#I know I draw a lot of fluff but this seems more realistic lmao

[geetimesthree]

my personal season 6 prediction.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #birdperson #birdchild? #birdrick #rickperson #rick and morty season 6 #I know I draw a lot of fluff but this seems more realistic lmao

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Introducing my jaytim fanfiction series Chained!

This is the largest writing project I have ever attempted! Currently (March 29th, 2024) it sits at a length of 153,000 words published and some back of the napkin math puts the final product in the ballpark of War and Peace’s 500,000+ words. halp lmao! This post is designed to serve as an introduction to what the story is about, what my Tim and Jason are gonna be like, and what parts of canon I’m sticking to

"So, what’s the premise ya dorkus malorkus?”

Jason is set in front of a contract that will grant near omnipotence over every facet of reality. The catch is that it requires the person who actually gains the power to be permanently bound into the service of someone else. Afraid of what this could do in the wrong hands, Jason asks Tim to be his new Master.

(a picture of Jason with the halo and armor the contract grants him that I drew :3 also, have a link to the fics!)

After many hours of intense negotiations (the entire first fic in the series), they produce a subcontract designed to maintain Jason's basic rights as a person while still granting them enough power to overcome whatever whatever caused the contract to be written in the first place. Now all that's left is to destroy the evidence, win the fight, and start remaking the world in their image...

Expect to read about: extensive theological discussions complete with readings of the Bhagavad Gita, shape shifting, hijinks, Harley Quinn being a menace to society really good therapist, redonkulous amounts of time travel and time loops, murders most foul, webs of lies and deceit as Oracle works to uncover their secrets, angst, fluff, hurt, comfort, and I’m gonna stop there before I overpromise myself, turn into a puddle, and never manage to finish the damn thing, lol

The draw of the premise for me is exploring the constant renegotiation of boundaries between Jason and Tim as they navigate a truly terrible idea of a romance. This is slow burn in that it takes them a really long time to get together properly due to the aforementioned terrible idea part, but they know they’re in love very early on.

“Lay out the dynamics there hoss”

I reserve the right to fuss with these, but my intention is:

Jason/Tim = the genius fragile human made of pure spite and determination and their sentient bodyguard/servant monster who they like lowkey have a thing with. Think Integra Hellsing and Alucard.

Barbara Gorden versus Tim Drake = genius versus genius 5D chess headgames war. Think L and Light with Jason as Ryuuk. But like if Light was into Ryuuk.

Tim/Jason versus [MAIN VILLAIN SPOILERS] = warring Gods. The source of a new mythology.

Honestly, just mark down Hellsing Ultimate and Death Note animes as major influences.

“What’s a folk gotta do ta get some headcanons and characterization in this joint?”

For Tim I’m going mainly with him in his Red Robin run where he finds Bruce, blows up the League of assassins and shit like that. I love how absolutely arrogant this man is, and I find the way he struggles with the ethics of the job really neat. This version of Tim seems perfect to act as the commander: always tempted to do more, tempted to go further into the dark with power, but also having a lot of self control and dedication to doing right.

In terms of personal headcannons I am making him trans (cause I can), ADHD/Autistic (because it makes sense), and a dabbler in mild, lowkey amphetamine abuse (The coffee chugger who never sleeps of fanon intrigues me, but also caffeine kinda doesn’t do that, whereas adderall definitely does. He’ll use both stimulants as available and needed. I like a man who knows he badly overworks himself but who can’t realistically say he shouldn’t be overworking himself.)

Jason is a much harder cat to herd because writers have long been playing tug of war with his characterization, dragging him over the line to unhinged villain then back to just another bat over and over. I always like Jason, but I think he’s at his weakest at both extremes of the spectrum. He’s a good villain/antagonist in general, but a phenomenal one when he has real goals and morals. He’s a good anti-hero/tenuous ally in general, but a phenomenal one when he and the family have serious disagreements and Jason is still a killer.

I’m keeping this fic as canon compliant as possible, but there is a bare minimum amount of rearrangement necessary to make Jason consistently morally grey rather than an ethical checkers board that looks grey when you turn it sideways and squint.

Headcanons for Jason include chronic pain (I just think being blown up should screw with a guy’s nerves), trans (cause I can), and having schizophrenia (cause I see some possible canon evidence and he’s had a LOT of ableist stuff thrown his way and I don’t really like ‘well I’m not actually mentally ill’ as a resolution point to that. I am leaving it ambiguous if this has anything to do with the Lazarus Pit, but I intend it to be very unambiguous that it has nothing to do with why he has beef with the rest of the bats. His grievances are not delusions. His moral positions are not delusions. He will hallucinate and I may have him develop delusions, but he’ll also take medication for that and employ coping mechanisms like real life people with schizophrenia do. The mental illnesses are something he deals with, not something that controls him into being evil, no matter their source.)

Oh and it should go without saying that everyone has so much PTSD!

“Cut ta the chase already jabrony, give us da timeline”

Crisis on Infinite Earths, Final Crisis, Infinite Crisis, Flashpoint, Convergence, and the Rebirth changes happened in this fic's canon. We are dealing with multiple multiverses. If you’re familiar with the concept of ‘Hypertime’ used to facilitate the Elseworlds series and elaborated on during the Dark Knights: Metal stuff, I’m building off of that. If you’re not, don’t worry about it, there will be a far better explanation in the fic as the characters discover this shit for themselves.

This takes place during the "Rebirth" era of DC comics canon in a fanfic universe I made up within that canon multiverse called Earth 69. Earth 69 is my idea of what the pre-flashpoint timeline might have looked like if flashpoint never happened. Essentially I'm taking the post crisis stuff and extending it by acting as though that timeline just kept going, with plot points from New 52 and Rebirth canon welded onto the end of it. Keep in mind though, Earth 69 only coincidentally mirrors pre-flashpoint events; that canonical pre-flashpoint multiverse still exists!

Now lets go through just Earth 69′s timeline, focusing on Tim and Jason

Based on the letter Jason sends to Kid Devil, I put the year of his death as 1985. Ten years have passed since then at the start of this fic, making Tim 23 and Jason 25. The influence of alien tech and supergeniouses accelerated cultural and scientific growth such that while the fic takes place in 1995, every bit of tech and culture from 1980 to 2024 is fair game to show up. I find it fun to play around with laser turret drones and microfiche spy tactics all in the same story, so our heroes listened to My Chemical Romance on their smartphones while watching the fall of the Berlin Wall on live TV.

Batman (1940) issues #419 - #429 aka Jason’s post-crisis Robin years happen almost identically to the comics, except that Jason is a trans man and it was the Penguin that got Willis Todd locked up for life and then killed instead of Two Face. Bruce eventually finds out he’s trans and is supportive if understandably clueless. He raises Jason as his son. It’s important to me that Jason’s beef with Batman not leave either side objectively correct. Their relationship and hurts are a lot more compelling to me if Bruce isn’t transphobic.

A Place of Lonely Dying and the Robin (1993) series happen with very few deviations, with the understanding that I've read less of this than would be ideal and might get some things mixed up as I go along. Those deviations include Tim also being a trans man. Because he was looking into transition care for Jason, Bruce already knows about puberty blockers and HRT and supplies them to him. That becomes a big part of why Tim’s Dad is so freaked out by Tim being Robin. In this timeline, one of the major reasons Tim is so attached to the role of Robin is that it’s the first role in his life where he gets to be himself.

Lost Days happens as it did in comics except for two changes. Firstly when Talia sleeps with him, it's not sex, it's fully clothed cuddling and actual sleeping. I think this compromise preserves the important emotional conflict that I identified in this reading of her motivations, while sidestepping some of the problems the sex caused. The second change is that Jason won't have ended Lost Days by going to talk to Hush...

Because I HATE Thomas Elliot as a character. I hate how he was implemented. I hate that he kept showing up. I hate that they killed off Harold. I hate Hush. So it never happened on Earth 69! Instead I'll be emphasizing Tim and Jason's later fights, which have some similar emotional beats.

Now, whether or not Jason held a knife to Tim’s throat is kinda fucking important to how their relationship is interpreted! Most people, understandably, make this a serious event between the two. However, in all the comics I’ve been reading, I have seen zero characters ever acknowledge that Jason was involved. Tim hasn’t thought or said anything about it, even when it really seemed relevant. Jason technically tells Batman he did it in UtRH, but it's never brought up again and at this point it feels almost like Judd Winick tricked DC into publishing a headcanon that applies nowhere else lmao. Therefore I feel fine with just ditching this and putting more emphasis on their later fights which have similar emotional beats.

Under the Red Hood happens, with one modification. He knows about Stephanie's death and treats it with the gravity she deserves. He is targeting Black Mask because of Steph's death, and something very similar to the excellent fanfic 'hangman is coming down from the gallows' by nex_et_nox happens.

Young Justice (1998) happens, except for some of the mythological encounters. They did watch Santa get blown up, but I will be taking liberties with how the Greek Pantheon operates, and holy fucking shit, no they did not meet the goddess Kali like that, what the fuck, did no one even try to do a basic level of cultural sensitivity research?!? Anyways.

Jason does fight Batman, Green Arrow, and Mia as told in Green Arrow (2001) #69 - #72. Roy does hear about this, but he hears about it the way that Mia herself tells it when asked about it in the comic, i.e. “He didn’t hurt me. We just talked.” So he's not exactly all that freaked out about it.

Roy Harper and Jason first meet in Outsiders (2003) #44 - #46 where he helps Roy and Dick exonerate Black Lightning with no ulterior motives, as in the comics.

Teen Titans (2003) #29 (The Titans Tower fight) happens as it did in comics. i.e. It was a fair one on one fight in which both participants understood that the other was not trying to kill them and both combatants walked away with nothing more than superficial injuries. Tim came away from that with a black eye and a grudge; Jason came away from it thinking Tim was pretty alright in his book. The writing on the wall was either Jason’s own blood, or red paint, because there is simply no earthly way that was Tim’s blood.

