#i think the girl being referred to in the song is like. humanity collectively

[our-reality]

"other side of paradise is a swift song lol"

#ty bonk for reminding me this song exists cuz. :) #they rlly said 'the last part of other side of paradise is a thatcher song' and i was like 'oh yeah! *starts bawling*' #i thought this song was gonna be a python song at first cuz i didn't remember the specific lyrics #but then i looked them up and i was like 'i think python sounds like who the song is being sung about rather than the singer' #and immediately after i went 'what if swift was the singer.' #I'M RLLY FUCKED UP RN THE SONG IS REALLY GOOD BUT... #i was gonna put some lyrics here that made me especially ill but then i realized that's like. the entire song #i think the girl being referred to in the song is like. humanity collectively #esp since python. is gay and aro LMAO #and on that note. 'that girl is gone but i still try' what if i fucking screamed #uhm i could dissect the entire song tbh but i don't feel like it i just got home from a 6 hr road trip lol #i'm so normal (lying) #swift #also kiss me son of god is a very vysel song. i also discovered this thanks to bonk LOL #we've been very mentally ill together lately it's been fun ❤❤❤ #'the chorus of kiss me son of god is double meaninged for vysel' cut to me screaming and sobbing #sorry i haven't posted in a while i've been busy with tmc brain worms LMAO

[silantryoo]

as much as im annoyed by the potential implications of the mhj/hybe drama i do feel like theres way too much speculation rn ... rlly doesn't sit so well with me that everyone is bashing on mhj alone (im not supporting her either though) and not bang sihyuk too. some hybe stans rlly js worship the guy and idk why . its not like he's innocent too. like those texts from him are so annoying too. abt if she's satisfied that nwjns is so popular and also abt trying to rival aespa / bp alone ...

hybe has sm power and r known for their mediaplay so i rlly do wish people would keep that in mind instead of doing their own speculation to bash on mhj . we don't know fs if she's the reason behind seunghan, youngseo, etc .... it seems so forced that everyone just collectively is making stuff up on their own theories and pissing on her. like im all for it when everything's done with but it's giving misogyny to me ughhh idk how to explain it eitherr without sounding like a mhj stan I PROMISE IM NOT TAKING HER SIDE T_T i just cant help but feel like poeple find it easier to hate and bash on women sometimes. even me scrolling x nowadays feels so annoying. literally feel so bad for illit and nwjns rn.

personally i was a teeny annoyed that illit had a similar image to nwjns w their nostalgia/coquettecore (also though just seems like cute/youthful concept is making a cb in general in kpop) but only because their songs on super real me were the exact type of songs i liked most from nwjns (super shy, hurt etc. the softer less peppy songs compared to hybe boy) so it bothered me that there was an implication that nwjns might be forced to distance itself to a more differing concept to keep some contrast btwn the two ... but ik that's not illit's fault at all (literally love the girls sm im a runext fan ^^) i feel like i can understand the upset that illit was getting a similar concept when every other grp before illit in hybe had more defined concepts seperating each other. but once again that's all hybe's doing ...... seeing the choreographers supporting mhj too makes it seem like not even the nwjns team or even all the staff were on board with the references in the choreo either...

anyways i do hope this controversy doesnt impede on either grps promos :( and i rlly hope everything gets sorted out... im srsly hoping this doesnt turn into a 5050 situtation again but with nwjns i was so upset when that happened . was curious on what your thoughts were or if u were keeping up with everything?

the way im coming back to reply to this first thing after my exams is insane, but this nwjns thing makes me so angry for all the idols under hybe. both parties j cares sm ab money that they're blindsided by the potential of ruining their idols careers, mental health and images. mhj is being stupid and hybe does seem to be doing anything to protect nwjns (as far as we know. i could be wrong).

(yawl, jsyk i obv dont have ALL the information. from what ive seen online and the articles ive read, this is what I THINK. ME. youre free to think smthn else, whether i agree or not.)

i def thing that bang hyung sik (bhs) isn't innocent either. although min heejin (mhj), in my opinion, is more in the wrong j based on the treatment of other idols, bhs seemed to provoke her, and on top of that, the company seems to blindly support ppl and give them a platform so long as they make profit for the company. ive been seeing a lot of ppl saying hes j human but youd think theres a reason why mhj got kicked from sm, yk? and you j took her back in w open arms.

hybe is v good at media play fs. its their forte, and ppl seemed to stray from the from the main problem. mhj is using nwjns as a weapon. hybe probably is doing the same thing w their other groups too, dont get me wrong. ppl seem to forget that this entire issue isnt "drama", its a legal battle ensuing between a huge corporation and its subsidiary. hybe has infinite power compared to ador. its horrible on both ends.

the thing is tho, mhj has consistently been showing the public red flags. the lyrics of 'cookie (ik she didnt write the lyrics but shes the ceo. she got them approved)', the portraits gifted to her of naked underaged girls, her obsession w olivia hussey (who happens to look like minji), her treatment of sm employees, her past work w shinee (sexualization of underaged taemin), etc. not to mention her extremely (at least in my eyes) inappropriate relationship w nwjns. the gifts shes gotten them and how she uses their emotions as a weapon. if bhs did that, everyone would be up in arms.

i dont think (for the most part) this is misogyny. i think ppl alw had a weird feeling about her. at least i did.

idt its good to speculate on ppls departure tho. youre def right ab that. the lsfm hate train (esp the coachella one) most likely has nothing to do w mhj. and i do agree that hybe copied or was at least inspired by nwjns, but idt illit copied them. illit and nwjns have a very 'pinkpantheress' sound, the uk early 00's bedroom pop genre. however, nwjns is more y2k and illit is more dream-like, ykwim? hybe was def inspired by nwjns tho. i think a more fitting one would be tws tbh. their sound is v similar to me (emphasis on to me) than illit.

dont get me wrong, it's incredibly shady and the way that a lot of staff are on her side makes me think that hybe was leeching off of the success of nwjns. it referenced all girl groups under hybe tho, lsfm and fromis, but there was def more nwjns references.

what im worried ab the most are the groups, esp nwjns. lsfm has been going thru their own struggles and rn this isnt the best for them, but theyre not extremely involved in the situation, not like nwjns and illit. illit, from what ive seen, has majority of the success and recognition from overseas. however, their success in korea'll take a huge hit. itll def take a toll on the girls mental, considering they j debuted and this happened.

nwjns is the worst off. theres a chance they might leave w mhj if ador does pull away from hybe, which isnt in the groups best interest. mhj's press conference and overall attitude is gonna affect their upcoming release fs, and their proximity to mhj herself is worrisome.

hybe doesnt seem to be doing shit to protect their artists, they're j protecting their name. theres no statement on or for illit, no statement on malicious comments for any of the groups (that i know of).

tldr: min heejin and hybe are both at fault. dont take sides of either, take the side of the idols.

sorry, im j so passionate ab this. the shit ive been seeing online has been making me mad. after getting back from the lsfm hate train too... as mad as i am at mhj, hybe GAVE her that platform. if the things they claim is true, and if the speculation is true, they alr knew from her past employment that she was shady. its their fault for allowing that.

#—silan replies; #j a little rant :)

[lettingtimepass]

I WAS AT THE NERDY PRUDES SHOW WHERE THEY LOST POWER!!!

Here is my spoiler-free recounting!

After over a decade of being a Starkid fan, I traveled 3,000 miles to see Nerdy Prudes!! (The date just happened to align with a trip I was planning.) It was so surreal being in the theater! I saw Producer!Dylan and Corey L. running around with their headsets. Then right before the show started I saw Joe Moses and Tessa walk in. Also two rows ahead of me was someone in a Spiderman hat... I was like... Is that Nick Lang? No... why would he be in the middle of the audience? Later I found out I was right 😂

For context, it was raining really hard in LA and the streets were flooding. LA is not used to rain so they're not well equipped to deal with it.

Act 1 went great and then shortly after Act 2 started, BAM, the lights went off. Everyone froze. The person in the light booth said "We've just lost power." Then, Nick Lang stood up and said, "It's going to be okay everyone, we'll figure this out." And he left to help the staff. But for a good minute or so the entire audience thought it was a bit and couldn't tell if this was part of the show or not! But after a few minutes we were like holy shit this is actually happening. It took maybe half an hour or so but we were back up and running and everyone was so hype cheering on the actors when they came back on stage.

Then, during the final song, on what sounded like the final NOTE, the lights went off again. You could hear a reaction from the actors-- I can't imagine how upset they must have been in that moment! But the entire audience erupted in cheers and instantly gave a standing ovation. After the crowd calmed down a bit Nick came back out and was like "Yeah...... That actually wasn't the ending. There are two minutes left." And we freaked out 😂 They had us wait for a few minutes, but then they decided to call it. In the words of Nick, "You're the lucky audience who gets to see this show with a happy ending!" 😳😳 So yeah - I still don't know the ending. I'm going to have to buy the digital ticket so I can see the ending and also get the full experience uninterrupted. I can't wait for the YouTube version!

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT - Updated!

I think everyone's favorite part was the LORDS IN FREAKING BLACK!!! AHHHHH!!! JON AS HUMAN!WIGGLY was perfect! Also was he giving Onceler/TumblrSexyMan energy? 🤔 Can't wait to see how it looks on the YouTube version!

I loved Jon's anime nerd character. It was so damn good. The collective "Nooooooo" when the audience realized his death was imminent 😭😂

The parallels between Abstinace Camp and NPMD are very fun to me. "IT WAS GIRL JERI THAT DIRTY GIRL!"

DIRTY DIRTY GIRL WON'T YOU PRAY FOR MEEE?

Max's pronunciation of "skel-a-in" 😭 I need the story of how he decided on that or if it was written into the script?!

