.”

”I appreciate the poetic approach but I don’t think Yoongi likes me. If you ever decide to write a book I’ll definitely buy it though because this sounds like straight out of romance novel. Maybe you should explore this side of you more.” I pat his cheek with a tight-lipped smile. Phew, I almost thought for a moment that he’s serious.

I might have a tiny beany crush on him – strictly when he’s not talking – he’s a very handsome man so it’s logical that a single girl feels a little attraction. However, it always vanishes when he opens his mouth to spit out his usual nonsense so I’m sure it’s nothing more than that. I also admit that I might pay a little more attention to him than to others but it could be because he could potentially fire me through Namjoon (which is a lie because Jungkook is Namjoon’s friend too but I hardly pay any attention to him, sorry Kook).

Well, maybe it’s a little more than just a tiny crush but my point still stands that – there’s no way in hell that Yoongi likes me (too) he’s painfully indifferent towards me if he’s not irritated then he’s grumpy. He always has something to complain about even if it’s not my fault and there’s nothing I could do about it.

I think the only reason he talks to me is to prolong my torment like we’re in the eighth circle of hell – he’s literally a demon without the wings and stuff.  Living just to leech onto my lifeforce and use me as his personal stress ball.

I don’t know why I let him convince me to still go and check up on Yoongi despite my better judgement that tells me he doesn’t feel the same way.

I wouldn’t dare say that I’m in love with him because we don’t know each other to that extent but I feel more than sheer irritation when I see him – how Yoongi feels about me is the question here. Jungkook said though that if he’s wrong about the older boy he’ll buy me lunch for a whole month and I’m not financially stable enough to reject such an offer so here I am, literally in front of his door – that probably leads me to hell.

Even if it sounded like one of his previous flirting tactics and I would gladly ditch those lunches if it only meant that Yoongi likes me (too). I don’t want to get my hopes up but Jungkook’s words did give me some confidence to actually show up at his doorstep.

On the other hand, Yoongi’s definitely the more financially stable one out of the two of us considering how he lives in a nice neighbourhood and his house is pretty decent from the outside.

His apartment is at one of the complexes that are quite new around here too I remember seeing an advertisement when I was house hunting a few months ago but it was too expensive for me so I didn’t even contact the owner to see the interior and moved on to a less pricey side of Seoul. But damn, he must be a hell of a good producer that he can afford living here all by himself. I’m so lost in admiring my surroundings that I didn’t realise someone is standing next to me until a middle-aged woman places a hand on my shoulder to get my attention. She has her hands full of grocery bags but a smile immediately adorns her face as soon as I make eye contact.

”Are you one of Yoongi’s friends dear?” Gaping like a fish out of water I contemplate if I should just agree or tell some lie that I’m lost or something, she must see the panic in my eyes that she softens up even more that makes me discard the idea of lying to her immediately. She looks like a saint only a halo is missing from above her head, I don’t want to make a fool out of myself by lying to this nice lady.

”I, uh, my name is Y/N. I sometimes see him at work.” I offer this at least. Her face lits up with recognition after hearing my name that momentarily catches me off guard. Why would this nice lady know my name?

”Oh so you’re Y/N. I heard a lot about you from my son, please come in.” Her smile stretches as wide as the door in front of us, the lovely gesture makes the skin around her eyes crinkle with age but she’s nonetheless beautiful.

Lord send me help, I don’t even want to know what he had told about me to his mother to get a reaction like this, he probably went on a rant about how bad of a receptionist I am and now she tries to be polite.

I might have messed up some keys in the beginning sometimes but I’m still better than Namjoon, at least I don’t do permanent damage and go around breaking the equipment all the time.

What the actual fuck is happening. Yoongi’s mother is a literal angel descended from the heavens, how is it possible that he looks like the devil himself when he has such a beautiful and nice guardian? No offence to her mother but his son is a demon in disguise. Beckoning me inside once she sees I’m still rooted to my spot by the door, I take a look around the house to get out of my daze. It’s spotless, it almost looks unused.

The only indication that someone lives in here is the shoes neatly placed on the rack and coats hanging by the entrance, considering the amount of time he spends at the studio I wouldn’t be too surprised to learn he only crashes here at night. Eat, sleep and work – that’s all he does if you can trust Jungkook’s words and by the worried look in his mother’s eyes it’s probably true.

”I have to leave in a bit so I’m glad I found you here. I’ll make some vegetable soup can you make sure he eats it?”

She looks up when I hesitate to say yes. I could feel my palm getting sweaty with each passing minute Yoongi’s mother prepares the food and hums a soft tune, her smile is gentle as he slices some carrots with a kitchen knife. I’m not sure he would like to see me at his house, maybe I should call one of his friends to take care of him? I want to help, I really do, but what if he doesn’t want me to be here? Seeing as doubt fills my eyes she leaves the food to take my hand in hers.

”Knowing my son’s personality he probably didn’t make things easy for you dear. It might not seem like it but he’s very fond of you. I don’t think he ever talked about a woman with such adoration in his voice before. Yoongi likes to stick to the things that he has control over but he can’t control his emotions and that scares him. I know he’s not the easiest person to deal with but I would be happy if you’d give him another chance.”

I give her hand a reassuring squeeze back. ”I like him too. He’s temperamental and grumpy but I guess he’s not so bad after all. I. H-He just always argues with me so I’m not sure what to do.”

It feels good to tell someone what has been on my mind lately. He’s not always unbearable but he keeps sending me mixed signals that I’m not sure what to think of. Sometimes we chat about our favourite artists, he asks for my opinion on things and it makes me think we’re getting somewhere (I love how he can talk about music so passionately) but then the next minute he has something to complain about and makes me feel like his lack of inspiration is somehow my fault.

”Things will always work out in the end.” She leaves with these last words and an encouraging bear hug. The soup is still hot when I spoon some into a bowl taking deep breaths I feel nervous all of a sudden now that his mother left it’s eerily quiet it almost seems like no one’s home. She showed me before she left where I can find his room and even though I’m really nervous to face Yoongi I scoop up all my (non-existent) confidence and knock.

I wait a bit before I open the door thinking that he’s probably passed out from the fever I tiptoe into the room. It’s messier than I thought but the interior is very Yoongi like in the sense that musical instruments are all over the place. He really is just a big workaholic who lives for his job.

I carefully put the food down to check his temperature I find it concerning when my hands meet his skin and it feels like he’s burning up. I explore the house to locate all the things I need to bring his fever down and fortunately, I find a basin under the sink to fill it with cold water and borrowed a washcloth from the bathroom as well.

He remains unconscious until his fever is fully gone as I kneel beside his bed my previous nervous fidgeting is long forgotten as worry takes over, his condition is worse than I initially thought.

I don’t know where he stores his painkillers so I look into every cabinet before I find what I’m looking for (at this rate I’m becoming more familiar with all the things that he has in his apartment). Now that some light from the afternoon sun peeks through his curtains Yoongi looks even paler than he normally is.

”Get better soon so you can yell at me when I misplace your key. Even if we argue all day it’s better than seeing you this sick.” I ran my hands through his sweaty hair as I replace the towel on his forehead.

He’s really sick, I can’t picture him letting me touch his hair like this if he wouldn’t be unconscious. He looks so peaceful while sleeping, now that he’s not scowling it’s easy to see how handsome he is. If only he would take better care of himself. It’s getting late outside but I don’t want to leave him until I know his fever went down permanently so I close my eyes for a second, I’ll just rest for a few minutes.

I didn’t realise I was this tired until I couldn’t open them again as they felt heavy and the warmth from Yoongi’s body lulled me to sleep.

Well fuck me, the few minutes turned out to be hours later, the sun is already up but fortunately, Yoongi isn’t.

I’m glad that he didn’t witness my ungraceful awakening. Everything hurts when I stand, I fell asleep on the floor next to Yoongi’s bed totally forgot about the basin next to it as I stepped straight into the cold water – it’s a miracle that Yoongi didn’t wake up when I yelped in surprise.

While waiting for Yoongi to finally wake up I finished cleaning the dishes, cleaned his living room and filled his washing machine with a bunch of clothes since there’s not even a single clean shirt inside his closet.

At first, I felt a bit guilty as I keep doing chores in someone else’s apartment when the owner is unaware that I’m there but his mother did tell me to look after him so he can’t be that angry later that I didn’t ask for his permission to touch things. If anything he should be thankful. I don’t think this house looked this clean ever since he bought it.

The next time I check if he’s still asleep he has his back facing the door so I can’t tell his eyes are closed or open. I stroll closer trying to make my steps light, without thinking I card my fingers through his messy hair away from his forehead to make sure he’s not having another fever.

Yoongi suddenly turns to lay on his back eyes glazing over my features. His eyelids are laying heavily barely open but I know he recognises me when it widens just a tiny bit, the blush that takes over his entire face could easily come from the aftermath of his fever or the embarrassment that I got to see him in such a vulnerable state. I bet he has no idea that I’m here since yesterday.

I think it’s cute that he tries to hide his reddening face behind his large palms, this is not the reaction I was expecting. I thought he’ll demand an answer of why I’m here or how did I get in. This is way better than that. I can’t help but think that I want to see more of this side, shy Yoongi is just so cute. I can’t believe I have the urge to call him cute after declaring he’s the devil in my head all this time.

”How are you feeling?” I ask gently.

I want to make him more flustered while I still have this opportunity in front of me. I start to run my hands through his hair like before, he averts his eyes immediately but otherwise doesn’t tell me to stop so I continue to comb his hair trying to get the knots out that formed from all the tossing and turning around.

”Water.” He croaks out. I let go of his hair to get a glass from the kitchen, he’s sitting up by the time I come back with a glass of water, he takes a long sip but before he could drain all of the remaining liquid I place a painkiller into his palm for him to take.

It’s more awkward now that he’s awake but the silence is not as bad as it was before. Maybe it’s because I heard those encouraging words from his mother and Jungkook that I feel lighter, knowing that he doesn’t hate me is nice. Makes it easier to let the silence envelop us and remain lost in our thoughts instead. I excuse myself to reheat the soup his mother made and I’m relieved that he feels good enough to eat it.

”I hope you don’t mind, your mother let me in. You were really sick last night so I stayed over to make sure your fever went down.” I carefully watch as he eats. Searching for a comfortable spot I sit down near the end of his bed while I tell him the reason I’m here. The boy nods acknowledging my words but he seems a bit out of it.

”You can go now, I’m feeling better.” Yoongi avoids making eye contact, he looks at his empty bowl like it would magically refill itself, I can’t hide my disappointment after hearing his slightly cold words. I know that things won’t change in a split second but I was hoping that he’ll be nicer after I took care of him. His mother and his close friend both think Yoongi likes me but it doesn’t seem like that to me.

”Alright.” That’s all I say before I grab my jacket that I previously discarded onto the sofa’s armrest and made my way over to the entrance, thinking that maybe it was a mistake to come here. He doesn’t say anything else before I hear the click indicating that the door closed behind me. Yoongi didn’t even try to stop me or say goodbye and the hope that filled my heart before simply started to fade away.

The encounter leaves me in bad mood all day even though Jungkook tries to brighten me up at work his words just keep repeating inside my head making it impossible to focus on my tasks. He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything it’s just looked like he doesn’t really care that I was worried which makes me look stupid for even doing that.

What worse is that he shows up the next day acting like none of it happened. It felt like we’re more of strangers to each other than before when we were bickering. We barely look each other in the eye as of late.

I thought that I’ll be sadder knowing that I have to leave this place as soon as Nana comes back but now, it’s a relief. I can’t move on if I see Yoongi daily and work will serve as a great distraction as I’ll start at my new workplace next week. Namjoon helped me find another receptionist job at his friend Seokjin’s place.

There’s this feeling rooted in my heart that I regret not talking to him more, we never get close enough but I guess some things are just aren’t meant to be. Yoongi’s married to his work, he wouldn’t have time to go on dates in the first place.

On my last day, I told Jungkook that I’ll no longer be here since Nana’s grandmother now is in better shape (I wanted to tell the news to Yoongi too but he disappeared as soon as I placed his key down on the counter). Jungkook looked almost devastated, it felt nice to know someone will miss me and I promised we’ll keep in contact just like I promised Joon that I’ll make sure to give him a call if I need anything.

It felt nice but it made things more apparent how insignificant my presence is meant to Yoongi. I’ll always remain just ’the girl behind the desk’ – nothing more, nothing less. Maybe he’ll ask Nana where’s the girl who’s always behind the desk just like he asked me on my first day or he could just get his key and disappear behind his studio’s door. It’s not like he didn’t know I’m just a temporary replacement.

”What’s gotten into you. You look like you’re somewhere far away in your head. Did something happen?” I shake my head dismissingly. This time I manage to refocus on the reality around me, Lori sits on the chair across from mine and sips her diet coke loudly, making everyone around us glare in our direction inside the crowded fast-food restaurant. I still have the weekends to rest so I easily agreed to meet up on my last day at work, I left earlier than usual as my shift normally tends to end around eight or nine but Namjoon said it’s ok for me to leave and have the rest of my day off.

I have my things in my friend’s car she helped me carry the boxes out when we decided to eat something before we head back to her place to watch a movie and unwind with facemasks and paint our nails.

At first, I thought it would be a good idea to do something other than drowning myself in the depressing thoughts that I’m having lately. It’s stupid that I’m this bothered over the fact that Yoongi isn’t interested in me romantically (not that I have the right to be angry, he’s not responsible for the things I feel) he’s just a boy who is merely an acquaintance than anything he never indicated before that I have a chance. I don’t even know how these feelings evolved without me catching on until it was too late.

Maybe I’m a masochist. I saw every ugly part of Yoongi and I still found ways to like him. Even though I constantly called him a demon and said how unbearable he can be – I did this only to cover the attraction that I felt towards him. It wasn’t the best first expression that I’ve ever seen from a stranger so it somehow felt justified to think that way. However, his sharp exterior is not the only thing that makes Min Yoongi unapologetically himself.

It makes me smile when I think about the coffee he placed rather harshly down onto my counter and said something along the lines that ’they messed up my order at the coffee shop, drink it or throw it out.” Or when he said ’it looks like nowadays even scrumbags like you could be musicians, I suggest you leave the girl alone before I decide I want to break your nose instead of records” when that guy couldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t want to give him my number or go out with him, he looked like a human equivalent that screamed ’scam’ as he talked about how much money he earns.

”Ok. Spit it out already. Does it have to do with a certain Min Yoongi who you used to cuss out daily? If anything you should be happy that you don’t need to hear him complain about mundane things.”

”He wasn’t that bad.” I murmur the words under my nose in hopes that she won’t catch it due to the other costumer’s conversations around us but she does and her eyebrows raise in question.

”You said he’s the bane of your existence. The splinter in your toenail, the devil from the depth of hell, the Voldemort to your Harry Potter. I can recall more, there are at least ten more synonyms that you used to tell me how much you despise him.” I internally cringe after hearing those words.

”You know that I have the tendency to exaggerate things.” I try to shrug, making it seem like that it’s not what bothers me at all even though she truly hit the nail on its head, just like always she knows when I’m lying. This is why I don’t like discussing my feelings with her, she calls me out even if she knows I would rather not hear things sometimes.

”Holy shit, don’t tell me that you actually like him?!” I groan this time out loud, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

”Can we not talk about him? I just want to spend some time with my best friend who I haven’t seen in a while and have some fun.”

I’m glad she relents – changing the topic to something else but knowing her this conversation is far from over.

It has been already two weeks that I last saw Yoongi. A part of me hoped that somehow we’ll run into each other. I went out to have drinks with Jungkook and had lunches with Namjoon but he was never nearby. Every time that I caught myself wanting to ask how he’s doing I had to stop the words from coming out by biting down hard on my tongue. I’ll never get over this phase if I don’t try to stop myself from thinking about him and the best way is to achieve that if I don’t know how he’s doing.

I don’t know what I’d want to hear, to be honest. Probably that he feels as shitty as I am. The possibility that my absence didn’t have any effect on him is more likely. Maybe it’s best that I don’t know the answer to that.

There’s a melody that recently got stuck in my head. It feels like it was forever ago that I wrote something on a music sheet.

Lately, I’ve been so lost in my own thoughts that I totally forgot about Namjoon’s offer that I could use one of his rooms to record my things if I want. I feel the urge to go and get this out of my head but the likelihood that I’ll find Yoongi there is what makes me hesitate. There’s a low chance that he could choose the exact time to call it a day when I step foot into the building.

I collect my things and decide it’s worth the risk, Seokjin lets me leave earlier so I can make my way over to Namjoon’s studio. I feel my heartbeat in my throat as I walk past the entrance looking around the empty hallway before snitching the key for studio 1, it’s the farthest away from studio 15, the perfect choice. I only let out a troubled sigh when I know I’m safe behind the studio’s white walls.

It feels like I’ll go mad if I don’t get this song out of my system. My first step is to turn on the computer and get ready by tossing my bag onto the couch and make myself comfortable on the leather seat. I’m not familiar with the program they use here but after some time I have some sense of where to find things.

I get my music sheets out and start recording. The song is incomplete no matter how much time I spend on it, it’s around 2 am that I hear noises coming from the corridor’s direction and then a confident knock shakes me awake.

Rubbing my eyes to get rid of the lingering sleepiness I realise that the song was left on repeat while I was dozing off. Normally there’s no one besides Yoongi who’s crazy enough to stay so late.

I remain still, hoping that he’ll go away if no one answers the door but I don’t have such luck when the doorknob turns only one heartbeat later and I find myself face to face with a surprised-looking Yoongi.

”Y/N.”

It’s been too long that I heard him call my name. I don’t know what to do or say so I stay in my seat.

”Uh, Yoongi. I. I thought that you went home.” Fuck, this is not what I wanted to say at all. What should I do now? Should I make a run for it? I grab the strap of my bag and start to force a bunch of music sheets inside not caring how crumpled they will become. It’s hard to find the strength in my legs as I was sitting on that chair for so long – but I have a feeling that there’s an entirely different reason behind that.

”Y/N, wait.” Yoongi stops me from leaving the room by standing in the way, making my escape impossible. There’s something different about the way he looks at me this time. ”Hear me out first.” Tilting my head to the side I wait for him to elaborate on that. What is left there for us to discuss? Just because sometimes we talked about music and knew each other’s names doesn’t mean that we were friends.

The minutes continue to tick by the silence stretches on as he still doesn’t say a word. I start to run out of patience.

”Look if you don’t have something to say just let me ... hmp” The sudden kiss redeems me speechless. My eyes stay wide open in shock as he presses his lips to mine, his hands are cold on my heated cheeks and I can’t help but shudder from the feeling. He pulls away too soon I couldn’t even get myself to close my eyes before it ended just as absurdly as it started. My mouth opens and closes as I try to find my words but I can’t seem to think of something to say.

My tired mind can’t comprehend what just happened. These last few weeks that I spent in my room laying on my bed restlessly each night with my head filled with thoughts of Yoongi. I’ve never in my wildest dreams thought there’ll be a day that Min Yoongi kisses me on the lips even if it was more like a peck.

After the daze wears off I pull him back to connect our mouths in a real kiss, my hands are fisted in his hoodie as I close the distance between our bodies and his back collides with the wall.

He lets out a painful groan but keeps going, I use this opportunity to slide my tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss and I relish in the way he explores my mouth with perfect skills. The air around us grows hot quickly as our bodies are firmly pressed against each other inside the dimly lit studio.

There’s no one else here except us so I don’t shy away from pushing my hands under his hoodie and t-shirt to find his flat stomach. Yoongi shudders when I start caressing his sides, feeling brave after realising my willingness to continue he starts his own exploration under my shirt and cups my breasts over my bra.

My sigh is lost inside his mouth as he kisses me with more passion behind each stroke of his tongue getting high on the taste of each other, there’s a couple of seconds we have to separate so he can get rid of my shirt before he continues to kiss down my throat. His hands go to the clasp of my bra to remove the last barrier that covers my upper body. Yoongi soaks in the sight of my bare chest, letting out a deep growl as he leaves kisses on my sternum and shoulders, his cold hands find my erect nipples to gently tug on the sensitive nubs. A moan escapes from the sensation as I blush deeply after hearing the sound in the otherwise silent room. Yoongi keeps teasing as he uses licks and his teeth to get my reaction.

”Please Yoongi.” It’s embarrassing how affected my voice is, my chest heaves as he keeps licking over the sensitive skin on the underside of my breasts. I want him to lick somewhere else but he continues to tease me with his focus remaining on my chest, desperate for some friction I rub my thighs together. It helps me relieve some of the tension but Yoongi catches the motion quickly and spreads my legs with his knee between my thighs. I try to rub against the material of his jeans but he pins my hips to the wall.

”Don’t tease me Yoongi. I won’t let you fuck me if you don’t do s-something this instant.” My voice cracks in the middle as he flexes his thigh against my core, the tiny motion enough to make me moan, all I can think about is that I need more. I want his fingers to fill me up first before I get to sit down on his cock for the main course, all of this is just the appetizer. I want to see the face he makes while I suck him off and make him cum. I want it so badly. Yoongi undoes my jeans and slips them down my legs leaving me to stand only in my underwear while he’s still fully clothed.

”Spread your legs for me baby.” The pet name makes my pussy throb with desire as he lowers himself to the ground, on his knees before my aching centre he separates my folds with two of his fingers. It doesn’t go unnoticed how his gaze is fixed on my glistening core the final blow is when he licks his lips and looks up to catch me staring at him. One hand snakes up my inner thigh and places it on his shoulder getting into a good position to start.

”You’re so beautiful Y/N.” The sweet words that are whispered into my skin make my heart skip an excited beat I never thought getting a compliment from Min Yoongi will be while he’s on his knees ready to eat me out. Not that I’m complaining when he finally licks a long line up from my entrance and ends up with his lips wrapped around my clit to suck gently. My fingers curl into his hair as he buries his face into the juncture between my thighs, his tongue is skilled as he spreads my lubricant all over my pink clit.

I almost bang my head into the wall behind me when he slips two of his fingers past my entrance and sucks harshly, making the blissful feeling dot my vision with white hot pleasure. I can’t help but squirm under his tongue’s strong licks and slender fingers, he learns fast what makes my moan sound higher in pitch. My grip tightens on his dark locks but he pays no mind to the slightest pain that comes from his scalp and doubles his efforts.

His two fingers turn to three as they easily slip in, the wet noises and wanton moans that fill the stuffy air fuels his desire to make me cum around his long fingers before he gets to repeat the same thrusting motions with his cock, can’t wait to finally fill me up. I can’t say I never imagined his fingers in this exact position or around his cock on lonely nights while he pleasures himself with his legs prettily spread on his bed. His thicker fingers can easily make me taste the beginning of my fast approaching orgasm.

I let the feeling wash over me as his digits slow down enough to prolong the high but not overwhelm my senses. Yoongi licks each finger that was inside of me clean and smirks when his eyes find mine looking at him with my pupils dilated and heavy with the remains of the orgasm.

I drag his hoodie and shirt over his head and make quick work on his belt desperate to finally feel him I want to get these clothes off as soon as possible. Yoongi only laughs when I let out a frustrated groan as his pants don’t seem to want to cooperate with me, I give him a warning glare and pull him over to the leather seat. It makes him shut up once I get on my knees in front of him, he lets out a barely audible ’fuck’ and his adam’s apple bobs with the gulp before he grabs my arm and pulls me to sit on his lap instead.

”Later. I don’t think I can go another second while I’m not buried inside this heavenly cunt of yours.” I place my hands on his shoulders to find leverage and nod, I watch him as he positions his cock to rest the wide head right in front of my entrance and I slowly lower my hips to feel his tip stretch my walls open. I take his length slowly but once he’s firmly nestled I give his member a squeeze, making sure that I take all of him I roll my hips and moan when I feel him so firm and thick, it feels so good that I can’t help but squeeze my inner walls again around him that earns a low moan right next to my ears.

”Fuck. I won’t last long. It’s been too long since I was with someone.” Yoongi’s head rests against my shoulder his warm pants are reaching my exposed skin with each syllable. I almost didn’t catch his words as I slowly raised my hip and slammed it down to feel him part my walls and give me the pleasure with a delicious single fast thrust, it gets more euphoric as I continue to bounce on his lap take him in all the way to the hilt.

It’s dirty and fast as our hips meet in the middle of each thrust. Both of our moans are getting louder as it starts to overpower the sounds of skin slapping and the wet noises while the remains of my previous orgasm coat his thick cock every time it slips out, pushing out more of my cum with his powerful thrusts. Yoongi has one goal in mind as he takes control over the motions and grabs my hips to see me cum one more time before he gives in to his own needs and paints my walls with his sticky cum.

I stay firmly seated on his dick even after the high fades away from both of our eyes, suddenly everything goes back to the previous silence but I don’t let things continue in the same fashion as before. This time when I close the distance between us and take his lower lip between my teeth the kiss remains slow and sensual. There’s no more urgency behind each caress as Yoongi tangles his fingers into my hair and guides the angle to perfectly slot our lips together. It’s sweet. Full of emotion as I taste the longing and happiness on his tongue.

Here in Bangtan studios, I found my passion for music again and something even better than that. My true love who’s grumpy even after his morning coffee and can go days without showering when he’s really engrossed in his work. He might not be the best boyfriend material out there but there’s no need to make everything in our lives perfect.

What I realised at the end of this special story of mine is this: turns out it was not a figment of everyone's imagination that Min Yoongi in fact, likes me (too). While we can consider the last dots as the ending, our story will continue to grow and bloom under careful fingers and beautiful songs.

#yoongi #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi x oc #jungkook x oc #namjoon x oc #bts angst #bts x oc #yoongi angst #producer yoong #receptionist oc #bangtan studios #fanfic rec #fanfic recs #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #min yoongi #bts #bts enemies to lovers #bts famous au #bts slice of life #bts slow burn #yoongi slow burn

[yostresswritinggirl]

Weight of Living

Vibe.

Perhaps today was not your day, and it hasn't been yours for the past week either. In the end of it all when the weight of living brings you to tired tears, he would be there to tell you it will be alright.

Pairings -> Zhongli x Reader

Word Count -> 1161

Themes -> Comfort fic bitch, angst of course, but we're gonna get fluffy for arc reasons

Series -> #SojournerSpecials (Event Masterlist)

Warnings -> Mean brain, depression, and all that comes with it

You've been silently struggling for the past few days.

Alone with your thoughts, of a heavy dread clinging to your chest in days when the silence lets your mind stray, you find it harder to get up in the morning. The weight in your chest and on your shoulder appeared randomly, and you hoped that it will pass just the same way. Sudden, like a bubble's burst.

But it didn't.

And that's where the problem lied.

Daily you walk through your day hoping to fight off what's inside your head in a battle of wait. You don't know what's wrong, what's wrong with you, what's wrong in you; you don't know how to deal with it this time.

And everyday of hoping it leaves turns into accumulated weight, dread and exhaustion.

It started scaring you that maybe you're not gonna feel better ever again.

Today is your breaking point. It had you shedding tears that wouldn't come out despite your desperation to let them flow.

Waking up to get ready for work, you accidentally broke your favorite mug, the only one matching with Zhongli's (the only one he uses as he's usually cradling a teacup). The shards managed to nip at your skin too, making it bleed more than you expected it to be.