Teen Titans (2003) in general happens to Tim, though there’s a lot that connects to Countdown to Final Crisis (which can only have happened in the canonical pre-flashpoint multiverse) that may or may not need to be edited and removed.

The combination of events from Countdown to Final Crisis and Teen Titans (2003) #47 also happens, in which Jason attempts to save Duela Dent from murder, fails, connects with Donna at her funeral, and then is interrogated by Tim and Dick who suspect Jason murdered her. Oh and also it's where Tim kicks him in the pants lol. Obviously the reason Duela died and who murdered her has to be different, but all that should be details that don't matter for the fic's purposes.

I've already mentioned that Robin (1993) was being considered canon to Earth 69′s timeline, but make special note here of issue #177, in which Tim sends Jason to jail (his first prison stint, yay :D). One modification here: Jason's plan is to manipulate the established mob families into fighting the cops, leaving the local communities to govern themselves, not to use "kid gangs" to soften up the cops and the mob like happens in the comic. Because like... the on panel plan makes no sense, either logistically or for his character, and idk why but the way the author uses the concept of “kid gangs” leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Nightwing (1996) #118 - #122 aka Brothers in Blood aka the one where Jason becomes a tentacle vore monster happens exactly as depicted in comics. Exactly. As. Depicted. Well okay not exactly, I need him to not have threatened to bomb a building full of innocent people, that is a bridge too far, but everything else stays!

The Red Robin series happens as depicted, except for how Tim got the costume. The Red Robin costume that Tim wears in the pre-flashpoint multiverse was from that multiverse’s Earth 51. On Earth 69 the Red Robin costume was what Bruce made for Jason in anticipation of him wanting to outgrow the Robin mantel one day, like Nightwing did (tho uhhh great job reframing why the Nightwing mantel exists there Bruce lmao). When Dick gave the Robin role to Damian, Tim took the Red Robin outfit for himself from it’s pedestal next to The Memorial Case. There was a considerable amount of spite towards multiple people involved in that decision.

Battle for the Cowl is where it gets trickier. I am going to gut most of the plot of BftC and combine a few plot elements from it with the Batman and Robin (2009) series in order to create a much longer lasting conflict that preserves Jason as an anti-hero and his partnership with Scarlet/Sasha as a competing vigilante force to Dick and Damian.

After Bruce’s “death” Dick super does not ever want to be Batman. No one does really. Jason hears Bruce's post-death message and is understandably fucking devastated. He decides to say fuck that noise, Bruce is gone now, and I'm gonna be Batman since no one else seems willing to do it, and I'm gonna do it my way! Another Batman running around shooting people dead forces Dick’s hand and he takes up the Batman mantel to fight him. Batman and Robin (2009) #3 - #6 happen roughly as depicted, but with Jason still claiming to be Batman, and he doesn’t have red hair. (I’m so sorry white suit + pill helmet costume, but I must leave you behind for the sake of continuity). Jason's stint in Arkham and then Blackgate happens. Batman and Robin (2009) #23 - #25 happen as depicted, minus the part where Jason rigged the entire fucking civilian tram line to explode. After Jason and Scarlet fly off into the sunset together, they come back to Gotham and keep fighting.

Sometime after he's free again he does Roy a favor. I haven't decided what exactly, but it's big. I’ve toyed with the idea that he broke him out of prison because he doesn’t want to see Liam grow up without a dad in a move very similar to the Outsiders thing and roughly analogous to how he meets Roy in Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), but that seems a lil repetitive and why would Roy even be in jail, so idk.

By this point the events of Red Robin are over and Tim has joined Dick and Damian in fighting Jason. Sometime before the climactic battle, Scarlet leaves for [FANFIC SPOILERS] reasons, so it becomes just Jason again. He goes through with something like the plan from Battle for the Cowl, luring Tim to his Batcave and offering him a place as his Robin. As in comics, Tim's answer is to pick up a crowbar and wack Jason across the face with it! Jason wins the fight and stabs Tim in the chest, knowing it's not gonna kill him, but fine with it leaving one hell of a scar! Dick's fight with Jason afterwards, and Jason jumping from the train into the harbor, happens as it did in BftC #3 with the exception of Dick wearing the Batsuit instead of Tim.

Starfire contacts Roy for help with a lengthy, off planet mission - one that absolutely needs a Bat on board. Every single Bat is up to their eyeballs in fires to put out and projects to run... except for Jason. Roy knows a lot of other Heroes with very good reasons to hate him, but in his personal experience, Jason’s always been a reliable if shady and asshole-ish guy working for the greater good. Ya’know. A Bat. It helps that they both think Bruce treats Dick like garbage sometimes and thus are inclined to be sympathetic towards Jason's beef with him. Roy vouches for him and brings him on board. They work well together, they save the days in outer space, and after a particularly dangerous mission they have a "thank fuck we're not dead" threesome together. This replaces the New 52 version of Red Hood and the Outlaws.

During the trip back to Earth, Jason confides in them about his woes and they encourage him to sort his shit out and get his life back together. Jason agrees and after considering it for a while he asks Roy and Starfire to help negotiate a truce between him and the rest of the Bats. They agree and thus begins two years of ceasefire and getting more friendly with the other Bats.

During those two years, the events of Dark Knights: Metal occur. The Source Wall is broken, and all the peoples of all the earths are plunged into a nightmare world. No one really remembers what happened, it’s all very vague and drifty, like remembering a dream, unsurprisingly. People have been referring to this event as The Nightmares.

This two year period also contains my version of Rebirth Red Hood and the Outlaws. Jason attempts to infiltrate Black Mask’s gang because the real Black Mask should be super dead and super unwilling to work with him. He’s a LOT more competent about it than in comics tho.

The biggest change is what goes down with Cobblepot. Jason’s original intention was to fake the penguin’s death and take all his power and assets from him, as he did in comics. However, he loses Artemis and Bizzaro before he goes through with that plan instead of after. At the last minute he switches the blanks out for lead. The Penguin is super dead.

He fights back when Bruce confronts him, but it's still a brutal fight and ultimately Roy has to separate them. Then Jason follows his father’s trail to the experimentation prison thing like in comics. Roy doesn’t die along the way, we don’t have the scene with Bruce at the diner, but in the end it turns out that his father is actually dead. No one survived that place. He only found boxes of dusty, decaying files, a grave out back, and Dr. Fate. Once he was convinced there was nothing more to find, Dr. Fate took him to John Constantine and The Contract, and that’s just about where our story begins!

Have another link, and I hope some of y’all enjoy what I’ve got so far!

#Damian's Tomfoolery #fanfic #jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake

[woodchipp]

People who have actually read my critique of OMORI might've noticed that I cited this particular interview as the source for several of my claims.

Today, I'm going to try and dissect that interview as well.

Given that this interview is (apparently) also meant to be a lecture on game design and writing, I believe there is a lot to unpack here.

NOTE: Reader discretion is advised. By clicking on “Keep reading”, you willingly choose to continue reading the post.

IMO, "a sense of spontaneity and randomness" does not equal the lack of a coherent plot, but hey, what do I know?

"My goal was to think very little and let my stream of consciousness flow..." Letting your thoughts flow freely is still thinking them, though. Additionally, what kind of writer advises people to think about the story they're writing as little as possible?

Yume Nikki had eerie piers and quiet trains too. This is not as innovative as she seems to think it is.

"Certain dungeons were only workshopped for only a week or even days." It seems that the game was really rushed.

Keep this in mind. It will become relevant later.

A direct manifestation of one's subconscious that progressively becomes more nightmarish and unpredictable is exactly what Silent Hill is.

I'm not trying to say that writers using previously-explored ideas in some other form in their writing is always bad, of course. However, I believe there is a signficant difference between drawing inspiration from a particular work of fiction for your own and blatantly lifting imagery/concepts from other works to fit your own story. Besides, OMORI doesn't even really put an original or interesting spin on any of the writing conventions and previously-explored ideas it features.

...Sunny's childhood was pretty much ideal, though. His life up until Mari's death is presented as such by the game. He had a loving older sister, very loyal friends and all the newest toys. Not only that, but Omocat herself has previously described Sunny's childhood as "very idealized"

[that passage is its own can of worms lmao. "MARI, the overbearing big sister" literally at what point in the game was she overbearing]

Padding out your game with extraneous fluff just so that people don't get mad about the money they poured into your project seems... rather dishonest to me.

I personally think that length does not equal quality. A game can be 20-30 minutes long and still leave an impact, as LISA: The First can demonstrate.

"The experience becomes what you make of it" reads as a very convenient way to deflect any sort of criticism towards her writing.

"If you found numerous holes in the story and were left dissatisfied as a result, that's your fault sweetie uwu"

I personally see this as laughable writing advice. If you build the foundation of your story on the highly subjective and nebulous Vibes™ while giving little to no consideration to the logistics, your story is going to be a hot mess.

If "there are limits", OMORI's writing doesn't seem to have any. Judging by how thoroughly it permeates the plot, "Feels before reals" could be reasonably taken as Omocat's writing philosophy. There doesn't seem to be any underlying sense of thematic or narrative cohesion to anything that happens in the story other than the aformentioned Vibes™.

As I've detailed in my critique, this "writing philosophy" can be seen in the character writing as well. The game sends the message that Aubrey's hurt feelings are of more importance than the real harm she inflicted on Basil by bullying him, and then undermines its own message of "acting like grief affects only you is selfish" by implying that Sunny and Basil's feelings about their involvement in Mari's death matter more than the real harm they have inflicted on their friends by remaining silent about the real reason she died for 4 years.