The Barbeque Monologues?! And that song? Jeff Blim pls. Lauren is a master through.

Someone pointed out that all the Hatchetfield shows have in-world productions: Working Boys, Santa Clause is Going to High School, and The Barbeque Monologues. Idk what this means, but it is a nice touch for worldbuilding.

The little musical reference to Nightmare time!!

I keep thinking about how Rob M fumbled the Starkid bag 😬 But Joey did such a great job as Pete! For some reason it feels like a full-circle moment between MAMD and "Joey Richter" with him playing the nerdy character 😊

Anglea was freaking fantastic as Grace. I just love her voice and how she makes it go so high it cracks! And Curt and Kim playing her parents was so good.

There's something so funny about Angela's characters being so different - Lex vs Grace - and the fact that they would hate each other 😂 Can Angela please play both of them interacting?!

Kim freaking Whalen!!!! I love her so much.

I LOVE seeing Corey and Mariah playing father and daughter again (but it's a very different dynamic than TGWDLM).

LOVE LOVE LOVE evil/slimly dirtbag Corey. HE'S SO FINE!!

I missed seeing Jeff and James on stage - I wonder if Jeff's chaotic energy would have been too much with the horny teenagers hahaha. But James would have fit right in! Oh well, we can't have them all in every show, unfortunately.

Gotta say I didn't expect them to say "Nerdy Prudes Must Die" so many times in the show 😂

The last song having pop-punk vibes?!

Anddd...... the last scene...... (yes I finally got to see it!) GRACE KEPT THE BOOK!!! Did she say "every perv must die"? Yeah, that's gonna be a lot of people on her list... Also very similar to the end of Abstinence Camp! This isn't going to go well.......

#NPMD #Nerdy Prudes Must Die #Nerdy Prudes #Nerdy Prudes Must Die Spoilers #Team Starkid #Starkid #hatchetfield

[cryonme]

𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐱)

—Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

—summary: you need him like water, he thinks that you're alright. based on complex (demo) by katie gregson-macleod

—word count: 1.6k

— tw: very brief smut ( minors…. stop right there! ), mentions of blood and suicide (nothing actually violent or gory just mentions of it), lots of self deprecation, depression, swearing, alcohol. angst angst angst hurt with no comfort

a/n: ummm... sorry in advance for this, this one hurts lol. also… probably the first n last time i write any kind of smut lol.

song lyrics for reference:

I’m 21 The edge is razor thin Between being numb And feeling everything Good days only serve as relief again

Now I’m watching as I waste away my days And then It’s a cross dissolve It’s a scene I’ve played before And the leading role that I thought I’d hold Doesn’t listen to me anymore

But I’m wearing his boxers I’m being a good wife We won’t be together But maybe the next life

I need him like water He lives on a landslide I cry in his bathroom He turns off the big light

I’m being the cool girl I’m keeping it so tight I carry home while My friends have a good night

I need him like water He thinks that I’m alright I’m not feeling human I think he’s a good guy

But it’s complex It’s a complex It’s a complex I’m a complex

Triangular I can see them now Three points at which I let myself down I was just a girl What’s the excuse now?

Too regular This pattern I’ve been taking shelter in Reaching new highs When I was 19 I wanted to die

Now I just want to kill you But I don’t want to paint you the victim And I talk a good game I’d die for you just the promise you’d listen

But I’m wearing his boxers I’m being a good wife We won’t be together But maybe the next life

I need him like water He lives on a landslide I cry in his bathroom He turns off the big light

I’m being the cool girl I’m keeping it so tight I carry home while My friends have a good night

I need him like water He thinks that I’m alright I’m not feeling human I think he’s a good guy

But it’s complex It’s a complex It’s a complex I’m a complex

You were beginning to feel normal again.

Whatever sadness your brain had plagued your body with that kept you chained to your room had begun to heal, and you felt like you could see again. No thick fog of heaviness that kept you from seeing your hands outstretched in front of your face.

You were smiling.

Your friends had noticed too, they saw the lightness that followed you when you actually made small talk when you ventured into the kitchen instead of desperately trying to bury yourself as deep into your hoodie and hold your blanket as tightly as possible around you.

You went out for drinks with your roommates and friends. You ordered an appetizer and you ate it. You made eye contact with the waitress and thanked her genuinely as she collected your menu. You laughed about old stories and gasped and reacted accordingly to the new ones hitting your ears.

You were fucking normal again.

But, one thing you learned as you got to know yourself, is nothing ever lasted for you. 

The only thing that stuck around and made itself constant was Conrad Fisher.

That gorgeous, wicked grin of a man.

He had you wrapped around his finger and he knew it, he fucking knew it. He knew how you loved him so desperately that it made you feel small, pathetic. Nothing but a small fly sat on the rubber of his shoe.

But if you were to be anything to Conrad Fisher, you’d settle for a fly. Because at least you could stay close to him.

Conrad: can you come get me

You wanted to scream. 

You wanted to scream and cry until you ripped your own hair from the scalp and you wanted to flip over this table and smash every glass and plate in the restaurant, making everyone around you bloody and bruised but you wouldn’t care because at least you wouldn’t be alone.

You: I’m busy.

You shoved your phone in your pocket and tried to breathe. You tried to focus on your friends in front of you, your friends who love you so much and had been there through every unbearable second of the past few months. The friends who loved you through the hard times when Conrad was absent. Your friend caught your eye and her smile faltered.

She knew that look.

That was the “Conrad Fisher just texted me and he needs me and for some reason, no matter how badly I don’t want to, I have to go” look. 

Conrad: please.

And so you did. 

You told everyone you had a headache, something in your cocktail just wasn’t right and it was making you queasy. They all nodded and begged you not to apologize but they shared knowing looks with each other once your presence was absent from the table. They discussed how they weren’t angry, just simply so worried for what this was going to look like when Conrad Fisher decided to throw you out.

Conrad texted you the information of the bar he was at. He had one too many and he couldn’t walk home alone, nor did any of his friends want to leave just yet.

“Hey, baby.” Conrad greeted you as he unwound his arm from around a girl you didn’t recognize, and slung it around you. “Y’look pretty.”

His words were slurring and his eyelids were slumped and his grin was lopsided but god, the ache in your chest only worsened because he was just so beautiful.

You knew his friends probably made fun of you when you weren’t around. Probably talked about how lucky Conrad was that he had a girl so completely enthralled in him that she didn’t care if she embarrassed herself by continuing to show up for him even though he never returned the favor. 

“Conrad’s got a girlfriend with no strings attached.” You’d heard one of them say once.

Conrad had been there. He just simply laughed and shook his head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and saying, “We’re just really close, that’s all.” And you’d smile and nod, words of thanks leaving your mouth when his friends told you how cool you were.

That motherfucker. He knows it isn’t true.

“Yeah. I was with friends.” You said, politely smiling and bidding hellos/ goodbyes to all of his friends as you began to turn, making your way out of the bar with Conrad’s bodyweight clinging to you like a weighted blanket.

But at least you were holding him.

Conrad didn’t respond. He just continued to stumble down the street.

You knew the way to his apartment perfectly, having been to this bar then back to his apartment multiple times, and it was only a couple of blocks. So you trudged on, trying as hard as you could not to think about the fact you were carrying him home while your friends had a good night.

Conrad’s lips on yours was something that felt so beautiful yet so deeply hideous. Like sipping on a delicious cocktail full of liquor and sugar, not caring about the headache and nausea it was going to greet you with in the morning.

You were drunk on him. Completely wasted, but you didn’t care because how could you even think about tomorrow when he was pressed up against you like this?

“Need to hear your words, baby.” He breathed against your skin, pressing hot kisses down the scape of your neck.

“Please.” The word slipped from your lips like a plea, your voice cracking pathetically because, god, you needed him so badly. You needed him like water to your tongue and air to your lungs.

“Good girl.” Conrad praised before he slipped inside of you and you cried out, a sinful moan spilling past your lips and drenching Conrad in pride. He loved the way he made you feel, the pretty noises he elicited from your throat because he knew the exact spots and movements that turned you into a mess around him and he loved it.

And when it was over he’d gently pull you into his bathroom, he’d coo at the whimpers leaving your throat from the sensitivity as he cleaned you up. He’d bring you a pair of boxers and a tee shirt to wear, then he’d turn off the lights and crawl into his bed with his back facing you, not even uttering a simple “Goodnight.”

You’d cry in his bathroom once you could hear his breaths deepen and once you’d start you could hardly stop. Terrible gasps and sobs would fill the dark bathroom as you released every emotion you felt towards Conrad Fisher. Anger, sadness, regret, love, absolute fucking devotion.

You would wake up on the bathroom floor from the small light from the crack of the curtains spilling into the room and you’d slip into bed before Conrad woke up. 

You would arise when he did and you’d smile when he rasped out “Good morning.” 

You’d start a pot of coffee and you’d make him his own, just the way he likes it. You’d leave it on the counter for him as you gathered your things, discarding his boxers and tee shirt into the laundry basket and you’d slowly slip on your outfit from the night before, knowing you’d have to endure judgemental stares and giggles from people passing by you on the straight because of the very obvious walk of shame you were trekking.

He wouldn’t offer to drive you home, why would he?

“Why are you sulking?” He asked from his position in bed, scrolling through his phone.

He went off script.

“I’m not sulking.”

“Why’d you sleep on the bathroom floor then?”

You froze.

“Excuse me?”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid. I know you slept on the bathroom floor.”

You were panicking trying as hard as you could to muster up words, some kind of excuse, anything else besides the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“I wanted to.”

Conrad raised his eyebrows. He didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t, it was a dumb excuse. A dumb excuse that made you want to face palm yourself as hard as you could, hopefully knocking some sense into you.