You stood there for a second, staring at the mess and blood before you heard heavy footsteps approach from the corridor of your humble home.

It didn't hurt but it must be due to your numbness, as you hurriedly cleaned up both the broken glass and your small wound. "I heard something break from the living room, are you alright, dearest?"

"It's all cleaned up, don't worry." You managed to smile this one off, not wanting him to worry.

The rest of the day you were running errands for work, which is totally not part of your job description. It felt unfair that despite being one of the hardworking people in the workplace, the extra work was still placed on your shoulders while the rest slack around.

"What do you mean it's not there?! It should be there, go back and use your eyes!"

"But I already-" before you could finish, you held your tongue and went back to the storage house to fetch the box your boss asked you to retrieve.

Three, four, five times you checked the whole place from top to bottom.

So many times that your head started spinning.

Defeated and nauseous, you made your way back to the building. Not before seeing the box you've been looking for just behind the door this whole time.

The look of condescension on the man you call your boss disgusts you so much you really wanted to punch it off of him.

And the worst case was the simplest one, when you thought you'd be free from the bad luck of today and be given the liberty to just lie in bed. There was an obvious frown on your face as you gripped your bag's strap closer. It felt heavier than before.

Your sluggish steps almost made you slip when a force knocks you from the side, a shoulder bumping you as the person responsible just walks off, "Hey, can't you watch your fucking step!" You yelled with unbottled fury as you whirled around, tired yet ready to tell off the rude person -

When you were met with the face of a child in the brink of tears.

"How dare you swear at my child like that!" A woman obscures your view as you were pushed by the shoulder. Your mouth, dry and hoarse, mumbled desperate apologies as the image of fear in the child's eyes imprinted itself into your mind.

You're horrible.

You're a monster.

You're so stupid.

"Get out of here, you pest to Liyue-"

A pair of gloved hands cupped your wet cheeks gently, coaxing you out of your flashback to stare at amber ones. When the tears started flowing, you have no clue, but they won't stop even in the view of the man you didn't want to see right now.

Didn't want you to see you like this right now.

"I have been calling for your name but you do not seem to hear me. Are you sure you are alright, dearest?" You nodded your head in a vain attempt of a lie yet your eyes betrayed you as it let out more tears. Zhongli smiles as he easily wipes away the tears with his thumbs. "There is no need to lie now, pour it all on me and I will listen."

Your silent waterfall turned into sobs and hiccups, the words coming out as a blabbering mess yet he nods to let you know he understands.

Fingers gripped around his wrist as you told him about everything; about today, about yesterday, about last week.

Your sigh was heavy as you find the words to say of how tired and exhausted you are from all the burden you're feeling. You've done stupid things, said foolish things, and you're scared that one day you'd be eaten by the heavy feeling. That it will never stop. Until, until-

"It's alright, it's okay. You're not a demon, there's a reason you behaved in that way."

You snapped your head up to face him fully, words at the tip of your tongue to counter -

"And I believe that you would see a better day, it's alright."

Coaxing your head with a hand on your back, you muffled your sobs and cries on his suit-covered chest. Finally letting everything out, all the tears that wouldn't flow and the choked sobs you kept hidden. Through this whole experience he was patient and comforting, stroking your hair the way you've always liked and even subtly swaying side to side to lull you more.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, the both of you started slow dancing in the dark. His right hand finding yours as he guides your sluggish steps, your tears subsiding to sniffles and sobs into tired giggles. Perhaps it was distraction that he was good at in making your tears stop, an unexpected breakthrough.

"You're a human and you've made a few mistakes. Just human. It's alright, it's okay-"

"I'm alright, I'm okay..." Zhongli's soft smile is as comforting and reminiscent of the warmth of the sun. Silently urging with a nod, his arm around your waist pulls you closer, "I'm a human, and I've made a few mistakes."

His ever-growing smile had your lips finally break into one too. Even if just a little, the weight in your chest, the weight on your shoulders ease up for another day.

Your fears may still be there but he's with you now, next to you and guiding you.

"If it is too heavy, do not forget that I am here to help you carry the burden. Together, for I am here now, to fight off what's inside your head."

You'll see a better day.

I finally wrote my comfort fic, been feeling not poggers lately so I whipped it up :) I hope it helps to those who needs it, even tho I just realized it's a totally different writing style what the fu-

#genshin impact x reader #Zhongli x reader #exile.flower #sojourner specials #Gender neutral #angst #fluff #fluffy arc #Zhongli #genshin impact

[funkymbtifiction]

Is it normal for 3w4 to be highly emotional and sensitive?

I mean, I'm very certain I'm 3w4 sp/so since everything makes sense and I can see it in everyday life - the good and the bad. But I've never related to being unemotional. I'm highly emotional and sensitive. I have strong emotional reaction to what I love and what I don't have. I cry easily and is generally experienced strong emotions, both good and bad. 

It can be explained that I'm Fi-aux, so I should be emotionally aware. But you mentioned that ENFP 3 tend to fall into Ne-Te loop and being detached from Fi. I've almost never fallen into Ne-Te loop, like chasing what looks practical that will get me places, I always check in with myself if that's what I want to do and if this is 'me' (before strategizing how to monetize and make it work). And I'm actually quite lazy and not really seek out things to do all the time. I'll get my job done on time, but I won't be regimented about it, especially if I'm confident (and I'm usually confident) that I can do it.

I wonder if 4 wing in 3w4 is actually a lot stronger than many descriptions give it credit for. My emotions are overflowing. I feel my 4 wing strongly, including angst about what I 'cannot' have. Like, romantic relationship, family and a place for me to go back to. I can get emotional about it really quickly, like watching movie or talking to people about these topics. I deliberately deny it out of need for independence, but I also crave it so much that sometimes it hurts. And I pour it out through arts like music and writing, but I also know 4 is only a wing because my focus is still to be successful and accomplish whatever I set out to do and be the best person I could be for all to see.

If your wing is anything like mine, the motivations are mixed up into your core and influence it in particular directions, but it is nowhere near as 'strong'' as your core instincts. I am always a 6 and never a 7, but there are 7ish flavors and motivations behind my 6 (like avoiding commitments that may seem tiresome after a while, or re-framing things, or wanting to run away from anything hard and being angry that such things exist, since it forces me to deal with them).

There are a few things here that are interesting to me. 3s being ego types typically don't like to admit to their weaknesses -- yet you open up yours and expose them to me (your fears, your anxieties, your weaknesses), which is somewhat anti-3. After all, what are you sharing of yourself with me? You are exposing your soft underbelly to me. What impression am I left of you? If those things are not foremost in your mind, you may not be a 3 -- what image am I presenting here? what will she think of me? I should show my best side!

Do you deeply struggle with 3 things? Like being separate from giving yourself enough time to process your feelings? You can be an emotional 3, but not a 3 who easily accepts that "oh yes, I should spend more time with my feelings." 3s, to quote Scarlett O'Hara, "will think about that tomorrow" and tomorrow never comes, because they are busy doing, pursuing, and achieving. Dwelling in emotions and processing failures feels like slowing their pace. Suzanne Stabile says most 3s need to have a spectacular failure before they grow, because nothing else stops them dead in their tracks or rattles their ego enough to accept that they are invisible. And she said one 3 came up to her after hearing that, and asked, "How do I arrange for that to happen?" -- a typical 3 reaction of "oh, that's something else I need to get done, when shall I schedule it?" Treating it not as an emotional experience, but as a to-do checklist.

I would say if being humble, recognizing your own flaws, being able to admit them in public, and talk about them with others comes naturally to you, along with easily accepting that "oh, I don't HAVE to do things to be loved" ... then you are not a 3, because a 3 would struggle mightily against believing any of those things, being that emotionally vulnerable, and not re-framing things positively.

It's possible you have a strong 3 presence in your tritype, but you could have another core, in that 3 is a play zone for you (something you pursue and believe, but it doesn't feel incredibly painful to confront those aspects of yourself). For example, I have 2 in my tritype -- it's a bit "ew" to recognize that I help people expecting to get something in return, but I don't hang my ego on it, so I can shrug it off and stop doing it. If you can shrug off the idea that you can do and accomplish literally nothing in life and your friends will still like you, 3 is probably not your core.

Some of what you said is strongly 6ish, so I'd consider whether you might be a 639. (Being anxious and negative about relationships -- what if he abuses me or kicks me out and I have nowhere to stay? wanting connections and acceptance, but suffering from self-doubt about being good or smart enough at it.)

#question #ennagram #enneagram 3

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Terra and Aqua are getting married—and Ven is the Bridezilla. || Word Count: 9,058

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek​ I could have never written this without my dear friend @localcryptideli​. We talked about this wedding years ago, and I promised to write it. It’s here, three years later, blending their headcanons with mine and I couldn’t be more proud of it. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

the threads that tie hearts together

Terra never once considered in his entire life that his wedding preparations would include the perk of mice squeaking in his ear—but he here is, in the tailor’s studio, getting re-fitted for his tuxedo, with Princess Cinderella’s team of seamstress mice on his shoulders, measuring the length of his arms. His muscles were too big for the previous suit. 

Ven refuses to hire a proper tailor, and instead rents out the parlor so the mice could do their work in private.

Lea sits on a nearby bench by the shoe shelves, the top button of his shirt open, jabbing at his Gummiphone. He’s quite popular today, pinged every two minutes. Isa and Roxas share a mirror, trying to get the mechanics of their bow ties right. 

Terra is getting married. 

The thought. Married. Soon. Yes. Damn. He can’t cry right now.

Terra stands in front of a mirror and bends his elbows to see how the fabric moves. The mice are tiny, three of them in skirts. They’ve developed an efficient obstacle course of threads all down his entire body, a network so the mice on the floor can deliver them supplies—spools, sewing needles, thumbtacks, measuring tape—in a jiffy. 

Lea groans, squeezing his Gummiphone. “This twerp is going to turn me into a serial killer.” He yawns, possibly for the fortieth time.

“Not an ill-fitting job, all things considered,” Isa says from across the room.

“I do appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who’s bothering you?” Terra asks, lifting his collar so the mouse on his left could thread through it with a sewing needle.

Lea snorts, slaps his knee and leans forward. “Did you not know your buddy is a monster?”

“Ven?”

“Oh, he’s a joy.” Lea holds his Gummiphone up as if he’s about to make a speech. “Come help me pick out Aqua’s flowers. Now. If you could.” He glances at Terra, then back at the phone. “He writes that in all-caps.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so pushy.”

“The other day, he called me to model the bride’s dress because Miss Aqua couldn’t be bothered to come to the fitting herself.”

“Master Aqua was away on a mission,” Isa explains.

“Isa took photos of me in it—” Lea scrolls through his phone, but stops. “Oh, I can’t show you before...” He clicks his tongue. “It’s very nice. Very bridal.”

Terra is sure that’s true, but the image of Ven hanging his head so much on someone else’s wedding is worrisome. Last night, he fell asleep at dinner. “I think Ven is taking on too much stress.”

“Lea,” Roxas says, snorting a chuckle and giving up on his bow tie, “you should show him the texts.” 

“Gladly.” Lea stands to shove the Gummiphone into Terra’s face. Out of the history, a couple of messages stand out.

Ventus

I got 500 cake flavors come taste them with me

Ventus

Which cologne do you think terra should wear

COME SMELL 

i need a second opinion

Ventus

Do you have aqua’s flowers yet?

remember 

we want orange roses and bluestars

Ventus

Aqua isnt here im freaking out

Youre closest to her body type

HELP

After all that, Terra feels as though he’s being watched by several microscopic eyes. One of the mice squeaks with urgency, and he straightens one of his arms. “I don’t know what to say... Why doesn’t he talk to me directly?”

Lea purses his lips as though this is a secret not worth sharing. Roxas is the one to step forward, a knowing grimace plastered on his face.

“He told me that he doesn’t want to bother you with anything.”

That doesn’t sound entirely false but not true either.

“That’s ridiculous.” Terra tests the bend of the elbow to fiddle with his bow tie. It’s already done but something about it doesn’t sit right. “He could come to me for anything,” he says with a low voice, wondering if there’s something he’s missing. Terra has also been a mess. He’s getting married. Holy stars. 

Isa huffs out of frustration, turning away from the mirror, his bow tie undone. He studies Terra’s suit. “I don’t like it.”

His straightforwardness is well appreciated. Aqua would probably smirk at the sight of it and stare at his neck the entire ceremony. “I don’t either,” Terra says.

“Smart man.” Isa smirks, and tugs Terra’s bow tie to undo it. “Let’s change it.”

Lea snorts. “You might want to ask permission from he-who-shall-be-slapped.”

“It’s my wedding,” Terra says.

“So you think.”

He-who-may-be-slapped enters the tailor’s parlor through the front entrance, announced by the bell of the ring. He’s perfectly dressed in his ringbearer’s/best man’s/maid of honor’s suit, vest fitted, bow tie sublime, sleeves coiffed. He sees what Isa is doing. He gapes.

“Hey guys,” Ven asks with a frustratingly shaky voice. “What are we doing?”

“They are unbecoming,” Isa answers, wrapping a traditional tie around Terra’s neck.

“Oh.” 

Sometimes, speaking to Isa is like getting clocked in the stomach. By the looks of Lea’s expression, chewing on the edge of his Gummiphone, it’s well deserved.

“Okay,” Ven says, with a tight smile. He takes the tie from Isa’s hands. “Do they match?”

“A hello would be less rude,” Terra says. “Hi, Ven. Can we talk?”

Ven glances up. “Later. There’s lots to do.”

Lea inhales sharply. “Hey, Ven. Here’s an idea. Did you know you could tame cicadas to sing in harmony on command?”

Ven whips his head around. “You can?”

Isa brings a hand up to hide a smirk and Lea passes him a subtle wink.

“Picture it.” Lea opens his arms. “From nine until eleven at night, they gather in the bushes. They mutter, a light dusting of atmosphere on a peaceful summer night.”

Ven’s eyes grow wide with obsession. 

Roxas comes near. “You can also make them glow.”

“Like stars in the bushes,” Ven whispers to himself.

“Come on, guys,” Terra says, unimpressed. “Leave him alone. We’ve got better things to do.”

Ven snaps himself out of it, but not before pulling out a notepad and writing notes. He eyes Terra over, nudging him to open his arms and pinching the sides of the suit. Ven draws them in by the measure of a finger and pulls pins out of his pocket, like he’s been expecting to use them, and marks their places. “Jaq Jaq,” he calls, “where’s Suzy? We need to make sure these ties look right. Oh, and we need two extras—we have to ship some to Riku and Sora.”

Some mouse squeaks in reply.

“I can help her carry things.” Ven gives a flash of a smile and then hurries off.

Out of earshot, Lea gives Terra a look. “Anyone able to talk to mice is a crazy person in my book.”

Terra glares back and quotes, “‘You could tame cicadas to sing on command?’”

“He needs something to obsess over. How else am I going to get peace?”

“This is going to bite you in the ass,” Roxas says, wrapping his new tie over the neck and having a much easier time.

“Ventus may very well task you with hunting and gathering the cicadas,” Isa says, a tie already in place, immaculate. 

Lea groans and Terra feels it’s well deserved. 

Well deserved… the suit may be. The future wife, maybe not. The suit is a glove for every finger with no excess. It makes him a good-looking groom, a nice addition to the closet for any special occasion. The bride is beautiful, no matter what she wears. She is loyal, patient, strong, intelligent, loving, funny when she’s stern, too good for him, a divine gift he didn’t earn and he still can’t understand how she said yes.

“I hope you’re laughing at the face of my misery,” Lea says.

Terra knows that’s sarcasm. Weddings are headaches, emotions are terrifying and Terra needs Aqua like a sip of medicinal tea to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The others squeal when they walk into Le Grand Bistro. It’s sunset, the city lights already ignited and giving it the glow of evening fairies welcoming the moon. They’ve just discussed dresses—Xion requests a pantsuit instead, which looks stellar—and they can choose their own styles so long as they all wear the color of night. Simple, elegant. That’s the kind of effect Aqua prefers. Thank goodness they’re almost done. Aqua couldn’t handle more hands in her hair and she rejected the flower crown that would have come down on one side to compensate for the lack of length. 

She fiddles with the ring—a thin, intricate design weaved around a small, blue stone—as a waiter escorts them to the kitchen. On days when she doesn’t have missions, she wears it.

Aqua is getting married. Some part of her wonders about the surreality of it, like it’s a dream or a picture she created in her mind when she was a child, at the altar with a faceless person next to her. Sometimes, it feels like she is already married. Terra has always been with her. Every day in class. Every day strolling through the woods. Every day sparring, sharing meals, bickering and laughing. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock.

There is something about nearly dying that challenges perspective. When they both thought they’d never see each other again, it made them realize there’s more to it and there’s been more to it for years. The emotional intimacy that strengthened after the fact. The physicality of it, when he takes her to bed. They argue differently, they laugh the same. Terra has always been with her, so what is the difference between being with him and being married to him? A part of her is eager to find out. The other is already at peace, a kind of joy Aqua has always wanted.

Ven is in the kitchen, talking with Remy (responding to Remy, who is naturally unintelligible). Plates of cake pieces sprawl out on the table, eliciting oohs and aahs from the others, all patient like they’re waiting for Aqua’s permission to take a small bite.

Aqua reads through the description of flavors—strawberry, fudge, angel food cake with blueberries, red velvet, even coffee. “The one we requested isn’t here.”

“You mean…” Ven pulls out his notepad and looks through his notes. Remy climbs onto Ven’s head, squeaking and pointing to a bowl of flour and eggs, unmixed. “Dark chocolate and rum?”

“That would be correct.”

“A spicy cake? Are you insane?” At his shock and at Aqua’s denial, Kairi helps herself to a spoonful of vanilla. “This is a wedding, not a club!”

“My wedding, Ven.” Aqua isn’t annoyed, but amused. Ven has such strong opinions about for some reason. 

“Try this one.” He holds up a plate of a decorated piece that honestly looks delicious. “Triple chocolate, with the rarest berries found in the woods, matured at thirty-five degrees Celsius for a week.” 

“Burnt cake?” Kairi asks with a smirk.

“Not the cake, the berries.” 

“Oh,” Xion gasps, with need in her eyes. It takes a nod from Aqua to grab a fork and have at it. She approaches each piece with so much excitement— Aqua wonders if there are flavors here she’s never tried before in her short life. 

“What will the final cake look like?” Naminé asks, the only one not to dive forward. She’s so gentle, so serene. When they were trying out dresses, everyone was saying what a beautiful bride she’ll be one day if she chooses. 

“Perfect,” Ven says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It has to be perfect so it will look beautiful. Painted like a night sky, with stars everywhere. You got that, Remy?”

Remy glares at Ven.

“I want,” Aqua starts, and when Ven frowns, she smirks. Sometimes, for the sake of maintaining control, she has to play dirty. “Rosewater and cardamom.” 

Ven sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Terra needs something to enjoy,” Aqua insists. “These are all too sweet for him.”

“Terra is the bane of my existence.”

“By the way, I don’t know if I want King Mickey and Queen Minnie to officiate.”

“You are way more difficult to deal with.”

Aqua and Ven have a staring contest as the others talk about their favorite flavors. Ven, a glare, a challenge to outwit her. Aqua, a calm knowing that she’s going to win. Ven relents.

“Fine,” he stresses. “Remy, change of plans. We’ll need some damage control. Let’s add some”—he writes into his notepad—“fruit pastries, sweet cheese with chocolate—”

“Triple chocolate,” Kairi adds.

“Custard and kiwi,” Xion says.

“All good choices.” Ven writes them down.

“Sea salt ice cream?” Naminé says, lifting a shoulder. “Everyone else eats them, I hope to try some.”

“Ven.” Kairi slams a hand on the table. “You need to add marshmallows covered in hazelnut and chocolate.”

“We need all the chocolate,” Ven agrees. “Call it revenge on this nasty cake.”

Kairi cackles, but it’s nothing malicious. They’re young and excited about the wedding, their suggestions a way of helping. Aqua takes it all in stride. The small details don’t matter, only the intent, and letting friends have fun deciding makes the entire process easier. What’s bothering her is Ven. He’s exhausted from taking it all too seriously. Aqua assumes the best intentions, but she doesn’t get it.

“You know what would be really cute?” Xion says. “Little petit fours shaped in your symbols.”

Ven blinks. “What symbols?”

“Oh, the Keyblade Master symbols.” Naminé claps her hands. “That would be so lovely.”

“In different colors,” Xion says.

“Each a different flavor,” Naminé adds. “Maybe the same colors as your Wayfinders?”

“You two are geniuses.” Ven taps his notepad. “Remy, we gotta get to work.”

Remy stomps a paw and squeaks vigorously.

“No worries. You’ll get paid.” Though it seems that’s the last thing on Remy’s mind.

“Ven,” Aqua says softly, pulling him aside as the others brainstorm ideas. “I don’t think we can afford all this.”

“Sure you can,” he says too confidently, though she and Terra were the ones to save up their munny. “Don’t worry,” he stresses when she’s not convinced, giving her a squeeze on the arm. “You asked me to bookkeep your finances” 

“Reminder that I did not ask you to take full responsibility. Remy can’t do all of this alone, he’s going to need you.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and we’ve got plenty of budget.”

Aqua does not know how that is possible. After the dresses, the refitting of Terra’s tux, the decorations… sure, since they’re using the ballroom in the Land of Departure, they saved on not having to rent out a venue, but the original plan was to have a small, intimate wedding in the woods, something private with just the three of them, minimal decorations necessary, all plucked from nature. 

All of this is out of their price range.

Ven goes back to the table, back to the stovetop and oven where he follows Remy’s instructions and mixes the flour in the bowl with some milk. He doesn’t assuage her at all, like he knows something she doesn’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home should be a solace but not when it’s the wedding rehearsal. 

Ven has ushered in movers from different worlds to carry in artifacts, all decorations, all star-themed. Terra has yet to see the ballroom, but the amount of people rushing through the hallways makes him nervous. 

Ever since Terra called Riku in the dead of night (in a panic, needing someone to talk to, alone in the kitchen with a cracked mug of tea), blabbing about tripping on the way to the altar, or cutting the cake clean through the table, or stepping on linen and ripping the curtains, or dropping his plate of food, or looking like an idiot on the dance floor, or worse—forgetting his vows—he hasn’t lived a moment of peace. Sora won’t let him. 

Terra finds it hard to breathe. What if he chokes on his vows and accidentally offends everyone?

He stays far away from the workers—it’s for the best. No one needs a huge bull stampeding in a china shop, destroying everything.

Lea crosses the hallway on his sixth trip and enters one of two entrances to the ballroom, vases of flowers in his hands. Terra peeks. From the looks of it, Ven did a fantastic job. 

The ballroom, once gold, now looks like the set of night. The ceiling is covered in blue with twinkling lights. The table linens are also dark, with napkins and silverware sets a solid gold. Glass windows that take up one entire side to the ballroom are bare of curtains—the wedding is planned for after sunset so they’d be declaring their vows under the stars. Two navy blue carpets come in through both entrances of the ballroom, meeting in the middle and then straight to the altar at the far end. The point is for him and Aqua to enter together, like equals. With her in a bridal dress, she’ll look like a light in the darkness.

Through the doorway, Terra can see Riku and Sora, the latter making motions with his arms as if he’s flapping like a bird. Terra lets the door close so they don’t notice him. 

There are fears he’s never voiced.

What if she realizes she doesn’t want to get married to him after all? At the altar no less?

Oh stars, what if he makes a terrible husband? 

What if he neglects her?

What if, years down the road, she realizes after a slowly oncoming epiphany that she isn’t happy and regrets it?

Tonight is the party, tomorrow is the wedding, and Terra still has no vows. He pinches his nose hard enough to distract him from crying. He’s already cried five times in the arc of three hours.

Footsteps—light, brisque, confident, hers—approach him, and Terra embraces her in his arms, taking her in with a needy kiss. She smells like home, she lets him breathe again. 

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she says, stroking a thumb on his cheek.

“Not if you’re my glue.”

She snorts, smacking him on the bicep. “What did I say about the puns?”

“Shower you with them.”

He kisses her before she can roll her eyes—

—and gets interrupted the moment Ven peeks out of one door. 

“What’s with the hold-up?” he says.

Terra breaks from the kiss, casually noticing how Aqua is patting his shoulder, as if to warn him. “What’s with your attitude?”

Ven pouts like he’s about to choke and slaps the notepad to his forehead. “No one listens to me. I said baby blue and champagne on the napkins, all shaped to form the constellation of Juno… and they gave me yellow. I am gonna complain so much.”

“There are worse things?” Terra says and Aqua shakes his shoulder as another warning. 

Ven snaps his eyes open. “Get into position, we’re starting.”

Aqua stands behind one door and Terra goes to the other, waiting for the cue to enter. On the other side, Ven is speaking out loud, organizing people and where they should stand. Grooms and bridesmaids will enter the altar from behind and gather together, leaving the carpet only for the star couple (no pun intended). He interrupts himself, raising his voice about vases that match too much and Terra can imagine him pointing across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” Aqua loudly whispers from the other side of the hall. 

Terra runs to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Touching her is a panacea. Despite knowing there is still a possibility she’ll rethink this entire relationship, it seems unreal, like a nightmare.

“It’s about Ven,” she continues, keeping her voice low even though they’re the only ones in the hall.

“Lea threatened to slap him.”

She frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t you think it’s too expensive?”

“I don’t know. Ven doesn’t tell me how much anything costs.”

“It’s way more than we have saved up.”

Terra gapes. “Then how—?”

Aqua stammers, fiddling with her fingers. “I looked into his books.”

Terra melts into a breath-heavy laugh, careful to keep his voice out of it. “Reading people’s diaries? Aqua, I thought I knew you better.”

She blushes. “I didn’t mean to, but I was worried.” Now Terra is worried. Her expression is too serious. “Ven has been doing side-missions and hustles for months just to earn enough to hire the best chefs and tailors, to buy linens and all these flowers and carpets—” 

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“Why?” 

“I think it’s because he wants us to be happy.”

“We are.” Terra doesn’t appreciate how he doesn’t sound confident, scared he’s assuming too much on her behalf. “How could he just…”

“We were stuck in darkness for so long and he couldn’t help us.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“He feels he is the weakest and wants to compensate.” Aqua grimaces and she blinks back tears. 

“I feel so guilty.”

“I feel worse.”

“Why?”

Aqua bites her lip. “I’m still attached to the idea of a small, intimate ceremony in the woods. Just the three of us. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. Our wedding has become a spectacle. Maybe pointing that out makes me terrible, too.”

She groans. “I found a book. I left it in your room. It’s very last minute, but there are some ancient rituals in there that I found so beautiful… the exchanging of rings is beautiful, too, but modern and there are some lost traditions from our Keyblade history that I’d love to do instead... if you could take a look?” 

The way she smiles, stars. Ancient, modern, he’d do anything for her. “Sure. I’ll read it tonight.”

Aqua winces. “He’ll be so angry with us.”

Terra squeezes her hand. “He wants us to be happy. Think about that.”

One of the doors burst open, and Lea sticks his head out. “Kindly stop being an ass and don’t keep your guests waiting anymore?”