I can see her point - that "realistic" horror is way scarier and hard-hitting than something blatantly fictional - and I can agree with that. However, I can't call a panicked 12-year-old improvising a multi-step plan to cover up a murder "a believable circumstance" by any measure.

I suppose that the horror of a beloved family relative unexpectedly committing suicide due to severe and deep-seated mental issues they hid for a long time was too unrealistic of a scenario to explore.

She comes off as... mildly self-aggrandizing here. "yeah Link and Red are assumed to be self-inserts but MY silent protagonist isn't like the other girls 😤"

"actually he thinks a lot" literally where? what little crumbs of narration the player happens to get from both Sunny and Omori are incredibly basic. even Frisk felt more defined as a character than Sunny and Omori do despite having a minimal backstory and similarly staying silent at all times

Not only did Aubrey snoop through her friend's personal belongings while he wasn't looking, she subsequently disowned him and then started bullying him with her new friends because she assumed the worst of him and instantly believed her own assumption without giving him a chance to explain himself.

Man, isn't she just awesome?

Note the casual admission that Kel exists purely for the sake of being a plot device.

Amusingly, this also seems to (inadvertently?) imply that Kel wouldn't be needed at all if Sunny was an actually interesting character in his own right.

There's a single easily-missed bit of flavor text about Mari coming home tired because she's been attending cram school.

That's it.

Even if Mari's perfectionism is supposedly "present in other places", it's still not given enough focus to feel like a substantial and consequential character flaw.

...well that becomes rather uncomfortable in hindsight. man, imagine if Mari treated Sunny the same way Omocat seems to have treated some of her employees

As mentioned in my critique, this reads like a very convenient way to shield Basil from any criticism regarding his decision to stage Mari's death as a suicide.

Loneliness, insecurity and "very deep emotions" are not an excuse to tamper with a corpse.

You'd think such complexity would've been reserved for Sunny, the main protagonist himself. Apparently not.

"...These characters are so loveable! How can I get other people to see how wonderful they are too?"

Note the phrasing here. It's not even something along the lines of "I dearly love those characters, and I hope you will love them too!" She's stating that the characters are loveable and that she wants to get other people to see how wonderful they are, as if it is an objective truth.

I suppose that's the reason the characters seem to feel so shallow upon scrutiny - the game just assumes that you'll fall in love with them on sight and thus doesn't bother putting in the work to make them compelling or even remotely believable.

The game literally makes you look through Basil's photo album three times over the course of the game. In fact, Basil outright spells out that the album is supposed to be "proof of [their] friendship!" And that's not even mentioning Memory Lane and the DUET animation, which are essentially the game forcing the player to look through the photo album two more times.

Remember when I said that the game seems to have been rushed?

It actually was. OMORI was released on December 25, 2020, so there is no way Omocat didn't put herself and her team through insane crunchtime that year in order to get the game out as quickly as possible. In fact, she seems to confirm this when she follows all of this up with

The game she's asking you $18 for is essentially a rough draft.

Oh, and by the way, the total amount of funding OMORI received via Kickstarter was $203,301.

Make of that what you will.

#omori #omori game #omori critical #omori sunny #sunny omori #omori kel #kel omori #omori aubrey #aubrey omori #omori basil #basil omori #omori mari #mari omori

[sunieepo]

Tbh that post abt "what ships did u go from indifferent to hating bc theyre impossible to avoid" is Almost relatable to me bc (1) yeah

But also (2) just bc smth is everywhere isnt going to make me hate it lmao, i hate what i hate regardless of what other people do or like. ive really never liked this attitude ppl have abt intentionally disliking smth just to be petty/spiteful, kinda weirdchamp that u care so much what other ppl like (or dislike, it goes both ways) that u would warp ur entire opinion of smth off of that alone ngl

realistically if i like a character a lot and its Impossible to find content of them without seeing them in a ship, i just tolerate it and rb the posts anyways bc i just rly need more content of Character regardless (this is me with a lot of female characters i like where ppl keep drawing them with Men and i have to just Tolerate it...) (this is me rn with Artemy and how 80% of the posts are Burakh/ovsky, a ship i am okay with but not crazy abt but i need more images of Artemy so i dont care)

tbh i think the issue is moreso the way its a broader fandom trend to force characters into ships even when it rly doesnt suit them... i remember when mp100 s1 was big and before serizawa got introduced, ppl shipped eku/rei just bc theyre both the only adult guys and it was like ??? to me 😭 like idk i feel like ppl literally cant seem to engage with media without making a ship from it!!! and the worst is when they twist the two characters' personalities just to be able to fit a ship trope... i really dislike that!

i Will concede that i can understand the original post a bit more if it comes to ships that are just like. outright gross. like omg i love handsome jack sm but i Hate that whenever i go into his tag i have to wade through so much fluffy rh/ack shit. it actually drives me nuts like Girl what are u doing this is not a fluff ship handsome jack abused rhys... 😶

idk i just wish ppl cared less what other ppl like. i know ppl who do this but its the opposite; they intentionally will openly like smth more just bc everyone else hates it and its like ??? why do u care so much LMAO just like what u like man. kinda weird but at the end of the day its ur life and its none of my business but Damn its crazy seeing how many ppl rly do think like that 😭

#sunie posts

[cottonblush]

excalibur | ljn

❧ word count: 10,079

❧ genre: fluff because that’s literally all i know how to write lmao

❧ notes: the way that jeno is so pure and precious i couldn’t stop smiling when i wrote this,,, ugh HIS POWER! once again, tysm kp for the feedback! i hope this version is a lot better:)

❧ moodboard

The heat of the forge is something that used to bother you, but after spending almost a decade at Ulric’s Forge, your skin has developed into a shield of sorts. The heat of the thousand-degree flame no longer dries out your eyes and you can proudly say the sparks that fly off the forge feel no stronger than a bug bite. Over the years, you’ve developed into a strong and independent woman, or as strong and independent as a woman could get in such medieval times. You’ve gained the respect of most of the men at the forge, though it took walking into a sleeping dragon’s lair to convince the oldest blacksmith, Cedric, that you’re tough enough to make it at Ulric’s. The whole ordeal was worth it because not only did you gain respect, but also a family. The guys at the forge are people you can trust with your life, people who have your back. A specific instance is when your single father passed away during one of the many wars that swept the nation. You were only ten years old at the time, but your father worked at the forge and no one hesitated to bring you in and teach you the trade.

Speaking of which, your specialty is swords. You’ve always been fascinated with them and figure that if you could keep on developing better weapons, people would be able to defend themselves better and fewer people would die; fewer children would be left without their fathers. You’ve slowly amassed a reputation for making quite strong and dependable swords as well as new types of swords. You’ve actually been testing out designs for a curved sword and are currently working on one, hand repeatedly striking hot iron, when you’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You look up from your work, eyes traveling across the figure standing in front of you. The young man, Na Jaemin, is a famous sorcerer who holds a lot of power in the kingdom. He also happens to be a close friend since birth. He’s squinting due to the immense heat coming from the burning coal, but even then you can see his pleading eyes and you can tell he’s about to ask you for a troublesome favor.

Your premonition is correct as Jaemin is asking you to make him a sword mere seconds later. It needs to be perfect, he says; if possible, it needs to be more than perfect. The weapon needs to be made out of the most durable material and has to be able to cut straight through stone. When you ask who it’s for⁠— Jaemin has never even touched a sword in his life and doesn’t plan on it since he fights with his “superior magical prowess"⁠— you’re told that the sword will be for the new king. Instantly, your brain comes up with a barrage of questions. Has the new king already been selected? Why do you have to be the one to make it? And realistically speaking, couldn’t Jaemin just conjure up one in the blink of an eye?

Jaemin answers all of your questions fast enough that you’d think he read your mind, but you know he didn’t because the two of you agreed he wouldn’t after he tried to once, found out about your first crush, and subsequently teased you about it for months on end, receiving a cold shoulder in return.

"I guess I should specify that it’s not just for the future king but for the selection of the future king. Of course, I could conjure a sword since I am that powerful, but I could only make a generic sword. You guys are the ones who can experiment with designs and materials. And before you complain, it has to be you. You might not be the best or most experienced, but there’s intention behind what you do. Your hopes and dreams are passed down into every single one of your creations. I can feel it. There’s no one else I know who would fit the job better.”

“Not even Johnny? He may only have two years of experience under his belt but he’s quite the prodigy when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Not even Johnny.”

You groan externally, but your insides are bubbling with excitement. You’ve never said no to a request unless you knew it was going to be used for something immoral. Plus, you’re sure the reward for this sword is quite hefty. However, you try to keep a serious façade because you know Johnny and Woojin would mock you by copying whatever sentiment you express except at a higher decibel. You place your hands on Jaemin’s shoulders, his smooth robe feeling strange and foreign under your rough, weathered palms, and steer him out of the forge. The smoke and heat are clearly starting to take a toll because once he gets outside, he wheezes so hard you would think he’s had weak lungs since birth.

“Leave it to me,” you say, hand coming up to wave him goodbye as you tell him you’ll give him an update after two weeks.

Returning to your forge, you spread out the coals, allowing them to cool down at least a little bit before turning your attention to the notebook in your bag. You pull out the old leather book and take a seat on a stool, propping your chin up on your hand and ignoring the dull pain of your elbow digging into your thigh. You flip to a new page, paper feeling slightly unpleasant against your hands that have had the moisture sucked out of them by the dry heat. Making a list of all of the possible metals you can use and the combinations you can try, you also draw in a column on the side and give each an individual score based on practicality, weight, cost, and durability. However, you don’t do any eliminating yet as you never know which metals you may need for the design you end up choosing.