“You wanted to?”

“I wanted to.”

“Okay.”

You went home without another word, he didn’t even walk you to the door because why the fuck would he? This meant nothing to him.

You meant nothing to him.

You were slipping again, just as quickly as you began to mend, your wounds began to reopen. Nasty, stinging, hideous wounds that invisibly decorated your body began to split, and you were nothing but empty and embarrassed. No longer human, only the broken and stained shell of the girl you once were.

All this pain, over a stupid boy.

A stupid boy that you were now sat next to, in a bar with all your mutual friends, being the cool girl once again. 

He had that stupid fucking charming smile plastered on his face and you wanted to kill him. God, you wanted to fuck him then kill him over and over again until your skin was tinted red and your lips were bruised. 

You never would.

Of course you wouldn’t.

Why would you want to when there was always the sliver of a chance that he’d text you, “I need you”.

It would forever be complex, the way you loved Conrad Fisher and the way he loved to keep you around. Maybe, somewhere deep down he loved you too but didn’t know how to show it. But, the possibility of him just loving your convenience and eager willingness to spread your legs for him, and only him, was much more believable.

A complex.

like i said….. so sorry.

tags| @iluvt4ylorswift @colbysbrocks @prettysummerbaby @gillybear17 @tessastle @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @lilygreennn @allise4 @heyimadison @liltimmys @slut4fictionalcharacters

#conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fanfiction #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty fanfic #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher fanfic #conrad fisher angst

[poicyss]

Okay I definitely wanna hear ur Duck gushing. I liked her too, but I won't deny the one that was my fav was Rue lol

She's just so much! Aaahh!!!

I feel like Duck is very much a very basic anime protagonist on the surface - clumsy but kind, willing to do anything for her friends, a little confused but she has the spirit etc. However!! While she may be basic, she is in no way boring!

I feel like a lot of the times clumsiness is slapped onto main characters for humor and cute value. And while it does make her silly and cute, it also plays a big role in her character and her struggles. She feels like she doesn't ever really fit in, clumsily navigating and trying to balance the life of Duck the girl and Duck the bird and her role in the story as Princess Tutu.

She's called dumb all the time, but she's very wise! Especially if you're a fan of Rue, you can see how wise Duck is when giving advice and talking to her about her feelings and their relationship with Mytho, even if she has trouble getting her point across. Her intentions, even if her words were jumbled, were felt and changed Rue for the rest of the series. Duck is very Empathetic and a lot better at reading people than she gives herself credit for. She thinks she only has the ability to "save" people as Tutu, but I think a lot of her greatest contributions to saving the others were done as Duck.

She also is very brave. She's the one who first examines her role in the story and tries to search for a better ending. I mean obviously, she's the protagonist, but still! Fakir had been going through the same song and dance his whole life, wishing to change the story and stop it from finishing, but he doesn't go actively looking for a better alternative, instead just sort of stalling for time by keeping Tutu from collecting the heart shards.

I really like how Princess Tutu handles it's characters and their struggles AS characters. I feel like a lot of the time when you hear about characters being "doomed by the narrative" or whatever it's referring more to characters who are doomed by action and not role. And due to being the protagonist, of course, this difference is shown best through Duck. She happily accepts her role as Tutu at first, but then later considers that by becoming human she has been losing her identity as a duck, and how the role of Princess Tutu was sort of forced upon her. Is she just Princess Tutu, or is she more?

And she worries about being a tool used for helping people, but still continues to help people regardless. She's not perfect obviously, but her heart is ALWAYS in the right place, and she is incredibly sincere and strong and I think it's great that she is still able to be the same silly girl while having to struggle with stuff like her identity, purpose and destiny.

I feel like a lot of the time when people apply "angst" to genki characters like Duck it can feel insincere. A lot of people see silly characters, ESPECIALLY GIRLS, as lacking depth. Even protagonists! But Duck is just so emotionally rich. She's very cheery and always wants to do her best, of course, but she's not tied to just being a happy character. Actually, she's probably the only one of the main four who doesn't really wear a mask! She doesn't need to, since her emotions and connections fuel the story and it's characters in a way that isn't just "Don't give up ^^ Love your friends ^^ Girl power!!"

She's awkward and loving and brave and a lot deeper than people (including herself, with all that "I'm just a duck" talk) give her credit for. She reminds me a lot of myself, stumbling blindly through social situations to find a connection and someone who could handle all the big huge emotions I have without being deemed unnecessary.

...I'm gonna be honest, I don't even know if a lot of the above makes sense. I sorta just rambled in a random direction until I felt I made a point lol. And I still feel like I didn't manage to say everything! Ahh!! I love this anime so much!!!

#ask #long post #princess tutu #lol... sorry 🙏

[web-novel-polls]

MXTX Side Characters Tournament Submissions

SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED

Rules

One character per submission. If you want to submit multiple characters, please do so in separate forms

No main couples (Bingqiu, Wangxian, or Hualian)

Preliminary polls may occur to decide whether or not to include other significant characters like Feng Xin, Mu Qing, or Liu Qingge. Minor but popular characters like Six Balls will be allowed.

Tag: #mxtx side characters tournament

Submission List below the cut (Dealer's Choice not included)

SVSSS

Zhuzhi-lang 

Submission 1: Snake boy my beloved

Submission 2: I love him

Shang Qinghua / Airplane

Submission (2): He's a sidekick and he's so sidelined that despite creating the universe he's treated as an afterthought - doubly a side character! But also? So relateable. He would absolutely have been on tumblr in his first life, he gets so excited about his blorbo who treats him terribly (until they finally get a happy ending in the extras - also! he has to wait for the extras to get his happy ending! very side-character of him). He holds the fascinating position of being mostly irrelevant to the story and yet without him the themes would totally fail. He deserves a win on something for once, okay?

Sha Hualing

Submission: Her cringefail losergirl swag has captivated me 

Mu Qingfang 

Submission: Ppl tend to completely forget he has a mad scientist side (see Jinlan arc) and if he gets into the tournament I'll have a reason to bring it up.

Daoist nuns triplets 

Submission: Authors of "Song of BingQiu" and the true culprits behind the ass wine extra. Stop crediting Liu Mingyan with their hard work! 

Mobei-jun

Submission: He's a demon tsundere who doesn't realize his human boyfriend is scared and easily squishable. Got demoted from king to cabinet minister during a hostile takeover but is pretty chill about it. Huge boobs.

Six Balls

Submission: When he was born he weighed as much as six balls. Current ball number unknown.

Helen of Troy*

Submission: uhm she isn't a Side character ? but she is referenced heavily by the main character and the subtext. This is integral to the plot of SVSSS because the subtext is where it's actually at. If all you do is read the book you will have several misconceptions of the plot. Anyway Shen Yuan!Shen Qingqiu is a metaphorical Helen of Troy within the story AND HE FUCKING SAYS THIS HIMSELF INSUSJSKS

*will have to pass a preliminary poll to be included in the tournament (<-thinks it would be funny to put her in)

Ning Yingying

Submission: Her glow-up in the SVSSS timeline is real! Instead of becoming Luo Binghe's childhood sweetheart, she roasts him for referring to her too familiarly. Love this for her. 

Gongyi Xiao 

Submission: He is such a Good Person who didn't deserve his fate :(

Qin Wanyue

Submission: Scum Villain's wettest and most pathetic loser! Of course, she's so pathetic that she's constantly overshadowed by more bombastically pathetic characters, but I think she deserves her chance at recognition. 

OG Luo Binghe’s Harem

Submission: Binghe's harem the whole collection all of them together an amalgamation of all the wives 

Tianlang-jun

Submission: Incredible character who does it like him 

TGCF 

Quan Yizhen 

Submission: He's a good boi and thinking about him makes me cry a lil'.

Yin Yu 

Submission: The guy of all time. The most average god ever. Someone give him a break. His face is so average that Xie Lian thought it was fake 

Ling Wen

Submission: Girlboss. Did nothing wrong

Bai Jing (Brocade Immortal)

Submission: no 1 ling wen simp (just like me fr)

MDZS

A-Qing 

Propaganda: She's so smart. She tricked so many people into thinking she was blind for so long. Also, she was really kind and considerate. Like she didn't have to save all of those people from Xue Yang. Oh and she's an excellent judge of character and super brave. Really hope she wins, she's such a fun little genius girl

Su Minshan / Su She

Propaganda: Idk I just kinda like him

Submission 2: Look at him having his own life and grudges and friendships and priorities completely unrelated to the main characters! He was so right to curse Jin Zixun 

Wen Ning 

Submission: This poor guy dealt with so much shit in life, only to be killed, resurrected, and forced to deal with Wuxian's bullshit for years on end

Jiang Cheng

Submission 1: Extremely traumatized yet also somehow the most normal and functional by the end. Huge bitch but I (and at least one of the other characters) think he deserves to be even worse after everything he's been through

Submission 2: Simultaneously badass and the most cringefail man. Extremely funny and stylish but still manages to be very uncool. Cries a lot. Also he's lost a lot of tumblr polls—let's give him another shot! We definitely love him more than his dad did!

Submission 3: He's got mommy issues AND daddy issues. He loves his sister and his shige so much. He's traumatised and incredibly competent. He rebuilt his whole sect! He's an asshole (affectionate). He's purple! He's got the coolest weapon ever conceived. I'm so worried about his blood pressure basically all the time. 

Wen Qing

Submission 1: Doctor, mad scientist, war criminal, protective big sister... she has the range!!

Submission 2: Wen Qing my beloved!! She did surgery on a grape. Mad genius for real. Also a loving sister with a very sharp tongue and maybe no sense of how far is too far. Can't wait for them to find her alive in a Koi Tower basement!