They start: Terra at one entrance, Aqua on the other, entering the ballroom at the same time, where guests will watch them approach one another, like the shadow of the moon to a star. They meet at the point where their lanes merge into one. 

Terra offers his arm—

“Nonono,” Ven warns, running up to them. “You can’t meet her like this. You must bow at a forty-degree angle.” Ven scans the room frantically. “Here, I have a ruler.”

After that hiccup, Aqua finally takes Terra’s arm, walking down the single aisle, where guests can ogle at them. Their groomsmen and bridesmaids take pictures with their Gummiphones for their arrival at a wall of flowers. 

Sora has his hands behind his head and snickers when they reach the end. “I made sure the carpet is ironed out so she doesn’t fall with you.”

“I’m going to kick you in the shins,” Terra says.

He snorts and wipes his nose. “I’ll kick you back.”

At the altar, Ven is too excited to stop rambling. “We have to make sure that you arrive here, at this spot, at exactly nine-thirty so we can finish the vows at ten because...” He frames the windows with his hands. “We’ve got a perfect spot for star sighting so we need to be on time.”

“Do you mean, right after the wedding ceremony?” Aqua asks. 

“Before the reception, yup. We’re walking out to the balcony, we’ll watch the meteor shower where a new world will be born, then we’ll come back in for supper and dancing.” When he notices their stupefied faces, he continues, “I spent three weeks finding the right angulations so you can witness a unique astronomical event, and we’ve got a miracle of a spot right here so we can’t be late.”

“It’s a wonderful thought, Ven,” Aqua says, her voice shaky.

“Okay, now you get into position and face each other.” He points and they follow. “Next, Mickey and Minnie will talk some stuff, you know, all official, and then you say your vows.”

Terra freezes up. “Our vows.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. You ready?”

Terra hesitates and Aqua speaks for him. “We’re keeping those a secret until tomorrow.”

Ven pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Aqua doesn’t let Terra have another thought, leaning forward to kiss him in front of everyone (aahs and awws elicited), and ending the rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How do you get your skin so clear?” Kairi asks, though the warm glow of the fire makes for spectacular lighting. 

They’re camping in the woods near the waterfall, equipped with warm blankets and pillows, a bowl of cookies, and toasted marshmallows on sticks; Aqua’s vision of a bachelorette party. No gifts necessary.

“Mountain spring water does wonders for you,” Aqua says.

“I’ve read in a magazine,” Xion says, crawling out of her sleeping bag, “that some people like to put mud on their faces to get clean skin.”

“Why?” Naminé asks, chewing on a marshmallow.

“Something about the properties. Lots of good minerals.” She walks over to the creek, digging her hands into the dirt and smashing it into her face against the shocks and cries of the other girls. “If mountain water is good for you, then that must mean this mud is magical.” 

“Is that true?” Kairi says, though she’s asking no one. She hurries over and joins in on the mud-mashing, running fingers over Xion’s face in places she’s missed.

With globs of mud in their hands, they bring over the excess to the camp. 

Xion offers it to Aqua. “For beautiful skin on your special day?”

“It’s our job to pamper,” Kairi says with her hands out so that Naminé can scoop up the mud on her own. 

Aqua tries not to chuckle too loudly. It’s adorable. “Okay,” she says, and Xion gets to work, massaging it into her skin. It smells unpleasant, earthy and mukky. She closes her eyes and tries to relax regardless.

“I think we’re supposed to keep it on our faces for at least a half hour,” Xion says, rubbing more on Aqua’s nose. 

“This will make us prettier?” Naminé asks.

“Cleaner,” Kairi says. 

Naminé blinks, already covered in the mud and hesitating to put on more. “But we look dirty,” she says quietly.

“Can I request something, Miss Aqua?” Xion says, patting her fingers onto Aqua’s forehead.

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell us the story of how Terra proposed?”

Kairi jumps and squeals, and Naminé claps her hands, both of them chattering please, please, we’re dying to know.

“We’re around a fire,” Kairi says, as if that’s a convincing argument. “We’re supposed to tell stories.” 

“I feel bad for asking,” Naminé says. “You’re very private, and I don’t want to intrude…”

Aqua reads her face. “But you’re curious.”

Naminé pouts. Xion’s eyes go wide, and Kairi nods excitedly. Everyone is guilty as charged.

“It’s a simple story, I guess,” Aqua says, crossing her legs and watching the fire. It’s not often that she talks so openly about the details of her relationship. The two of them together is something people know, but never knowing where they come from and why, except for Ven—even then, there’s so much he never pries to. Watching their reactions is a little overwhelming. She rubs the stone on her ring. “Terra made the engagement ring with his own hands, but he took months to propose.”

“I remember that,” Xion says, sitting on her chair and smiling. “It annoyed Lea so much that he offered to set you both up just to get it over with.”

Aqua laughs. “I’m grateful we had it to ourselves.”

“Was it romantic?” Kairi asks.

“Not at all. I… knew he was up to something. I know him.” She lifts a shoulder. “He was burning breakfast too often, he couldn’t look me directly in the eye, and he left on his own to do more missions than usual. I took that as though he had done something wrong. The last time he was that clumsy and avoidant, it was because he accidentally cast Firaga in the library and was trying to hide it. Or when he broke the oven. Or when he offered to do my laundry but didn’t know how to treat my fabric and ruined my clothes.”

“He sounds like a clumsy oaf,” Kairi says.

That makes Aqua smile. She loves that oaf. “He is. The general rule of thumb is that a clumsy, avoidant Terra is usually hiding something.”

“So how did the proposal happen?” Naminé asks.

“I cornered him—”

Kairi snorts.

“—and he blurted it out.”

They giggle, Kairi acting out how that may have looked and Naminé holding her hands over her heart in a show of genuine affection. 

Aqua smiles to herself, a finger to her lips. It might be her favorite memory, her standing her ground and demanding to know what was going on. 

Terra, looking all around the terrace except for her face, guilty, guilty, guilty, pulling a box out of his pocket and stammering for a cohesive sentence. Well, I don’t know what to say, he had said, like a child getting grounded. I-I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I’m a big lump of a human being. He paused, his cheeks rounding up like he was about to vomit. Will…will you marry me, anyway?

It felt like racing in a train and pulling all the stops, crashing. He got red in the face, tears welling in his eyes and she realized he took her silence as rejection. Aqua had to hold his forearms, and all she could utter was a soft, I genuinely thought you burned down a building.

Terra’s eyes went wide. Do you mean you’re not mad?

Of course not. Why would I be?

So… He licked his lips, reaching for her but not touching her, forgetting that he had the box with the ring inside. What do you say? I mean, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. I mean, I just thought you would… you know… because… He sighed. Yeah.

Aqua finally laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Of course I will marry you, you beautiful dork.

The laughter quiets around the fire. They’re waiting for Aqua to continue her story.

“Then he drops the ring.”

They howl, melting into a blissful exchange of cheers and gossip, a vibrant hearth brighter than the one keeping them warm. 

“I had hoped to propose first, actually,” Aqua continues. She shrugs. “The end.”

“That was beautiful,” Naminé says, wiping her eyes.

“If Sora hears about this, he’ll never leave Terra alone,” Kairi says, grinning something mischievous. 

“I don’t know what love is supposed to look like,” Xion says thoughtfully, gazing at the sky. “But it sounds sweet.”

In Aqua’s opinion, the proposal was perfect, him scattered on the ground frantically searching for the ring, her on her knees helping him. How he slipped it on her finger, how they kissed for an hour in the dirt, unaware that they were dusty, unaware that anyone else existed in the world. 

Aqua nods, mostly to herself. It aches to be away from Terra tonight but it burns her insides to see him tomorrow and finally do this. Aqua wants to sleep and get this night over with but she doesn’t want to sleep so she could see the sunrise, knowing he’d be up early watching the same thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bachelor parties aren’t fun.

Sora is whooping about a cannonball, the water splashing when he makes contact. Ven and Roxas race to the lake, testing who will be the first to dive, the first to swim across and come back. Considering the expanse of the surface area, they’ll be gone for a while and the barbecue will get cold, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s not the right time to talk to Ven right now, not when all of them have a moment of fun (except for Terra, the only one here thinking about tomorrow). Lea and Isa prefer to relax, sipping drinks on their chairs by the lanterns erected onto the sand, speaking quietly about memories, about chores, about home and what ifs. 

Terra sits by himself, the thin booklet Aqua gave him on his lap, tucked under layers of parchment. It’s titled The Way, no author. She was right: old Keyblade rituals are interesting, almost possessive, their focus on the literal binding of hearts. They’re from the Age of Fairytales, and Terra realizes as he reads through it that ancient Keyblade wielders were for some reason obsessed with the loss of memory and the prevention of it. The rituals sound painful, too—maybe Aqua has developed a mild taste of macabre from her time in the Realm of Darkness. 

All Terra has left to do are his vows. His stupid, dorky-sounding vows. He should have accepted the simple, “I do.” He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

He’s tried dramatic.

You are my other half, my heart, my breath of life, my sky, my angel, can we keep our souls together? 

He’s tried poetic.

The mountain will thirst if not for the water— 

He’s tried being honest.

I don’t know why you love me, but I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

All dumb.

Terra groans into his hands, eyes wide in existential blunder. 

“Keep doing that,” Riku says, setting a chair next to him and sitting down, “and you won’t be able to blink again.”

“I’m not finished.”

“But if you don’t sleep, then you’re more likely to have accidents.”

Terra gapes and almost whacks Riku on the side of the head from the sight of his constricted smirk. “You’re so mean. I called you one time.”

“In a huge panic talking about causing mass destruction of a wedding the worlds have never seen.” Riku shrugs nonchalantly. That’s his state of being—too cool for anything, too sensitive for everything. It’s refreshing. “It was the funniest phone conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll never call you again.”

“Not in the middle of the night, please no.” Riku bites a forkful of steak. “Is it cliché to tell you to speak from the heart?”

“This entire conversation is cliché, but here I am, living it out.” Terra stares at his messy pages, where he pressed the pen so hard that it left ink blots.

“You could do the very committal thing and tell her you love her fifty times.”

“All the guests would leave by the time I reach twenty-five.”

“More like fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Disaster.”

Terra grimaces, not entirely comforted, but not entirely anxious anymore, either. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It is a big deal, I’ll give you that,” Riku says, more serious. “I don’t have any advice.”

“None of it makes sense. Be honest, but not too honest. Be loving, but don’t make it cheesy. Express yourself, but hold back on certain things. Do make it personal. Don’t expose personal details. How am I supposed to know how to do it right?” 

It would be easier if there are no witnesses. If it’s just Ven, if Aqua is the only person he’s talking to, if he could simply say, You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I know I’ve fucked up. For as long as I live, I’ll never do that again. I will never take your forgiveness for granted.

And if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, there’d be nothing he could say to make her stay.

“I think if Aqua was the kind of person who expected you to do it right,” Riku says, looking out to the lake where Ven and Roxas are swimming back to their shore, “you wouldn’t be marrying her.”

Terra bends the pages, exposing the cover of the thin, leather bound booklet. There are no vows he could use in there, except for the officiator declaring their hearts intertwined. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.” 

Riku pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone to take a walk, Sora begging him to enter the water. Terra flips to a page where he’s repeated I love you, I love you all over, each in different calligraphy, like doodling, like losing his mind and procrastinating the night away, hoping that any moment, inspiration would drop bricks on him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s time.

The strangest part of the day is waiting it out in her bedroom until it’s her turn to show herself. Over the years, her bedroom has been a reflection of her personality. The cleanliness, the artifacts from her home world long ago, the size of the bed, the furniture—they all stayed the same. What’s come and gone were the paint colors, the bedsheets, the art on the wall, the smaller vanity mirror. Her bedroom is her old life, and she sits in front of the mirror in her bride’s dress, about to start a new one. For now, they both collide, as though her childhood doesn’t know her.

The cape dress is simple, plain white with the neck scooped across the collarbone. The sleeves slit at the shoulders, draping over to the floor with the rest of the train. Aqua couldn’t have asked for something better. She completes the look with the ring, a jeweled hair pin on one side, and an armored choker. Makeup is minimal. 

Aqua is surprisingly calm and the sun is going down. 

Her Gummiphone buzzes with a text message.

Terra

Let’s do it

Aqua sighs, not texting back immediately.

Aqua

I don’t want to break Ven’s heart

Terra

I’ll talk to him

We can both get what we want

I already stole some flowers from the wall

Don’t think he notices

She chuckles, moving a hair strand behind her ear. She hasn’t noticed that her stomach has been a knot, from excitement, from nerves, from anticipation. The sun takes so long to set. Terra is the warmth of a tight blanket.

Aqua

Will this label me as a runaway bride?

Terra takes a long time to answer, giving her the impression that he must have been distracted and forgot to reply. 

It buzzes.

Terra

The shame

Aqua

What will they think when they find out the groom seduced her to it

Terra

The scandal 

when they hear how she met him secretly at the creek 

an hour before the ceremony

It sounds like an action plan. Aqua picks up her bouquet of orange roses and bluestars from her vanity table, heading out the door.

Aqua

I want Ven there

Terra

Definitely

I love you

Aqua

I love you too

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra finds Ven in the dining room, taking inventory of an indulgement of sweets and a feast of meats, fritters, and rice. The wedding cake is as tall as his body, a dark blue with smacks of gold glitter in the shapes of galaxies, large stars framing each layer, and topped with two halos. Ven is mostly dressed in his vest and tie, the suit missing. By comparison, Terra is overdressed, a groom ready for his encore.

Ven sighs when he sneaks a cookie the shape of the Keyblade Master symbol into his mouth, as though Terra’s presence reminds him of disappointment. 

“I couldn’t tame the cicadas,” he says morosely, like he’s apologizing, and for a moment Terra second-guesses what he’s about to do. Ven eyes the white rope curled around Terra’s shoulder. “What’s that for?”

“This may either cheer you up or piss you off,” Terra says, dropping The Way on the counter.

“I don’t like how you said that.” As Ven flips through pages, he frowns, chewing on the side of his lip. “Are you... not happy with the wedding preparations?”

Terra inhales, caught off guard. “Of course I am. Happy, I mean. It’s… huge. It’s a giant ordeal.”

“And you don’t like that,” Ven says quietly, stroking one of the pages with his thumb.

“I think there are things we’ve always wanted to have privately.” Terra sits on a stool, but Ven won’t look him in the eye. “And we want you to be there. We can do it now. We’ll be back in time for our guests.”

The booklet shakes in his hands. “I messed up.”

“From my point of view, I’ll be eating very well tonight. There’s nothing to compensate for.”

Ven closes the book. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

“If you allow Lea to slap you, he’ll forgive you.” Terra smiles, but Ven doesn’t join him. “We’re still doing your grand ceremony—that, we could never pull off on our own. But we also want something tiny and ours, and we won’t do this without you.” Terra takes Ven’s hand and squeezes it, before glancing at the cake. “I hope it’s delicious.”

“It’s disgusting so you’ll definitely like it.”

“See, I can always count on you.” Terra stands up. “Now come on. You wouldn’t want us to be late for the bride.”

Terra takes him to the creek, not far from where Aqua hosted her bachelorette camp, where the sound of rushing water is gentle and the creek splits into two directions, one that would drip off the side of a cliff and one that would join a massive river downstream. The trees huddle close in the clearing, a soft shadow from the fierceness of the setting sun, like a pocket of protective magic in the middle of the forest. 

Ven gasps. “You stole my flowers.”

“Please, you didn’t even notice.” Terra had built an easy wooden arbor before the crack of dawn that morning, an arch weaved with orange and blue flowers, spotted every so often with green lilies. He showered right after so no one would suspect.

“Let’s take it over there.” Ven points to a short boulder against a tree nearby, a good photo op. They pluck the arbor up from both sides and plant it in front of the boulder. Ven takes stock of the sight. “Not bad.”

“Thanks!”

“I take credit for the choice of flowers.” Ven rolls the rope into a tight circle, layering it on the boulder with each loop in equal circumference. He splays the book open and studies. “It’s kinda creepy,” he says though he gets no response and he doesn’t ask for one.

Terra shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and waits. Aqua isn’t here yet. The vest constricts his breathing, the thicket suddenly feels humid, and Terra wipes his cheek, realizing that his heart is beating fast. Time sped up to this moment and dropped him here without warning. Now it’s slowing down out of pure, unjustifiable spite to torture him in the final hour. 

“You okay, dude?” Ven asks.

Terra lifts his face to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. “If I cry now, I think I’ll cry for the rest of the night.”

Ven snorts. “No one would be surprised, trust me.”

But it’s not working. He’s two seconds from sobbing. “I don’t know. I…” He scoffs. “I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m expecting her to never show up or brush me off last minute when she realizes what we’re doing—”

“No.” Ven approaches Terra like he’s about to punch him in the stomach to make a point. “Don’t think like that, she’d never do that.” 

Ven has good faith and better timing. Aqua approaches the other side of the clearing, the fabric of her dress gracefully making waves with every step, the foliage fluttering light and shadow on her figure. She holds her bouquet in one hand and a framed photograph tucked under the other.

It shocks Terra.

He can’t stop the flow of tears. He covers his shivering lips and the drip of his nose, his face twisting from the sight of her—brilliant, like she’s made of stars, a gift walking the earth.

“Terra, are you okay?” Aqua asks, rushing to him now, the train of her dress bouncing behind her. 

In the flash of an instinct, Terra runs to meet her, tripping over a branch and landing right into her arms. 

“You’re—” Terra sucks air in, his heart shoving itself up his esophagus. “Y-you’re s-so beautiful.”

Aqua uses her pinky to wipe his tears. “So are you.”

“Let me help you.” He takes the frame—a portrait of the Master, bordered with a white ribbon—and walks her to the arbor. Ven takes the portrait and places it on the boulder, their little family tied together, fractured in glued pieces, now and always. Before they start, Terra asks Aqua to pose under the arbor so he can take a picture of the trees and the flowers surrounding her. Beautiful.

“How do we do this?” Terra asks when he finds his voice again, still trembling. Aqua stands to the side to take her place. She’s beautiful.

Ven takes the book in his hands. The description of this ritual covers at most two pages. “Well, it’s archaic. It’s from the Age of Fairytales but it sounds like we will intertwine your hearts—but in an intense way, like we’re sewing them together.”

Aqua holds her bouquet to her chest. “Shall we start?”

Terra chuckles too hard, gasping for breath. “Simple as that.”

They wait for Ven’s cue, who also has no idea how to do anything. Ven clears his throat, shrugs his shoulders, and reads:

“We witness today the soldering of two hearts. To intertwine like the roots of a tree, the severance painful, the nourishment plentiful. A physical bond, a magical one, the merging of two sprites under the guidance of one truth. Two hearts, but one.” Terra watches the way Aqua watches him. There’s no one else in the world, Ven’s voice disconnected, like it floats on air. “Now it says to summon your Keyblades. Dig the tips into the ground, and offer your hilts to each other.”

Ends of the Earth is massive, taller than Ven. Stormfall looks delicate but it’s menacing, sharp, direct. They offer their hilts, the shafts crossed over each other, Stormfall light and airy in his hand, Ends of the Earth weighty and thick in hers. 

Terra finds it interesting that they’re using the hilt to connect each other’s hearts—the Keyblade should never be used against a person’s heart in traditional Mastery, because it’s such a dangerous weapon and it’s so violating. The blunt hilt, on the other hand, the physical manifestation of their hearts, is like exposure, an offer of vulnerability. 

Aqua’s feels like it’s thrumming, singing. She’s happy.

Ven steps forward with the rope and ties it over the hilts in loops. “This is just an image, the ties that bind, two Keyblades, but one. To intertwine a heart is to forge a chain, a friend, a companion, a memory. If missing then a void, a dream, a wish until reunion.” He steps back into position. “Before we go on, I think this would be a nice place to say your vows. Terra, you first.”

Terra stammers, looking into her eyes. “I-I couldn’t write one. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Ven whispers, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote some just in case.”

Terra doesn’t take it. He licks his lips. “It wouldn’t have been graceful. None of it—all of my thoughts—pale in comparison to you, Aqua.” He steadies himself with labored breathing, the squeeze on her Keyblade like a hold on her waist. “You’re so, so beautiful, and I’ve spent my days believing I don’t deserve you, because… because I couldn’t make things right like I should have.” 

Aqua quivers, gently touching his arm with her free hand and motioning for him to breathe. 

He continues, “I’m sorry. I wish the Master was here. I wish I was smart enough to prevent it from happening.” He inhales, choking up from the mention of Eraqus. “I never thought you would marry me of all people, so… I promise... I will be there every step of the way. I promise you, if you’re scared at night, I’ll be there to protect you. If you’re hurting in another world, I’ll come find you. If you’re confused, I’ll hold you close and help you make sense of it. I’ll brew you tea to help you sleep, I’ll step in the line of fire even if you wish to do the same for me, I’ll walk to the ends of the earth to make sure you are safe and healthy. I promise I’ll be with you.

“And I’ll mess up. I know me. I’ll fix it. If you want to clobber me, I’ll be patient. I’ll learn. I’ll do better. Every day you save me from myself. This is the least I can do. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I’ll love you every day.”

Silence falls on all of them, Terra sniffing just to get some fresh air, Ven wiping his eyes, Aqua blinking too much. 

“Now you, Aqua,” Ven says. 

Despite being teared up, Aqua holds it together. She’s so good at that.

“Terra, I stand with you because I do want to be here. I do want to be by your side. I do want to laugh at your bad jokes.” She relieves a giggle. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember, even if I didn’t know the words for it.” She studies his face. “I’m sure the Master is here with us, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m proud of you.” Suddenly, she switches her tone, as if to lecture. “And if you even fathom taking a hit for me, remember that I’m faster than you. I’ll protect you first.” Then she softens. “I promise to be your shelter when the storm falls on us. I promise to sit on your bedside when you’re sick, to lift you up when you’re down about yourself, because you are sometimes. 

“You are my home, no matter how far your heart is from me. If you need a star to light your way back, I’ll give it to you.” She smiles widely, like she’s about to laugh. “If something between us breaks, I’ll mend it with you. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Their words are now spoken. Aqua suppresses a laugh and grins like a child. Terra holds his breath, just in case he screams from every emotion that he can’t name.  

“Well,” Ven says, rolling his sleeve up so he could wipe his nose on his forearm. “I guess it’s time. This bond is an oath you will remember each other until you close your eyes for the last time, for the tragedy to forget is to be alone forever. Do you accept this?”

“I do,” Terra says.

Aqua hums. “Yes, I do.”

Ven smiles. “You know what to do.”

With his free hand, Terra presses two fingers to his chest, over his heart, where he builds a golden glow. Twenty years living with her, ten years in darkness thinking about her, this vow is impossible to break—even if they can’t do this any longer, Terra could never forget her. Never. In his hand is now a piece of himself, a nugget of his heart, a memory of her in his bed that he never wants to lose.

He takes those fingers to her chest, two thick golden threads drawn out from his heart. She winces at the touch, quick to dissolve. Stormfall shifts in his hand, growing longer, its hilt thicker and darker, wrapping around like a weaved shield. A subtle change, a little piece of him.

Aqua does the same, fingers to her chest first to create the threads, bringing them to his chest. It does hurt, like a needle digging into his skin, sharp for the entire length until it’s suddenly gone. 

He feels full, as though his insides are creating space for something extra. Warm, frightening, whole, exciting. Her piece is a memory he can’t read but he doesn’t need to. Ends of the Earth opens way for an icy blade to cut through the middle as the hilt fans out like wings. A piece of her to take with him where he goes.

“Alright,” Ven chirps, snapping the booklet closed. “The book ends with the quote, Two hearts, only one, but I think this means I can call you husband and wife in secret. So kiss.”

Their Keyblades dissipate when they hold each other, tender but with appetite, unaware of their surroundings for several selfish moments. With sewn threads, it’s as though he breathes through her. Terra presses her onto him, feeling how her heart now beats in sync with his.

“I love you,” she whispers. They are married. 

He’ll never tire of hearing it. Stars, they are married. “I love you, too.”

Terra hears Ven sniff before a handkerchief is shoved into his face. “You need your face dry and clean before everyone sees you,” Ven says. 

The sunset now is deep, a fiery orange. Terra doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll hold you again tonight,” Aqua says, patting his chest. “I want to see the meteor shower Ven promised.”

“It’ll be a good one,” Ven assures.

Terra kisses her. “Then we have to make a run for it.” He picks Ven up like a log, jogging through the thicket of the forest with Aqua close behind him, the Master in her arms. When they approach the castle, in the twilight, they hear chatter coming from the halls, as though ghosts are partying outside. 

Terra feels at peace despite that he now has to perform, balancing on a tightrope where he doesn’t care if he falls. He turns around and holds her neck to kiss her again, feeling her laughter in his mouth. “One more?” he asks when they break. 

Ven, still tucked in Terra’s arm, groans. “I never asked for a front seat to the kissing show. Is this my punishment?”

Aqua kisses him one more time, whispering to him I love you for what will be a string of I love you’s in the night to come. Friends will cheer, Terra will trip on the way to the altar, Sora will cry because Terra will cry, Xion will eat too much cake and get sick, Isa will laugh because he is drunk, Kairi will be the star of the dance, Aqua will be the star in his eyes. 

#terraqua #terra #aqua #ventus #terraqua week #kingdom hearts fanfiction #omg #this is finally out holy shiiiiiiiiit #i'm really proud of this one #reading through for edits #i impressed myself haha #my fic

[blindbeta]

How do you think infrastructure would be different in a culture where everyone is blind?

Hi anon! I like this question. I think it would obviously depend on the culture and time period, but I have a few ideas. I’ll just try to write ideas for a general Western culture, because I am aware of more of that, but obviously the culture itself would influence what changes occurred or did not occur.

Education.

Look to blind schools! I’m thinking about training for Braille as very small children, which mostly includes strengthening finger sensitivity. Braille would also be taught the way reading regular print is, either in schools or at home. Regular print would probably also be available and large print would be normalized, especially to minimize eye strain. Computer literacy would include screen-readers and Braille displays. Websites would be designed for accessibility for everyone and this would include large for those who like to read some print.

In classes, people would use a slate and stylus, Braille notetakers, etc, depending on time and what was easier to carry. Braillers would also be more high tech in general, even if it might be considered old school, or the high tech stuff would have come sooner for each device.

Braille, O&M, and life skills classes would be normal for everyone. O&M would probably be done mostly by people with some sight, although this might change if everyone is blind anyway.

Lifestyle.

Things like telescopes (monoculars, minifiers) would be normal for low vision people, maybe even something cool like ‘oh I got the latest telescope model for my birthday!” It would be something shared with friends for fun. Something like SunuBand would be like, I don’t know, a car of something. People would show status through how cool their cane was, if they had a Sonar cane, like WeWalk, etc.

In schools, and in life, I think people with some sight, like me, would not face any pressure to use it. In real life, people with residual sight are expected to use what sight they can, even if it is inconvenient or painful.

More emphasis would be places on other sense, such as touch, smell, and soatial awareness.

Safety.