You head out to talk to your suppliers, asking each if there are any new alloys that have been made or if any new materials have been discovered. Most say the same, scratching their chins and going down the same list of precious metals and steel mixes. You’ve just about given up hope and are walking back to the forge dejectedly, feet gently kicking up small clouds of dust along the rocky path. At the last minute, something catches your attention in the outermost corner of your peripheral vision. There’s a cloaked figure resting against one of the trees of the forest that borders the market. You don’t know why but it feels like the person is calling to you so you turn back, taking hesitant steps toward them.

“Excuse me,” you call out. “I’m looking for different precious metals and materials that can be used in a sword. They have to be really strong, though. Do you happen to know where I can get any? I already have a sufficient supply of iron so I’m not really looking for that.”

The voice that responds is just a little over a whisper, like a gentle breeze tickling the shell of your ear, but you can hear the response clearly, “I can get you what you need, but it’ll be pricey.”

Your eyes light up and you almost skip over to the mysterious figure, grabbing a hand to shake. The action startles the stranger, causing their shoulders to shoot up and the loose hood that covers their face to fall down behind them. A sharp breath escapes your mouth as your hand releases theirs and raises so your fingers are ghosting over your lips. Your soft petals are parted in shock from the sight before you, a light pink flush spilling over your cheeks. It turns out that this mysterious person is not an actual person, but a faerie. The young man before you is the first of his kind you have seen and it is truly a shame because he is breathtakingly beautiful in an understated type of way. His hair is a pink that appears softer than even the freshest of tulips and his ears are small, dainty, and pointed at the top.

“You’re a faerie,” you breath out, partly in shock but mostly in awe.

The faerie, who introduces himself as Renjun, does not try to deny it. He explains that his kind usually prefer to keep to themselves, but he has personally had an interest in humans for as long as he can remember. Renjun also adds that the metal that he has access to is something that only faeries know about, so it will truly be one of a kind in the human world.

When you ask him why he is so eager to offer up something that has been kept secret for so long, Renjun admits that he was spying on Jaemin earlier and happened to hear your conversation. He says that if he plays a part in making the future king’s sword, perhaps the ruler will offer them protection from any future enemies and faeries will finally be able to rejoin the human world. Overall, his explanation seems legitimate enough so you decide to make a deal. You’ll pay him as much as you can for it, and you’ll also find him someone who’s willing to show him around the world beyond the borders of Avalon.

In the meantime, you return to the forge and plan to test out different materials for the hilt of the sword and for new creations as well. As you hammer into different kinds of metals, you think to yourself with a soft smile that this really is something you can see yourself doing for the rest of your life. The aspect of discovering something new is something that you constantly yearn for and through this job, you’ll be able to meet new people and constantly learn new techniques.

You’re so lost in thought, the thick smoke wafting off the glowing hot coals also seeming to cloud your mind as well, that you don’t even notice that you have visitors. There are three men standing at the entrance, eyes drifting around and taking in their surroundings. They’re tall and lanky, disinterest seemingly tattooed onto each of their faces. The man in the middle starts to saunter around, perking a brow at anything that brings the slightest bit of interest. The other two that flank his sides walk over to one of the other blacksmiths in the forge, Jinyoung. Your eyes go back to the anvil you’re working on, noticing your steel bar has gone cold and you need to place it back in the flames.

The bar has regained its bright orange glow when you pull it out, aligning it against the surface of the anvil. You bring your hammer down several times, each hit precise and filled with purpose.

A voice interrupts you as you’re flattening out the steel rod in order to make a handle, “What are you making there, sweetheart?”

You grit your teeth at first, rolling your eyes and hoping if you ignore this guy then he’ll eventually leave you alone. Unfortunately, that’s not the case as he just begins to pester you even more.

“Are you sure you can handle that? Want a strong guy like me to help you out?”

Having had enough, you look up to the man and meet his eyes, this time striking down your hammer with an unnecessarily excessive amount of force. The irritating and unwanted visitor visibly stiffens, intimidated and surprised by your display of strength, and backs off. He walks backwards slowly, eyeing you warily as he rejoins his friends.

You can vaguely hear him saying, “Jinyoung, where did you guys find that weirdo? She’s scary strong, for a girl anyway.”

You smirk to yourself, but then you look down and notice that you’ve used so much strength in that last blow that you’ve accidentally broken the hammer you were using. It’s your favorite hammer, especially efficient in flattening surfaces and absorbing some of the impact so it creates less of a strain on your wrist. You doubt anyone has one that’s just like yours, but you decide to ask around anyway. Unfortunately for you, no one you know seems to have it. But there is one person you have yet to ask. He’s wearing goggles to protect his eyes as he gets up close and personal with whatever he’s working with. You don’t recognize him so you figure he’s new around the forge, but you might as well give it a shot and ask him. Walking up to the man, you wait for him to finish with whatever he’s doing before clearing your throat.

"You don’t happen to have a hand hammer just like this one, do you?”

The man takes off his goggles and repositions them on his smooth forehead, eyes scanning over the broken hammer you’re holding in your hands. He thinks for a moment, fingers leaving their place on his cold chisel to drum against the wooden table he’s leaning against, before rummaging through his own tools.

“Sorry, I don’t have one; I just have chisels and maybe two or three hammers,” he says, voice softer and calmer than you were expecting.

You nod slowly, shoulders slumping slightly in dejection as you rock back and forth on your heels and contemplate what to do next.

“Hey,” you start, “are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

The man, who had turned back to face his own forge, jumps a little in surprise, probably not expecting you to continue the dialogue.

“N-No. I mean, yes! I just joined around a month ago but I haven’t really taken the time to introduce myself to everyone so I guess it’s my fault no one recognizes me.”

You laugh and wave him off, assuring, “Don’t worry about it! It gets kinda busy around here so I totally understand. I’ll make sure you’re invited to our next group trip to the cavern. I’m Y/n, by the way. What’s your name?”

The young man reveals his name to be Lee Jeno, smiling a warm smile at you and waving slightly.

“Well, Jeno, it’s certainly nice to meet you. Anyway, since no one has the kind of hammer I’m looking for, I might as well go visit the market. Even though I just got back from there.”

You whisper the last part but even in the midst of the chaos of the forge, Jeno still manages to catch what you say. He hesitantly offers to come with you, wanting to check out the different stalls to see if they have any new hot chisels for him to use. The two of you walk side by side on the familiar dirt path that leads from the forge back to the center of town. You take the time to observe the man beside you. Your eyes start by sweeping over his figure and taking note of his impressive height compared to your own and how his slightly tanned skin seems to glow under the sun. Jeno is looking ahead, deep pools clearly reflecting his surroundings. You’re pretty sure if you squint, you could check out your own reflection. When his head starts to turn towards you, you snap your head forward, acting as if you weren’t just checking him out.

Your companion asks, “So how old are you? I’m nineteen.”

“Eighteen,” you respond, “but I’ve been working in the forge since I was ten, so I actually have more experience than some of the older guys. My dad used to work in the forge as well.”

“That’s really cool. I was actually in training for something else before I joined Ulric’s. But I really like it there. Everyone’s like one big family.”

“Exactly! I’m glad you feel that way too. Don’t forget that if you ever need anything, you can come to any one of us and we’ll be glad to help.”

Jeno’s lips curve upward into a smile and you can’t help but notice how his eyes form the shape of a crescent moon as if they too are smiling. He’s about to express his gratitude towards you when you’re interrupted. A guy, a stranger to you, walks up to Jeno and wraps an arm around his shoulders, punching him lightly in the side with his other hand. Jeno seems to recognize the two because he offers them the same kind smile you received moments before.

“Hey, Jeno! How’ve you been, dude? Still pursuing that pipe dream of yours?”

Jeno tenses up beside you and you start to notice that his smile wasn’t the same genuine smile to begin with. His lips are stretched thin and his jaw is taut. You can tell this man is Jeno’s old friend, but even so, you won’t stand for the way he acts.

“Jeno’s actually a really good blacksmith, for your information,” you say in your companion’s defense. “He’s probably the best person in our forge to go to for detailing.”

The stranger, who deems you unworthy of knowing his name, decides to ignore you and take a step back to look at Jeno, giving him a once over. He narrows his eyes in scrutiny and looks like he’s about to continue his attack on Jeno’s already meek personality when a second person joins the conversation.

“Oh! Jeno, is that you? It’s been forever!”

A girl, rather a beautiful young lady, runs up to the three of you, throwing her arms around the man she called out to. Her voice is light and airy, like a wind chime on a calm summer day, and her long hair flows down to her hips, curling ever so elegantly. She has flowers laced in her hair and her gown is made of a rich red satin, not a stain to be seen. She’s everything you’re not and even you have to admit that you’re stunned by her beauty. When she lets go, her eyes flicker toward you, as if just noticing you for the first time.

She asks, now blatantly staring at you, “Who’s this?”

“She works in the forge. We just came to the market to look for new tools.”

The girl’s expression lights up, no longer deeming you a threat, and introduces herself, “Oh, hello! I’m Yoona, Jeno’s friend. My brother, Yonghee, and I have known Jeno since we were little kids.”

The way Yoona says the word ‘friend’ has a bitter tinge to it and you can instantly recognize the crush she’s harboring for Jeno. However, Jeno is completely unaware, eyes nervously darting about. You’ve had enough of it and decide it’s time to go, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward a stall that you know to have high-quality tools.

You call out behind you, “It was really nice meeting you, Yoona, but we’re in a bit of a rush right now. Maybe we can talk some other time.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, instead turning a corner and going into the alley where the shop is located. You step in, welcomed by the cool air of the building. Realizing you still have a hold of Jeno’s wrist, you let it go and turn to look at some of the sledgehammers on display. You expect for Jeno to do his own thing and look at the chisels since you know that’s what he came with you for, but you find him following you like a little duckling follows its mother. His attention is not on you, but on the hammers resting in a display case. He runs his fingers along each one, grabbing some to see how they would feel under his hands.