Submission 3: Justice for my girl!!!! 

Submission 4: She's bitchy and pragmatic and cares deeply and did an unprecedented operation (experimental and nonconsensual!), what's not to love? Also she deserved better.

Jin Ling

Submission 1: He may be a brat, but he has a good heart and a friendly dog. He thinks he's the main character of a much less intense story which keeps almost getting him killed 

Submission 2: Bestest boy in the whole world. He's got a dog! A helicopter uncle! His dad's sword! Yeah he can be a little brat but he's SIXTEEN okay (or thirteen, or whatever, MXTX HELP) and he's got an incredible capacity for forgiveness. He's so good!

Xue Yang

Submission 1: No propaganda submitted

Submission 2: It's not that he's evil. He lacks empathy and he goes into a disassociative state and commits atrocities.

Xiao Xingchen

No propaganda submitted

Song Lan 

No propaganda submitted

Fairy (Jin Ling’s dog)

Submission: The cutest, smartest, and goodest doggo! She's the one who led WangXian to the Nie sword tomb to save Jin Ling! and led Jiang Cheng to Guanyin Temple to save Jin Ling! and led Lan cultivators to the temple to help Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen (and Jin Ling!)

Bichen 

Submission: this sword has been through a lot…

Lan Xichen

Submission: Pay your respects to the captain of the WangXian ship! Those idiots would keep pining for another 13282627 years if it weren't for him!

#mxtx side characters tournament #submissions #idk if the source material section of the form was strictly necessary but it does make my life easier so. #not a poll #tumblr tournament #character tournament #my submissions

[heart-shaped-horns]

THE UNIVERSE IS YOUR STAGE- PERFORM! AND DONT WORRY, WE’RE ALL HERE FOR THE SHOW. 🐩🪭💋🍒💄🍎♥️

PATIENT ZERO: PECAN

*bubble gum pops* HELLO AGAIN tumblr nation…it’s your favorite truckstop whore in the flesh.. nyeah………ANYWAYS. For those who haven’t come to know me my names pecan and I run a church (my blog) where we smoke newports and attend sermons (whatever bullshit posts I have to give) PLEASE! Make yourselves at home- the body of Christ is a gift that keeps on giving.

Specimen Info:

-My name is pecan, and I also sometimes go as pecanpie. Other aliases include: Cherry Ferry Fantasia. Choose wisely how you refer to me- or don’t, I don’t even exist!

-I’m 19 and female, you can use whatever pronouns when referring to me, but I usually go by she/her 🪭🪭🪭

-ADHD

-aroace, with a hint of bisexuality.

-My hobbies include: drawing, writing (though I rarely ever do finish my pieces let alone publish them) collecting worthless garbage, listening to music and blowing my eardrums out, being an eternal pain in the ass to deal with, thrifting, sitting on porches, smoking winstons, masquerading as a sane individual, dressing up, and trying out new things because I am an avid dopamine chaser. woohoo!

Things I like: Pretentious media, throwing pitchforks at rich priests, consumerism, otome games, douma, buddhism, echo rose, religious studies, args, reaching divinity, shitty manga, maximalism in every sense, bedazzled stuff, money, getting tacky nails, the roaring 20’s, 1950’s femme fashion, old era aesthetics, boutique shops, leopard print, grandma couches, pathetic wet sop characters and a lot more.

-I have two cats, Mochi and Waffles. The bloodline ends with yours truly.

Fandoms I’m currently active in; Obey Me! Shall We Date, Demon Slayer, and Stephanie Lawson Stevens. I may consider writing for the first two, but I won’t set that in stone yet.

Movies I like: Pink Flamingos, No Country For Old Men, Helter Skelter, Pulp Fiction, All the Boys Love Mandy Lane, Girl Interrupted, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, Spun, Gummo, Last Night in Soho, Fruit of Wonder, Elephant (2003) - will be updated the more I get my hands on anything new that tickles my fancy.

My taste in music: I’m pretty versatile when it comes to what I prefer, so it could range from bimbo-pop to classical music. Anything that sounds good to me I like. I mostly listen to 50’s housewife songs and lady Gaga, though.

-I’m a big fan of indie art and surrealism. Filmmaking as well. Shaye Saint John and Mouchette.org are a few of my favorites.

-I like mortuary work and autopsies. I hold the death industry in high regards- not everyone is willing to work with corpses.

-huge GIGANTIC douma fan. anything and everything douma related I will not hesitate to engage with, he’s my little guy.

- heart sunglasses ambassador (this is my trademark) ❤️

-Polka dot prints and faux fur are resounding yesses.

-You know Florence? (If you get the reference.)

-I think vintage pill cases are lovely.💋

-I have the response time of a limp dick. I either respond in less than a second or only after 3 business months.

-I’ve been working on my new oc line on and off for a few months now, called FEAR & LOATHING in JERUSALEM. artblock is a massive bitch, but stuff is in progress.

Anyways if you’re a terrible human being feel free to block me, you are not welcome onto my blog thank you very much xoxo (transphobes homophobes ableists you know who you are)

GOT COMPLAINTS? CONTACT ME AT 1-666-JERUSALEM-CRACK-SHACK! Make sure to leave me a message. Business hours only!

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒MASTERLIST: IN THE WORKS? 🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

#pecanpie #introductory

[placegrenette]

so here we have an entire mini-album and it’s sponsored and all the songs are based on Abay poetry.

like, that’s it. that’s the band. throw in some Naruto references and Bala playing to the camera and/or swearing for comic effect, and you know everything you could possibly need to know.

let me elaborate further: Abay is not a Kazakh poet, he is, from everything I can gather, the Kazakh poet. He is credited with not only jump-starting Kazakh poetry but, via his translation work, vastly increasing the accessibility of leading 19th-century texts to Kazakhs. His reputation is so large that you can actually find a multi-part essay along the lines of, “Are we sure this guy existed, or were his accomplishments actually the collective creation of a group of literary Kazakhs wanting to build up their then-colonized country’s cultural capital and pride?” I have no idea how crackpot that theory is, by the way; I bring it up not to endorse it but to give you some idea of how large Abay seems to loom in Kazakh and Kazakhstani mythology. I’m hard pressed to think of an American or British equivalent. Shakespeare, maybe? But neither Shakespeare nor Chaucer, as much as they meant to the development of English literature and poetry, have the same kind of national meaning that Abay seems to have. The British (or English) just didn’t need that kind of symbol. Alessandro Mazoni may be a better comparison.

Now, one thing I don’t know is how reverently Abay and his works are treated. There’s a possible context where invoking his poetry in the context of shilling for a candy-peddling multinational corporation would be disrespectful at best, bordering on sacrilegious. Or he really could be the Kazakh equivalent of Shakespeare, in which his expressions are so woven into the fabric of public life that you could use them in this context and no one would bat an eye. Or the reception could be somewhere in the middle. This is one of those questions you need years’ worth of experience with Kazakhstani society to answer, and as y’all full well know, I don’t have that.

I am willing to guess that Ninety One is not only very familiar with Abay’s works but influenced by them. For example: “Morality and languages take paramount part at Abay's universal system. He considered that language opens a window into the vast world. Humanity and liberality oblige learn languages of other nations, as only in this way for human-thinker can feel a connection with the geniuses of the spiritual world.” (I’m pretty sure, based on that website’s praise for then-president Nazarbayev, that it was government-sponsored.) Like, if that’s not ZaQ’s philosophy in a nutshell I don’t know what is. More broadly, the idea of Abay as a nationalist who elevated his people through poetry, communication, and contact with the outside world is absolutely in Ninety One’s wheelhouse. I’m not sure if I can think of any place where they’ve invoked the example of Abay directly to talk about what they want to accomplish, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it existed and just hasn’t been translated (or I missed it).

After we did our podcast together, Filmi Girl watched Men Sen Emes / Face the Music and wrote about its central conflict being not solely about gender roles but about what a modern Kazakh / Kazakhstani identity should look like -- “Kazakhs should be modern,” as ZaQ said in his Zhas Otan speech. (I tried to get at this earlier, in my OWOB mall essay.) Whether or not other Kazakhstanis would find Ninety One’s invoking Abay in the context of candy shilling offensive -- like I said, I really don’t know -- I’m confident that Ninety One doesn’t find it offensive at all, and not just because it’s in their financial interest to be cool with it. (This is an aside, but McDonald’s having to pull out of Kazakhstan right after the guys started appearing in McDonald’s commercials must have thrown a nasty wrench into their P&L calculations for calendar year 2022.) But I could see them saying that making multinational business connections and working to increase their own profile and financial growth would meet with a twenty-first-century Abay’s approval. How else are you supposed to help Kazakhstan, and the Kazakh language, and the Kazakh (and Kazakhstani) people, grow and prosper?

I have not actually heard the mini yet, by the way. (I will post reviews here when I do. Be warned that currently I have a marker down that (a) I won’t like it and (b) I especially won’t like anything Ace co-wrote.) I just wanted to point out that my faves’ sponsored Valentine’s Day-themed mini-album (Махаббат сөзі means “The word of love,” sez Google Translate) comes with a side of thought-provoking national-myth-making literary-history invocation. Which is not the sole reason they’re my faves, but it definitely doesn’t hurt.

#ninety one #come find me eaglez

[inkdemon-whore]

Wip characters/au info and faq. Not saved to drafts cuz I'm doin this on my phone and am lazy, turning off reblogs cuz info is not complete (that n I wanna make it look nicer later)

⊱⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊱⋅•☽✞☾•⋅⊰⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊰

The ink demon: the Bioshock big daddy of this au. Is referred by most characters as "it/its", but prefers "he/him". Characters will refer to him as "the ink demon" or just "demon". An asshole father, that calls his own children names, and uses rather foul language to put them down. He isn't opposed to tormenting anyone and anything for his own enjoyment/to lash out violently in rage. Thinks he's the only thing truly alive in the cycle, and thus, that everything there is ment to torment him specifically. He has no regard for anyone else's wellbeing but his own.