The world would probably be safer, structurally. There would be high contrast stairs everywhere, if there are stairs at all. There would be more in place that makes it safer to walk around outside, such as, idk, less of a risk of hurt yourself by stepping off a curb? I’m not even sure if roads would be designed the way they are now. Would people drive if they have some vision? Would everyone have cars that don’t need vision? Anyway, more safety with blind people in mind.

Transportation.

Transportation would be better. Maybe public transportation would be more accessible, easier to navigate, and more readily available in rural areas. Maybe trains would be more popular in every country, because they run on a schedule and you can carry more people for longer periods of time. Trains can also allow people to travel long distances, which can be harder for blind people (who almost always can’t drive, as far as I know) who can’t drive cars and may not have money for flights, or want to avoid them for environmental reasons.

Accessibility.

Braille would be everywhere. Buttons would be tactile, especially on kitchen appliances. I imagine a lot of the tools blind people use in the kitchen, such as bump dots for microwave buttons, would already be standard. Talking or otherwise accessible things would be cheaper, more common, and considered staples for everyone. Because they would be made for the wider population of blind people, accessibility would not be a niche or extra thing. It would not be associated with kindness, but a standard fare.

Clothing would be different. Designs would be tactile and/or high contrast, where they are often flat. I think colors would still be important, for everyone, but the tags would probably have labels. Some brand designed for blind people have actual Braille fabric on the clothes, which is cool. While color scanners do exist and would probably be used, I think other methods would be utilized if clothing is designed with blind people in mind from the start. Wearing glasses would be cool, you guys.

In terms of entertainment, I think most of it would audio-based or interactive. The radio and live theatre would be more popular than they are now. If visual mediums still existed, they would all come with audio descriptions and they would be better than they sometimes are now. TV would be written with audio descriptions in mind, if they didn’t talk about more of what they were doing.

Art would be tactile, period. Maybe we would have something by now that allows you to feel digital art. There are already amazing forms of tactil art out there, so think more of that from all cultures. Rather than adapted or described with the blind in mind, art would be naturally tactile even if the artist could see what they were creating well enough.

Online.

Obviously image descriptions would be everywhere, although I feel people would naturally include less screen-shots and less pictures. Again, accessibility would be a more mainstream thing than it is now. I’m thinking there would be more self-care posts, such as about dealing with eye strain headaches. Although I think some of the issues we have would be lessened when the entirety of humanity was on the blind spectrum. I’m also thinking about fun quizzes like, Describe Your Dream Home and I’ll Guess What Type Blindness You Have. Debates about disability in general would happen in regular spaces. YouTube would have contained audio descriptions from the start, and perhaps highly visual content would be less common or naturally described in the video, such as person describing what they are holding before talking about it.

Work/Career.

Productivity would be measure differently. Accessibility would just be a thing. Like, at a meeting, “What tools do you like to use the most?” Working from home would be an option. Work would be open to and even designed for blind people. Blind people wouldn’t have the low employments rates they do now, or else no one would work. A lot of tools we use to make things accessible wouldn’t be necessary if things were designed for blind people in the first place. Subminimum wage would not be a thing.

There would probably be jobs and career opportunities that don’t exist now.

Blind people wouldn’t be more likely or even expected to live in poverty.

Money.

Money would be tactile, labeled, large print, and high contrast. If we still used cash at all.

Inovation.

I think we would have a lot of cool stuff. Countries might even compete to be the first to create things for the blind population which, again, would be everyone in this scenario.

Food/menus.

Restaurants would be easy for blind people to navigate. Menus would be offered in Braille and large print. Maybe plates would be made sectioned so people could know where their food was. I’m thinking about blind accessibility videos and restaurants run by totally blind people. Hmm. Glasses would not be as common at all, because they can be hard for people to see. I have broken too many glasses myself.

If people were to buy food, such as local produce, bags would probably come with homemade Braille or large print signs. Canned food and boxes for cooking would have Braille on them initially. Giving food to others, such as bringing food or snacks for the home when you visit, would come with either an explanation about what it was or a label.

I could go on. I don’t want this too be too long. Basically, what I want to get across is that a lot more than accessibility would changes if everyone is blind. I didn’t want to get into too many heavy topics because this is more of a fun question. However. feel free to add whatever you like. I believe history itself would be altered in many, many ways that have influence on life today, so I could have gone on about that. I could write books on the lifestyle and safety and work sections. And all cultures have their own ways of viewing, supporting, and limiting blind people, so this could change a little or a lot depending on what your culture or the culture you are writing about is like.

-BlindBeta

#blind #blind life #blindbeta

[granny-griffin]

Hi guys! This post has content warnings for the following: suicide, incest, abortion, politics, and swearing. I've tagged this post for all of the above, so you should add one or all of them to your blocked tags if you don't want to see it. Stay safe friends!

@arists started a conversation with me on this post. I'm making my own post now so that I don't clog up op's notifications with our discussion. I'll post the relevant screenshots here, but I'm including the link so that you can fact check what happened if you want.

#1 (op's post)

Image Description: "A screenshot of a twitter thread. Sarah Chavez writes, 'It's not hard to see what a pro-life world looks like. It looks like a world with a lot of dead women in it." An article is linked, but the url is cut off. Emily Gould replies to the first tweet, saying, '"Amnesty International reports that suicide now accounts for 57 percent of deaths of pregnant femals ages 10-19 in El Salvador." That's what a "culture of life" looks like.'"

#2 (in the notes of op's post)

Image Description: "granny-griffin replies, 'This. Suicide is an evil we have to prevent. But murder is NEVER the answer. I'm not sure how it even became a viable option. We need a better solution.'"

(note that there is a significant time gap between images #2 and #3)

#3

Image Description: "arists replies, '@granny-griffin the only other "solution" is mandatory vasectomies on males but good luck telling men what you want to force onto their bodies. ntm abortion at 6 weeks isn't fucking murder but science doesn't fucking matter to you.' Then granny-griffin replies, '@arists if you want to start a conversation, then I'm happy to talk! you can dm me or whatever! But if you're just angry, then I'm glad you found an outlet and I hope you feel better soon'"

#4

Image Description: "arists replies, '@granny-griffin go start a conversation with the women of texas' Then granny-griffin replies, '@arists I mean. I am a woman living in texas so that should be pretty easy. I'll try to do that sometime soon! It's always helpful to me to hear other people's perspectives on important issues'"

#5

Image Description: "arists replies '@granny-griffin so you're a traitor then? when you see little girls being forced to birth a product of incest you feel better about yourself? you see women who have a dead baby in their body forced to cary to full at the risk of her life and think "nice job me!!" And you've probably never adopted with makes it even funnier. youre an embodiment ignorance and selfishness.'"

#6 (private message between arists and granny-griffin)

Image Description: "granny-griffin says, 'hey I really. don't want to fight you. I know that you're upset. I think we both want to help women in vulnerable situations, we just have different ideas of how that should work out practically.' In a second text, granny-griffin continues, 'If you need to keep venting, you should do it here. That way if you say something you might regret, it won't be in public'"

#7

Image Description: "arists sends three messages. The first one says, 'I'm not venting I'm saying it how it is' The second one says, 'I've dealt with ill-minded christians like you my entire life I know your strategy' The third one says, 'now go back to the post because I refuse to deal with you behind doors so you can appear "holier than thou" by putting on a fake image'"

#8

Image Description: "granny-griffin sends seven messages. The first one says, 'ok we can do this in public' The second one says 'give me until tonight though I've got school' The third one says 'do you care if I make a separate post? I'll copy all the previous stuff from our conversation and the main post' The fourth one says, 'I just don't want to have a whole conversation on op's thread' The fifth one says, 'it would feel disrespectful almost?' The sixth one says, 'like they have their whole point and I don't want to completely de-rail them' The seventh one says, 'but if you aren't cool with moving them then I can come to wherever is comfortable to you'"

#9

Image Description: "arists says, 'go ahead'"

to preface—airsts I'm still not totally sure what you want out of this. You aren't obligated to respond to anything I say—just like I'm not obligated to respond to you. We don't know each other, and this is kind of an unfortunate way for us to meet. Still, I hope we can have a productive conversation going forward. I'll go through everything and ask questions. You can respond to as many or as few of them as you want.

#3:

The only other solution to what—suicide? unwanted pregnancy? incest? Is that really the only other solution? What are some policies you would like to see implemented to deal with each of these?

How do you define murder? How do you define what a human life is? Are there particular scientific facts or theories you make use of in your definition? If you have time, please either explain them, or reference an article/book/other source that does. I would like to learn! But I understand that fact checking is a lot of work so if you're too busy I understand.

#4:

(A note here—my knowledge of the situation is not as thorough as I would like it to be, but from what I know I'm not satisfied with the way abortion restrictions are being implemented in Texas. What are we doing—reporting each other to the secret police or something? Notifying the authorities of a crime is one thing, but why is there a finder's fee? Why are we sueing each other? This kind of thing will only breed corruption and mistrust.)

#5:

Huh, what am I a traitor to? Women? Is there a point of view that is specifically the "pro-women" point of view? Traitor makes this sound like a war—are there sides? are there good and bad guys? Who gets to define all of this?

No, I don't like it when girls are forced to birth a child conceived in incest. What are some ways that this situation could be prevented? Do you think that easy abortion access could ever perpetuate abuse by allowing abusers to get rid of the evidence of their actions? Is providing abortion services to victims of incest worth this risk? (and I mean that as a legitimate question, not a leading question)

(Another note here—I am pretty sure children who die in the womb can still be born naturally (hence the term "still-born"). But again, my knowledge here is limited and my issue with abortion is largely because of the harm it does to the child. If the child is dead already, and abortion is the only way to remove them, then I don't have a problem with this.)

Do you think adoption is the only way to take care of vulnerable children? Did you know that people who adopt sometimes need help raising funds to do so, or need help with babysitting, or need meals made and chores done for them? Did you know that mothers who raise their own children need these things too? Is this an attack on my argument, or an attack on me (ad hominem)?

#7

Sorry to assume you were venting—I should have asked what your purpose was instead of making assumptions.

Okay but do please tell me—what is my strategy? I am curious to hear your psychoanalysis of me and my goals.

Arists, I'm really sorry if I came off as "holier than thou." I'm not a better person than you. I know that I think I'm right—everybody does. But I do want to be open to hearing and learning from your perspective. Even if you don't change my mind, you can increase my empathy, and that's extremely valuable to me.

okay, that’s it! I’ll wait for your response!

#cw suicide #cw incest #cw abortion #pro life #pro choice #cw politics #cw swearing #long post

[raibebe]

Soft core

Genre: Fluff(?) Words: 11,4 k holy shit this is insane Prompt: Jaehyun in his vampire bdsm outfit he wore in the Punch era but make it sfw Warnings: mentions of blood, brief mentions of member x member relationships, brief descriptions of a panic attack

A/N: This was written for Aimee who loves Jaehyun with her whole heart, happy birthday Aimee 💖 I hope you had an amazing day and like this little something. I know you deactivated but I already started writing this a month ago and I’ll post it anyways in the hope you’ll see this someday and a couple of others will enjoy this as well. I have mixed and matched their outfits and tattoos from both the concept photos and the live stages. Also I’m sorry Johnny, but you fit the role of the shameless flirt so well… Bonus points for anyone who spots all cameos. Special thanks to @burtonized​ who made me keep going with this and listened to all my complaints.

To say you were nervous before starting your first shift at your new job in a reasonably shady bar not too far from your apartment was an understatement. You seriously questioned your own sanity and why you had even applied for the job when you had seen the offer on the beat up wooden entrance door next to an old motorcycle license plate and a bright green neon sign that illuminated the word ‘open’ a couple of days ago. The blue haired man behind the bar had given you a questioning look after you had entered the bar because you couldn’t have looked any more out of place with your soft sweater between the old wooden interior and the leather the barman and a handful of customers were wearing. It had cost all of your courage and a reminder that you needed to find a job for the weekends to walk up to the bar to ask the barman about the job offer. He had asked you a couple of questions like whether you had already waited tables before, which you had (at a place that was lit far better than this one but how different would it be?). The man who had introduced himself as Kun and honestly seemed like a big softie on the inside despite his serious look (it had to be the intense eyebrows) had agreed to hire you on the spot because he had the offer up for a while and no one had come in to ask about it and he couldn’t keep bullying his apparently very chaotic roommates to keep covering the shifts on the busy weekends anymore.

That’s how you found yourself here, a couple of days later on a Friday night, staring at the wooden door yet again (now missing the job offer and not yet illuminated by the neon sign).You took a deep breath and pushed through the door of the bar, this time not looking as out of place as you had before, wearing black skinny jeans and a simple grey v-neck. Kun looked up from where he was wiping down the counter, shooting you a smile. Today he had styled his hair up, exposing his forehead and was wearing a black button up shirt with a bunch of white details that was missing quiet some buttons at the top. “You actually came,” he grinned, “You can put your jacket and bag into the back room.” He pointed to a door with the label ‘staff only’. “We’re opening in half an hour. I’ll introduce you to the others once they decide to arrive.” Nodding you rushed to put your stuff away. You were pleasantly surprised by how clean it was in the back. The beat up interior from the main room was nowhere to be found. So it really didn’t seem too bad if it was only shabby for aesthetic purposes.

After taking a couple of more deep breaths in front of the mirror in the staff room, you felt as prepared as you would ever be and emerged back into the main room of the bar. Next to Kun behind the counter was now another man, clad in the tightest pair of leather pants you had ever seen and a loose, see through black blouse, his long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, showing off a variety of piercings in his ears that were reflecting the low light of the neon signs. When both men noticed you, the blonde flashed you a bright smile and quickly wiped his fingers on the towel he had used to dry some glasses and held it out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Ten. Kun told me he had finally found someone willing to help us out on the weekends but he missed to tell me how cute you are. Don’t worry the customers are all nice and if anyone gives you any problems, weird stares or makes inappropriate comments, just tell me immediately and I’ll throw them out,” he introduced himself. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the image of this petite man throwing drunken men twice his size out of the bar. “Thank you,” you answered before introducing yourself as well. “Would you please wipe down the tables in the back?” Kun asked, handing you a cloth, “The other waiter should be here any minute, so he can walk you through the process.” “You’re all males working here?” You asked shyly while starting to wipe the tall round tables closest to the bar. “Honey, there’s not many woman brave enough to even set a foot in here even though about eighty percent of our regulars and hundred percent of our staff are big softies hiding behind leather jackets and tattoos,” Ten chirped, disappearing beneath the counter to check the tubes of the beer taps.

Speaking of the other staff, as if on queue the door slammed open to reveal a ridiculously tall man with the biggest brown eyes you had ever seen, his platinum hair swept back from his forehead,  a huge grin plastered on his face. “Yooo, the poster with the job offer is gone, did you finally find someone?” The man all but shouted, excitedly bouncing up and down on his way to the bar, shucking off his leather jacket and carelessly throwing it on one of the bar stools to reveal toned arms and a strong chest straining his short sleeved black shirt. “Xuxi, indoor voice please,” Kun groaned, massaging his temples. “Oh sorry,” the other man - Xuxi - answered, flashing Kun big puppy eyes. “We did find someone, please don’t scare her off,” Ten answered Xuxi’s initial question, emerging back from under the counter, smashing the door shut, which caused Kun to groan again. “That thing has a handle for a reason,” he sighed. “It keeps opening itself back up otherwise,” the smaller man shrugged, leaning against the now spotless counter, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Wait, her?” Xuxi asked, eyes wide in either excitement or amazement, “As in she? A girl?” “Yes, hello,” you quietly introduced yourself, stepping out from the corner where you had been cleaning the tabletops.

“Wow, you’re so pretty,” Xuxi said instead of a proper introduction when you walked over to where the three men were standing. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, tinting them a rosy color. Sighing, Kun took the dirty cloth from you and rinsed it in the sink. “This is Xuxi, the other waiter for tonight. As you might have noticed he doesn’t have much of a filter, but i swear he is harmless.” “Just call me Lucas at work, it’s easier,” the man in question grinned, not even bothering to correct Kun and extended a hand for you to shake (needless to say because he was unnecessary tall, his huge hand could almost cover your whole fist). “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he beamed and even though he had just called you cute, he was definitely the cutest person currently in this room. “Thank you,” you murmured, a smile spreading on your lips because Xuxi’s grin was really infectious and you felt your anxiety disappearing.

In the remaining time before the bar would officially open, Xuxi taught you everything you needed to know. From their system and how you’d take the orders and which tables you would serve to special drinks that weren’t on the menu and what to do if any customers would give you trouble. “There’s probably not much to do for the first two hours or so”, Xuxi concluded, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, making his muscles dance beneath his shirt, “Like that you can get used to it before it gets packed. Fridays are always busy and there’s a bunch of different people coming. Did any regulars call in before?” He asked the last question to the general direction of the bar. Flipping through a book next to the cash register, Ten nodded. “127 are coming in, they got that big table in the back but other than that, no one called.” “What’s 127?” You asked curiously because that was one of the tables you were supposed to serve. “They’re a group of guys our age, but I’m not really sure what exactly they are to be honest,” Xuxi laughed while fixing the belt that held his wallet before handing you your own one. “I think they are bikers,” Ten supplied, turning around to reorganizing the bottles behind the bar for the third time tonight, “At least some of them have bikes and they sure look the part. Have you seen Johnny’s new tattoo the other week, Xuxi? That must have hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I saw the post with his chestpiece on his Instagram. That man is ripped.” “Well, you’re one to talk,” you murmured under your breath, organizing the contents of the belt to your liking. Laughing out loud, Ten slapped Kun on the chest. “We need to keep her, I like her,” he giggled and Kun just shot you a slightly pained smile, rubbing where Ten’s hand had come down. “Oh come on, old man. I didn’t even hit that hard.” “Stop calling me old, I am literally just two months older than you,” Kun groaned, softly shaking a grinning Ten. Unbothered by the bickering of the two barmen, Xuxi called over from the door: “I’ll switch on the sign!”

Your anxiety came back at full force when the bar started to fill up one hour after it opened. Resisting the urge to hide behind the bar, you approached yet another group of shady looking men to take their orders. Like the other people you had served before, they gave you a weird look while looking up and down your frame once before asking if you were new here. You just nodded and smiled politely while writing down their orders before walking back to the bar where you took out one of the trays and put the note with the order on top so Ten or Kun could put the according drinks on top. “Here, have a little drink, the night is just beginning,” Ten grinned and pushed a glass into your hands before completing the order while somehow also dancing fluently to the music that was playing through the speakers now. You eyed the drink suspiciously, the deep orange color throwing you off a bit. “It’s not spiked, no need to worry,” Xuxi told you, suddenly appearing next to you, placing his own tray with empty glasses onto the counter, winking teasingly before grabbing a colorful bottle to pour a bunch of shots, so Ten and Kun could focus on the other, more complicated drinks on the orders. You drowned the sickly sweet drink quickly and put the glass next to the ones that needed to be rinsed. You mouthed Ten a ‘thank you’ when you picked up your order and he blew you an exaggerated kiss, making you giggle and feel a little more at ease. It was like he had known you were being nervous again.

After checking in with your other tables and earning a big tip from some truckers that actually had been really nice, you made your way back to the bar to help Kun with rinsing the glasses that had been piling up. “You remember those regulars that were coming in tonight?” the blue haired barman suddenly asked, “That’s them.” He nodded towards the door where a group of men were coming in. For a moment, your breath got caught in your throat because Ten hadn’t been wrong earlier when he said that those 127 guys looked like bikers. Honestly anyone of them could have been a model for the leather clothes they were wearing while standing in front of a Harley Davidson or thrashing something with a baseball bat. (Also was one of them wearing a metal harness beneath his leather vest?) “They’re all nice people, no need to worry,” Kun calmed you down, shooting you a reassuring smile before taking the beer glass from your hands that you had started to grip so hard, your knuckles were turning white. “How many are they?” You asked him curiously while eyeing the group as they made their way over to their designated table, greeting other regulars as well as Lucas (one of them was apparently just as incapable of having an indoor voice as him when he loudly yelled ‘Lucas’ before hugging the taller male tightly).

“Yooo, Johnny’s chestpiece looks even more sick in real life,” Lucas said with wide eyes when he came back to the bar. “Also he gave me 20 dollar so I would ask Haechan and Mark if they were even legal when they would order something alcoholic,” he grinned, “I’ll share if you do it.” “How am I supposed to know who to ask?” You asked because even though you were shy, 20 dollars were 20 dollars. “That’s the spirit,” Lucas grinned and threw an arm around your shoulders to turn you in the direction of the table where the men had sat down, not even trying to be subtle about it. “You see the one with the purple hair sitting next to the tall one with half his chest exposed? The purple haired one is Haechan and the tall one is Johnny. Mark is the one on the stool to the left, just ask Haechan for his age first, Mark will be the one to laugh the loudest,” he quickly explained. “You know them quite well,” you said, trying to fight the heat spreading across your cheeks because it didn’t happen any day that you were in such a close proximity to a handsome man like Lucas. “I went to school with Mark,” he shrugged, letting you go when Kun yelled that his order was ready.

Before walking up to their table you took another deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart, repeating in your head how no one had been mean to you yet and that all your coworkers kept on telling you how nice they were supposed to be. “Hi everyone,” you greeted them when you arrived at the table, “Have you already decided what you want to order?” Seeing the chaos that the group was already in, half of them probably didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the table. “Guys!” The pink haired man wearing the harness type thing scolded the others that were bickering in the back of the little booth on the couch. “I’m sorry, they usually behave better,” he smiled and his big eyes combined with his pink hair made him look like he came straight out of an animation. “I’m Taeyong by the way,” the pink haired man supplied, flashing you a genuine smile, “You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around before.” “Today is my first day,” you nodded, cheeks heating up under the gaze of the handsome man, nervously playing with your little notepad. “Let’s order, guys!” Taeyong said, the others slowly turning their attention towards you. How all of them were this handsome was beyond your imagination. Shyly you introduced yourself as their waiter for the night for the second time and asked for their orders. One after the other they either ordered plain beer or some really extraordinary cocktails that you had never heard of before. When the purple haired boy, Haechan, ordered his cocktail, you took a deep breath before putting on your best poker face. “Could I see your ID to check your age first?”

As soon as the words had left your lips, the whole table fell dead silent and the boy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. But before you could lose your courage to mutter an apology, the boy that had greeted Lucas loudly before, burst out in laughter, that the others minus Haechan quickly joined and even you couldn’t hold back the grin that spread over your face. “Now that I think about it, could I see yours as well?” You followed up and asked the dark haired boy with the infectious laugh, whose eyes immediately turned into saucers, his mouth wide open while the others couldn’t hold their laughs anymore, the purple haired boy joining in now. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, turning to the last man to order when they all had calmed down, using the napkins on the table to exaggeratedly wipe their tears. “What can I get you?” When the man with the dark hair that was elegantly swept back from his face turned towards you, you could swear that time stilled for a moment. His dark eyes that were accentuated with a bit of eyeshadow fixed yours and you were captivated, unable to look away. When your eyes dipped lower for a second you could see the black ink of a tattoo on the pale skin of his neck. He seemed familiar but you couldn’t quite tell why. Maybe you had seen him around on campus. But even then you should have been able to tell because that tattoo really wasn’t subtle at all. Briefly you were wondering if he could ever work a normal job with something like that. “I think I’ll just start with a beer as well,” he spoke softly, his voice a deep rumble, tearing you from your thoughts. After you had definitely stared at him for way too long than it would have been acceptable, you tore your gaze away from him, quickly scribbling down his order as well, repeating what you had written down for the others to confirm.

“Great, then I’ll be back in a bit with your drinks,” you smiled, after one of them had insisted that they should get a round of shots as well. “Can’t wait,” the tall one with the eagle tattoo on his chest said with a smirk on his lips, adding a cheesy wink that made you way more flustered than you would have liked. You quickly turned to hide your heated face, speed walking back over to the bar to put their order down. “Did you do it?” Lucas eagerly asked, bouncing up and down in excitement where he was helping to dry some glasses behind the counter. “Where’s my money?” You grinned, holding out your palm towards him. “Waaa, you really did it,” he grinned while bouncing up and down excitedly and you could barely hold in the urge to coo at him. He really did resemble an oversized puppy. You barely knew him for more than a couple of hours but he already had wiggled his way into your heart.

“Lucas, you didn’t tell us such a pretty girl would be serving us tonight,” a smooth male voice suddenly interrupted. When you turned around, the tall man from the 127 gang (Were they a gang? Did they do illegal stuff?) came walking up to the counter, leaning against the polished wood. “She’s new here, I didn’t know either,” Lucas pouted, already grabbing two shot glasses to put up on the bar top, putting the third one back down when you shook your head. You weren’t going to drink on your first day of work even though it seemed to be normal when you watched Lucas fill up the two glasses with a shady looking liquid from an unlabeled bottle he had grabbed from below the counter. Clinking their glasses together both men drowned their shots and while the tall biker didn’t even flinch, Lucas broke out into a whole body shiver, squeezing his eyes shut. “This stuff is really fucking disgusting,” he grimaced before refilling one of the shot glasses again, shoving it in front of the other man again, “I don’t know how Ten manages to make these concoctions.” Grinning, the man in question suddenly appeared and snatched the shot glass from below the other‘s fingers, drowning it himself. The blonde only grimaced a little. “I gotta say, I’ve made better stuff but also definitely worse. Lucas, we need a new keg of beer, can you please get one from the back, you’re so much stronger than I am,” Ten pouted, batting his lashes at Lucas and rubbing one of his hands over the other’s muscled arms. “Be nice to her,” Lucas told the man with the big tattoo on his chest and quickly disappeared to the back.

“I’m Johnny by the way,” he introduced himself, running a hand through his dark red hair. “So you’re the one who asked Lucas to embarrass your friends,” you remembered, your eyes getting caught on the intricate feathers of the eagle that spread its wings over Johnny’s broad chest. He smirked when your eyes came back up to meet his. “That would be me. You like the tattoo?” “It looks nice,” you mumbled, embarrassed at being caught staring, “It’s not something you see every day.” “I have some other ones that are pretty interesting as well,” he winked. “Su-Sure,” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up for what must have been the millionth time this night. “You’re cute,” Johnny laughed, the sound bright and inviting, his eyes turning into little crescents. “What did you come over for? Did I miss something on the order?” You tried to move the conversation in a direction you were a little (a lot) more comfortable with. “I just thought I could put my muscles to use and help you carry our drinks, we ordered quite a lot. Also I still owe you money for pulling that prank on Mark and Haechan. Even though their faces were priceless.” “How old are they anyways?” You asked him because you didn’t actually ended up looking at their IDs and Haechan especially did seem quite young. Digging out his worn out wallet, Johnny fished out a twenty dollar bill and teasingly held it up between two fingers. “They’re both of age, don’t worry, they just have baby faces.”