He asks you and the shopkeeper, “What would be the best hammer for a beginner? I hate to admit it but I’m really not that strong yet, so I’d like something easier to maneuver.”

The shopkeeper leads the two of you to a section with smaller hammers, stating that they’re lighter, though they’re not as strong. Jeno raises a brow towards you as if asking if he should purchase one or not. Of course, you’re not one to say no and if he has the money for it, you don’t see the harm. Not long after, the two of you are walking back to the forge, both having purchased a hammer. Jeno stops in his tracks, free hand coming up to rub at his other arm.

He clears his throat and says, gesturing to his newly acquired hammer, “Actually, I was wondering if you could teach me how to use this properly.”

Of course, you agree, eager to share your passion. However, you want to add something else, eyes stuck on the way Jeno’s figure seems to cave into itself.

“Why aren’t you more confident in yourself?” you ask.

You don’t mean it offensively. It’s just that Jeno lets himself be bossed around so easily. He’s too nice for his own good. He explains that he’s just always been this way and he doesn’t really see anything to be confident in. You don’t know why but your heart throbs at his words. Can’t he see that he’s worth more than the value he’s placing upon himself? You want to help him, though you’re not sure how. Contemplating it for a few moments, you come up with the beginnings of an idea: you’re going to help Jeno get in shape. You think maybe if he feels more confident in his figure, he’ll start standing up for himself.

Introducing the idea, you watch as Jeno plays with the idea for a bit. Eventually, he agrees. He admits that although he’s not sure it’ll help with his self-esteem, it won’t hurt when it comes to his work in the forge.

There's a clearing in the forest by the forge that you two decide to meet at. It's not big, probably a circle with a diameter no more than fifteen feet, but it'll do for what you have in mind. It's rather calm too, the bustling sounds of the townspeople completely out of earshot and the thick smoke of the forge nowhere to be seen. Trees surround you, tall enough that several families of birds have built nests, their chirps and calls echoing sonorously. And yet, they're short enough that the sun's rays can clearly filter through.

You arrive first, setting down your canteen and satchel against the trunk of one of the trees along the perimeter. You've brought two swords from the forge with you, one light and one heavy but both blunt; you're not aiming to damage anything. You hold the lighter sword out as soon as you see Jeno approaching. He takes it, features morphing to show his surprise at how easy it is to wield.

"It's for beginners," you explain. "I made it myself, actually. Just for you, so consider yourself lucky."

Starting with basic drills, you teach Jeno how to dodge and parry with the correct stance. He practices against a still target at first, blade making small cuts along the thick trunks of the tall trees. The young man is making quick progress and soon you decide he's ready to start practicing with you. You take it slow at first, repeating the same exercises that you had him do with the trees, except you shift your weight from one foot to the other, bouncing back and forth. Jeno tires easily and you can understand why. The heat in the forge is strong and dry, but this summer day is humid, beads of sweat lining both of your foreheads. The sound of heavy breathing fills the air as the two of you slump down against the trees.

"Is it always this hard?"

Your eyes flicker up to look at Jeno as he practically wheezes out his question. You tilt your head back and let out a laugh.

"No, I promise it's not. But have you ever really worked out before?"

The man sighs and hangs his head in shame, causing you to laugh once again. You reassure him that it's okay but you think it'd be good for him to work on building muscle too. His expression is distraught but you can tell he's joking from the way his lips are twitching, a hint of a smile peeking through.

"Take off your shirt," you say.

Jeno splutters, surprised by your sudden request, "W-What? Wait, like right now?"

"Yes, now. I want to see what I'm working with if we’re going to bulk you up. Don't worry, I don't bite."

You're teasing him, but you do want to see his physique without the blacksmith apron or baggy shirt he always wears. He slowly peels off his shirt, sweat causing it to stick to some parts of his back and arms. You're not shocked when met with the sight of an outline of ribs and a flat stomach. However, you're pleasantly surprised when you see that he already has some definition in his biceps from working at the forge and his shoulders are actually quite broad. His skin is fair but still has a healthy tan, and you have to stop yourself from staring for too long.

Jeno feels as naked as the day he was born as he watches you scrutinize him like a hawk. He wants to curl up into a ball but he knows you'd probably reprimand him and tell him to be more confident. At that thought, a smile settles on his face. Your presence has already made itself known in his mind, reminding him whenever he feels small that he is worth more than he thinks. He appreciates it more than you'll ever know and the only thing he can think to do to repay you is to listen wholeheartedly to what you have to say and make you proud.

You clear your throat, realizing that even though you tried not to, you ended up ogling the boy before you. Jeno gets back to practicing, completely oblivious to the embarrassed flush that has turned your ears and neck a hot pink.

Between slashes, he asks, question coming out low as he quickly becomes short of breath, "Where did you learn how to fight like this? I mean, you're so good that you could even be a knight."

You're in the middle of picking up your own sword when you freeze, the question bringing back some delicate memories. Sensing the sudden shift in the air, Jeno panics, waving his free hand frantically. He assures you that you don't have to share if you don't want to, but you silence him by waving him off.

"It's okay, Jeno. I don’t mind talking about it. You see, my dad was one of the top blacksmiths at the forge and he had a lot of knight friends that would come to him with custom requests. He'd often travel to the castle and to the training grounds to visit them and sometimes I would tag along. 'Sometimes' turned into weekly visits, even when my dad didn't go. I was just fascinated with how cool the knights looked. I wanted to be a knight so much back then."

Jeno inquires, "What made you change your mind?"

"Well, there was this one time that I actually got to watch the knights from the inside instead of observing from over the top of the fence. I saw some kids watching them too and I went to introduce myself, but they all laughed at me, making fun of how dirty my clothes were and how I didn't belong. They ran away before I could even get in my first word. I never went back. I wanted to prove to them that I didn't need their fancy training methods to become a knight. But then I started going with my dad to his job and I fell in love with his work even more. I guess I kinda gave up on that old pipe dream."

Something settles in the pits of Jeno's stomach that makes him feel uneasy. The story feels familiar to him, though he doesn't quite know why. It isn't until you turn your face directly to him and give him a toothy smile, telling him the past is in the past, that he fully registers what's bothering him.

You don't know it, but Jeno was apart of that story. He was one of those kids you saw, one of the kids that you showed your smile to, eyes unwavering in their innocence and kindness. He didn't say anything mean to you, yet he did nothing to stand up for you either. He thought nothing of it at the time, truly believing his friends when they told him a dirty kid like you would probably be carrying several diseases and that you should just be avoided. When Jeno tells you all of this, your reaction definitely is not what he was expecting. Your pearly white grin morphs into a gentle smile, and your eyes are holding the same innocence and indiscriminate kindness that they did years ago.

"At least you're making an effort now," you offer, though it doesn't do much to help the guilt making it's home in his heart. "If you really want to make it up to me, you can do the detailing on the sword I'm making for Jaemin. Everyone knows you're good at it."

"It's a deal," Jeno says as he shakes your hand, not missing the little spark that makes its way through his arm when you first make contact or how he can still feel it even when he goes home for the day.

Jeno's mother sends him out to the market to get some ingredients to make a dessert for his father's upcoming birthday. He arrives at a farmer's stall, eyes raking through his list to see what ingredients he can cross off. After the farmer hands him some eggs, milk, and flour, Jeno hands over the necessary amount of money. He's pocketing the leftover change when something, or rather someone, catches his attention.

"Jeno," you call out, arm raised above your head, waving back and forth. As you jog towards him, Jeno's eyes draw together in confusion.

"Are you talking to me- Oh! It's you, Y/n. I don't know why I didn't recognize you."

Jeno does know why he doesn't recognize you. Your hair is down and thoroughly brushed through, soft locks tickling the skin of your neck. You're free of the smears of charcoal that usually taint your face. The starkest difference, however, is your choice of clothes. Instead your usual work trousers, you're adorned in a soft cream-colored dress, delicate ruffles capping off puffy sleeves. You look like you've had years of worry shaved off of you, smile light and carefree. More so, you look like an angel, the sun's rays surrounding your frame like a large halo. When you reach him, you're only slightly out of breath, a blinding smile gracing your soft lips. Jeno feels tongue-tied; he knows you're the same person you've always been but it's like he's seeing a new part of you.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," you say, tucking a couple of loose strands behind your ear.

You look a bit uncomfortable, out of place, hiding your dress behind the large bag of vegetables that you're holding.

"It's fine, I was just distracted. Are you done shopping?"

"No, I actually have to get a couple of fruits as well. You're welcome to join me."

Jeno agrees, of course, and offers to carry your bag. It's a cute gesture, really, but you can't help but giggle as he lets out a grunt, arm shaking under the weight of it. You tell him you're fine, taking back the bag with ease. You pull him along to another stand that sells fresh fruits, grabbing some strawberries, cherries, and peaches. As the afternoon sun bears down on you, Jeno offers to walk you home, an offer which you accept after a bit of convincing.

"Let's take a little break," you say, setting down your bag on a grassy hill and flopping down to sit with your legs crossed. You dig around in your bag and bring out a bunch of cherries, pulling one off of its stem and popping it in your mouth. You hand a couple to Jeno as well, the two of you enjoying the sweet, yet tangy fruit. While you enjoy the change of pace, a meek voice pierces through the peaceful silence.

"Excuse me," says a small child, "may I have something to eat? I haven't had anything in days."

The child is skinny to the point where you're wondering how he is standing up on his own, bones prominent against his thin and dull skin. Of course, you oblige, not only handing over a cherry, but the whole bunch.

"Come and sit," you say gently, not wanting to scare the poor child away. You hand him your canteen and he takes a big swig, several drops dribbling down his jaw. Wiping away at his chin with the fabric of your sleeve, you tell the child to take it easy. Your eyes are soft as you speak, hand gently rubbing at his back.