Pron and names I use to refer to him, he/it, ink demon/ink/ink bendy/bendy.

Relations:

fave - spawn/child

Henry - adopted father, does not actually see him as family/related

Alice Angel - "insecure bitch" (said the insecure bitch to someone that reminds him of himself a lil)

---

music playlist: { ━🌑━ | ━🌒━ | ━🌓━ | ━🌔━ | ━🌕━ | ━🌖━ | ━🌗━ | ━🌘━ | ━🌑━ }

⊱⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊱⋅•☽✞☾•⋅⊰⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊰

Favourite Audrey: the Bioshock lil sister (or someone said ponyo vibes, I see it tbh). an Audrey made close to perfection (with Henry in mind). Her deminor is more akin to toon bendy, being shy and quiet most of the time, but still somehow getting into trouble. She isn't afraid to point out the ink demons inconsistencies in character, or how he portraits himself. The ink demon did not name her, in the present tence he refers to her as "child/girl/spawn", with "she/it/they" pronouns when talking about her to himself, and just the names or insults when talking about her to others.

Pron and names I use for her, she/her, favourite/fave/fav/fave Audrey (I might have also said just "Audrey" at some points, but I'll call her fave for clarification)

Relations:

Ink demon - father, calls him "daddy" sometimes, but he constantly discourages it, suggesting she just call him the ink demon. She tells everybody he's her daddy so long as he's not around.

Henry - adopted grandfather, calls him "papaw", isn't entirely sure if they're related because she was always told he was an outsider. He's really nice to her tho, nd she likes the songs he sings to her and the drawings he makes.

Alice Angel - mean woman, but she thinks she's pretty and is actually very protective of her. Fave doesn't understand why.

⊱⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊱⋅•☽✞☾•⋅⊰⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊰

Proto-Audrey: refers to any Audrey, including fave, made before the final, perfect Audrey's creation. They can range from looking like searchers and lost ones, to seeming more human, or more toon like, and even then for a long time their appearance varied wildly based on Joey Drew's inconsistent ideas. Only after fave did they start looking more or less the same. Their attitudes varied wildly as well, from rage filled or sobbing messes, to numb emotionless husk. No other Audrey has had the same personality as fave. Audrey's made before fave where more emotionally unstable, and those made after would grow to be more numb. No one has seen, or if they have they do not recall any proto Audrey in specific, other than fave, and perhaps some that came after her, thinking it was the same child. There where about 800 made over 50 years, many of them eaten by the ink demon.

Proto-Audrey's are referring to has a collective "they", and have no substantial relationship outside of being the ink demons spawn.

⊱⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊱⋅•☽✞☾•⋅⊰⋅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⋅⊰

Perfect Audrey: also just know as Audrey, she's the last of the ink demons spawn. We'll hidden, well trained, well adjusted and untormented. Likely raised at a distance, and under very meticulous circumstances set up by the demon. Molded to be exactly what Joey wanted, a blank slate. The ink demon never saw her again once she left the machine. (or at least, he hoped)

#daddy ink demon au #Ref

[clockworksteel]

Been noticing lately that as part of gender questioning, I seem to have a bit of a mental barrier that's located roughly around the midpoint of the spectrum of typical genders that's been a barrier to healthy experimentation (even if I'm guessing I'm nonbinary, it seems important to at least try what I can while I'm in a questioning mood). Thing is... I'm not entirely sure what the barrier is made of. Like... is it cult programming from being raised Mormon? Social programming from living in a society? Fear of what others would think? Impostor syndrome? I've just started calling it The Rubicon. This is of course a reference to R-Type Final's RX-12 Cross The Rubicon, which pushed the inclusion of Bydo in ships beyond their limits and led to the B-series such as B-1B Mad Forest. Or, you know, a reference to that whole thing with Caesar and Rome, I think it was.

Thing is... the implications are totally different depending on which reference I'm actually making. If I were to cross the barrier, would I unlock new options but still have the ability to go back and choose R-Series genders if I wanted (okay, maybe forcing the reference there), or would it truly be a point where the only way is forward due to discovering something that cannot be forgotten or ignored (is this an invasion of Rome or the Cthluhu mythos)? Of course, in R-Type Final, while the player can go back and choose other ships, I suppose in-universe humanity accepting the development of ships full of alien infestation represents a lot more.

Anyway, this post isn't about actually sorting out any of that, but about finding amusement in where, exactly, said barrier seems to be and/or just mentioning how things are going. I remarked to a friend recently that although I haven't crossed the barrier, it may have moved a bit closer to Rome at some point. Also, I'll mention The Valiey a couple times: it's the discord server associated with egg_irl (normally that I is capitalized and Discord's font make it look exactly like an l).

Voice Acceptable Activities: Collecting bookmarks related to voice training, lurking voice training discussion in The Valiey, trying to sing high parts in songs while alone (it doesn't go great, especially if I listen to myself try without the songs playing, but perhaps not as badly as one might guess), thinking about how cool it would be to be able to slip into a feminine voice during dialog as appropriate for when I'm recording Youtube videos Locked: Opening the voice training videos, which are probably badly needed if I wanted to get "Resonance" right (I've been lurking some voice training discussion and don't have a clear idea of what that is, but it's definitely not all about pitch and my pitches are probably fine if the rest of me was at all convincing)

Clothing Acceptable: Picking up an oversized T-shirt (by 2 sizes) at Wal-Mart and wearing it late at night and to bed, already owning some rainbow striped socks that go up to around the knees, thinking about getting taller socks (probably the next thing I'll actually do but haven't gotten around do it so just thinking for now), wondering where the measuring tape got to in case I need some measurements to use with size charts like for a skirt, imagining having a skirt, planning on getting a pair of more feminine glasses next time I routinely get glasses (I get 2 pairs at a time with my vision plan) Locked: Going through with buying a skirt or dress

Video Games (general) Acceptable: Choosing female characters a lot. I've already mentioned this. Locked: Naming a female character "Clyceer". This one might be because of a particular discussion where within a group of friends about an OC named Clyceer that by that point was half self-insert and half somebody-else-inserted-me. He had transformation powers but it was decided they'd only be used in cis ways. I guess I call it a discussion but really it was "I asked the only girl in the group if they'd be comfortable with him having female forms and she said no." This probably happened back when I was in high school.

Visual Novels Acceptable: Taking an interest in any visual novel my housemate plays. Locked: Playing otome games personally (Or maybe it's just that I already pretty much know what happens on most of the ones we own? I only caught a couple routes from Cafe Enchante though, mostly just that nerd Angel's actually).

Telling people I'm questioning my gender Acceptable: Shouting into the void that is tumblr. Joining The Valiey and introducing myself as questioning and setting my pronouns on that server to just they/their/them rather than having it be after "he/his/him or" like on Tumblr and Youtube. Locked: Telling my nonbinary housemate that I'm questioning. I don't think they've seen any of the tumblr posts, but they probably know something by now. I've mentioned The Valiey (but not what it is) and pointed out funny stuff like someone painting the trans flag on a virtual car and someone else joking that it can now double jump (Celeste reference). Plus they know about the oversized shirt and the rainbow socks of course. Also, people who are definitely cis probably don't suddenly mention Blahaj (the IKEA shark) a few times within the space of a week. Of all the mental barriers this one is probably the silliest. Super Double Locked: Telling any family members I'm questioning. Now this one is just reasonable.

Hair Actually, I think I'm just lazy about this. I'd absolutely remove all the arm/leg/chin/neck hair if it was easy and wouldn't be super uncomfortable after a couple days. Maybe it makes sense to wait until after winter before trying anything at this point though. Already almost officially fall. I think I've been doing the regular shaving a bit more frequently though. I guess I'm not sure of actually growing the top-of-head hair out ever. I visit my parents too often for it to be a thing I could just try.

Makeup Actually, due to sensory integration disfunction, this just seems unpleasant no matter what I realize about gender. Maybe if truly necessary I'd try something.

Other notes unrelated to the main subject of the post:

I've also saved some exercises that were shared alongside some transfem memes and have tried them, although I probably need something easier for the lower torso area. Still, the idea that I could make my build even slightly more feminine through exercise is oddly motivating.

I started developing a habit of crossing my legs (at the ankles) and have a couple bookmarks for reddit threads where other habits were being discussed (or at least asked about: I'll have to check back to see if there's substance)

Lately I've also just felt more motivated to do things around the house. The dishes have been more routinely getting done and other things have been getting cleaned up.

I hope R-Type Final 2 goes on a good sale soon. I also like that the only links in the post are to the R-Type wiki. I am, in fact, still a gamer.

How'd 1.5 hours pass just now? Did I really spend that long on this? It's bedtime.

#clockwork-gender

[twelvedaysinaugust]

Hiii I just want to come here and share some of my thoughts on Saved by a Stranger, and on the new album maybe. I agree with the interpretation about references to the collective influence of fans, or to a certain person. They are all possible and interesting explanations! But I want to say that, oddly, when I first heard the demo, the melody, the lyrics as well as how he chooses to sing the song in a very clear, genuine way (but maybe bcs it’s merely a demo but I think depending on the concept the final version might not make it too loud either) all remind me at once of Oasis, and specifically about one song, Talk Tonight.