Snatching the bill from his hands, you quickly stuffed it in your pocket. “Thank you,” you grinned, relieved that it really had just been a prank between friends. “How old are you then?” You heard yourself asking after you had glanced at the tray that Ten had been filling up, but a couple of glasses were still missing. The weird cocktails seemed to take quite some time to make (Why there was celery swimming in what looked like tomato juice was a mystery to you). “Let’s pretend I’m in my early twenties,” Johnny grinned, his long fingers playing with the cherries that were stuck to the rim of one of the cocktail glasses. “Pretend?” You were confused. He couldn’t be much older than you were. “It’s improper for old men like me to flirt with such pretty young girls after all,” he winked and stuck out his tongue. “You… You can’t be much older than me though,” you argued, trying to fight your shyness back down. But your furiously beating heart was betraying you. Luckily he couldn’t notice that from his place where he was still leaning against the counter, the long line of his body perfectly shown off; his legs seemed almost endlessly long in the heavy leather pants. Chuckling, he raked his eyes across your body in a similar way you must have seconds ago but you felt like you were burning up wherever he was looking. Within the blink of an eye he was in your personal space, crowding you against the bar. “I’m 25,” he breathed, “How long do you have to work today, honey?”

Before you could even think of an answer, Johnny was shoved backwards by another man dressed completely in black. You recognized him as one of the men from Johnny’s gang, the one with the neck tattoo that had seemed weirdly familiar to you. “Leave her alone, Johnny,” he drawled, his voice barely more than a growl, “There’s someone waiting for you outside.” After a moment of heavy eye contact between the two males, Johnny scoffed and threw you another smile. “See you later, darling,” he chirped before turning towards the exit. “I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable, he doesn’t know when to stop sometimes,” the handsome man spoke, his voice still deep but way less threatening. “It’s… It’s fine you wouldn’t have needed to step in like that,” you reassured him, “But thank you.” “Yeah, I don’t know, something just didn’t sit right with me when he crowded you like that. Especially when you’re new to this type of environment, it’s pretty different from your usual job.” “My usual job?” You asked, clearly confused, “Do we know each other?” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you had recognized me,” the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he averted his gaze as if he was embarrassed. “I’m Jaehyun. You know, the dude who keeps killing his plants.” Now it was your turn to be surprised. “No way. You look so different.” “It’s the clothes, right?” Jaehyun was rubbing the intricate lines of ink on his neck, looking up from between his dark lashes, smiling shyly and now that his dimples were almost showing, you did finally recognize him.

He was somewhat of a regular customer at the flower shop you worked in during the week to help out the old lady who owned the shop, always coming in to buy new plants when he had managed to kill yet another one. Now in the heavy leather jacket with more buckles and straps than you could count, he looked so different than when he came to the shop, his dark hair fluffy so his bangs almost covered his eyes and wearing soft sweaters and jeans. You also somehow had never noticed the big tattoo that stretched around his neck.

You could remember the first time he came into the shop very vividly. It was just after your break that you had spent lazing around in the backyard of the shop in front of the little greenhouse, letting the sun shine onto your face, just basking in the moment for a bit, letting all your worries about money or upcoming exams melt away. The job at the little flower job didn’t pay very well because people these days bought less and less flowers and the old lady couldn’t afford to pay more but you couldn’t just leave her alone in the shop. You really enjoyed her presence and learning about the language of flowers and how to bind pretty bouquets. When the distant chirping of the old cuckoo clock in the shop announced the end of your break, you got up from your place and put your apron back on, so you wouldn’t accidentally dirty your clothes. You came back into the shop just in time to see the big load of new plants that was being delivered. Two boys were unloading a colorful truck while continuously bickering in what seemed to be Chinese about where to put the plants in the shop and on the sidewalk outside so people could still walk past. “Urgh, this sucks why did we let us get talked into helping out?” The one with green hair sighed after they had put the last plant down, handing the old lady the papers she had to sign that the shipment had arrived at her place. She chuckled while handing the papers back. “I’ve made some iced tea, have a little break, boys,” she smiled her kind, wrinkled smile at them, taking them to the little kitchen area in the back to pour each one of them a glass even though the smaller of them had declined her offer at least ten times while his green haired friend gladly took her invitation.

Smiling you reassured the old lady that you would rearrange the flowers and plants so you could fit them all into the shop and the small greenhouse in the back. Maybe her grandson would come in later to help you move the heavier plants. He always came to the shop to laze around without having his parents scold him and his grandmother could never say no to his charming smile that made any girl his age swoon. He had recently dyed his hair a soft pinkish shade and had been hanging around the shop a lot more because his parents weren’t quite fond of his style choices. You gently stroked the leaves of the little pink rose bushes (that had kind of reminded you of the boy in the first place) that seemed rather thirsty to you, making a mental note to water them lots after you had arranged them.

While rearranging the cut roses so you could fit the new bushes in between them, the little bell on the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. “I’ll be right over,” you said, detangling yourself from the bush you had tried to fit in the display window. “No need to hurry,” the customer answered with a deep voice. It wasn’t often that men visited your store. And most times they just wanted a quick, expensive looking bouquet to either impress a girl or to apologize to their wife. Putting on your best customer friendly smile, you walked over to where the man was eyeing some cherry tree bonsais, his broad back turned towards you. “How can I help you?” When the man turned around, he immediately politely smiled at you, making your heart beat pick up just a little. He was definitely attractive, you couldn’t deny that. His dark hair was unstyled and hung into his eyes a bit, covering his strong eyebrows that every girl would be envious over. He seemed young, about your age. The pale blue hoodie and the fluffy hair made him seem very soft and gentle despite his strong jawline and prominent cheekbones. “Well I’ve moved into a new space and it looks a little empty, so I thought some plants might be the way to fix that,” he explained, fiddling with the hem of his slightly oversized hoodie. “That’s a great idea,” you beamed, trying to seem reassuring since he seemed rather nervous, “Do you have anything special in mind?” “No, I really don’t but those roses you just put in the display window look very pretty, it’s what made me come in,” he said, motioning to where you had been fighting with the roses earlier. “Roses need a lot of attention though,” you warned him, walking over to where you had tucked the little bushes into a corner. “I have a lot of time and like a good challenge,” he answered, a grin tugging at his lips, a set of dimples just barely showing, “You’re bleeding by the way.” He added, gently touching your hand. Startled, you jerked away, heat licking at your cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, “But you should bandage that or it might get infected if something gets into the wound.” “Don’t worry, it’s not even that deep,” you concluded after examining the small cut on the back of your hand where you had lost the battle with one of the thorns. You quickly shot the man another smile that you hoped was reassuring.

“So do any of those roses look good to you?” “The pale orange ones look nice.” You couldn’t hold back a small giggle. “What’s so funny?” He asked, his beautiful brows drawn together in confusion. “The color is called peach,” you still giggled, grabbing the pot to show him the petals in the sunlight. “Well it is orange though,” he shrugged. “Men and colors,” you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips, “You like them and want to try caring for them?” “Yeah, let’s try it. Anything I should look out for?” While walking up to the cash register and ringing him up, you briefly explained how to take care of the roses the best.

“I hope they brighten up your room a bit,” you smiled when he had paid. “The visit sure brightened up my day,” he replied smiling widely, the set of cute dimples reappearing on his cheeks. Before you could overcome your sudden shyness to reply anything, he had already wished you a good day and disappeared from the shop.  

After his visit, the man had crept back into your mind a couple of times. Every time you watered the little twin of the rose bush he had bought, it somehow reminded you of his sweet dimpled smile and his deep, soothing voice. You always scolded yourself when you noticed how you were spacing out, in fact watering the floor instead of the little rose bushes how you were supposed to. (You had been made fun of by a certain pink haired boy one too many times lately.) Your boss had just smiled knowingly and pressed a little bouquet with beautiful yellow Chrysanthemums in the middle, when you had closed up the shop, making your face heat up and furiously deny everything. But like always, the old lady knew you probably better than you knew yourself.

The second time the handsome stranger had visited the shop, he had been wearing a white turtle neck and a simple denim jacket, his hair pushed back with a dark blue hat. “Hello again,” he greeted you, gently smiling when he walked up to the counter where you were currently binding a bouquet with a couple of big purple hyacinths, “I’ll have a little look around. No need to hurry that.” Even though you tried to concentrate on arranging the flowers in the bouquet and picking smaller flowers that would look good with the big center piece, you kept glancing over to the man who was sniffing different flowers, quietly sneezing when he inhaled too deeply.

“Those are really pretty,” he said after he had not so subtly watched you work for a while from his place between the brightly colored geraniums while walking up to the counter. “The man who commissioned them paid a lot of money for them to look pretty,” you smiled, gently tucking smaller white flowers all around the big purple ones in the middle. “Does it mean anything? I’ve never seen this kind of flower,” he asked, seeming genuinely interested. “You’re interested in the language of flowers?” You asked, securely tying the bouquet together, placing them in a vase for the time being. “What languages would flowers speak?” The man asked, sounding genuinely confused. For a moment you could just stare at him, his dark brown eyes widened and his mouth slightly ajar, before you burst out in a fit of giggles. “Hey! What’s so funny?” He asked, trying to sound offended but he couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his lips. “They don’t speak any language, silly. The different types of flowers mean different things. I don’t know all of it but the owner of the shop has been teaching me some of it,” you explained to him. “Ooh, that makes a lot more sense,” he nodded, “What do those mean then?” “They’re hyacinths. The man told me he needed to apologize to his girlfriend. The purple ones stand for sorrow. I doubt she will notice though.” “Probably not,” he chuckled. “What did the rose mean I bought last time? The peach one?” “I’m not quite sure, I’ll ask my boss when she’s back. What brings you back here?” “Well,” he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes, “I need a new plant, the rose was  kind of a lot more work than I thought it was.”

“Oh no.” You felt genuinely sad. You kind of had expected it not to go well but this was honestly a lot faster than you could have imagined. “I should have listened to you when you told me that they were a lot, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “But I really want to try to keep a plant alive. She looked really good for the time she was alive.” “She?” “Well I gave her a name.” You giggled again. “That’s really cute.” “Not as cute as you though.” It was suddenly so silent in the shop, the only noise the soft buzzing sound coming from the air-conditioning. You stared into the man’s eyes, expecting a his face to heat up in a similar fashion yours was, to see a blush creep up his face or his ears, but his face stayed perfectly pale, not a single blotch of color visible. But he had to be embarrassed as well if the way he was chewing on his lips was any sign. “I’m sorry, that just slipped,” he mumbled. “I… Shouldn’t you at least tell me your name before you start complimenting me like that?” You stuttered when you found your voice again. “Jaehyun,” he supplied, still awkwardly shuffling around, “It’s Jaehyun.” “Alright Jaehyun, let’s find you a new plant that’s not as easy to kill.

From that day onward Jaehyun came to the shop somewhat regularly, either announcing the death of yet another plant or telling you how they were on the brink of death and he didn’t know how it happened or what to do to save them. You were really close to either tell him to stick to bouquets or cacti but when you were being honest, you enjoyed his little visits. He’d stay longer and longer every time, telling you little stories about how he suspected that his roommates were secretly killing all the plants. In turn you told him about your boring life between your classes and your job. And sometimes you even taught him about the language of flowers while he was watching you put together a bouquet for yet another desperate boyfriend.

One visit in particular had stuck with you for some reason. Your whole day had just been bad: One of your professors had caught you slacking off in class and called you out in front of everyone, then at lunch a guy had run into you, making you drop half your food on the floor and then it had started to rain on your way to work. And if that wasn’t enough, the old lady hadn’t been feeling well because of the sudden change in weather and you had sent her off into her apartment that was above the shop, so she could rest. So now you were just alone in the shop, watching the people outside hurry past the shop with their umbrellas. When it was raining even less people were coming into the shop because you couldn’t put any plants outside that often lured people in. Sighing, you continued with the inventory that you had started out of boredom. Of course you also hadn’t brought any useful books, so you could have studied a little.

You must have been deep in thought, moping about how much this day sucked, that you didn’t hear the little bell on the door ringing. So when someone touched your arm to get your attention, you of course were startled and let out a small scream before you lost your balance on the stepladder that you had used to count the spare pots on a higher shelf. And if that wasn’t enough, you also pushed one of said pots down as well. But before you could even brace yourself for the fall, a strong arm had wrapped around you, saving you from crashing down onto the floor and possibly cracking your head open. When you opened your eyes, that you had screwed shut, you saw straight into Jaehyun’s deep brown eyes that were full of concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he spoke softly and you could feel how his voice rumbled in his chest from how close he was holding you to his body. “It’s alright, it’s my fault anyways. I wasn’t paying attention,” you sighed, slowly realizing in what kind of situation you and Jaehyun were in right now. His face was so close to yours that you could almost count every single one of his long, dark eyelashes. You could even see the faintest little blush spreading over his cheeks and your own face immediately felt hot as well.

Jaehyun just smiled and released you from his grip, gently setting the pot he somehow had managed to catch with his other hand back onto the shelf. He really must have incredible reflexes and obviously the most charming smile you had ever seen. “Don’t blame yourself, you don’t look too good today,” he spoke softly. “Wow thanks,” you sarcastically said, sighing theatrically while running your hands through your hair in an attempt to smooth it out, but probably messing it up further than it already was. “Hard day?” You snorted. Hard was an understatement. It sucked. But a little voice in the back of your head whispered that now that Jaehyun had come to visit you in the shop, it would get better. “You look like you could use a hug,” he smiled and opened his arms invitingly.

Before you could even think twice about it, you wound your arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly, burying your face in the soft fabric of his cardigan that he wore over one of his many turtlenecks. Chuckling, he grabbed the fabric and stretched it around you, so you were basically wrapped up in it against his chest, before wrapping you up in his strong arms. You were drowning in his by now familiar scent and the way his chest steadily rose and fell with his breath made all stress from your body slowly dissolve. “If you keep holding me like this I will cry,” you mumbled, trying to untangle yourself from him. “I don’t mind, you know? Sometimes you just have to cry to let all the stress out,” he assured you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t say that, I will ugly cry in your shirt,” you hiccupped, “I barely know you.” “Oh I think you know me a lot better than a lot of people,” he smiled, “It’s an old shirt anyways.” “Liar, I’ve never seen you wear this before.” “You’re keeping track?” He chuckled. “That’s not what I meant by that,” you mumbled, feeling shy suddenly because how could you not keep track when he just effortlessly looked infuriatingly good every time he walked into the shop.

“You feeling better now?” Jaehyun gently asked after you two had fallen silent, just basking in each other’s presence. He gently tilted your head back from where you had buried it in his neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” you breathed, captivated by him. You had never noticed the tiny mole he had on one of his cheeks but you found it really endearing.   “Good,” he smiled, “I brought you coffee from the shop next door.” He motioned to the two cups he had placed on the counter next to the cash register. “You have a heart of gold Jaehyun,” you confessed, a smile slowly spreading on your lips and your heartbeat picking up. You kept the thought that he probably would also make the perfect boyfriend, to yourself. Not that it would matter, you were sure he didn’t see you like that. He just played it off, laughing awkwardly like he always did when he was embarrassed. (Coming to think of it, you really seemed to know him better than you had initially thought.) “Let’s drink it before it gets cold and you can tell me more about your day,” he offered and slowly loosened his arms around you. “Can you tell me about yours instead?” You asked with a small voice. “I’d rather forget all of this stupid day before you walked in here.” “Of course, darling,” he breathed. Your heart skipped a beat before doubling its pace when the pet name rolled of his tongue just like that. Maybe there was just the slightest little chance, he might consider you more than just the friend that worked in the flower shop that he had to visit to get advice on how to not kill his plants. Smiling you loosened your grip on him as well and you two sat down on the counter, dangling your legs and sipping the slightly cold coffee while you listened to Jaehyun ramble about the mess that were his flatmates. Until this day you hadn’t figured out how many people he actually lived with but you couldn’t help but smile at the little stories he told you. And even when he stopped talking, you just enjoyed the silence while watching the people outside. And maybe it was just your imagination but the umbrellas outside seemed just a little brighter with your head resting on Jaehyun’s broad shoulder.

“I’ve never noticed your whole tattoo thing that’s going on,” you said, motioning around your own neck when you came back from your fond memories of Jaehyun. “Yeah, I try to not let it show as much usually,” he replied, almost nervously playing with the collar of his leather jacket.   “Did it hurt a lot when you got it?” “Yeah, the skin is kind of tender around your neck,” he answered, his gaze not meeting your eyes but fixating a point right behind you. “You get that question a lot don’t you?” you gently asked, fingers itching to reach out to touch him. “Yeah, it’s all people talk about when they see it,” he shrugged, “I’m used to it by now.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “It’s fine,” Jaehyun reassured you, gently grazing his fingers over your exposed forearm, making goose bumps break out over your skin. “Yes, it did hurt. No I don’t regret it. Yes I probably can’t work a normal job if I’m not wearing a turtleneck. No, I didn’t get it in prison. It was done in a perfectly sanitary tattoo shop by a professional artist. No, I’m not a criminal”, he quickly addressed every typical question he apparently got about the tattoo in a single breath, a smile spreading on his lips, making his dimples appear and your heart beat faster.

“Glad to know I haven’t been talking to a criminal over the past few weeks even though you did kill an unholy amount of plants,” you giggled, checking again if the order was ready only to find Ten engrossed in a conversation with a group of young men that were sitting at the bar, his work forgotten. “Well I guess I am guilty of that,” Jaehyun pouted and it was weirdly endearing seeing him act playful like that with his dark and intimidating clothing. “So you’re not a criminal but a biker?” “Is that what you think our group is?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “That’s what everyone told me at least. And you do look the part.” “A couple of us do have bikes, but I don’t think that justifies the title. We’re just a,” he bit his tongue for a bit, “We’re just friends. Friends who like to dress in a lot of leather and black clothing.”

It seemed to be a somewhat touchy subject so you decided to not push any further. “You don’t need to explain it to me,” you smiled reassuringly, quickly squeezing his cold hand. “Jaehyun, stop flirting with my best waitress,” Kun teased, adding the little shot glasses to the second tray that completed the order. “I wasn’t flirting, I-“ but Jaehyun didn’t complete his apology when Kun shot him a knowing look and your face heated up on his behalf because Jaehyun didn’t blush like ever. “Stop making excuses and help her carry all this back to the table,” the barman grinned, returning to his work by pulling Ten back by the hairs on his neck from where he was still talking to the handsome customers sitting at the bar. “I would appreciate some help, that’s what Johnny came over for as well,” you tried to push past the awkwardness. “Like hell he was,” Jaehyun grumbled, grabbing the one of the trays maybe a tad too forceful than he needed to, the drinks almost spilling over. “Don’t be angry with him, he was being nice,” you consoled him, gently petting his leather clad arm (wasn’t he warm in that thick jacket?). “I saw just how nice he was being,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders, “He’s such a goddamn flirt.” “Nothing happened Jaehyun,” you tried one last time, looking into his dark eyes, getting lost in the seemingly bottomless obsidian.

Only the thud of the heavy entrance door made you snap out of it and you quickly turned to grab the second tray. You hadn’t even noticed how you had gravitated towards Jaehyun, it was like his eyes had hypnotized you. “Need another pair of helping hands?” A familiar voice asked and Johnny strode over towards you two again, now with an energetic bounce in his step, his red lips curved into a smile. “We’ve got it,” Jaehyun answered, scrunching his nose as if he had smelled something bad before taking a deep breath. “Don’t wait too long, Jaehyun,” the taller said, his tone suddenly stern and his brows furrowed. “I can handle it, Johnny,” Jaehyun gritted out, shoving past the taller man to make his way over to the table where their friends were still waiting for their drinks. Sighing, you followed him back to the table. It was weird how different he was behaving with his friends around. You had never expected to meet him in any place outside of your job at the flower shop and much less in a place like this. The soft man who liked to wear denim jackets seemed to be buried beneath the heavy leather jacket.

“Here’s your drinks,” you smiled when you put the tray down to distribute the drinks. “You’re not drinking with us?” A blonde man with a scratch in his eyebrow asked when everyone had picked up their shot glasses. “It’s my first day, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you politely declined his offer. “I’m sure Ten and Kun won’t mind,” he grinned, lifting up his own glass to hand it over to you. “She said no, didn’t you hear, Yuta?” Jaehyun growled and shot his friend a dark look. Unfazed by his behavior, the blonde - Yuta - shrugged his shoulders before drowning his shot himself, not grimacing in the slightest even though the liquid had a questionable amount of alcohol in it, judging by the numbers that had been printed on the label. “But I’m sure we can treat you to something else,” he spoke, before shifting in his seat so his poorly buttoned sleeveless shirt fell open even further, revealing smooth skin that stretched over lean muscles and a promise of something metal hidden beneath. “I-“, you stuttered. What were you supposed to reply to something like that? “You’re shameless,” one of his dark haired friends chuckled, a silver chain glistening in the light when he shook his head. “It’s called confidence,” Yuta defeated himself. “Still shameless,” another one agreed, a grin on his face. “He hasn’t had a good lay in a while, don’t mind him,” Taeyong cut in, shooting you a reassuring smile. “Certainly not because I didn’t had any offers, I’m just picky,” Yuta tried to defend himself, looking scandalized. You just giggled when the other’s started picking on him. You noticed that Jaehyun didn’t join in but his posture was more relaxed than it had been before. You really wanted to thank him for defending your choice to not drink but now didn’t seem appropriate. Silently you collected the now empty shot glasses and picked the trays back up. “I’ll be back to check in with you later then,” you smiled before walking back to the counter after checking in with a couple of other tables.

The rest of the night went down in a blur safe for the one occasion where the slender Ten indeed threw out one of the customers that couldn’t hold his liquor anymore and had fallen when he had tried to walk over to the bar to order more because Lucas had already refused to bring him any more drinks. The times when you had checked in on the 127 table, Yuta had still flirted with you only to be either shot down by Jaehyun or Taeyong. You had also noticed that over the course of the night one or two of them would always leave the bar for a couple of minutes before coming back inside with a new energy and a faint blush on their cheeks. You didn’t know what they did out there but you really hoped they didn’t do drugs or anything like that. They didn’t seem as intoxicated as the other customers no matter how much they ordered. If anything Mark was getting giggly after he had come back inside but that was pretty much everything. They all must have incredible tolerance for alcohol.

When the night died down and more and more customers were leaving, Kun waved you over to tell you that you had been a great help and he would be more than happy to see you again tomorrow for your next shift. You had beamed at him and promised to do your best. “I’m sure you will. Thank you for today, I think Lucas and I can handle the remaining customers,” he told you. “What’s with Ten?” You asked. You hadn’t seen him in a while. Kun just sighed and motioned to the 127 table where Ten comfortably sat on Johnny’s lap, the taller carding through the blonde’s hair that he had freed from the little ponytail. “Are they a thing?” You were confused. Johnny hadn’t been subtle about his flirting earlier. “No one really knows,” Kun groaned, suddenly seeming very irritated, “It’s been happening more lately but last week he went home with Taeyong as far as I remember.” “Oh…” “Don’t think about it too much. I want to say that he knows what he’s doing but that would mean that he’s actually using his brain.” Somehow you thought that he sounded sad. “Just tell Ten that you like him, Kun,” Lucas groaned, running a hand through his by now messy platinum hair. “I don’t like him,” the elder gritted out, violently cleaning glasses and slamming them onto a rack to dry. “Sure and I’ve never thought about making out with any of your roommates,” Lucas teased him. “You have what?” “Never mind I said that,” Lucas mumbled, his ears turning red, before he made a beeline to one of his tables.

You chuckled quietly. “I think he’s fond of you as well,” you softly spoke after Kun had thrown another longing look at Ten who was busy admiring the eagle tattoo on Johnny’s chest. “You don’t need to console me, but I appreciate it,” he smiled but it didn’t quiet reach his eyes, “I came to accept him how he is.” “You should at least try to shoot you shout though, don’t you think?” You tried again, stepping closer to the barman to help him clean the last glasses. He sighed deeply. “I’ve known Ten for too long now, I know he won’t suddenly become monogamous just because I tell him that I might not dislike him as much as I sometimes say.” “You can never know for sure, people do crazy stuff because of love,” a deep voice joined the conversation and Jaehyun sat down on the barstool in front of Kun and you, throwing you a quick smile. “He’s right,” you smiled, briefly squeezing Kun’s hand. “If I say that I’ll think about it, will you leave it alone for now?” You eagerly nodded, looking up at Jaehyun to see if he was doing the same. Instead a smirk played on his lips. “If you give me my drinks for free, I’ll even tell Johnny to not take Ten home tonight,” he grinned, holding up his card between two fingers. “You’re paying for everyone?” Kun just gritted out, snatching the card from the other’s fingers. Jaehyun’s grin widened before he nodded. “Isn’t that going to be a lot of money?” You asked worriedly. You had never asked but assumed Jaehyun must be a student like you, so paying the whole bill for nine men (well eight if Kun was giving Jaehyun his own drinks for free) was a lot. “I lost at rock paper scissors,” he shrugged, “Are you done with your shift?”

“She is,” Kun cut in, smacking the credit card back onto the bartop, “Tell Johnny to send him home, I’m not feeding his cats again because they’re screaming for food.” “Sure. That’s the only reason,” Jaehyun joked, pocketing his card with a grin. Kun didn’t answer, instead leaving you two alone to wipe some empty tables. “Are you going home alone?” “It’s not far from here,” you reassured the dark haired man. “I’ll walk you. You shouldn’t go alone this late.” “Only if it’s not a bother for you…” “Keeping you safe is never a bother for me,” he smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you barely suppressed a shiver from how cold his hands were against your heated face. “I’ll tell the other’s not to wait for me and will wait outside for you,” he softly spoke before turning to walk out the door where his friends apparently had already left.

You quickly gathered your things and sorted out your tips from the rest of the money, putting everything back into the place that Lucas had shown you before disappearing into the staff room to stuff the money into your designated tip jar, so Lucas and you could share your tips with Ten and Kun. While you were quickly trying to fix your hair in the small mirror a very grumpy looking Ten joined you, groaning loudly. You had to suppress your smile. Jaehyun really had convinced Johnny to not take Ten home. “Men are trash, honey,” the blonde suddenly spoke, “Don’t fall for any of them.” “Did you get dumped?” You tried to act like you didn’t exactly knew what must have happened. “Can’t get dumped if you aren’t dating,” Ten chirped, smoothing out a wrinkle in his silky blouse, “But something similar.” “I’m sorry.” “No need to be darling, I’ll just annoy Kun a little more, maybe he’ll actually pop a vein these days,” he giggled mischievously. “Be nice to him, he seems like an actual sweetheart,” you said while slipping on your jacket and picking up your bag. “He is, darling. But where’s the fun in that?” Ten held the door open for you and followed you back to the main room. “Be safe on your way home.” “Jaehyun is waiting outside for me,” you admitted, suddenly feeling shy under Ten’s intense gaze. “So that’s why Johnny wouldn’t take me with him,” he grinned. “No, no that’s not it. He just offered to walk me home,” you stuttered to explain yourself. It wasn’t like what Ten thought it was, right? Oh god. Not that Jaehyun was expecting anything now. He just had asked to walk you home though. Was it a code word for something you didn’t know? “I’m sure he only has the most noble motives,” the barkeeper snickered, “Go, don’t let prince charming wait for too long.” With that he waved you off, walking over to where Kun was wiping a table to drape his body over the other’s back, probably complaining about being dumped. But Kun didn’t seem to mind a whole lot, judging by the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

After you had barely escaped Xuxi’s suffocating goodbye hug, you stepped outside into the cold night, taking a deep breath. It was quiet for a Friday night but that might have just been the time. Worried you looked around when you couldn’t see Jaehyun’s broad figure anywhere. Did he ditch you? That didn’t seem like him. Curious you looked into the little ally beside the bar where the dumpsters were. At first you couldn’t make out anything in the dark but when your eyes had adjusted, you could make out a figure, no two, in the dark. One of them was wearing a familiar leather jacket with way too many buckles and straps to be convenient. The man was clinging to the second, unmoving figure and the whole scene made Goosebumps break out all over your body.