It's a day full of new experiences for Jeno as he looks at the scene unfurling before him. He likes this side of you, the one that doesn't seem to have such a tough exterior. He can't deny how his insides melt a little when the sickly child falls asleep on your lap and you carefully card your fingers through his thin and tangled hair.

"It's nice seeing you like this, you know," he tells you. "You look so carefree and feminine that I almost forgot you're a total god when it comes to swordsmanship."

"Hey," you reprimand, "you can be feminine and be great with a sword."

Jeno puts his hands up in defeat, but the point he made still hangs in the air, causing you to let out a soft sigh.

"Not everyone is as nice as you, Jeno. You know I've been through some things and I don't think I've seen enough to prove that my views on people of the other class are untrue."

Your voice is laced with sadness as if you wish you could say otherwise, and looking down upon your watery eyes that reflect the setting sun, Jeno vows to right all the wrongs that have happened to you.

Images of you fill his mind, those of you in the forge, the orange coals casting a soft glow upon your features; visions of you training with him, wiping the sweat from your brow; and pictures of you and your carefree smile under the afternoon sun. They're all he can think of as he shuts the door to his house behind him.

"Had a nice day, sweetheart?"

Jeno's eyes flicker up to see his mother looking at him with an accusatory gaze. Her eyes are narrow and her thin arms are crossed across her chest, weight shifting to one leg.

"Y-Yeah," he replies. "Why do you ask?"

"A little bird told me you're spending even more time with that commoner girl. You know that's not good for you or our image, Jeno. We're people of nobility; we can't be seen with just anyone. First, you choose to go to that silly old forge and waste your time away, and now, this?"

"Mother, you know that blacksmithing is my passion, my dream. And there's nothing wrong with that girl. She has a name."

"You're getting attached, Jeno," comes his mother's mocking sing-song voice, clearly not taking his argument seriously. "You already know that Yoona is the girl for you, so I suggest you stay away from that… peasant girl from now on."

Jeno is far beyond angry at this point. Hot air blows out of his nose as his figure practically shakes. First, his family disrespects the dream he finally worked up the courage to pursue, and now they're judging you without even knowing you. He doesn't know how he never noticed how biased his family and friends can be.

"If this is how it's going to be, I can't say I'd be okay aligning myself with this family," Jeno declares.

Jeno's mother huffs indignantly, asking, "What will you do without us, Jeno? We're all you've ever had."

Before storming upstairs to stuff some clothes into a bag, Jeno makes sure to enunciate the fact that he has a whole different family, one that actually cares for him and his dreams, waiting for him back at the forge. He slams the front door behind him and walks toward the familiar building, his bag of clothes feeling extra heavy as if being weighed down by the consequences of his decision. He probably should've thought it through and planned ahead of time, now not knowing where to go. However, luck seems to be in his favor because there is a source of light in the forge, signaling someone is still working.

Jeno breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he pushes open the door to the forge and sees that Jinyoung is hard at work, flattening out an iron rod. The aforementioned man looks up, confusion filling his eyes as he notices the figure in the doorway.

"Jeno? What are you doing here?"

The young man scratches his chin as he replies, "I was planning on crashing here for the night. And basically from now until forever."

Jinyoung immediately sets down his tools, walking over and asking if everything is okay. He nods understandingly when told that Jeno basically ran away from home.

"Jeno, you can totally stay with me and my brother. We have a spare room in our house."

"Are you serious?"

Jeno wraps his arms around his friend, relief settling into his bones. It finally feels like he can breathe freely again and he can't express his gratitude enough. He's still thanking Jinyoung even as the two close up shop and head home for the night, no matter how many times the older boy reassures him that it's what anyone in the forge would do.

Jeno doesn't tell you about his situation, mainly because your relationship is running so much smoother these days. Your interactions are full of smiles and secret glances at each other across the flames of the forge. The strange faerie you met earlier, Renjun, managed to get his hands one the precious metal he was speaking of and you've started working on it, the material proving to be just as durable as claimed. Overall, everything is going really well.

It's one of those days that you and Jeno meet up in your secret spot in the forest. Lately, Jeno has started sparring against you, skills rapidly developing. You two are moving so fast and so fluid that it's almost like a dance, tiny sparks flying off every time your two swords clash. This time, you're about to go in for the kill (not literally, of course) when your foot gets caught on the root of a tree and you stumble backward into its trunk. Jeno takes advantage of this opportunity and holds his sword up, level with your throat. Slowly, he brings the sword back to his side and forms a cage around you with his body. There's a thick tension in the air as he approaches, eyes never leaving your own. Drawing even closer until he's mere inches away from your face, the young man feels the rough skin of your worn hands come up to caress his face. His eyes flicker over, smiling gently as he feels the hairs on his arms raise from the feeling of this much awaited skin contact.

You have other ideas in mind, hand suddenly wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him into a chokehold. Your partner soon gives up, raising his arms up in surrender. You smirk as you let him go and lean back against the tree again.

"Never let your guard down," you remind Jeno. "I believe that was lesson number four or five."

Jeno rolls his eyes at your feigned cocky attitude, watching as you release on of your now trademarked carefree laughs. Seeing an opening, he takes a chance. Placing a hand on your waist, he pulls you flush against himself. Your breath is stolen as you place both of your hands on his chest. You can't help but let your hands wander across his now hardened physique. It's as if he's bulked up in the blink of an eye, chiseled abdomen making itself known against your own. This time, it's you who can't seem to look elsewhere as you swallow thickly.

"Jeno, are you sure about-"

The man before you makes the final move, hand snaking around to the small of your back to give you a gentle push closer, if you could even get any closer at this point. Your lips meet at the middle, soft pillows interlocking perfectly as if made for each other. The sun's rays are nothing compared to the heat of Jeno's hand as it finds a place along your jaw. You feel a tug of something in the base of your stomach as Jeno brings your lower lip between his teeth. You know that if you don't stop here, you could get too carried away, so you push him away, lips parting and foreheads now coming to rest against each other. Your breaths mingle in the little space between you as your chest heaves, partially because you're out of breath and partially because you feel as if your whole body is on fire and your heart has been stolen. You give Jeno one last peck at the corner of his mouth before fully backing away. Picking up your stuff, you adjust the strap of your satchel on your shoulder.

"I should go. I'll see you at the forge, Jeno."

You disappear into the thick maze of trees, but not before shooting one last dazzling smile his way over your shoulder.

"Y/n, you have a visitor," comes the voice of Johnny as he walks in, clocking in for the day.

You place your tools down and dust your hands against each other, rubbing them against your apron as an extra precaution. You take off the goggles that are wound around your head, blowing strands of hair out of your hair. Taking your hair out of its ponytail, you brush through the strands with your fingers before deeming yourself presentable enough. Usually you wouldn't mind so much about your appearance, but since you're at work, you never know if it'll be a friend or a potential customer. However, you're surprised when you step outside and find that neither is waiting to greet you.

"Y/n, right? I'm sorry to pull you away from your work, but there is something really important that I must talk to you about."

You can tell from the tone that the woman standing before you isn't the least bit sorry. However, you let her continue, not really bothered enough to interrupt.

"I don't know if you remember, but we met at the market once. I'm Yoona, Jeno's childhood friend and former betrothed."

"Former?"

"Oh, Jeno didn't tell you? He ran away from home just so that he could be with you. It's actually what I came to talk to you about. It's probably not your intention, but you've become quite a toxic person for Jeno to be around. Not only are you negatively affecting his life, but the lives of his family and dear friends."

"I- I didn't know. He didn't tell me."

"Yes, because he wants to live out this little fairytale that's in his head. But you and I know what's really the best for him. He needs to be with his family, not with some poor strangers that were forced to take him in."

You try to argue that Jeno would never be the type to purposefully be an inconvenience, especially to strangers. However, Yoona doesn't let up for a second.

"It's up to you, really," she says. "Do you want to be the girl who comes between Jeno and his family? And all for what? Some crush that you have on him that'll never be reciprocated?"

Yoona spins on her heels, hair whipping behind her and creating a sharp breeze that blows toward your face and causes you to flinch. You watch as she walks away, gait slow and delicate. Sighing to yourself, you realize that is the type of girl that's meant for Jeno, not someone like you. You do care about him, more than you've probably cared for anyone other than Jaemin and your father, but this means that you won't hesitate to do what's best for him. This is why when you walk back into the forge, your head remains low and your expression is stone cold, no form of sadness peeking through. You look down at the sword resting on your anvil, blade and grip already complete. All that's left is the detailing of the rain-guard, but that's where your problem lies: Jeno is supposed to do the detailing. Taking a deep breath, you pick up the sword and bring it over to Johnny, ignoring the blatant way Jeno's eyes follow your figure.

"Hey, Johnny," you start. "Do you think you can do this detailing for me?"

Johnny's eyes raise in surprise and you don't miss the way his eyes flit over to Jeno for a second before replying, "Are you sure? I have a bit more experience than you, but you know I've never been good with a chisel."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Anything's better than the sloppy job I'd do."

You hear the sound of a tool clattering on the floor and you know that it's Jeno who's dropped whatever he's been working with, but you choose to ignore it.

Jeno's eyes still haven’t left your figure since the moment you walked back into the forge, and he's plagued with confusion. Just the day before, you were taking a walk, hand in hand, stealing kisses on the cheek, forehead, and nose. And now? You're acting like he doesn't even exist. The change is too stark and he knows he has to figure out the cause, but for not, he walks over to Johnny, offering the older man to do the detailing instead. Johnny gratefully accepts, handing over the sword and agreeing not to tell you about it. As he aligns his chisel with the tip of the hilt, an idea forms in his head. He has an inkling of who could be behind your sudden behavior change and resolves to ask about it when he clocks out for the day.