I am a big fan of music documentaries. I think it’s an abundant resource for someone who wants create something to find inspiration and personal growth. Also sometimes, watching other artists’ struggles and how they over come them really gives on strength and faith. This is important because and I believe Louis likes to watch them, too. In some of the latest interviews he mentioned a few times how he loves to know about how bands are made and how they have grown. Somewhere in an interview during his Australien leg (i guess?), he also mentioned Pistol (2022), a documentary/tv series about Sex Pistols, which surprised me because I haven’t seen a log of people in my life or on the internet talking about it. And I’m really glad he would dig out those information as an artist who is also growing and learning. And I’m guessing this passion may even date back to early days of one direction. When they were repeatedly compared to Beatles when they first came to America, all the boys may have watched Beatles’ documentaries together, which Louis, Harry and Liam all mentioned in interviews.

Now, back to Talk Tonight. It was said on one of the Oasis documentary that their first American tour was horrible, and he and Liam got into a big fight, before he stormed away, leaving one note and not telling anyone where he went. He actually went to a small town? Or San Francisco? I don’t remember exactly where. There he stayed with a girl he had befriended during a previous show. She talked a distraught Noel off the ledge and took him to the park where she had played as a child. Many details in the song are allegedly about her. But after that Noel said they never met again. The song lyrics also convey the concept of being saved by someone, the state of mind after the storm, thanks to this someone who dragged him out of there.

Sorry about all the rambling about oasis :> Anyway, after making this connection I think there’s a possibility that Louis might get the concept of Saved by a Stranger from here, from watching all those documentaries about his favorite bands. Or there might actually be someone, but he also had this background story of Talk Tonight at the back of his mind. This doesn’t make the writing less personal. In fact, this might be an extreme personal artist revelation.

What I want to say most importantly is that, let’s now look at Louis the artist, singer/songwriter more seriously, in a bigger picture. In this way we may better acknowledge him as a creative human being who also has his highs and lows, strengths and flaws. I don’t mean that all the interpretations of his writings according to his relationships are wrong or not serious, but they are not all. An artist is shaped by so many things they encounter each day, so is a song text that has been worked out throughout a long period of time, under the hands of several artists together. And I think how Louis handled this start season of promotion, how he started it from the afhf with all the newly introduced bands, how he invites people to discuss about his writing choices… all theses are exactly aimed at building his identity more as a young artist in growth than as a former member of a pop band — I’m here speaking of the stereotypical image from the vast majority out of the fandom, I love one direction and I think some of their work has been under appreciated.

Sorry this got too long.. I’m just very happy and excited for lt2 era and for louis:)

Thanks for sharing, nonnie. I've seen a few people mention the parallels between "Talk Tonight" and "Saved by a Stranger." Thanks for the added context.

#saved by a stranger

[imagineyouandharry]

Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined. 

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

 ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #Prince!Harry #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #new writter #writeblr #fanfic #fantasy #high fantasy #prince

[princessgemma12]

Best: the ninja turtles characters with really Odd For Them interests. Also known as “Gemma Projecting Again” and “Things Gemma Wants In Canon But Can’t Have So She Writes Them Instead.”

Like, Writer!Raph that gathers random bits of knowledge about fucking everything--ancient sex practices, like the legend about Cleopatra and the Bees, and strange phases of scientific theory like Schrodinger’s Cat, and obscure plant symbolism like basil representing hatred. But, him being 1/4 himbo, he also couldn’t tell you shit about algebra or “normal” history like WWII dates (or sometimes even the years). Also witch!Raph? Like crystals and candle magic and legends and shit. Greco-Egyptian Paganism mixed with traditional Japanese myths and practices, with sprinkles of Norse thrown in. He collects things that represent his familiar to use in his craft, and also because he’s terribly sentimental. He has playlists for everybody with all their favorites.

Donnie with a soft spot for old rap--Sir Mixalot and Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg and Missy Elliot and Lil’ Kim. Also modern girl power rap like Megan Thee Stallion and Doja Cat. Donnie that enjoys vampire romances and has a weird obsession with trying to figure out how vampires drink blood (fang straws or simple sharp tools?) and how the modern vampire image came to be (which in turn leads to familiarity with the origins of Fifty Shades and the history of MCR).

Leo, who is a connoisseur of different music genres--boy listens to everything from 2000s era Flo Rida to TikTok-spawned singles like History Hates Lovers by Oublaire; old Japanese lullibies and folk songs to 1970s era Aerosmith; 2010s Disney animated musicals to post-Kinky Boots Todrick Hall music (and pre-Kinky Boots Todrick, but it’s the Hot Boy Summer trend that started about that time that I’m referring to here). Also a fan of YouTube commentary channels like iNabber and the Illuminaughtii, and also Sims players like the wholesome lilsimsie but at the same time the vulgar Whiny Brit.

Mikey who likes crime shows and unsolved mysteries; Mikey as a NCIS fan and someone who binges podcasts on Spotify. He’s got, like, a million random facts about the history of NYC tucked away in his brain, all having to do with things or people that shaped the eclectic culture of the different boroughs but especially Manhattan because he loves humans and thinks they’re Neat. He keeps up-to-date with politics and has tried on multiple occasions to sneak out for marches and protests, but Splinter and Leo always have to coax him into less risky forms of helping. Idolizes Marilyn Monroe because she was a fucking Queen and she deserved better than the hand she was dealt.

Karai that likes cutesy little cafes and flower shops, and whose favorite place to be is perched on the kitchen counter in the lair, just listening to the sounds of her family without being within the wonderful chaos. She makes an origami animal every night, each one representing a family member--wolf for Raph, lion for Leo, Phoenix for April, cat for Shini, octopods for Donnie, dogs for Mikey, a rat for Splinter, and a tiger for Casey--and she slips them under doors and into pockets and onto tables for them to find and be reminded of their loved ones. (Raph asks specifically for a white snake one Christmas and stares her in the face when he puts it on his alter, right next to all the other animals he’s collected from her.) Karai that can sew because it’s a practical skill but dives into fanciful dresses and kimonos and sequins because Leo and Mikey begged her help with a project one time and she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Casey that falls asleep listening to nature sleep sounds and makes mix-tapes for all of his friends and family, catering specifically to how he sees them (things like When Will My Life Begin from Tangled and Diagnosis (I Cannot Give Anymore) by Milo McAllister for Mikey, for example). Casey that can’t cook or bake for shit but is actually really good at practical math like measurements and ratios which makes him an absolute blessing in the kitchen anyway (just don’t leave him in charge of anything that’s being cooked/baked) and leads to a fun rivalry with Donnie about estimating the height of buildings they want to scale and lengths of gaps that they want to jump across. Casey that binges Theorizer videos and can never view his childhood movies or Tv shows in the same light because of this, and shares his discoveries with anyone unlucky enough to be nearby after a binge session.

April that takes up photography after she notices the severe lack of family photos and permanent memorabilia around the lair. She loves reading but is So Bad at finding the symbolism on her own, and prefers fanfiction romances over published romances because there’s a general lack of blatant sexism within healthy fandom spheres. She likes fucked up music like Hollywood Undead and Eminem, which are her Get Shit Done music. She ironically reads Twilight on a fairly regular basis because her dad bought her the series when she was in high school and she finds an odd comfort in it, despite its issues. She’s a Selena Gomez fan and tried popcorn dipped in pickle juice for the hell of it and... just never stopped. Got Mike hooked on it, though.

Shini that does watercolor painting with Splinter and meditates to Casey’s Sleepy Nature Noises. She loves silly children’s media and her 2000s McDonald’s Shrek and Fiona glasses have a reverential place on her mantel. April and Raph introduce her to American rap and rap rock and she Loves It; memorizes Boss Bitch by Doja Cat within a week of hearing it. Collects queer comics from all over the world, even if she doesn’t speak or read the language, just for the sake of supporting the artists and bringing awareness to the media. Is a truly eldritch being and knows about ten different dances but Doesn’t Dance, Mikey, Please Stop Asking. Her household skills are virtually nonexistent but she’s really good at embroidery so she makes everybody protection charms. She used to be a tattoo artist in Japan in the ‘90s so Raph and Casey ask her to do their ink, but she specialized in flowery designs and inspirational kanji--they have her do the Hamato clan emblem on their shoulders and gush about it for weeks afterward.

Splinter that jams to Disney musicals with his kids and can’t help but snort at the creative use of language in some of the more vulgar music they enjoy--he has a stubborn soft spot for Ashnikko, courtesy of Karai, because she reminds him of her (K). Still not his favorite but he doesn’t say anything if someone puts her music on. His favorite non-cheese food is cheesecake (doesn’t count as cheese, don’t be smart!) and he has about seven different recipes memorized, and has dabbled in cake decorating. He started studying carpentry after his and Shen’s wedding because he wanted to build their future child(ren) their own cradle and he used this knowledge to help construct the lair into a proper home (and later help Donnie with his earlier inventions). Splinter that starts using different colored candles during meditation and different incense and tea blends depending on what he’s figuring out/trying to bring himself/his family because Raph came out of the broom closet and he wants to be Encouraging and show his understanding (and he likes the change without giving up the old comforts of his childhood). Splinter that likes pop art and gifts his kids large buckets and long mops after he finds out they’ve been doing graffiti, enforcing the “clean up after yourselves” rule but not discouraging them from the outlet (Leo is under Strict Orders to photograph everything). Splinter that’s really good at making Mexican food as long as Mr. Jones walks him through it. He discovers he absolutely loves Anglo-Saxon and Norse stories, and begs literature from Shinigami until they have to scrounge up a dozen different translations just to keep him satisfied. He’s terrible at taking pictures but draws everything April shoots for her part-time gig with Channel 6. If caught in the right mood, particularly if he’s just a little bit tipsy, he will Lose His Goddamn Mind at well-executed sex jokes (a fact they find out because Mona Lisa excels at those).