“J-Jaehyun?” you stuttered, your bag falling from your shoulder, landing on the concrete with a soft thud. As if he was electrocuted, the man with the dark clothes shoved the limp body he was holding onto just a second ago away from him, but no sound left the other man’s lips, nor did his facial expression change in any way. “I can explain this,” Jaehyun said, his lips a deep red and smeared with what seemed to be blood and eyes wide, tinted a bright crimson. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the scream that had been stuck in your throat threatening to spill now. But before it could rip free, a palm was pressed over your lips and your body collided with Jaehyun’s solid frame. “Please don’t scream,” he whispered in your ear which made all the hairs on your neck stand up. What was happening? Why was there blood on Jaehyun? Has his eyes changed color? How did he get across to you within the blink of an eye? What was with the other person? In a panic, your eyes scanned the alleyway and another muffled scream ripped from your throat when you saw that the man was still unmoving even though he was bleeding from a wound in his neck. “Please,” Jaehyun begged, his voice sounding strained, “Let me explain this, don’t hate me.” Being pressed so close to him, you couldn’t help but notice that his chest wasn’t moving in the slightest like it should if he was breathing. What was happening? Panic began to rise inside you and you felt like you were suffocating, your lungs not getting enough oxygen with Jaehyun’s palm pressed over your mouth. Panicking, you grabbed his wrist and let your nails dig into his skin, but the skin didn’t break. Desperate, you tried to get more air into your lungs, meeting his eyes in a silent plea. “Please don’t scream,” Jaehyun repeated firmly before he slowly freed your mouth, but kept holding you close.

You heaved a couple of heavy breaths, feeling the panic slowly disappear but your heart kept beating furiously, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you dizzy. “Let me take care of this and I’ll explain everything, I promise,” Jaehyun spoke once your breathing had somewhat evened out. “I’ll release you now, don’t run away.” Your voice was still lost somewhere, so you just nodded. After confirming with a nod himself, he slowly uncurled from you and walked over to the other man who was still in a daze, staring straight ahead. “You will walk home now and not remember anything that happened from the moment you saw me approach you,” Jaehyun spoke to him, looking into his eyes intensely and if your own eyes weren’t playing a trick on you, Jaehyun’s eyes had turned a bright crimson color. He leaned into the other man again where his neck was still bleeding and when the man turned to leave and walk away, the area was clean. Instead Jaehyun’s lips were smeared with blood that he quickly wiped into his shirt. “What the fuck, Jaehyun?” You whispered, your voice sounding raw as if you hadn’t spoken in hours.

“I can explain this,” he repeated again, turning his palms towards you in surrender when he walked back over. “How can you explain this? You- That- That man was straight up hypnotized and behaved like an actual puppet. And that blood. This is crazy. I’m dreaming. That’s it right? Or someone must have slipped me something in the bar and I’m tripping right now. Because this looks an awful lot like you just sucked that guy’s blood like you’re a vampire and that’s crazy. Vampires aren’t real. And I’ve seen you walk around in the middle of the day. But then again, your hands are always cold and I couldn’t even scratch you with my nails and you have mad reflexes,” you started to spiral, the words just falling from your lips. “Hey, take a breath. A deep breath, here,” Jaehyun softly spoke, gently taking your hands and pressing the palms on his chest, taking a deep breath himself.   Even though you tried to breathe with him to calm down, you couldn’t help but notice that his fingers weren’t as cold as they had been before and that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat despite the fact that your palm was sitting right over his heart, just separated by his thin black shirt from the skin. “You… You don’t have a heartbeat,” you whispered, your eyes searching his that were a perfectly normal deep brown shade now while you pressed your palms down on his chest harder. “I don’t,” he spoke carefully, scanning your features for any changes, “I haven’t had one for a while.” “You aren’t breathing right now.” “I don’t need to. I keep forgetting.” “You… You’re forgetting to breathe?” “I usually do when I’m around humans but sometimes I forget.” “You say that as if you’re not…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, it was too absurd. “As if I’m not human myself? I’m not. Not anymore.” “Then what are you?” “You’ve said it before, I’m a vampire,” he confessed.

“A vampire…” You repeated dumbfounded. It made sense, everything was adding up but this couldn’t be the explanation. Vampires were just made up. “And the others are too, they’re my coven. That’s why I didn’t want Johnny to talk to you.” “Would he have..?” Your eyes widened and one of your hands flew to your neck, covering where your pulse was fluttering beneath the skin. “I’m not going to hurt you, I could never,” Jaehyun whispered when he saw the fear in your eyes, gently cupping your face as if to prove his point. “I like you way too much to hurt you. And I won’t let anyone of the others even lay a finger on you.” Your eyes immediately flew to his lips that were still stained red when he leaned in even closer so you would be able to feel his breath mingling with yours if he was breathing. “I really want to kiss you right now, is that stupid?” The vampire whispered. “Don’t hurt me,” you whispered back, letting your eyes fall shut. “I could never,” he breathed before brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss that send sparks through your whole body. When Jaehyun felt you relax against him, your fingers uncurling from his shirt, he kissed you again, firmer this time, wrapping his arms tight around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

When you felt your head start to get light, you gently tapped his strong chest and he immediately retreated, looking at you with a worried expression. “One of us still needs to breathe,” you giggled breathless. “I’m sorry,” he smiled, carding his fingers through your hair, just watching you breathe for a moment, losing himself in your eyes.

“I have another secret to tell you,” Jaehyun broke the silence, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “I don’t think you can shock me anymore,” you smiled back. “I didn’t actually kill any of the plants I bought. I just needed to have a reason to keep seeing you. Our house looks like a jungle.” You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning into his (not moving) chest that rumbled with his low chuckle. “You’re cute,” you smiled, snaking your arms around his waist below his jacket, somehow not even missing the warmth that bodies usually gave off. “Shut up,” he chuckled, wrapping you up in a tight hug. “You want to know something else?” You whispered into his chest after a while. The vampire just hummed, gently swaying you. “I looked up what the rose meant that you bought when you first came into the shop… You wanna know what it stands for?” Jaehyun hummed again. “It stands for immortality.” This time it was Jaehyun who was laughing, holding your body tighter to steady himself.

#jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct #nct 127 #jaehyun fic #nct scenarious #nct imagines #nct fluff

[magebastard]

think of everything you’ve got

characters: detective lane wheatley, rebecca wheatley

rating: T

word count: 1.9k

warnings: allusions and references to panic attacks, and description of a panic attack, negative mother daughter relationship

notes: this isn’t what i wanted to write! but the more i rewrote it the more i wanted to write about a confrontation! am I projecting? do I need catharsis? we’ll never know! this is lightly edited so I’ll probably reread and continuously edit it because I’m a nightmare alive

She should have known.

Lane decides on a day of romance. After a kind, if uneasy, conversation over the phone with Adam-

“I don’t want you to think I’m not taking my position seriously. I am, you know? Always.”

“That’s not in doubt, Detective. There are no pressing matters to attend to. We’re seeing a lull in cases that need our full attention urgently.”

“Though you and I both know I should be training, or in the lab, or the library or-“

“And I won’t argue that. My job is to care for the needs of the team, even if I’d recommend otherwise. Take the Saturday, Detective.”

A tense pause.

“Thank you, Commanding Agent.”

Lane would swear she’d heard a huff of laughter.

“Notify us if something comes up.”

Lane decides to treat herself to a day of being loved and cared for. A day to woo the good detective.

It starts with a long walk to the lighthouse, then a trip to see Haley for a cup of coffee, a bath with a second mug of coffee, a movie marathon that will play in the background as she restores a busted casiotone found unloved and abandoned on the side of the road with an additional two cups of coffee.

She’s halfway through coffee number three when she hears the knock.

Lane isn’t paranoid by nature. In fact, some would say she’s overly trusting. The way she cannot help but squash her face against the peephole with abject discomfort at the sound of a rapping at her door is new, and stands out in the way that it feels unnatural. She’d never had a reason to fear before.

In this moment, the new habit is one that she’s grateful for. Standing so tall with her shoulders squared so straight, stoicism and edge in equal, unsettling measure right outside of her apartment door is Rebecca. Fuck, actually.

Lane is wearing a ripped t-shirt from a pizza place in the city and paint stained utility overalls. She is winded from brushing the dust from individual keyboard keys. She is hyperaware of how sweaty she probably is, and that her apartment may look like a mess because it absolutely is one.

A showdown with Agent Wheatley was not on her agenda.

To not answer the door would be the obvious maneuver. Crouch down, not unlike a gargoyle and wait out the danger until it’s safe to move again.

The wonder of why Rebecca is here in the first place is a jarring thing.

It hasn’t been the most comfortable situation; constantly rebuffing her attempts at motherly affection. In all honesty, it’s been harrowing in just how awkward it’s made Lane feel.

She doesn’t know what was expected of her. Rebecca has made it painfully obvious over the years. All twenty seven of them. No calls, rare visits, stunted conversation, general lack of interest. Lane can read a room.

Rebecca is not her mom. She wasn’t when Lane needed her to be, she’s certainly not going to reap any of the benefits of Lane’s company now. That ship sailed.

Yet here she is, again, waiting dockside.

If there’s an emergency, surely she would have called. Surely someone else would have been instructed to call. It’s got to be something benign. Something uncomfortable. Lane could ignore this. She could ignore this and get away with it. She could and should ignore this.

Weighted moments pass. There’s a decision made and a plan already enacted to wait this out.

Lane unlocks and opens the door.

There’s a disconnect between the woman, posturing and severe in the peephole and the slight woman wearing mom jeans and the lines of a worried frown etched so deeply in her face who stands nearly hunched before her. Chalk it up to perspective. There’s a realization that no one has said a word and seconds are passing between them.

“May I come in?”

“You’re wearing jeans.”

“I am wearing jeans.”

“I didn’t know you owned jeans.”

Barely the quirk of a brow. “Some of the more delicate aspects of my private life should remain as such.”

It’s horrid and hilarious that Lane almost remembers her this way. Dry wit. Photographs of a woman who looks like her, wearing jeans. A man she cannot recognize in the countless stories she’s heard from neighbors and friends. These images and ideas of people who were her family. Ghosts.

Lane steps aside, allowing Rebecca to pass.

It doesn’t escape her, the way she assesses the space. It’s not the first time she’s been around, but the mess is new. A shuffle of furniture. Decisions to change everything made in the clawing heat of panic.

“Is something wrong?” The effort to keep impatience out of her words seems too pointed to be professional.

“I thought I’d say hello while I was close by.”

“Interesting.” There’s ease in familiarity. The breaths they take are short and punched, the taciturn ebb and flow of their understanding each other. There’s nothing polite about it and it hangs over them like a storm ready to crack open. Somehow it’s easier.

Lane wishes Rebecca had worn a suit. There is something clinical and apart about her when she wears a suit. A silhouette and an authority. Now, she’s a mother wearing jeans, with shaking hands. It’s real, that she’s here—that she’s around. It’s not supposed to be real. A drop-in from Mom isn’t supposed to level her this way. Was finding out that vampires existed this much of a revelation? She cannot remember now.

“Well, hello to you, too. As you can see I’ve got a lot going on.” Lane gestures, vaguely. “I should get back to it, so-“

“Do you need help?”

“Absolutely not,” she says it before realizing it might be cruel. Rebecca winces in a way that suggests that the suits may be the secret to her armor, after all. It’s a separate jarring thing that Lane is nearly desperate to get her out of the apartment after barely minutes.

“Look, it’s just-“ she breaks off with a heavy sigh bringing her hands to the back of her neck, gripping. “It’s my day off. I don’t want to think about work-“

“We don’t need to talk about work-“

“No.” It’s a hard line. It’s heavy in her mouth. Lane does not hold grudges. They’re exhausting and you’d give yourself less ache clinging to a barbed wire with both hands.

“I’m tired,” Lane says because it’s true in so many ways.

“Me too,” Rebecca replies and, yes, she can believe that.

This is exhausting.

“You came to say hello and then, what?” She drops her hands. “What did you want?” What do you want from me goes unsaid, again and again.

Shifting from foot to foot in the most unprecedented display of visceral uncertainty, Rebecca looks unfathomably human.

“I just want to be your Mom,” she says quietly, pleadingly, and it’s frightening—the way that Lane’s vision goes near completely white for a moment. It’s a blistering anger and her blood rushes like a rapid tide. It’s a thin sheet of ice cracking over a rolling current. She thinks she kicks a wall. She doesn’t remember.

“You can’t be!” And Lane doesn’t mean to shout. She hates feeling this way. There’s a helplessness that accompanies rage—surrendering to it doesn’t feel like a choice. Only a realization, after the fact. It’ll be disappointing to Lane, later, that her years of carefully cultivated numbness were completely dismantled by a quick check-in from Rebecca.

“Why not?” Is shouted back, like guiding breath to a lone ember. Lane begins to pace, taking short strides.

“You don’t get to choose between the child and the twenty-seven year old, you know? You didn’t choose me, then. The time, and time again of then, you didn’t call, you let me think that I—a child—meant nothing. I had to work on healing from that. I think I did an alright job.” She’s rambling. Rebecca looks about two feet tall. It hurts. It feels like she’s going to be sick but she cannot stop.

“I ended up just like you. Sometimes I think I recognize you because of that. Sometimes, I missed you so much, I couldn’t breathe.” She blinks against the burn in her eyes. Rebecca has stepped toward the door. She looks afraid. Wounded. Ready to bolt.

“I still feel like the kid standing in the middle of the street, screaming for my Mom—I still have to feel that way!” Stop shouting. Someone’s going to come check on you. You’ll have nothing to say, no way to explain yourself. Lane swallows around the pit in her throat.

“But I don’t-” she tries. “I don’t miss you. I don’t know you. I let myself be happy. You—who chose—you have to live with that.”

The paleness and thinness of Rebecca’s skin is suddenly alarming. Lane feels like a monster. Guilt coils around her in thick tendrils. Holding her.

“You have to understand-“

“You have to understand!” A heaving breath. “I didn’t choose. I never got that chance. I’m choosing now. You don’t want me. You don’t care about me. You want a second chance,” Lane throws her arms out. “I’m just a person.” Rebecca looks briefly like she wants to argue, but she sees it. Lane sees, with a painful, unmistakable clarity what she’d been equal parts terrified of and anticipating; uncertainty. Debate. Conflict. It’s reassuring and gutting all at once. The risk of being right has never had such high stakes.

“There’s no second chance. I’m an adult, with my own life. Seized and uprooted by vampires, literally, but a life that’s mine. That I found,” she lays a hand, gently over her chest. Her heart slams against her sweating palm. “I made this. It’s my choice, now.”

Her mother swallows hard. The visage of Agent Wheatley festers in terrible silence. It’s a croak when she speaks again. “Can I be here—in your life, at all?” It’s a plea. She’s begging. “Somehow?”

An open door is a delicate thing. Vulnerable, breachable, terrifying. Lane clenches her hands tightly into fists. She can be brave. Whatever she chooses, she can be brave.

“I need time. More of it.”

Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut. It’s wrenching. She looks so unbelievably small. This is the most like her Lane has ever felt.

“Okay.” Rebecca’s voice is quiet. It feels like a step has been taken somewhere in some direction. Just vague enough to be uncomfortable.

She goes after that, brittle, giving short nods as if she’s speaking a usual polished ‘goodbye’. The effect is lost in the sickly expression on her face.

Lane feels like she could be carried off by the wind. Her heart feels less like it’s beating than it’s throbbing in her chest, ready to burst. Water. She needs water.

Moving to the cupboards and the sink, her phone is a rattle in her shaking hands. She dials.

“Not that we don’t miss you terribly, but some of us are working, Detective.” Tina’s voice is bright, and warm and Lane realizes with new levity that her feet are still planted on the ground.

“I think I’m going to come in. You can head out for patrol once I’m there, alright?” There’s an understandable pause. A hint of palpable disappointment.

“You’re supposed to be taking a day for yourself, Lane.”

“I know. I was. I need to work.” She hopes beyond hope that Tina does not press for an explanation.

“Sure.” Hesitant, but final. Asked and answered.

“Thanks, T.” For so much more than I can say.

“Always. Haley’s date soon?”

Lane takes a gulp of water, lets the residual anger sit like a stone in her stomach.

“Pick a day. I’ll be there.”

The call ends with pleasantries exchanged. A new knot between her shoulders, and a faint queasiness accompany Lane as she gets ready for work.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc detective #c: lane wheatley #twc rebecca #fic #twc fic #myfic

[sageblogsthings]

to celebrate The Crimson Moon reaching 30k as of this morning, i thought that i would share the progression of the opening lines of the book, and talk a bit about how the book has grown and changed in the last year! on july 27th it will be exactly a year since i first started writing this and wow i’m not getting emotional you are aha whaaaat

*cough* anywayyysss!!

draft one: please oh god don't judge me

ok i'm not going to talk negatively about my past writing because it got me to where i am today but. [marge i am looking away meme] if you can't tell, i wrote this when i was going through the existential crisis phase of uni and just wanted to live in the woods, i say like i would not currently move to the woods in a heartbeat asdklfja

at the time that i wrote this i was really happy with it because the writing was fun and, as a result, easy! at this point i was just writing in my down time from uni, and i didn't know what the plot was or what my plans were for the book as a whole. because this was just something i did in my down time, i think my writing took on more of a conversational, stream-of-consciousness tone, and that's part of what made this draft (or start of a draft, i only got like 12k in i think) so easy to write. but eventually, as the plot started to come together and i started to gain more inspiration from sff writers as a whole, i realized that this book wasn't heading in the direction i wanted it to. it wasn't just something to do in my free time at that point, it had taken on a life of it's own. and thus, draft two began.

draft two: electric boogaloo

ngl these lines still slap and i love them. there are definitely things i would change, but these lines will be in the current draft of the book, albeit not in the first chapter and altered slightly. when i started this draft, i didn't have an outline but i had a very clear, cinematic image of how i wanted this chapter to go. i think having that before i started writing helped a looooot, both in terms of prose and just being able to convey aspects of the setting/character in the first paragraph. as i continued writing this draft though, i realized that some of the character arcs didn't make sense or were getting a bit messy, and that, based on the story i wanted to tell, it didn't make sense to start with Xalia. while there are six main pov characters in this book, Vanna really is the main character and i wanted that to be clear.

draft three: this time it's personal actually good

these are the current first lines of the book, and honestly my favorite so far! starting off with Vanna rather than Xalia definitely gives the book a different feel, and it's one that's more true to the vision i have for it. in my opinion, this opening does a much better job of setting up some of the book's themes, which admittedly i'm still figuring out lol. grief and loss are major components of all the character arcs, and are integral to the plot itself. switching to present tense has also been a LIFE CHANGER for me. it's funny because, on the second stab at this book, i kept slipping into present tense, but forcing myself back to past tense because i thought present tense sounded weird. turns out it only sounded weird because it was surrounded by past tense, and now that i've written 3 chapters in present tense i can solidly say that this is the way the book was meant to be written. it just feels like my book now, and i'm so happy with where it's headed!

i also made an outline for this draft of the book, and while i've already deviated from it somewhat to work out plot holes or increase ~foreshadowing~ in certain scenes, getting all of the events out of my head and onto paper has really allowed me to just write because i know that i have a document to refer back to if i get stuck on where the story is headed. making the outline also really pushed me to think about character backstories, most of which i had previously established, but now they've changed a lot to fit together more cohesively and integrate with the plot more clearly. i've also changed a lot of the character designs, and as a result of changing the appearances and backstories of a lot of the characters, i feel a lot closer to them and the story itself. the characters have well and truly taken on a life of their own, and now i'm kind of just along for the ride, telling their stories and loving every second of it!

ALSO!! the last big change with this draft, which i just implemented literally this morning and am so so sooooo excited about, is having first person referral, present tense mini-chapters/interludes! it gives the book a really unique sound and ties into the plot really nicely i think! i feel like the structure and form of the story are finally tying into the story itself and it's driving me insane a little bit askdfjka

as of right now i'm not ready to reveal who the pov and referral characters are in these chapters, because i'm debating between a couple ways of doing things and if i go one way that would end up being a pretty big spoiler! that being said, i got really hyped up about it earlier today and rambled in the spoilers section of my server so if you do want that sweet sweet spoilers content....join my server! ;)

also. i hope u all know that i almost deleted that first snippet about ten different times but transparency in writing and all that, i really do want to show how much this book has grown and changed! even if it's going to cause me immense psychic damage to type up the image description for this but i digress

i think that's all for now, and thank you so so much if you read all of that! the love and support this project has received and continues to receive absolutely blow me away, and i can't thank you enough for being part of the journey! <3

the crimson moon taglist (ask to be +/-)

@dallonswords | @isherwoodj | @florraisons | @aetherwrites | @childhoodlovers | @bijouxs | @ziyin | @moonhungers | @piyawrites | @avi-why | @svpphicwrites | @alicewestwater | @ladywithalamp | @spencers-tomes | @discreet-writer | @sunwornpages | @abalonetea | @the-bard-writes | @x-writes | @morganwriteblr​ ​| @aphaimaniis | @stephwriteswords | @ninazeniks ​| @araliensmagica | @fuyugomori | @ryns-ramblings | @greyjaywrites | @marimos

image descriptions below the cut

[header image description]

the background is a dark castle with a checkerboard-patterned marble floor. the hallway fades into black, with the hint of a figure standing in the doorway. white text across the image reads "The Crimson Moon" in a large, all-caps font, and below that reads "wip update post" in thin, lowercase text.

[image description for excerpt one]

I lay on my back, gazing up at the sky. The weather was absolutely perfect. I could hear the crickets singing, the birds chirping, the brook babbling, all that good poetic shit.

I came out here often, just to get away and pretend like I wasn't a part of the fuck-all society I lived in. How could humans be so ignorant? We live in a world with this, I gestured expansively in my mind at the field around me, how can we not see how beautiful it is? How perfect it is? How imperfect we are by comparison?

[image description for excerpt two]

Xalia strode down the marble halls, the soft leather of her shoes meeting each tile with a cacophony of echoes. This was not the first, second, hundredth time that she had walked these passageways, and yet the chill she felt when contained within their depths never seemed to subside. The looming corridors and billowing curtains always seemed to hide sinister whispers that breathed down her neck and pricked at the tips of her ears. Perhaps it was the High Council, with their unnerving masks and owlish eyes, seeming to know and perceive all — or perhaps it was the knowledge that every time she stalked back towards the exit, she would carry the weight of another’s life on her shoulders, a life that she had to take.

[image description for excerpt three]

Vanna’s mother always tells them that grief is a sharp, biting thing; something that latches its teeth around your stomach until you double over with the weight of it. But for Vanna, that’s not quite right. There isn’t something hidden and tucked away behind the confines of their gut because there isn’t anything there at all. As they walk towards the town well — a spell book in one hand and emptiness in the other — they think that their mother got it wrong trying to describe grief in terms of presence. Grief, to them, can only be absence. The absence of light, the absence of a smile, and the absence of a palm which had curled so perfectly into theirs.

#kit writes #arnora #atlastracking #writeblr #wip update #whoowee this sure got long #i'm just very in my feelings about this wip okay <3 #yknow those stories that grow up as you do?....yeah

[scxrlettwxtches]

a marriage story | lee minho

Genre: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers

Warnings: none, except it get a little spicy at the end ;)

Word Count: ~6.0k

Description: Your incredibly rich best friend, Lee Minho, barges into your apartment asking you to marry him. You say yes, of course, because what could go wrong?

A/N: i actually had a lot of fun writing this! hope everyone is safe amidst all this coronavirus chaos! <3 love y’all, and as always, my ask box is always open if you ever want to be friends! 

“I need you to marry me.”

Your best friend, Lee Minho, has walked into your crappy apartment spewing random shit before, but this was by far the dumbest, most crackhead sentence to ever come out of his mouth. With his Louis Vuitton coat, a thin 100% pure cashmere sweater, the very inconspicuous Gucci belt and his hand-embroidered pants, he looked almost as if he’d fallen into the wrong dimension when he stepped into your living quarters, the walls fading and all the furniture looking one push away from falling apart. 

You glanced up at him tiredly, “Don’t questions like these come with a fancy dinner? I’m feeling a little cheated.”

Minho rolled his eyes, plopping himself down across from you at your coffee table without so much as asking. Damn him. After four years of knowing each other, he walked around your apartment like he owned it.

“Is that a ‘yes,’ then?” he asked, reaching for your coffee mug to take a sip.

“It’s a ‘please tell me more ‘cause I’m confused,’” you snatched away your cup suspiciously, “And you’re not getting any of this coffee until you explain yourself.”

Minho rubbed his eyes tiredly, letting out a sigh as he began, “So, I’m getting old.”

You snorted, “Well, we all know that. Jisung’s signing you up for a senior citizen discount already.”

“Don’t be fucking rude, your elder is speaking,” he snapped as he rolled his eyes, “My parents have been trying to pair me up with these potential partners, and I’m just sick of it.”

“So, you think the solution to your problem is to marry me?” you raised an eyebrow, quietly trying to gauge whether your friend was just playing a dumb prank on you, which he was prone to doing.

Minho nodded enthusiastically, “I’ve already thought everything through, and I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“Your parents were about to flip tables when they found out you were friends with someone like me. Do you honestly think they’ll let you marry me, too?”

“Who says they’ll have any control over it?” Minho scoffed with apparent disdain, “We’ll get all the paperwork done before they even have any idea what’s going on. Besides,” he added with a troublesome gleam in his eyes, “it’s going to be absolutely hilarious to see them lose their shit over this.”

You ran through multiple scenarios in your head, and the image of Minho’s ridiculously conservative parents reacting to their top-of-the-academy, sole-inheritor-of-the-company son marrying a high school dropout that made a living by doing odd jobs was admittedly pretty funny.

“Okay,” you said, leaning towards him like you meant business, “say I actually think this is a pretty fucking wild idea and I’m down for it, what’s in it for me?”

Minho shrugged, “You’d have access to all the funds in my bank account, along with all the inheritance I’d get from my parents.”

“You really think your parents are going to keep you as the sole heir to all that cash they’ve got after the stunt you’re gonna pull?” you asked doubtfully, taking a slow sip of your coffee.

“Doesn’t matter at this point. I already hold more than half the shares of their company, which--” he added with a proud smirk, “will eventually be my company, whether they like it or not.”

You made a noise of delight, “Lee Minho, that is—without a doubt—the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

Minho rolled his eyes, “You’re such a gold digger.”

“Say it louder for the people in the back,” you grinned, and not even your best friend could hide the amused smirk on his face.

“So, are you in?”

“You mean, am I going to marry my best friend to piss off his parents and share his money?” you fluttered your eyelashes prettily, placing your coffee mug on the table with a finality as you smiled.

“Shall we sign the papers today?”

.