"Mother, Father," Jeno calls out, voice echoing in the silence of his home. He hears soft footsteps and not long after, he sees his parents' figures descending down the main staircase.

"Jeno," the young man's mother all but squeals as she rushes up to him and wraps him in a tight hug. He has to admit that he's missed seeing his family, but there are more important things to be said.

"I have something to ask you… Did you say something to Y/n? I know you don't approve of her but you have no right interfering in our relationship. And even though she may not have had an official education, she's just as knowledgeable and eloquent, if not more, than any of my friends."

Jeno's parents shuffle uncomfortably for a moment before his father clears his throat and speaks up, "We know, son. And we're truly sorry for that. We see now how committed to your dream you are and we think that girl has actually had a positive influence on you. You used to never stand up for yourself. I really don't know why she would be acting that way."

It feels as if the weight of the world has been lifted from Jeno's shoulders. Sure, he would stay with you with or without his parents' consent, but now he can pursue a relationship with you and have complete confidence. Now, the only problem is finding out who or what could've changed your mind. His mind plays his memories with you back as if he's reading one of the story books he read as a child. One day seems to stick out in particular. It's the day you two first met. More specifically, when you visited the market. He remembers feeling insecure and shy around Yonghee. Then right after, he remembers Yoona rushing up to him, latching onto his side and making her presence known to you.

"That's it," he whispers, causing his parents to look at him weirdly. "It's Yoona. I can't believe I hadn't figured this out sooner. I know I just got here, but I have to go. I'm sorry."

Jeno's parents give him encouraging smiles as they see him off, mother stating, "It's okay, dear. We know this is something you have to do.”

It's not a long trip to Yoona's house, probably a five minute run at most, and as soon as he reaches the doorstep, he's practically banging against the door. His heart rate quickens as the door opens, but it's not who he's hoping for.

"Jeno, what's up? You look totally different from the last time I saw you."

"Not now, Yonghee. Where's Yoona?"

"I-In the kitchen. Why-"

Jeno doesn't give Yonghee the opportunity to speak, dashing towards the room where he knows the cause of all of his problems is residing. He runs up to Yoona and demands to know what she's said to you, restraining himself from physically shaking the answer out of her. Yoona's eyes dart around nervously as she tries to avoid his question 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jeno."

"Yes, you do. Why else would she completely ignore me like she's doing right now? 

It takes a couple of tries, but Jeno manages to get some sort of an answer when Yoona reveals, "Ok, fine. I may or may not have told her about how you moved out and how it was all her fault."

"Yoona, I know we've been friends since we were four, but that doesn't excuse this. You had no right to interrupt like you did."

"I know. God, I know that now. You'll never love me like that and I see that now. Can I ever make it up to you?"

"I don't know if I'll ever completely forgive you, but if there's one thing you could do, it would be apologizing to Y/n."

With that, Jeno turns and retraces his steps back to the forge. Each step he takes makes him feel light and heavy at the same time, and he doesn't know why. It's like some invisible force is holding his heart in hand, ready to crush it into pieces if all goes downhill. At this point, all he can do is hope and pray that his chances at a real relationship with you haven't been completely ruined.

Jeno tries not to picture what his life would be like without you in it as the forge draws closer and closer. Pushing open the door, he's greeted with utter silence, realizing that the light he saw from outside was just a candle that someone forgot to extinguish. He curses aloud, shutting the door and pacing around, trying to remember the way to your house from one time when he walked you home. He has a vague idea of where to start, taking a narrow road to a residential area not too far away. However, the darkness of the night sky and lack of lighting along the rough pathways does nothing to aid him. He ends up taking a wrong turn somewhere along the way and is now lost among the many small houses lined up side by side. And just to make things worse, he feels a few droplets fall from the sky and splatter against his face.

By the time Jeno finds your house, a small one-story building tucked away in a maze of flowers and shrubbery, he's soaked to the bone, the loose white cotton shirt put on in the morning now sticking to him like a second skin. He knocks on your door once, twice, and then thrice, hoping you can hear him over the sounds of the storm that's brewing.

It takes a couple moments, but you do eventually pry open the door slightly, your face poking out and tiredness pulling your eyelids down. Bringing a palm up to rub at your eyes, you blink a couple times, finally acknowledging the person on the other side of the door.

"Jeno? Oh my god, what are you doing out there? You're going to catch a cold."

You swing the front door open wider, free hand reaching out to grasp his arm and pull him inside, all the while trying your best not to ogle at his clearly visible figure. Asking the drenched boy to stand in one place, you rush to your bathroom and grab a dry towel. You don't realize it but as you wrap the towel around Jeno, you're also pulling him closer to you, and it only really hits you when the two of you are almost standing toe to toe, his shaky breath fanning out across your face. Clearing your throat, you take a step back and leave him to dry himself. In the meantime, you warm up some milk for the two of you.

When Jeno is mostly dried down, you request for him to take a seat at the couch in your living room. You hand him the glass of warm milk, noticing how his hands are still shaking, and decide to light up your fireplace. Dusting off your hands and turning to face the man on your couch, you start to think maybe it wasn't the best idea, because the way the glow of the fireplace bounces off Jeno's skin already has your heart going a mile a minute. You settle for sitting on a chair across from him and looking down as if the milk in your glass is the most interesting thing you've ever seen. Eventually, you feel as though you have to say something, the silence seeping into your skin and creating a ball of anxiety that weighs down your heart.

"Why did you come here, Jeno?"

The man looks up at you, eyes full of sorrow, guilt, and something else as he formulates his response.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been-"

"Yes, you have. You asked Johnny to help with your sword even though it's something we promised we'd do together."

You swallow thickly, knowing that you've been caught, and admit, "Ok, so I did try to distance myself a bit, but I just felt like we were moving too fast."

Jeno sighs deeply, frustration turning his knuckles white as he grips his mug tightly and says, "You're lying again, Y/n."

The way Jeno can see through you so well leaves you feeling overexposed, but somewhere deep inside, there's a part of you that appreciates it. He's looking at you as if you're the only thing that's ever existed and you've never felt so bare and content at the same time.

"It wasn't a complete lie, though," you say, tone slightly defensive. "You have so much going for you. You come from a wealthy family and you have good friends, and Yoona is head over heels for you. You could have so much. I just don't think you should be wasting all of your potential on me."

"None of that matters if I don't have you with me. Yes, my family is rich, but do you really think I care about that kind of stuff when I gave it all up to come work at the forge?"

"Well, I…"

"And do you think I'd be here right now, doing my best to fight for you, if I thought I could live a life with Yoona? Y/n, you're the only one I could see myself with; you're the only one that will ever make me feel complete."

"But your parents, Jeno. They'd never approve."

"I talked to them. Sure, they think still Yoona is my match, but they're willing to accept you. And so what if they weren't? It's my life and I'd be willing to give up all of it for you." 

He stands up, placing his mug on the little table between you and walking around it to stand before you. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers to pull something out, but it slips through his grasp, falling somewhere on the hard stone floor with a soft clink. It takes a minute but Jeno is able to find it, fingertips grazing across a familiar cold metal underneath the chair you're sitting on. He takes the object between his fingers and offers it to you.

The scene before you is something you'd never think would happen. Jeno is on one knee and in his hand is a small metal object, a ring that you can tell is handmade. It's not a perfect circle, not even close, and you can tell it was rushed by the lumps on the surface, but the mere sight of it has you flustered beyond belief

"Jeno, I hope that's not what I think it is. Never mind the fact that society wouldn't approve; we're not even twenty yet!"

It takes a moment for the man to realize the position he's in, but when it clicks, he jumps to his feet, startling you a bit. He takes your smaller hand in his, holding it as if it's a delicate flower, and looks deeply into your eyes.

"It's a promise ring I meant to give you. It means I'll always care for you, support you, and love you until the day that I die. I hope this proves how much you mean to me."

With that, Jeno slides the ring onto its designated finger. And in this moment, it's like you can see into each other's hearts and souls. In this moment, no one else exists and nothing else matters. Jeno thinks the smile that finally breaks your tense visage is bright enough to illuminate the whole world, if not the whole universe.

You jump up to your feet and wrap your arms around the man, your man, placing a kiss on his chapped and cracked lips. The feeling of your lips locking perfectly together assures you that this is how it's meant to be and you should've never tried to settle for anything less. The kiss is sweet and innocent and pure and you want to stay like this forever. Unfortunately, you both run out of air and pull away, though your hand is still tangled in the hairs on the back of his head and his palm is planted firmly on your waist.

"I love you too," you breathe out, reciprocating what he had said earlier.

Jaemin holds up a finished sword, the product of yours and Jeno's hard work, twisting his wrist to inspect the blade from all angles. The sun’s rays make it glow as if it’s molten silver, causing your friend to nod in approval. He makes a few slashes at the air, but they're sloppy and slow as the sorcerer has never been the fighting type.

"It's perfect, Y/n," he tells you with his pearly white smile.

You can't take all the credit though, elbowing Jeno in his side as you declare, "Jeno did a good amount of work on it too."

Jeno snaps out of whatever daze he's in and shyly rubs a hand against his neck, claiming he really didn't do much. Even still, you decide to split the reward evenly between the two of you. You think it's only fair since what's yours is his and what's his is yours. 

Jaemin snaps his fingers as he reminds you, "Hey, you never did tell me its name."

You and Jeno look at each other, smiles coming to your faces knowing you'd actually discussed this topic just the night before.

"Excalibur," you declare proudly.

And Jeno finishes off, "The sword that cuts through steel."