#long post #headcanons #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leonardo #tmnt splinter #tmnt shinigami #tmnt karai #tmnt casey jones #tmnt april o'neil #tmnt headcanons

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

  Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x female reader #Dark content haikyuu #yandere akaashi keiji

[dragonkeeper19600]

Jaws: The Musical (Concept)

So, out of curiosity, I looked online to see if anyone had ever adapted a musical from Jaws. There is a musical called Bruce that’s scheduled to debut in Seattle next year about the production of Jaws (and I would be interested in seeing that), but as for a musical of the Jaws story itself, I found one that’s for kids and about 48 minutes long.

Now, I’ve never seen this musical, so I cannot attest as to its quality, but, in my opinion, both of those choices are wrong. This musical should be the full two acts, and it should be aimed at adults. 

I’ve been brainstorming, and I think I’ve got a hypothetical musical all mapped out. You might think a musical based on Jaws is silly, but a lot of successful musicals have been adapted from really strange things (such as a comic book artist’s coming-out memoir, a crappy Roger Corman movie, and a collection of goofy cat poems), and I feel like a Jaws musical could be really epic. The story easily lends itself into a two-act structure. The first act is the shark attacks on Amity Island, and the second act is the hunt for the shark in the Orca. 

However, the musical wouldn’t make the mistake of putting lyrics to John Williams’s iconic Jaws theme. The theme would obviously be used as a leitmotif throughout the show, but it’s not the type of song that lends itself to lyrics, and I think that would be corny,

So, the musical would play out like this:

ACT ONE:

The movie opened with Chrissie’s death, so the stage show will do the same. The scene will be short and all dialogue, no singing. The shark will also not be seen, but its presence will be implied by the music, lighting, and Chrissy’s acting.

First song: “Welcome to Amity Island.” Functions as an intro to the setting of Act One. The tone is joyous and celebratory as the islanders welcome the flood of tourists that always come in the summer. A big portion of the song is sung by Mayor Vaughn as he sings about what a wonderful vacation spot Amity Island is. We also meet Brody, and a dark undercurrent is introduced to the song as he finds Chrissy’s mangled body.

Brody, of course, takes steps to close the beach right away, but he’s stopped by the Mayor, who sings the second song, “Summer Dollars,” where the Mayor insists that closing the beaches is bad for the town and that Brody shouldn’t be causing an unnecessary panic and causing hysteria that could drive tourists away. Brody tries to argue back but in the end, Vaughn has his way.

Brody returns to the station, apprehensive about keeping the beaches open. Here, we’re introduced to Brody’s wife, Ellen, who saw no problem with visiting him at work since nothing ever happens on Amity Island. Brody expresses his uneasiness, but Ellen assures him that his fear of the water is making him overestimate the danger. This gets Brody’s coworkers curious, so, with a little prompting from Ellen, Brody sings his first solo, “Drowning,” about his fear of the water. In the song, Brody sings about a childhood incident where a bully held him underwater at a public swimming pool. Not only did this give him a fear of water, but the bullying he received as a child is what set him on the path to become a cop, since he wanted to be able to protect people from suffering the same mistreatment he did. However, he moved from New York City because the working environment there was unfriendly to cops who wish to protect and serve instead of, well, being typical American cops.

Next song: “Blue Sky” Just as the Mayor wished, the beaches are open, and summer is in full swing. Brody is there with his family, anxiously keeping an eye on the water. The rest of the ensemble doesn’t share his anxiety, however, as they frolic and play in the sun. Brody is jolted to his feet several times by the sound of screaming, but it’s always a false alarm. However, the mood turns scary as we segue into the next song:

“Shark!” - While out swimming on his raft, young Alex Kintner is attacked and eaten. Brody sees it and screams the title of the song. It’s pandemonium as people rush out of the water, and the song is fast-paced and chaotic. However, it ends on a mournfully quiet note as Mrs. Kintner calls for her son. (”Alex? Alex!?”)

Quick scene transition, and we move immediately into he next song, called “Something Must Be Done.” Here, at a town council meeting, the townspeople argue back and forth about what to do about their shark problem. I imagine the music here sounding like the “Mayor’s Meeting” theme from The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. Brody argues strongly in favor of closing the beaches (in song, of course), but he is shut down not only by the Mayor but by the rest of the townspeople, who still rely on the income brought in by the tourists. People throw around various suggestions, with one woman finally declaring that she’ll reward whoever catches the shark with three thousand dollars. The song descends into a cacophony as people argue over each other.

The noise is interrupted by the screech of nails on a chalkboard. It’s Quint who sings the titular song, “Jaws,” as he sings about his job as a shark hunter and how dangerous sharks can be. (”Those jaws will swallow you whole. / A little shakin’, tenderizing’, down you go.”) He offers to kill the shark for ten grand, not three. The woman who made the offer balks at the high price, and the Mayor explains that kind of money isn’t in the budget “right now.” Quint takes it in stride and tells everyone they’ll know where to find him if they change their minds. He’s supposedly addressing the room, but he looks right at Brody as he says it. He can tell Brody is the only one who will actually listen.

Many sailors of various aptitudes come to Amity Island, hoping to catch the shark and cash in on that three thousand dollars. Among the new arrivals is Hooper, who introduces himself to Brody as a marine biologist from the Oceanographic Institute. Hooper sings his intro song, “Beautiful,” referring to his views on sharks. Hooper recounts how he was bitten by a shark as a child, but instead of coming to fear them, Hooper walked away fascinated by them and now views sharks to be beautiful creatures. However, the song takes a somber note as Hooper is brought in to examine Chrissie’s remains, and the word “Beautiful” is shifted from referring to sharks to referring to Chrissie when she was alive. (“She was just a kid. / So much of life to live. / Now, bits and scraps are all that’s left. / Of a girl who was once so beautiful.”)

“Hell of a Fish” - The fishermen succeed in catching a large tiger shark, presumed to be the shark that killed Alex and Chrissie. Brody joins in the celebratory atmosphere, but Hooper examines the dead shark’s teeth and is convinced they’ve got the wrong fish. The Mayor and the fisherman who caught the tiger shark argue that this is the shark that’s been causing the trouble, while Hooper argues back that it’s definitely not. Hooper angrily demands that he be allowed to dissect the shark to confirm whether there are human remains inside, but Mayor Vaughn rejects his request. He doesn't care if they’ve got the right shark. He doesn’t believe a third attack will happen either way. (”We’ve got a hell of a fish to show. / And shark attacks are pretty rare, you know?”) 

This song is interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Kintner, in funeral attire, who goes up to Brody and slaps him. She then sings “My Boy Is Dead,” a slow, tragic lament about her son, Alex. (“He was just a boy. His whole life still ahead. / Now, I’ll never know what he would’ve been. / Because my boy is dead.”) Mrs. Kintner blames Brody for not warning the town after Chrissie’s death, and Brody takes the blame to heart. The song ends with a callback to “Hell of a Fish,” as Hooper bitterly remarks that he hopes Mayor Vaughn is right about the tiger shark being the culprit, otherwise there’s a “hell of a fish” still out there somewhere.

“Cloud on the Horizon” - Song is kicked off by a TV reporter, who delivers a brief story to the audience about the recent shark attacks on Amity Island. The holiday-making resumes on Amity’s beaches, but people are more nervous than before, The ensemble sings amongst themselves about whether they should go in the water. They finally do so with a little encouragement from the Mayor. Meanwhile, Brody encourages his son Michael to stay in the shallow pond.

“Shark! (Reprise)” - A shark fin is spotted in the water, and the ensemble takes up the alarm, scrambling while frantically singing a reprise of “Shark!” However, the alarm dies down when the fin is revealed to be a fake worn by a swimmer. However, a lone woman takes up the cry again as the shark is spotted swimming toward the pond where Michael is. The music ramps up as the shark takes down a boater mere feet away from Michael, and the audience gets their first clear view of the shark.

“Red Sea” - The song functions as a reprise of “Blue Sky,” but also contains musical elements from “My Boy is Dead.” Brody pulls his son Michael out of the water, unsure of whether he’s still alive. Luckily, Michael is only in shock. Ellen runs to call for an ambulance. As he waits by Michael’s body, Brody sings his second solo, loudly berating everyone in town, including himself, for allowing this to happen three times. All of the beachgoers, including the Mayor, are cowed by his song.

“(Can’t Find) a Good Man” - This is the first song between all three crew members of the Orca. Brody goes to hire Quint to kill the shark, agreeing to pay whatever he wants. Quint knows he has Brody by the balls and keeps upping the price, demanding additional payments like various kinds of booze and a color TV in addition to the ten thousand dollars. Brody agrees to all of it, but Quint’s one crew member refuses to go out after the shark, so Quint fires him. Hooper and Brody volunteer to go along, but Quint is reluctant to bring them aboard. He contemplates whether he should go alone, since Hooper and Brody will be useless on deck. Hooper loudly argues that he's qualified and “doesn’t need this working class hero crap,” but Brody is more gentle and persuasive. He reminds Quint that his own son was nearly killed by this shark and feels he owes it to both his family and the town to help in whatever way he can. Quint is won over by Brody’s humility and agrees to take them both on.

“Farewell, Amity Island” - Reprise of “Welcome to Amity Island” and the Act One Finale. Like “Welcome to Amity Island,” this is a huge ensemble number, this time centering around the Orca’s upcoming departure. Several characters come to see the ship off as Quint yells at Hooper and Brody, including the Mayor and Ellen. The Mayor apologizes to Brody (“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. / My own children were there in that same red sea.”), where Ellen bids a tearful farewell, knowing she might never see Brody again. Brody’s sung farewells are intercut with a spoken back and forth between Quint and Hooper, as Quint snarks at everything Hooper does. The song also contains instrumental traces of “Spanish Ladies.” Brody and Ellen’s embrace is broken up by Quint as the Orca shoves off.