The real wedding was a quiet, secretive affair, done discreetly under the noses of Minho’s disturbingly watchful parents. You would think that a man who’s earned his degree in business at twenty-two and practically ran the family company by twenty-five would have some freedom, but that wasn’t the case for your best friend--or, should you say, fiancé.

Only a handful of people were in attendance. On Minho’s side, he had his best friends from the Academy, Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix, both of whom were incredibly supportive of your whole arrangement. Although they were initially against the idea of Minho getting married at all (they still held on to that high school bachelor mentality), their minds changed the moment they found out the bride-to-be was actually you.

(“Oh, then everything’s fine,” Hyunjin had laughed when Minho explained the situation, “Y/N can keep him under control.”

“She’s already been doing that since the day they met,” Felix snickered, raising a half empty glass of beer at you and Minho as he spoke sarcastically, “To the happy couple!”)

On your side, you had your most trusted sidekick, Han Jisung, who you’ve known for almost the better half of your life. Since both of you had grown up together trying to wade through incredibly trying financial situations, he was more than a little upset when you managed to snag yourself a rich husband before he did.

(“You bitch,” Jisung had spit in mock anger when you showed him your glittering diamond ring, and pointing his mug of beer at an unimpressed Minho, he wailed, “Not only did you have to get a rich husband, you had to get the hottest one, too?”)

The other person present was your lovely roommate, Bae Joohyun, who watched the ceremony with unprecedented glee. She was more than happy to keep the whole apartment to herself, kicking you out especially quickly when she found out you were in for an upgrade, not a downgrade. 

(“Where are you moving? Downtown? The mansion suburbs?” she had a smile that could send anyone on their knees groveling at her feet, “Let me know when you ever need a friend over, babe!”

“You just want to see the house, don’t you.”

“Honey,” she eyed you critically, “with the amount of money you’re going to have soon, I might just ask you to buy me the house next to yours!”)

As you stood at the altar, wearing in a short, white dress you had grabbed from a local thrift store, Minho looked fiendishly handsome in his black pants and his expensive jacket, holding both of your hands as the ceremony went on. 

The priest sped through his vows, obviously coming to the understanding that this was not your conventional wedding, “Do you, Y/N, take Lee Minho to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you shared a quick, knowing smile with your best friend.

“And do you, Lee Minho, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Forever and always,” he swore solemnly. Snickers erupted from the small audience, and you rolled your eyes, tired of Minho’s disgustingly cheesy one liners. 

Not even the priest could hide a smile as he stepped back, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Minho raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, a gesture that implied that the ball was in your court. Up to you, he spoke wordlessly, waiting for your reply. You knew that Minho never had any qualms about being overly touching with people he didn’t have feelings with, which meant a lot of one night stands and a lot of suffering on your part when you’d try to find him at parties.

To be totally honest with yourself, you didn’t not want to kiss Minho. As Jisung has said, he was the hottest wealthy bachelor on the market, and as of five seconds ago, he was also now your lawfully wedded husband. And you’d be an idiot if you didn’t reap all the benefits to the fullest.

But at the same time, this was Lee Minho. Your baddest bitch. Your #1 on speed dial. The person you’d call if you were stranded at 3 a.m. The only person you’d trust with your top secret ice cream stash. 

Would you ruin things? Would things become better than they already were?

There was no way you could know at the time, so you did what your heart told you to do, and gave Minho a small smile of consent. You saw surprise flash across his face for a split second, as if he’d expected you to refuse, but it was gone before you could even blink. 

With a gentleness you never knew he possessed, Minho moved his hand to the back of your neck pulled you towards him, his lips brushing yours in a delicate, chaste kiss. Joohyun squealed like a kid in a candy store, taking a billion pictures on her phone. Jisung let out a scandalous gasp. Hyunjin and Felix fake gagged, slipping of the pews dramatically. When Minho pulled away, he let out an awkward chuckle as he asked.

“Disappointing?”

“Yes, I want to file for a divorce immediately,” you joked, but in all honesty, your lips felt like they burned after that split second of contact, and your heart felt tight as your brain reeled.

You didn’t even know Minho could kiss like that. Not like those passionate, drunken makeouts that you’d always find him engaging in at least twice a week. 

But like he wanted it to mean something.

.

As expected, Minho’s parents flipped over heaven and hell when they recieved a beautiful handwritten invitation to your wedding, written by their dearest son. As expected, they pulled every string and every connection they had to stop the wedding, to quietly remove you from the picture. And as expected, Minho and you had already ensured that this would be practically impossible. 

The wedding was lavish, extravagant, and everything that you had not expected to be married with. Your husband booked the most beautiful cathedral in the city, hired celebrity chefs for the banquet (“Do you want Gordon Ramsay? I could get Gordon Ramsay.” “Minho, please don’t.”), ordered a custom-made cake by an award-winning baker, and to top it all off, he refused to get you anything less than the most expensive wedding dress that was available.

It felt like the whole city had attended the big ceremony, all the church pews filled to the brim to get a glimpse of who in world managed to tie the knot with the richest, most handsome bachelor in the public eye. Minho’s parents sat in the front, obviously fuming but slapping on saccharine smiles for all the press and cameras that were present. As much as they hated their son’s decisions, any negative rumors could impact the integrity of their company, and if there was anything they cared about more than reputation, it was money. 

The ceremony was as dramatic as the two of you could make it, Minho flashing his most dazzling, show-business smile and you doing your best to look absolutely enamored by his charm. When the vows were through and it was time for the big spectacle, Minho wasted no time in sliding a firm arm around your waist, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. The cameras flashed and clicked furiously, and as you responded with just as much intensity, you knew you would be on the front cover of every newspaper for the next week. Maybe even the next month.

As the two of you stood facing the audience, trying to blink out your watery eyes from all the bright flashes and loud noises, Minho’s hand around your waist loosened and turned into something more comforting than passionate. Sparing a glance at you, he broke his character for a moment to whisper worriedly.

“Is this okay?” 

You were strangely touched, because you had already agreed to everything that was going to happen from then on, and Minho wasn’t obligated to show his vulnerable, gently side to the rest of the world, even if only for a split second. But he was, just for you.

“I’m okay,” you smiled with confidence, tugging at his tie to give the crowd another spectacle to coo at as you pressed a loving kiss on his cheek. Minho looked a little startled, since you really weren’t a touchy person, but when his smile returned, it looked more relaxed, more genuine than it was before.

Then, his smile grew mischievous, and he pulled you snug to him once again as his lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Let’s give them a little more to talk about, then.”

.

“Babe, do you have a honeymoon destination that you’ve always dreamed of going to?” Minho called from the couch, making you stop in your drawing. You were working on a fanart commission from a follower on your Twitter, and you sat criss-crossed at your desk, having scribbled furiously for last couple hours.

“What honeymoon?” you frowned, putting down your digital pen and spinning around to look at your husband.

Minho blinked, “Ours, of course. Do you really think I’d let us get married without going on a honeymoon?”

“Well, I mean,” Shrugging your shoulders helplessly, you floundered over your words, “we’ve convinced the whole world that we’re in love already, right? You don’t have to waste your money on this.”

“I’m not wasting my money,” Minho said, looking vaguely offended, “I have money to spare, and I’m going to spend it on the person I care about. That’s not called wasting.”

Glaring at you pointedly before looking back down at his laptop, he continued, “I always said that I was going to take you on a long-ass vacation one day, because God knows you haven’t had one of those since you were born.”

“Didn’t need to come for my neck like that, but okay,” you muttered, under your breath.

Minho definitely heard you, but decidedly elected to ignore you as he grinned, “Since I’m now your lawfully wedded husband, I’m bonded by our vows to treat you to a honeymoon that you’ll never forget.”

You scoffed, “Where was this treatment when you’d come and eat all my cereal at 3 fucking a.m.?”

“Hey. It’s ‘happy wife, happy life’, not ‘happy best friend, happy life.’”

“Whatever, dork,” Rolling your eyes, you got up from your chair and plopped down on the couch beside him. He threw a casual arm over your shoulders and you leaned towards him to glance at the laptop. This type of touching had become natural ever since the two of you moved in together. You would say it was all just to keep up an act, but both you and Minho knew that wasn’t true.

On the screen, you saw pictures of tropical beaches, private island resorts, anything and everything that screamed luxury was there. After scrolling for a while, they all started to blend together, and you began to realize that you were a little out of your depth.

“Why don’t you just pick, Minho?” you suggested, doing your best to shirk the responsibility.

“You don’t wanna?”

You gestured helplessly, “I mean--I don’t mind---but I’m just,” you swallowed, “This isn’t really my forte. It’s yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to live this life, Minho! I could’ve never afforded any of this until two months ago, and I still don’t know the in and outs, what’s good and what’s bad,” you rambled, catching your husband off guard as he listened to you in silence, “So, I’m sorry if I’m being a little indecisive. I just don't know where to even start.”

Understanding flashed in Minho’s eyes, and to his credit, he didn’t rise up to your sudden frustrations, taking it all in without complaint. You knew he was doing his best, you knew he was trying to give you things that you couldn’t have before, you knew he was trying to make you comfortable. And suddenly, guilt flooded through your veins.

Stammering, you looked down at your legs, “Shit, Minho, that was--”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied briskly, grabbing your hands to get you to look at him, “You tell me whenever I’m being insensitive, and I’ll do the same for you. Is that fair?” 

You stared at him incredulously as you said, “You’re surprisingly mature about this.”

“Well,” he flashed the gold band on his fourth finger, something that you still couldn’t quite believe he was wearing, “we’re together for the long run, so there’s no reason for us not to set some ground rules.”

“Unless, of course,” he added hastily, risking a tentative smile, “you end up divorcing me even before our six month anniversary. I really hope you don’t, if only just to save me some face.”

Punching his chest halfheartedly, you spoke warmly, “Idiot,” you chastised, “I wouldn’t agree to something like this just to walk out on you.” Minho hummed in acknowledgement, and the two of you sat together in a warm, comfortable silence. 

“Do you have any requests, at least?” Minho finally asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

You thought for a moment, looking back to find the one crucial thing you’ve lacked throughout your life, something you’ve always wanted but could never have. A long moment passed, and as you pressed closer to Minho, you answered.

“Somewhere where I could just breathe and be away from the real world.”

Minho chuckled, his breath tickling the hairs on your face, “I’ll see what I can do.”

.

As you soon found out, Minho “seeing what he could do” basically meant a two-week vacation on a private resort island owned by one of Minho’s company partners. He lived up to his promise as well, and the travel was more seamless and relaxed than you could’ve imagined it to be. 

Following your request to be more secluded from regular life, Minho booked one of the more remote villas on the island, one that stood above the shallow ocean water, jutting out from the beaches. It was connected to the land by a short wooden bridge, and it provided you with all the privacy you needed.

Minho seemed to enjoy the vacation as much as you did, and the laptop he’d brought with him for work purposes was left abandoned in the bedroom safe. The two of you spent time out on the porch watching the tide, on the couch watching movies, or even in the crystal clear water below, splashing each other with the ferocity of two aggressive cats. 

In some moments, in some fleeting moments, when the two of you are sprawled over each other, doubling over in laughter, or when he grabbed your waist to lift you out of the water, stopping your flurry of attacks, that you genuinely felt as if the two of you were a married couple. Not a pair of best friends trying to make the best of a situation, but a real married couple. 

Of course, as antisocial as the two of you were, you were eventually dragged by your whining husband to leave the comfort of your villa and venture out to the small, tourist town near the center of the resort. Apparently, he had a meeting with the owner of this particular resort to discuss further trade deals, and because Minho was secretly a big baby, he didn’t want to go to the town without you. 

You didn’t want anything to do with the meeting; all the politics and passive aggressive forms of speech always put you on edge, so you decided to explore the town while you waited for him to finish. It was an incredibly quaint little set of buildings, mostly boutique shops and small restaurants, and you found that you actually quite liked its atmosphere. Whipping out your phone, you snapped a couple quick pictures of the town’s buildings for some artistic inspiration.

A half hour had gone by, and the island’s tropical heat had begun to get to you. Rubbing your throat absentmindedly, your eyes fell upon a bar at the corner of the road, with a quirky, lopsided sign that read, “Christopher’s Laboratory.”

Smiling at the rather original name, you made your way inside, the door ringing a bell as you walked in. There were only one or two guests sitting at random tables, which didn’t surprise you. After all, who would be at a bar in the middle of a sunny afternoon?

Deciding to sit at the bar, your eyes darted to a man that made his way from the back of the restaurant to behind the bar table, a charming smile framing his face. Being the only new customer and the only one sitting there, he stopped in front of you, leaning over the table slightly.

“Hey! I’m Chris,” he introduced himself, and you couldn’t help but be a little enamored by his strong Australian accent.

“I’m Y/N,” you answered, looking around with a smile, “This is a cute little place.” 

Chris’ smile was infectious, “Right? I built a lot of it myself, and I do have to say I’m quite proud of this baby,” Reaching for a towel beside him, he began wiping a glass absentmindedly, no doubt prepping for whatever drink you were about to order.

“Have you been on this island long?” he asked, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Ah, actually,” you blushed rather self consciously, “I’ve been here for a week or so, but we didn’t leave our villa until today.”

“We?” Chris caught the word with a knowing smirk, “Here with a lover?”

Lifting your left hand off the table, you flashed your diamond ring Beyonce style, “Married, actually.”

If Chris was surprised, he barely batted an eye, placing the glass down with a finality, “Congratulations, then. Have you decided on what you want to drink?”

“I’ll have a mint julep,” you answered, merely going to your typical drink. Not too strong or heavy, especially since you weren’t the drink-till-you’re-wasted type. That was more Jisung’s style.

“Coming right up,” your bartender got to work straight away, moving around to get all the necessary components for your order. Although you don’t frequent the bar, you could immediately tell that this man was good at his craft. Chris moved with any ounce of hesitation in his body, as if he knew exactly what to do and how to do it without any mistakes.

Already having warmed up to Chris’ personality, you decided to get to know him a little better, “So, how does one end up permanently living on a resort island?”

The man laughed as he poured a small amount of bourbon into the glass, “Good question. I’m honestly not quite sure myself, but it all started with wanting to get away from home, I guess.”

“And why did you do that?”

Chris shrugged, “Too many expectations. Too many standards. I got sick of it, so I left and just ended up here.”

“You just ended up here?” you repeated doubtfully before pointing out, “This isn’t exactly cheap real estate, just so you know.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he laughed, “I have a mini aneurysm every time any of the neighbors mention how high their down payment was,” With practiced ease, he slid your drink onto the table front of you, placing a dainty umbrella in it for good measure, “I actually won this property in a stupid bet with a good friend of mine.”

“You moved your entire life because of a bet you made with your friend?” you couldn’t believe it. This was the sort of light-footed, go-with-the-wind lifestyle that you’d always admired, always yearned for. 

Chris shrugged, “It was a nice change of scenery, and I found that I liked it more than I had originally assumed, so I stayed.”

Sipping your cocktail, took a long look at the man in front of you. He was undoubtedly handsome, but it was different from the untouchable beauty your husband held. With Chris, there was a sort of ruggedness, a sort of battle-hardened look in his eyes, like he’d done everything in the world and survived.

“Since I told you a little about myself, tell me about you,” Chris grinned, popping a beer for himself as he glanced at you intently, “I assume you just got married?”

“Yup,” you replied, rubbing your wedding ring absentmindedly, “We’re actually on our honeymoon right now.” 

“You’re staying at that nearby resort? Dang, you guys must have some serious money.”

“He does,” you clarified, trying not to sound a little bitter, “He’s got the money.”

Chris seemed to understand, becuase his brow furrowed slightly, “But if you guys are married, then it’s technically your money, too.”

“I know, I know,” you said hastily, waving your hands in denial as you looked down in shame, “He’s never showed off his money or made me feel poor or anything like that. It’s just, sometimes I can’t help but feel--”

“Like you don’t belong,” Chris finished softly, his voice gentle, “Like you don’t deserve him even if he chose you.”

Looking up in surprise, you realized that the man had grown rather quiet, his eyes faraway as if thinking back to a sad memory. Something must’ve happened to him, too, something that had to do with money, love, and disappointment. Feeling bad, you put your hand over his, trying to give him some form of comfort.

The restaurant bell chimed, breaking your moment with Chris as you whipped around to see Minho standing at the door with a dark expression. He looked tense, like a cable ready to snap, and you wondered whether the meeting had gone poorly.

“Lee Minho, is that you?” Chris called out, and your head spinned. Chris knew Minho?

The irritated expression on Minho’s face fell for a moment, as he spluttered in equal surprise, “Bang Chan?” He moved forward, as if coming to talk to the man, but then he stopped short, his expression freezing like someone had just slapped him.

Confused, you followed his line of sight, and with a feeling of utter horror pooling in your gut, you realized he was staring at your hand, the one still placed over Chris’ on the table. You know exactly what went through his head, and you couldn’t berate yourself enough for doing what you did. Now, Minho didn’t look just irritated anymore. 

He looked furious.

Giving you one last icy glare, one that chilled your heart and almost sent you to tears, he spun around, flinging the door open with hatred as you scrambled to get out of your seat.

“Wait, Minho--”

Without so much as a glance back, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving you to stand in the middle of the bar in utter shock. The thoughts in your brain were a jumbled disaster, but one thought stood out above the rest.

You had to fix this. 

Turning around to look at Chris--or Bang Chan--you began to speak quickly, “Chris, I’m sorry, but--”

“Yes, yes, go,” he replied just as urgently, looking at you intensely, “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. If I know anything about Minho, he’s just a little jealous.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. As your hand fell on the doorknob, you couldn’t help but look back and ask one more question

“How do you guys even know each other?”

An amused smile crept at the corner of the man’s lips as he answered, “You haven’t guessed yet? I won this property from Minho, all those years ago. We went to the same academy when we were young.”

The idea that Minho actually gave away expensive property on a whim felt like the most Minho thing to do, and you couldn’t help but chuckle despite the anxiety still racking your brain. With one final look, you ran out of the bar, setting off after your husband.

.

By the time you had returned to your villa, sweaty and exhausted from running around the town trying to find Minho, it was already sundown, the sky a beautiful plethora of reds, blues, and purples. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t find Minho anywhere, but you had a feeling that Minho would be in the room.

The villa was dark, much of the rooms pitch black as you searched for your husband. Then, as you made it to the master bedroom, your heart sank as you caught sight of a lumpy figure curled up in the white sheets, head turned away from you.

You knew Minho wasn’t asleep. A classic businessman, you often stayed up with him into the waning hours of the morning, and you knew Minho couldn’t physically fall asleep anytime before 1 a.m. Still, he didn’t move a muscle when you walked into the room, even though you were sure he heard you.

The bedsheets crinkled as you sat on the bed beside him, silently mulling over what to say, how you could fix this situation. As gently as you could, you brushed your hand over his shoulder as you murmured, “Minho.”

No response came for a long torturous moment, and then a voice croaked, hoarse and tired, “You finally came back.”

“Of course I came back,” you frowned, “I was looking for you.”

“Oh, really?” The poison in Minho’s tone grated against your ears, “You sure you weren’t hanging out with your lover?” 

You grew annoyed, retorting snappishly, “Okay, you need to grow up. I know you saw me holding hands with Chris, and I’m sorry about that, but--”

“So, it’s Chris to you now?” Minho spat bitterly, suddenly sitting up to glare at you, “If I didn’t find you at the bar, were you ever going to tell me anything after? Or were you just going to keep this going for my money as you run off with him?”

“Minho, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I don’t and won’t ever have any intentions of having lovers,” you said, utterly appalled by the idea, “We’re married, aren’t we?”

“Are we?” he muttered, looking down at the bed and away from your face, “You don’t need to pretend. This isn’t even a real marriage.”

It felt like a slap in the face. Flinching, you forced the unsteadiness out of your voice as you asked, “Then, why do you still wear that ring?”

Minho looked up, surprise flashing across his face as you continued, “We’ve been staying in this villa for a week now. Nobody’s here but us, and you still wear that ring every day. Why?” 

“I-”

“No. Don’t you dare say you’re pretending, because you’re not,” you seethed, all your frustrations pouring out like a waterfall, “You wouldn’t invest in my art, you wouldn’t take me to fancy restaurants or buy me pretty things on a whim, you wouldn’t have been jealous if you didn’t care, so why are you so determined to act like this marriage doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“It does!” Minho finally said loudly, and then looking ashamed that he’d raised his voice.

“Of course it means something to me,” he murmured, “But I know it doesn’t mean as much to you, and I can’t bear the thought of knowing that we’re in this for different reasons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re in this for the money, we both knew it from the start,” Minho said, looking at you tiredly, “And I have nothing against you for it. That’s how I convinced you in the first place, and it’s a perfectly reasonable reason to marry me.” 

“But,” he continued, “at the same time, I’ve always known this can’t be permanent. You’ll find someone you actually love, someone you’d actually want to marry because of them and not their money, and when that happens, I don’t want to tie you down.”

Minho laughed without humor, “I’m sorry about earlier. I really did get jealous, even though I’m in no position to. I just saw you with Chan, and you two looked so perfect together, and I just knew that I was going to lose you. I knew it would happen eventually, but I’d always hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”

“How could you say something like that?” you stammered, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, “How could you think that I just married you for the money?”

Minho blinked, “But, we’d said--”

“Fuck that,” you said furiously, causing Minho’s jaw to grow slack, “You know, for someone with two degrees from Harvard, you can be so naive.”

“Alright, there’s no need to be snippy--”

“It wasn’t just about the money,” you interupted loudly, shutting Minho up, “Yes, I was dirt poor and yes, your money was part of it, but I’d never agree to marry someone who I didn’t like as a person.”

Minho looked frustrated, running a hand through his soft, brown hair as he said, “I know you like me, Y/N. I mean, we’re best friends for fucks sake, but you’re going to find someone else, someone you care about more--”

“I care about you more than anyone else in the world,” you spoke firmly, without an ounce of doubt, “And that’s never going to change.”

For once in his life, Minho was at a loss for words. He stared at you with a mixture of awe and surprise, and then, without a moment of hesitation, he crashed his lips into yours, desperately and lovingly.

You responded, tilting your head to a more comfortable position as you crawled towards him. Minho understood your intentions immediately, and his hands pulled you onto his lap until you were practically straddling him, your body close to his. 

Neither of you could stop, his hands now roaming around your back and yours nestled in his hair. He coaxed your mouth open gently, pulling back to nibble at your bottom lip, and when you gave him access, he kissed you twice as furiously, with so much passion that one would’ve thought that this was his last day on Earth.

As his lips slowly trailed to your neck, drawing out your light gasps, you found that you wanted more. There was an unsatiable hunger that Minho had pulled out of you, and you found your hands roaming up and down his chest, now frantically trying to unbutton his loose black shirt.

It was at this moment that Minho pulled back, his lips stopping their trail of kisses down your neck as he panted, “Y/N, wait.”

You froze, immediately stopping in your task as you looked up at him, “What’s wrong?” your heart was still pounding in your ribcage, but now you were scared, slowly trying to distance yourself from Minho as you asked, “Do you want to stop? If you want, I could forget this ever--”

“Fuck, don’t you dare,” Minho said with an undercurrent of a growl as he kept you on his lap, his hands tightening as they gripped the back of your shirt, “I’ve wanted this for far too long to stop or forget.”

“Then, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he explained, now stroking your back gently to ease your visible anxiety, “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“Well, I was trying to take your shirt off,” you retorted, your face still hot and your lips swollen, “but I was rudely interrupted.”

Minho giggled, nuzzling his head into your shoulder, “Idiot, you know what I mean,” he lifted his head up to look at you again, and behind the clear desire in his eyes you could see the worry, “Please don’t do this and tell me next morning that it didn’t mean anything to you.”

You sighed. Your hands gently cupping his face, you placed a light, feathery kiss on his nose as you answered.

“Never.” 

.

a/n: maybe a pt. 2? :)

#stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #lee minho imagines #my fics

[kneipho]

Submission: @mantrabay​

--

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

#mantrabay #submission sunday #writers on tumblr #photographers on tumblr #written word #photography #submission #other #short story #fiction #original photography #a little known shortcut

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #232: And Now... Starfox!

June, 1983

“From Titan with love... Starfox!”

oh god no

Err. Anyway.

Last time on Avengers Z, the Avengers were bad enough dudes and lady dudes to rescue the president from wooden dopplegangers. The sinister and badly dressed Plantman (not to be confused with a Mega Man boss) summoned a giant-sized man-shaped swamp thing to battle the Avengers. They were doing a decent job fighting it when Starfox crashed his spaceship into it in his rush to join the Avengers.

And now, what happens after that.

Hawkeye is a terrible patient.

So also last time, a ceiling fell on Hawkeye’s leg and it be broke. He’s apparently the kind of dude who thinks its more manly to refuse anesthetic so She-Hulk has to literally pin him down long enough for Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake to cast it up.

And wow, that cast goes all the way up!

Where did you break your leg, Clint? At the sternum?

Actually this reminds me of Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes because Hawkeye got his arm snaked and in-this-version-a-paramedic Jane Foster was asked to look at it but Hawkeye was similarly uncooperative there.

I wonder if that was an intentional reference or whether an accurate portrayal of Clint’s sparking personality just gets you there naturally.

But with the casting call done, Dr. Donald Blake makes to leave, making a point to mention how lucky that he was in town instead of in Chicago where he supposedly lives.

THUS Thor’s secret identity is secure forever.

Wasp and Captain America take Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake to the elevator to show him out but really, he just transforms back to Thor in the elevator.

Because Cap and Wasp already know his secret identity. As does Dra- oh wait, he’s dead. As does Iron Man.

In fact, after Cap mentions he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Dr. Donald Blake transform, Thor mentions very few mortals have ever seen the change.

Thor: “E’en Iron Man -- with whom I did share the secret of my dual life -- seldom watched me assume my godlike form. I believe it disturbed him.’

Wasp: “Uh-huh.”

Uh-huh is right. That’s a weird, random character beat! I wonder why it bothered Tony. Is it the god part? Transformation in general? Would it bother him to watch Bruce Banner turn into the Hulk? Or Captain Marvel/old broke version and Rick Jones chaaaaange places?

I’m intrigued. And yet there’s no further information. Hmm.

Anyway, the three founding or retroactively made a founding Avengers pass through two sets of ultra-security doors because obviously the thing in your base you most want to protect is your conference table.

Its got the cool, personalized chairs. Don’t judge.

As always, I wonder what symbols the other Avengers get.

Wasp delayed the resumption of the Avengers meeting (because it got interrupted by presidential ransom situation last issue) by a half hour because she wanted to run some things past Thor and Cap.

Wasp: “After all, we are the only core members on active duty and... well... I wanted to ask you both first... should I step down as Avengers chairwoman?”

Thor asks if she feels unduly burdened by the job but she says no, in fact it makes her feel so aliiiiiiiiiiive.

Cap: “Then stick with it, Jan! You’ve been doing a fine job! What on Earth made you even think of stepping down? Surely you don’t blame yourself for Iron Man leaving -- ?”

Surely in fact, she does do.

That weird call they got from an Iron Man quitting the team has shaken her. She probably thinks its because of Wasp dumping him. And in fairness, Tony ghosting the team happened not very long after that. But its not actually related.