#nct jeno #lee jeno #jeno x reader #neowritingsnet #nctechnet #lee jeno x reader #nct x reader #x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagine #jeno imagine #nct imagine #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #kpop fluff #nct fluff #nct soft hours #nct soft scenarios #nct imagines #jeno fluff #jeno soft hours #cottonblush's arthur au

[kuchee1]

meet me in the middle

2k / stan/kyle fluff / on ao3 🌲

summary: A pleasant evening, a terrible choice of snack, and some enlightening conversation.

(OR I was so ill that I felt sappy enough to write a got dang marriage proposal lmao)

The wind whips sharp around Kyle’s head as he walks down towards the edge of the water. It feels like his ears are going to fall off. He probably should have brought his hat, and he can definitely (well, almost) see the logic in the mop of hair he used to have as a kid; in its protective qualities, at least. It’s March, but years of living in the city has dulled his intuition a little about how cold it can be in the ass end of nowhere, namely South Park. Stan is probably feeling the same next to him, his steps a little too bouncy from the chill.

Kyle had asked him to come down here, take a break away from both their families. Not that he doesn’t want to be spending time at home (he does miss his parents and especially Ike, when he’s in Denver) but there’s been something very Stan-related on his mind lately - for a long time now - that he needs to get out.

There’s really no reason to be out by Stark’s Pond in the evening except out of some sense of childhood nostalgia, which is usually Stan’s forte, not his. Well, that's kind of why Kyle wanted to come here. He wants to do this somewhere that the sentimental part of Stan will see the value in. The right setting will do half the work for Kyle - something he really needs, considering how bad he is at this stuff.

He’s not gonna ask right now - of course not. But he wants to scope out where they stand. It’s been a while since the topic has come up, and Kyle has thought and over-thought every aspect of his feelings to a stupid point since then.

They’ve skirted around it enough. He needs Stan to know just how okay he’d be with it. Marriage, that is.

Stan runs ahead, and in a matter of moments he's skipping stones on the water. Kyle decides to stay back. He's not sure his hands are steady enough for that right now, despite how nonchalant he’s trying to feel. He automatically opens the bag of chips he's carrying to keep them busy. Cheesy poofs. Definitely not his first choice, but he didn't really get a choice. Ike’s been is back home, too, on spring break, and he devours the snack cabinet with admirable speed. Kyle can't keep up with that anymore. He probably shouldn't be eating crap right before his mom's dinner, anyway, but he rationalises it with the fact that he's on vacation.

So here they are, one of the few bearable places in the least bearable vacation spot. Kyle finds an empty patch of ground, brushing a few sharp stones away with his hands. It's completely dry, uncharacteristically, no rain or snow in sight for the few days that they’ve been here.

Stan comes and plops his ass down next to Kyle after a few minutes, raising his eyebrows at Kyle’s snack of choice. “That’s not really romantic, dude. You couldn’t have gotten, I don’t know, strawberries or something?”

Kyle laughs lightly. “Oh, we’re here to be romantic?”

Stan shrugs with a sheepish smile, shoving his hands into his pockets and drawing them taut. “I don’t know,” he says, sing-song. “The sun’s setting.”

It is.

Stan goes to stick a hand in the bag, but Kyle snatches it away, earning a flick against his temple.

Kyle ducks away. “Ow. Dude.” But Stan’s playfulness does ease the tension a little bit. He offers Stan the bag for real now, and they sit for a while, just munching and watching the colours bleed in the sky. Kyle digs the toes of his boots into the dirt.

He can do it. He can bring up the fucking topic. It’s conversation; it’s just conversation. (But it isn’t).

Stan bumps a shoulder gently against his. “Are you okay? You seem a little agitated.”

Kyle leans his head against Stan’s in reply, catches the scent of his hair and his cool skin. It makes him jittery right now, despite how the familiarity of it usually calms him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

When Stan puts an arm warmly around his back, he decides to turn and look at him properly. “Actually, there is something I wanna talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“You know... what we said before… about, uh, getting married and stuff.”

What Stan knows, and what they’ve decided again and again in the course of long night-time conversations over the years, is this: they’re fine without it. It doesn’t have any bearing on the fact of their life together - this is the real deal, for both of them. How could it not be? They don’t need to get married (though Stan really wouldn’t mind it), because what’s the point of complicating something that’s worked so well for so long? When they know where they stand with each other anyway?

Or, that’s how Kyle thought he felt.

He continues, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because - well, I know how you feel about it.” He adds quickly, struck with a sudden apprehension, “Actually, wait - can you just remind me?”

Stan’s brows draw, a little puzzled, and his eyes are getting wider, but he rushes in as soon as Kyle says the words. He seems confused at having to state those feelings again, apparently so randomly. “How I feel? I’d want to. You know that I would.” Kyle eases instantly, feeling equally stupid and relieved.

Stan looks down at the ground, a small smile playing on his lips. He continues, looking at Kyle’s collar. “And I know you think that it’s super outdated or unnecessary or heterosexual or whatever -” He rolls his eyes with humor, but it’s betrayed by a tremor in his voice in his next words, and Kyle’s heart rushes because he knows that it’s not from the cold. “But I like the idea of being married. To you.”

Kyle’s aware that his heart has probably leapt into the fucking water.

Stan holds his gaze with earnest eyes.

He’s known that Stan has wanted to get married one day practically since they were twelve. Like a life goal or something. Rarely spoken, but it was obvious to anyone who knew Stan well. Definitely obvious to Kyle. He’d never doubted when they were kids that Stan would grow up and marry some girl and be the perfect husband, kids and dog and maybe even a picket fence. It’s just how Stan’s brain worked. Though he’d never admit it to anyone except Kyle, on account of it being, well, totally gay.

Truthfully, the idea back then had never made Kyle feel as jealous as he thought it would. It only created a certain distance - a mercifully stark sign that he wasn’t supposed to be with Stan, in the end; a reminder of reality that would help cut the cord of his longing for however many days. Because that was one thing Kyle just couldn’t imagine for himself. It was old-fashioned. He thought, as cleverly as any teenager did, that marriage was only designed to make people pop out babies while thinking about God.

And being older, still, it didn’t appeal. The nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that much: it wasn’t for people like him.

Well, he was too much of a realist, anyway.

He looks at Stan now. Thinks about how the span of the last four, five years could change his mind so completely.

He’s usually stubborn, he swears it.

Stan is still looking at him with conviction, and Kyle can hardly feel the pebbly ground under him, or the breeze around him. He looks at Stan’s expectant eyes, feels overcome with the admission in them: there’s something soft and something daring and something totally unguarded in him, in a way Kyle only wishes his own feelings could be. Stan is nervous, but he doesn’t let that get in the way.

Kyle could give him this.

He could let himself have it.

He starts, shakily, “I mean - I sort of know what you mean, now. I think I get it. It makes sense with where we are, and you really want to, right? And I guess it’s not like anything would really have to change, and, there’s tax breaks and all that, obviously.”

And, and, and. Kyle wishes he could slow down the rush of words coming out of his mouth, but the way Stan is looking at him now, head tilted and eyes widening again, is not helping. “You know what I’m trying to say, right? It’s a good idea? Fuck, dude, help me out here -”

At that, Stan exhales with a nervous laugh, and Kyle can do nothing but join him in relief. The pure joy in his face now is what’s enough to make Kyle stop in his tracks. He feels embarrassed at how he let his nerves run, words as superfluous as usual.

“Stan,” he says quietly now, pleading, because his brain jumped in too, for all the good it’s doing him now. “Am I making sense?”

Stan doesn’t reply, eyes still wide. Kyle dumbly offers him the bag of chips again.

Stan shakes out of it, digging the last cheesy poof out of the bag eagerly. He looks so fucking happy, staring at it like he’s forgotten what you’re supposed to do with food.  

Kyle’s head is full of the words when Stan clears his throat, takes them from him, and speaks them for him.

“So, do you wanna marry me?”

“I was gonna say that part! Dude!”

For half a second, Stan looks incredulous. Then he falls backward, laughing like crazy, barely managing not to hit the ground.

“Kyle! Seriously?! That’s your reply?”

But Kyle’s grinning like a madman when Stan comes back to him. They both are. Stan puts their faces close, hands resting around Kyle’s neck, the question still hovering in the air between them.

Kyle breathes in sharply. He can’t think of anything he wants more in the world. It feels like a punch in the gut.

Stan says again, softer, “Do you?”

The rush of affection flattens Kyle like a wave. He puts the bag down, opens and closes his mouth noiselessly before stammering, “Fuck, of course,” around the treacherous lump in his throat. He kisses Stan clumsily, finds his lips and his cheek and the corner of his jaw, over and over and over. Stan’s palms are clammier than he would have expected when they wind tighter around the back of his neck, and his cheeks feel hot cradled in Kyle’s trembling hands. Kyle blinks hard and fast.

He backs away, just to take in the sight. Stan looks elated, eyes sparkling. Kyle can’t remember the last time he saw an expression like that, if ever. He can’t imagine ever having felt a shred of doubt over whether this was a good idea.

He snorts, “Wait, you have something on your - sorry, that’s probably my fault -” and he’s giggling hard, and Stan is too, as he brushes cheesy poof dust off Stan’s cheekbone and the shoulder of his coat. “See, this is really romantic.”

Stan only pulls him in again. “I love you so much, dude,” he says, still half-giggling, and he drags the back of his hand over his eyes with a sniff before resting their foreheads together. Kyle wants to give him the whole world.

It’s getting dark. Kyle shivers, but it’s not an unwelcome feeling. The cold feels like a blanket of secrecy around the two of them now, bring him blissfully to Stan and away from the rest of the world. He says quietly, trying to keep his voice even, “You know, getting engaged wasn’t part of the plan today.”

Stan smiles. Kyle knows that he’s taken those words for their true meaning: a declaration, of the sheer, exhilarating weight of Kyle’s feeling.

#sp style #style fanfiction #south park #my fic #style