ACT TWO:

After the act two opener (which is an instrumental of “Jaws,” the song Quint sang earlier), we return to the Orca where Quint fishes off the stern, loudly singing “Spanish Ladies” a cappella. It sounds pretty good, but he’s interrupted by Hooper, who yells that he’s been listening to Quint sing for three hours and can’t take it any more. Brody has no choice but to listen to the ensuing back and forth as he chums the water. 

The childish behavior is interrupted when Quint gets a bite. He's convinced it’s the shark, but Hooper, still annoyed with Quint, believes it’s some kind of sport fish. Hooper begrudgingly goes to help Quint pull in the line, but a moment of inattention causes the line to snap.

“City Hands” - Quint berates Hooper for losing the shark and trying to tell a professional shark hunter how to hunt sharks. Their animosity finally erupts into an angry duet as they hurl very personal insults at each other, with Hooper calling Quint a drunken, senile sea dog, while Quint berates Hooper for being a coddled, privileged city boy. Their musical fight looks like it’ll get physical when Hooper snatches the beer Quint was drinking out of his hand and chucks it into the ocean. Luckily, Brody breaks it up, pointedly reminding them why they’re here and that they don’t need to be at each other’s throats when the shark will gladly do that for them. Quint sheepishly apologizes to Brody and only Brody. Hooper likewise backs down.

Brody returns to chumming the water only to toss a shovelful of chum directly into the shark’s face. The shark is right beside the Orca, and it’s huge. There is an instrumental score but no singing as all three men work together to try and bring in the shark. The shark seems unfazed by all the bullets and harpoons they shoot into it, but they manage to attach one barrel to the shark. Quint is satisfied that the shark will tire itself out with the barrel attached and that all they have to do is wait it out. Brody is all for returning to shore and calling the Coast Guard, but Quint ignores him.

Scene transition, and we’re in the ship’s cabin that night. All three men are staying up to wait for the shark, and they’ve had a bit to drink. Quint catches Brody examining the rope burn he got on his hand earlier in the day and reassures him that it won't leave a permanent scar. This segues into the duet “Something Permanent,” as Hooper and Quint compare scars. The tone isn’t angry and harsh as before but jovial and upbeat. Clearly, the earlier animosity is forgiven. 

“Those Eyes” - This is Quint’s solo about the sinking of the Indianapolis. Brody asks Quint about a scar on his arm that he hasn’t mentioned. Quint offhandedly mentions it’s a tattoo he had removed. When Hooper makes a joke about it being a “Mother” tattoo, Quint informs him it’s actually for the U.S.S. Indianapolis. Hooper clearly knows the story, but Brody doesn't, so Quint tells it. The song is slow and eerie. The words “those eyes” are used to refer to both the sharks’ eyes and the eyes of his crew mates as they were devoured or lay dead in the water. Quint sings that he still sees those eyes looming up at him in the dark of the night. He then catches the looks on Brody and Hooper’s faces and chuckles darkly, telling them not to look at him with “those eyes.” After all, they delivered the bomb. No one comments on this, but all three men have now sung their backstories at some point in the show.

Hooper quietly starts to sing “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” The other two join in. Their singing is interrupted by the shark ramming into the ship.

The crew scramble back on deck. Quint, his mind still swimming in the memory of the Indianapolis, wildly fires a rifle at the shark, but he only succeeds in driving it away, Hooper goes belowdeck  to assess the damage. The ship can still run, but it’s struggling. Brody loudly advocates returning to shore, but Quint refuses.

The shark returns, leading to the next song, “Barrels.” The song has a lot of dialogue and instrumental but also functions as a reprise of “Something Permanent,” as Quint gleefully proclaims his intent to leave “something permanent” on the shark. The crew manages to attach three barrels to the shark, but they lose track of it again. 

Quint decides that since barrels and weapons don’t seem to be working, and the ship is only becoming more damaged, that the thing to do is lure the shark back to shore and drown it in the shallow water. Hooper warns Quint that he’s overtaxing the engine, but Quint only leans harder on the throttle. The engine gives out. 

Brody goes to the radio to call the Coast Guard for help but is shocked when Quint smashes the radio with a baseball bat before the message can get out. This leads to an even angrier reprise of “City Hands,” now with Brody insulting Quint instead of Hooper, calling him “certifiable.” Quint shouts more than sings that he can handle it and he doesn’t need rescuing “this time.” The song shifts to the slower, gentler melody that was used when Brody calmed Hooper and Quint before as Quint tells Brody he vowed that would never be helpless in the water again. Both Brody and Hooper, who was heard the entire outburst, are struck silent.

“Beautiful (Reprise)” - Hooper somberly volunteers to be lowered into the anti-shark cage. Brody argues against it, but, for once, Quint is willing to hear Hooper out. Hooper sings about how putting himself in harm’s way is his only chance to the tune of his intro song, “Beautiful.” Hooper then admits that Quint is right, he hasn’t been through what Quint has, but he’s willing to try and prove his worth. Quint and Brody realize they don't have much choice and agree.

Hooper goes into the cage. Brody takes Hooper’s glasses, and Hooper gives them both one last look before he puts on his mask and goes under. 

“In the Cage” - Instrumental. While below the water (which is just another part of the stage covered in blue spotlights), Hooper tries to attack the shark with the syringe on the end of a spear, but he drops it. The shark begins to break its way into the cage, but Hooper manages to escape and hides behind some rocks, apologizing to the men above for failing.

Quint and Brody, of course, can’t hear him, nor can they see what’s happening below. Quint and Brody pull up the cage to find it mangled and empty. Brody is devastated, thinking that Hooper is dead, but Quint seems to be truly unraveling. He sings a shaky reprise of “Those Eyes,” this time obsessing over the look Hooper gave them before he went under. He frantically recalls that he saw the same look on the faces of his crew mates after the sinking of the Indianapolis. Tragically, the song also functions as a callback to “My Boy Is Dead.” (”It’s far too late for me now to take back the things I’ve said. / They’ll haunt me ‘til my dying day. / Because that boy is dead.”)

“Quint’s End” - Instrumental, spoken dialogue. Quint can’t get the last image of Hooper out of his mind and begs him to stop looking at him like that. Brody is alarmed as Quint’s pleas to Hooper change to pleas to his dead crew mate, Herbie Robinson. Quint has slid into a full-blown PTSD flashback. In his mind, he’s back in the waters of the Pacific thirty years ago, surrounded by sharks and dead crew mates. Brody tries to calm Quint down by reminding him where he is, but at that moment, the shark leaps onto the stern, and the Orca lists backwards. (In my head, the Orca set is on some kind of platform that can be raised at an incline.) Both men begin to slide toward the waiting jaws of the shark. Brody manages to grab onto the door frame leading into the cabin. He tries to hold onto Quint, but Quint slips out of his hand. Quint tries to fight back against the shark, but with a sickening crunch, Quint falls silent. The shark retreats with Quint’s lifeless body.

“Smile!” - Payback time. The Orca is sinking fast, and Brody knows that if he ends up in the water, it’s game over. Brody manages to ward the shark off with one of Hooper’s scuba tanks. The shark takes the scuba tank into its mouth, giving Brody the chance to climb onto the mast with Quint’s rifle. The music ramps up in speed and intensity as the shark closes in. Brody’s singing ramps up to match as he fires at the shark again and again, reminding himself of his promise to protect others and vowing that this shark will never kill anyone again. Then, with a final, bombastic, “So, smile you son of a bitch!” he gets a hit on the tank, and the shark explodes. He whoops and hollers as the music swells.

The finale instrumental is both sad and sweet. The sinking mast deposits Brody in the water. Hooper surfaces besides him. They laugh together, relieved that it’s over. Hooper asks about Quint, but Brody only responds with the single word, “No.” Hooper and Brody are close enough to paddle back to shore, so they do just that. As they set off, Brody begins to sing, “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” Hooper joins in. The curtain falls.

#jaws #the musical #i spent way too much time on this #steven spielberg #martin brody #matt hooper #quint #ellen brody #mayor larry vaughn #fan fic #what if #long post

[marky4l]

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances 

word count: 17.2k 

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music. 

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat. 

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.” 

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody. 

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another. 

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you. 

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate. 

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted. 

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest. 

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation. 

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.” 

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him? 

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice. 

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily. 

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.” 

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—” 

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?” 

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward. 

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem. 

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before. 

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway. 

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt. 

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape. 

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous. 

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him. 

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily. 

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point. 

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work. 

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.” 

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately. 

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too. 

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole. 

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse. 

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—” 

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion. 

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted. 

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?” 

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful. 

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again. 

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.) 

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard. 

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit. 

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open. 

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours. 

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome. 

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching. 

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head. 

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.” 

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing. 

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself. 

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question. 

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop. 

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you. 

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max. 

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December. 

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably. 

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different. 

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile. 

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor. 

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click. 

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it. 

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly. 

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?” 

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him. 

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face. 

She nears you. “Explain.” 

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once. 

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!” 

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest. 

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin. 

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said. 

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark. 

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed. 

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment. 

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly. 

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory. 

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita. 

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed. 

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up. 

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine. 

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.” 

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.” 

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently. 

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once. 

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head. 

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously. 

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear. 

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.” 

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly. 

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens. 

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.” 

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.” 

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.) 

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down. 

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm. 

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently. 

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.” 

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person. 

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these. 

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it. 

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all. 

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate. 

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum. 

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

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