Also apparently, Captain Marvel (the new cool one) was made a full active member and not an in-training to fill the vacancy Iron Man left. But now Hawkeye has gotten injured and there are no reserve members available.

Hercules is off doing him knows what. Beast is with the Defenders. Wonder Man is on the West Coast, presumably trying to make it in Hollywood. Vision and Scarlet Witch are trying to be civilians.

Wasp: “We used to have too many members around. Now we may not have enough!”

Yeah, ever since the roster shake-up that was soon followed by Hank’s No Good Very Bad Day, the Avengers have had a bit of a difficulty in keeping the team at good numbers.

Dammit, Hank!

Thor suggests, hey, we have Eros of Titan hanging around asking to be made a member. Why not... let him?

Thor: “Perhaps we should induct the brash Eros! He is swift -- and nearly as strong as an Asgardian!”

Cap: “Yes, but is he Avengers material? Does he have the proper training?”

Wasp: “Training! That’s it! We could try him out as an Avenger-in-training! It worked for Captain Marvel! She was almost totally unused to super-powers when she came to us, but she developed into a peach of an Avenger! With a little on-the-job training, I’ll bet Eros would fit in, too!”

So she calls the White House and asks if the president is back from his kidnapping yet. She has networking strings to pull.

And this honestly brightens her right up. Being group leader really does make her feel so aliiiiiiiiiiive. That and being able to call in favors from the government.

Twenty-six minutes of calling in favors later, Wasp reconvenes the meeting, this time with special guest Eros.

She asks why he wants to be an Avenger.

Eros: “Why not?”

This gives Hawkeye an anger and he bangs the table and also accidentally bangs his broken leg.

Eros decides to expand on his answer and says that he’s a lover of adventure and what better way to seek it than as an Avenger? He’s already aided them in the past so they already know of him.

Thor: “Aye! Against the threat of your mad brother, Thanos!”

Eros: “Too true. But I believe your brother Loki has also given the Avengers trouble hasn’t he?”

Wasp has to interrupt and tell the two to keep family matters out of the conversation. She makes a better moderator than some.

Eros: “You are quite right, Wasp! I hold no one -- god or man -- responsible for the actions of relatives! I seek but your fellowship! Indeed, I can think of no assemblage so appealing... so charming... anywhere in the cosmos!”

Wasp, Captain Marvel, and She-Hulk seem to approve of this answer.

... WAIT ARE YOU USING YOUR CHARM POWERS ON THEM? EROOOOOOOOOOOOOS!!!

Anyway, since Hawkeye is out of action-

Hawkeye: “What do you mean, ‘out of action’? Who says I am?”

Cap(tain America) says he is and tells him he can’t be expected to charge into action with his leg in a cast. Which Hawkeye sadly agrees.

Anyway, since Hawkeye is out of action, Wasp decides that the Avengers can accomodate Eros as an Avenger-in-training. But the government did have one condition for letting his alien man become an Avenger.

He needs a codename.

Wasp: “Frankly, the president was hesitant to approve of anyone named Eros. He would rather you were called something less provocative in public.”

Hey, fuck you, Reagan.

But Wasp has an idea.

Wasp: “You’re a pretty foxy guy... and you’ve been out among the stars... how about ‘Starfox!’”

Good god, Wasp. Did you really just name this man Spacehunk? You’ve gone mad with power.

Also, I jumped the gun last post. I didn’t realize that Wasp comes up with his codename here so I was using Starfox to refer to him already.

Also also, he has a fox emblem on his shirt. Why does he do that if he wasn’t Starfox yet? What does the fox represent in Titanian culture??

Eros: “Starfox? I don’t know... Is this necessary?”

Captain America: “Well, it could make things easier, and you’d still be Eros to your friends. After all, my real name isn’t Captain America!”

Eros: “It isn’t?”

Hah.

I adore that last exchange.

Imagine the incredulity in the tone. ‘I thought that Earth names were Just Like That.’

Anyway, Eros accepts the name Spacehunk Starfox and the position of in-training so Wasp decides to get him started right away.

Remember that thing with the president and the wood men? Happened like an hour ago?

Well, there’s a Navy task force tracking the submarine which was spotted escaping from the scene and they’ve requested Avengers help. But, eh, why send the whole team?

So Wasp sends Thor, Captain Marvel, and Starfox-in-training.

And in fairness! That’s a trio that can handle a whole heck of a lot with their respective powers!

So off they go.

Starfox: “Duty and glory, Thor! Songs shall be written about this day -- even if I must write them myself!”

You know. That’s actually a very good attitude to have. Eros will be the fanfiction he wants to see in the world.

With that issue handled, Cap(tain America) and Wasp head off to take care of some other business.

Leaving She-Hulk and Hawkeye with only each other as company.

Hah.

On their way to the mission, Captain Marvel zooms all around, practicing her cornering in flight. As a new superhero... like its been under a month, I think? Captain Marvel still thinks flying is the neatest thing.

And she’s right!

But she’s also discovered a new ability. Since her energy form is made of energy and she has control over energy. Instead of flying around as a vaguely her shaped glowing blur, she can concentrate to create a light image of herself, why not!

She has made herself harder to draw but easier to portray!

Thor: “Your radiance rivals that of the golden apples of immortality!”

Captain Marvel: “I’ll have to take your word for that!”

Hah.

She zooms over to where Starfox is flying. Captain Marvel has been eyeing him throughout the book, which Wasp has been assuming was because he’s a space hunk.

But maybe she just wanted to learn more about Captain Mar-Vell because that’s what she asks Starfox about.

Starfox: “He was a gentle warrior... a noble soul. He was a true hero... Worthy of rank and name!”

I guess the description or the sadness Starfox still has at Mar-Vell’s death makes Monica feel like shit, like maybe she isn’t worthy, so she zooms ahead to let the navy know the Avengers are on their way.

Starfox: “Have I offended her?”

Thor: “Eros, I begin to wonder if your reputation with the ladies is truly deserved.”

Hah.

But also: If you have magical fuck-me powers you don’t need to actually be charming, I guess? Dammit, Starfox!

Captain Marvel arrives on the deck of the navy task force flagship as a bolt of lighting (SHAZAM!), alarming the navy in two ways.

First, lightning. Its just so loud! But second, wait the Avengers only sent one person?

Captain Marvel goes nah I got Thor and Spacehunk but they’re slowpokes. Not moving the speed of light. Imagine.

Admiring Admiral: I don’t know who the redhead is, but I’d sail into Hades itself with Thor in my crew!

Its fun the insight we get into how respected and beloved Thor is. I don’t think that’s the case anymore with modern Thor. The marvel citenzry has just become jaded to the cool hammer man.

The admiral explains the situation. That they’re chasing the submarine seen in the area of the presidential ransom attempt. But its hiding in an undersea canyon that navy frogmen kero kero can’t reach and that its somehow been deflecting depth charges.

The admiral was going to wait for navy subs to arrive but hey, if the Avengers want to try, this is their book.

Meanwhile, in aforementioned sinister submarine, the horticultural horror... Plantman! Nah, just kidding. He’s a goofus and I will point and laugh.

His cool sub lets him pre-explode the depth charges before they reach his sub but even he doesn’t want to tangle with trident-class submarines so he wants to skedaddle. And if the navy is blocking his way, the navy gotta pay.

He activates his PLANT RAY which is a real thing, look it up, and energizes the kelp in the undersea canyon.

The kelp reaches up like a kraken, a kelpken, and starts trying to pull the navy ships under.

Thor: “‘Tis an attack by yet another form of plant! Our unknown foe has struck again! Stand you back... the son of Odin shall end this threat!”

And then Thor jumps into the ocean, leading a confused Starfox to ask whether Thor needs to breath.

Captain Marvel helpfully informs him and the audience that Thor can hold his breath for hours.

Thanks, Monica!

And then some kelp yanks Starfox and then Captain Marvel off the ship.

Meanwhile, a very expensive Manhattan apartment occupied by a grumpy Tony Stark.

Tony Stark: “Why waste good money getting a T.V. remote control fixed, when I can do it myself faster an’ better? Hah! When I’m done with it, it’ll do more’n change channels... it’ll walk the blasted dog!”

... Tony, how though?

And do you have a dog?

What is going on in your mind?

His remote repair reverie is interrupted by a binging and a bonging on his chamber door. Only this and nothing more.

He grouses about the interruption but HEY ITS HIS FAVORITE PEOPLE! Its Wasp and Captain America!

They’ve been stalking him, a little.

The pressing matters they had to attend to was running down a list of homes owned by Tony and searching them one by one to find him.

He’s happy to see them though and offers them some morning whiskey. Or bourbon. Or perhaps chocolate soda.

Look, I googled eyeopener and its booze you drink in the morning to wake up although I’m pretty sure its afternoon now and if you need to drink booze to wake up, you might want to consider limiting your intake actually. Especially for Tony Stark who had an entire story arc about alcoholism. Dammit Tony!

Wasp: “Eye-opener?! Tony Stark, where’s your mind? We’ve been worried sick about you! No one’s been able to find you for days on end -- you haven’t answered Avengers emergency calls -- and when you did call this morning it was to resign!”

Tony Stark: “Now jus’ hold yer horses! Maybe I have been outta touch... but I’ve had my own ‘mergencies to handle! An’ I didn’t call you this morning! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

Iron Man: “He’s right! I’m the one who made that call!”

Imagine being someone who reads Avengers and not Iron Man. How blown would your mind be seeing Iron Man fly into a room Tony Stark is already in?

Somewhat, right? Somewhat.

Imagine being Captain America and Wasp and seeing Iron Man fly into a room where Tony Stark is when you know for sure that Iron Man and Tony Stark are the same guy.

Cap demands to know whats going on and who is in Tony’s armor.

Tony Stark: “Jus’ who he appears to be... Iron Man, my faithful armored companion and bodyguard... jus’ like it says in the Stark International press releases! Ya see, boys an’ girls, ol’ Uncle Tony has decided to quit the hero biz while he’s still ahead of the game! No more playin’ Iron Man for me! Nosirrebob! Time to let a younger man wear the boilerplate!”

Oh.... Tony.... if this only weren’t the perpetual superhero narrative, you might be able to bow out gracefully.

And its not like this is gracefully anyway. As indicated by the charmingly tousled look, the slurred speech and the morning drinking in the afternoon, Tony is quite drunk.

Wasp asks New Iron Man to confirm and he does. He clarifies that the reason he quit the Avengers is because he doesn’t feel experienced enough yet to hold his own on the team.

And apologizes for the confusion. The Iron Man helmet has voice modifying circuits so New Iron Man (secretly James Rhodes) sounded just like Old Iron Man (aka Tony Stark). He didn’t realize that the Avengers knew Tony’s secret so didn’t realize he’d just be creating an intriguing mystery prompting readers to check out the Iron Man book slash confuse the Avengers.

Tony Stark: “Yeah... I forgot to tell ya that Cap an’ the Wasp were in on the ol’ secret. Thor, too! Oh, well... no harm done!”

Then he drinks some more booze alcohol. Cap asks him doesn’t he think he’s had enough? And Tony is like hey no I don’t and don’t butt into my life kthx.

Wasp: “We don’t want to pry, Tony! We just don’t want to see you throw your life away... like Hank did.”

Tony Stark: “I am not Hank Pym, lady! I’m nothin’ like your ex-hubby! I don’t need your help -- an’ you don’t need mine! The Stark Foundation will pay the Avengers’ bills with or without me! So, if you’ll kindly get out of my life -- !”

Oof. Why does everyone Wasp dates turn out to be a jerk?

I assume she was just leaning into it the time she dated Havok. But otherwise, oof.

They really have no choice but to leave Tony to make his own bad decisions. At least he was responsible enough to get someone else in the Iron Man armor?

Geez though. Geez.

Hate seeing you like this, Tones.

Meanwhile, back in the Atlantic Ocean... Captain Marvel fairly casually assesses the situation of being dragged into the water.

Captain Marvel: “Never saw any kelp like this before! It grips tighter than an octopus, and it feels as tough as steel! I could just turn to some form of energy and slip out of it, but then it could grab some poor sailor!”

So instead she explodes, which she can do, shredding the kelp holding her.

Then off she goes to find how Starfox is faring.

He’s faring okay. Just casually punching some kelp like it ain’t no thing.

But since teamwork does make the dream work, she blasts the kelp for him. Starfox thanks her though also says that he could’ve kelped himself.

They discuss how they can hear each other perfectly well underwater thanks to SCIENCE! The science of water conducting sound. I find it a bit dubious but whatever. Not as dubious as the next bit.

Captain Marvel asks how Starfox is breathing underwater.

Starfox: “A thin shell of air clung to me as I was pulled under... due to the gravitic potential of my body, I suppose! It all relates to my flying abilities. I was surprised myself! This is the first time I’ve ever taken an ocean plunge!”

Fun way to discover that, huh!

Also, heck, how long does a thin shell of air last underwater? How shallowly do you breathe, man!?

-google- Huh, Wikipedia has this description of his powers using almost the exact words (although not the word order) from this scene. I feel that it does not come up much so this is the primary source.

It also says that he doesn’t need to breathe as much as a normal hooman. So that’s answered.

The two newest Avengers find Thor already has things well in hand freeing the propeller without need for any further kelp.

So all three Avengers surface (and Thor retrieves his helmet, which in a nice bit fell off when he dove into the water and just floated on the surface).

Thanks to ex-boat cop Monica Rambeau knowing navy semaphore, she recognizes the signal from the navy vessel that the enemy sub is making a run for it.

And since none of these three Avengers have trouble fighting underwater, Starfox suggests they give chase.

Plantman: “NO! Not the Avengers! Not again!”

Yes, again. Yes, always.

He shoots some anti-personnel torpedoes, hoping they’re enough to stop the Avengers.

“They’re not.”

Hah. I love when captions get sassy.

The Avengers soon are busting into the sub, breaking through bulkheads and coming for Plantman.

Plantman realizes that they’ll have him trapped in the control cabin in seconds. So he pulls the last resort lever that his silent partner told him to pull as a last resort.

Some manner of escape sphere forms around Plantman, launching him high into the stratosphere and capsizing the sub right on top of the Avengers.

I mean, they’re beefy. I’m sure they’ll be fine.

But no time to verify that, SCENE CHANGE.

Over on Central Park West, She-Hulk has carried Hawkeye all the way from Avengers’ Mansion to his apartment. On foot.

Dang! Mighty nice of her! Even Hawkeye points out that he could have gotten a cab.

(But do we believe that Hawkeye has money for a cab?)

After gently dumping Hawkeye on his couch, She-Hulk asks if he wants to have her stick around. She literally has nothing better to do today.

Hawkeye: “Will you get out of here and leave me alone!!”

She-Hulk huffs off in anger because this is a rude way to thank someone who helps you home.

Hawkeye even realizes that he shouldn’t have yelled “but I can’t stand to have anyone mother-hen me! Besides, I have things to do... important things!”

Yeah, Hawkeye does seem like the kind of guy who hates getting any help at all because men are self-reliant and junk. Toxic masculinityyyyyyy!

And the important things? I dunno! He calls his head of security workplace Cross Technological Enterprises and tells them to send a car for him.

That’s probably going to be a thing in another issue. God forbid it be a thing in another book. I’m not made of time. I’m still dreading West Coast Avengers where Hawkeye goes off and makes his own team. The jerk.

Okay, back to the plot.

Thor, Captain Marvel, and Starfox of course shake off a submarine imploding on their heads without much effort. Starfox is the most shaken by it. Guess the new guy isn’t used to submarine implosions lol.

Meanwhile, Plantman’s escape pod keeps escaping up, up, and away but mostly just up.

Then a prerecorded message from Plantman’s ‘silent partner’ and/or ‘mysterious benefactor’ plays.

Wizard: “Plant-Man! This is a recording. If you have been so stupid as to get yourself in a predicament where you needed to use the emergency handle, you are now hearing this message.”

“While I appreciated your aid in escaping prison, the equipment I gave you should be considered payment in full. I owe you nothing more than an explanation.”

“Thanks to my anti-gravity generators -- which you activated along with this module -- you will soon find yourself safely in orbit!”

Plantman: “In orbit!”

Wizard: “There, you will be of no further embarrassment to me or our ‘partnership’ as you so distastefully called it. You will be beyond harm... for as long as your oxygen holds out. Farewell!”

Oof. Ice cold.

Ice cold, the Wizard.

Captain Marvel phases through the pod floor to basically say the same thing.

Plantman begs her to save him from his own dumb decision making. She’s like huh look, I don’t really know about anti-gravity but I do have an idea.

Then she blows a hole in the side of the pod.

And the pressure difference blasts Plantman out of the pod, right through Captain Marvel who has turned into intangible energy.

Captain Marvel: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

HAH!

That was mean, Monica. I love it.

But as Plantman hurtles screaming toward the ground, Thor catches him and tells him to stop screaming beside.

Thor: “Cease your cowardly whining! The Avengers do not wantonly kill their foes... not even such as you!”

These days though... well... probably still not wantonly? Depending on how you define it? Maybe during War of Realms though. The kid gloves came off then.

Starfox is loving this by the way. The whole thing that just happened.

Starfox: “What grand sport! Yes, I think I’m going to enjoy being an Avenger!”

‘Ha ha we made that guy think he was going to die!’

Also, Plantman’s outfit looked green and purple in the sub. I guess it was the lighting because its just jolly green now. But its still a terrible outfit.

Meanwhile, back at Avengers’ mansion, Wasp is back from Tony Stark locating duty! She-Hulk is back from being angry at Hawkeye duty!

She-Hulk mentions that she took Hawkeye to his apartment and for a loudmouth, he has a really nice apartment.

She-Hulk: “I wish I could find a nice apartment, but I’m still getting lost in this town. I don’t know where to begin looking.”

Wasp: “Well, if you’re so set on getting a place of your own, why don’t I give you a hand?”

Wasp is going to fulfill her delayed promise to take She-Hulk apartment hunting! And hey, why not focus her efforts on a friend that will let her help?

So Wasp changes into street clothes (or since we see her shrink later, its more that she changed her Wasp outfit and put clothes over it, which is almost like getting dressed in street clothes) and takes Jen out on the town.

Apparently, the Daily Bugle has the largest section on rentals and real estate of any New York paper. I guess they need something aside from diatribes about Spider-Man to attract subscribers.

Ben Urich’s award winning investigative journalism can’t pay all the bills.

Because this is the same New York which frustrated Tigra, some idiot immediately starts hitting on She-Hulk at the newsstand.

Some idiot: “‘Ey, beeg mama! I love that green body paint! You need any help removing it? Huh?”

She-Hulk: “Stuff it, creep! Or better yet -- stuff you!”

And she puts the garbage man in the garbage can. Where he belongs. While Wasp literally looks the other way.

She-Hulk: “Sorry, Jan, I just don’t care for men with fresh mouths. This sort of thing would never happen in California.”

Wasp: “Oh, fer shure...”

That sounds like the polite way of saying ‘Doubt.’ Surely there are sexist jerks everywhere?

Sadly for the She-Hulk Apartment Hunt, her expectations are also a little LA centric. You’re just not going to find an affordable condo with a hot-tub in New York.

Wasp asks what She-Hulk has against the free rent at Avengers Mansion with its built-in sauna that they’ve apparently always had but never mentioned.

Avengers Mansion is real nice!

She-Hulk says she can’t get behind the idea of living where she works but as someone who works from home its actually highly recommended! Although, She-Hulk’s situation is more ‘firemen live in the firehouse’ so it lacks the ‘don’t have to wear pants to work’ aspect.

Then the apartment hunt is interrupted by an incoming crossover slash a stampede.

She-Hulk grabs a random panicking passerby out of the crowd and asks whats going on but he can’t give a good answer.

She-Hulk: “Hot dog! I was hoping something would happen to break up the monotony. So far, this afternoon has been a big, dull...” -THUD-

First, I love She-Hulk’s enthusiasm for punching.

Also, hey, who put thin air in She-Hulk’s way!

There’s some kind of invisible barrier right across the sidewalk.

She-Hulk instantly decides that the thing to do is to TEAR INTO THE PAVEMENT TO SEE HOW DEEP IT GOES.

Instead of, y’know, feeling to see how wide it stretches.

Wasp tries blasting thin air too but to no avail.

Despite She-Hulk reminding everyone that “at close range, your sting can knock down a wall!”

And when she really tries, a whole house.

She-Hulk: “Wasp... This is impossible! We’re Avengers! Nothing can stop us!”

Wasp: “She-Hulk... I’ve the strangest feeling it just did.”

And apparently: this is to be continued in THE ANNIHILATION GAMBIT! Which is a crossover with Fantastic Four!

Which means I actually need to pop over to an Avengers Annual first because despite running into the invisible wall (Sue, is that you?) the Avengers are doing stuff on the Moon before getting involved.

I dunno. I’ll see when I get to it.

And you will too! Provided you follow @essential-avengers​! Also maybe like and reblog? Who can say.

#avengers #Plantman #the Wasp #Captain America #Thor #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #she hulk #Starfox #Iron Man #Tony Stark #James Rhodes #we learn whats going on with iron man #starfox has a good day #hawkeye is a rude #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

[thedreadvampy]

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about disability and neurodivergence over the past couple of years (I’ve actually just now accepted a contract to freelance write a section of policy on disability and ableism for my old workplace. I have done this because I hate myself and starting a new job with 1.5x the hours as my old one JUST WASN’T ENOUGH STRESS)

and I have decided I REALLY take issue with the concept of "disabled”. like. at all. I think the construction of “disabled people” is at the root of SWATHES of what’s wrong with our society and how we treat people with specific access or wellbeing needs.

like I think it’s basically fact at this point to take a postmodern approach and accept the common framing of “people are as disabled as society makes them” ie disability is a social construct and who is disabled is purely a matter of who society isn’t willing to work around as default (the usual example is short-sightedness, which historically was a substantial disability but is barely noticeable in a society where using adaptive tech for it is normalised)

but I wanna push it further because either EVERYONE is disabled or NOBODY is disabled imo. “disabled” is a broad enough category to be fundamentally meaningless. it’s a useful umbrella term for like...people whose physical and psychological needs and personhood are often diminished, overlooked or ignored, but it’s also very arbitrary and contextual what qualifies as a disability.

which is kind of what I’m saying about person-centred parenting (which. pinch of salt I am not a parent). EVERYBODY has special needs because everybody’s needs are different. And my experience has been that positing Capital-D Disabled as a specific, blue-badge-holding, Very Serious category, and limiting your concerns about access and wellbeing needs to disabled people is: 

a) unhelpful to people who aren’t disabled per se but who benefit from specific accomodations (for a very trivial example, “having shit internet” isn’t a disability, but it’s still an access need that things like video transcripts, image descriptions and alternate communication routes will help meet) b) unhelpful to people who are “disabled-ish,” who don’t feel able to clearly identify as disabled, or who don’t know they’re disabled (which to be honest is so many of us because invisible disabilities, partial sensory or motor loss, and mental health problems make up the bulk of disabilities and those are often invisibilised or downplayed) c) unhelpful to “properly disabled” people, because it creates a huge othering effect. drawing a hard line between “normal” and “disabled,” or even imagining that that’s a line that exists, allows disabled people to be dehumanised or treated as the sum of their Tragic Suffering, as opposed to the Normal Abled People.

“Disabled” is, as I say, a useful generalisation/abstraction sometimes, but when we’re talking about actual material things (whether that’s material need or material change) it’s not a useful category. I honestly don’t think we can create a society which consistently confronts ableism while we’re trying to operate in a binary framework centred on “disabled” vs “not disabled” or “neurotypical” vs “neurodiverse”. We need to be willing to throw out the whole construction of “abled” and instead commit to handling needs without interrogating cause. 

This DOES NOT MEAN that doctors, therapists, individuals, communities etc shouldn’t try to diagnose, treat or understand conditions, or that we should throw out the idea of labelling condition groups. It just means that we need to flip how we look at it, and take a descriptive not prescriptive approach. We need to understand that these labels (whether something as broad as “disabled” or as specific as “Ehlers-Danlos type 2″) are useful as groupings, but that the function of them is to give a general idea of what issues might arise and what might help.

Every person with, say, EDS type 2 is using that to refer to the same symptom grouping, but a) they’ll all manifest, experience and describe symptoms their own way and b) they’re all individual people with other shit going on in their minds and bodies, and so what helps one of them may absolutely fuck another up. And somebody who doesn’t have EDS type 2, but who finds using a wheelchair helpful, potentially has more in common with EDS patient A (who uses a wheelchair) than Patient A has with EDS patient B (who has no mobility impairment but huge digestive problems).

And like. ok. I’m not hearing impaired but I do have audio processing issues, so subtitles are really, really useful to me. I’m not, technically, disabled in that way. it would be dodgy for me to claim I was. but it’s still super useful for me to feel able to request that. and then we have to ask - where’s the line? I’m disabled because my knees are fucked at 27. but if my knees were in this state at 80 I’d be in rude health. but if I was 80, it would still be an absolute pain in the ass to climb 5 flights of stairs, even though contextually I am healthier than expected. 

Or like...I was chatting to a pal about disability disclosure and all the little things you don’t notice affecting your life and therefore don’t report or ask for help with. I said “I have agoraphobia and there’s this like. physical resistance I have to push through to leave the house so I stand around going ‘oh no I have forgotten something’ because I’m procrastinating on having to go outside.” She said “oh I also do that but in my case it’s because I usually have forgotten something so I’m always paranoid.”

forgetfulness isn’t a disability (except when it is). and ultimately although the root is different the material impact is broadly the same. and the world is full of things we find hard that others find easy, but that may not be socially understood as disabilities. I just think we’d get a lot further if we took a solution-centred view on this. it does matter to me why I can’t leave the house, because how I handle it is affected by what the problem is. but it shouldn’t matter to eg my work why I need to give myself an extra 20 minutes to get out of the house (whether it’s agoraphobia, forgetfulness or something else) as long as we can, between us, figure out a workaround.

anyway that’s why I keep textdumping on that parenting post. because we shouldn’t have to ask “does my child have ADHD” or “is my child autistic” or “is my child trans” in order to justify finding ways for them to manage being restless, depressed, overwhelmed, manic, afraid, angry etc, or to let them wear what they feel right in and self-describe how they want to. It might be helpful to know if they’re ADHD/autistic/trans/whatever, because it can help you get ideas and resources for strategies, but it shouldn’t be necessary, and “because this thing is harmless and makes them safer/happier/calmer” is fundamentally a more important justification than “because they are autistic”

idk. treat people as people. try to do right by them. don’t build a hierarchy of Normal and Abnormal problems. just meet common needs and create space for people to express their needs without needing to disclose their whole medical history or litigate their disability status.

(TO BE CLEAR: in the current world legislation specifically related to defining disability as a protected characteristic and disabled people as at-risk/special interest groups are VERY NECESSARY. but in a world governed by an expectation of tailored accessibility and wellbeing approaches I think that necessity would at the very least be heavily reduced. and in communities trying to do more than the bare minimum to create an anti-ableist space I think the best single thing we can do is almost always to remove gatekeeping and disclosure barriers to asking for adaptations)

#none of this is stuff that hasn't been said 10000 times by people more experienced than me #but I'm just having a ramble