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#it's kind of late but it's still the 26th here so just go with it

witter-potter · 16 days

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“If you felt even one shred of what I feel for you, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

PACEY WITTER & JOEY POTTER Dawson’s Creek - 3.19 - “Stolen Kisses” Originally aired: April 26, 2000

#pacey x joey #pacey witter #joey potter #dawson's creek #dawsonscreekedit #teendramaedit #gifs*#happy stolen kisses day to all who celebrate!!!#it's kind of late but it's still the 26th here so just go with it #episode of all time #also i literally just copied and pasted the same caption i used last year but idc

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f1version · 7 months

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26 BIRTHDAY KISSES ★ CL16

pairing: charles leclerc x gf!reader ( she/her )

summary: 26th birthday, 26 pictures of you and Charles kissing. A kiss for each year.

notes: i’m back from my birthday trip!! i wrote this birthday special in like 30 minutes and it’s still charles’ birthday in a couple of places so… i’m not exactly late! enjoy <3

26 KISSES: A GALLERY

By your beautiful girlfriend, in collaboration with a lot of people but mainly Joris and ourselves.

1. DRUNK DANCING: A month after we got together, we were at Arthur’s 18th birthday. We got drunk, singing and dancing to the worst playlist in existence (Lorenzo’s) and, somehow, Arthur got to capture this moment I barely even remember.

Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2018

2. AUGUST 2019: Summer break, so sweet so loving. You made me promise that if you jumped off first, I would jump too. It took me fifteen minutes to follow after you. Also your kisses were incredibly salty.

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2019

3. THE MONZA INCIDENT: I had red lipstick the night you won in Monza, you told me it looked pretty, I asked you to kiss me, you did. Fast forward 8 minutes it was all smudged over your lips, you were 10 minutes late to the post-race conference, and Sylvia almost banned me that night. (I’m still kind of banned from your driver’s room)

Taken by Charles Leclerc, 2019

4. UNDER THE COVERS: 2020, what a crazy year. This one was taken the day we decided to finish moving in together. You were so excited, wanted everything to be perfect. Today I can say it is.

Taken by Me, 2020

5. WORDS: We were spending Christmas by ourselves, we face-timed our families, had dinner and watched movies. You gifted me three beautiful words I, of course, said back… and we also got a puppy!

Taken by Charles’ phone timer, 2020

6. OCEAN BREZEE: Just a small escapade to take a breath. You were so cuddly that day, Joris was so done with you (he still took the pic though)

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2021

7. CUTE OR HOT: I just wanted a cute morning selfie but, because of you, we ended up in a…promising mood. It was intense that’s all I have to say!

Taken by Me, 2021

8. KISS KISS KISS: 24th birthday, 24 kisses. This kind of became a tradition, let me know if you still want them this year!

Taken by Me, 2021

9. DRUNK AF: How did we got so drunk? Ask Pierre, he was the one hosting. Either way we got another amazing photo of us drunk-kissing!!!

Taken by Pierre Gasly, 2021

10. UNDER THE SEA: I’m just going to say that you and your ‘photo ideas 📸’ folder are attached by the hip. I personally love this one (even if it took half an hour to take)

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2021

11. NEW YORK: Thought you could scape this one? Never! Arthur and I didn’t spend a week listening to your complaining for nothing, babe. You must admit that this kiss was magical, everything was so pretty that day. And then it started snowing!

Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2021

12. EXPOSED: Remember how our amazing soft launch got ruined by our trip to Ibiza? Well, here it is, the image we couldn’t stop laughing at when it came out, we really thought we were sneaky.

Taken by unknown, 2022

13. HARD LAUNCH: A week later we were kissing on live TV. It’s one of my favorite memories, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Taken by F1 TV, 2022

14. BACK KISSES: Just a picture of the morning after I learned that you can convince anyone, even the CEO of Ferrari, to allow you to leave sponsor events early. I really don’t know if you knew those kisses were there, but I woke up to this, took a picture and then left you with them until we took a shower.

Taken by Me, 2022

15. SPONSORED BY AIRMAX: That time your team forgot to book us a flight and you had to ask Lando to ask Daniel to ask Max if we could go back to Monaco with them. I’ve never seen Max talk so much, Daniel laugh so loud or Lando taking so many pictures. He even asked to take one of us, here it is:

Taken by Lando Norris, 2022

16. SIXTEEN: I bet you thought this one would have something to do with racing. Number 16. Sorry to disappoint but it’s our beautiful puppy…Sixteen! I’m not gonna lie, I still hate you for persuading me into that name. Anyways if you kiss the dog you kiss the mom!!

Taken by Me, 2022

17. 25 KISSES: Again, tell me if you want those 26 kisses this year. Look at us last year!

Taken by Me, 2022

18. NEW YEAR, SAME LOVE: Sometimes the world feels unreal when I’m with you, this was one of those days. I felt in another reality, the world slowed down, it was just you and me. I remember thinking “I fell in love with the right person” and then you kissed me.

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2022

19. BLACK SUIT: Remember when your fans thanked me for your “new” outfits? They repeated it was the girlfriend effect, you couldn’t stop talking about how stylish you are with or without me!

Taken by Me, 2023

20. PHOTOSHOOT: You got Joris to take these shots just because you wanted a new wallpaper. I thought it was silly, until one day all of them were hanging around our home. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Charlie.

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2023

21. FIVE STAR CHEFS: Not much to say, just sorry for being so distracting and thank you for the amazing (stolen from Ferrari) dinner babe!

Taken by Charles’ phone timer, 2023

22. RED LIGHTS: This year’s addition to our drunk-kissing collection. I remember you drowning shots with Carlos and Pierre, asking me to dance with you, absolutely failing at that, and then kissing me. After that there’s blurry ferrari red, giggles and a hot bath.

Taken by Andrea Ferrari, 2023

23. LAZY IN BED: Wonderful lazy days by the ocean, that’s how we spent the summer break. That morning in particular you didn’t want to get up, basically gluing me to bed. We got up at 1pm.

Taken by Me, 2023

24. JUST ONE QUESTION: Can I drive the purosangue now? Please please please

Taken by Me, 2023

20. LOVER: This day I woke up thinking about those dreams we talk about all the time, you even remembered me a couple of them throughout the day. Charlie, I do want to do this for the rest of our lives, never forget it <3

Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2023

26. TWENTY-SIX: We are just 26 but I hope our story keeps on writing itself. I love you, these have been the happiest 6 years of my life. Happy birthday bébé ❤️

Taken by Joris Trouche, 2023

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the-boy-meets-evil · 23 days

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not according to plan | hjs (teaser)

summary: your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his.

pairing: joshua x f.reader genre: fake dating, strangers to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut rating: explicit (in the full fic), minors DNI word count: ~1.1k in this teaser (full fic ~22k) notes: johnny suh as the ex (sorry!), also includes other idols not in seventeen solely as face claims, there's a heavy focus on the fake dating, mentions of food & drink, warnings to be added to the final fic fic post date: friday, april 26th (full fic here)

a/n: i started this legit months ago as kind of a joke, talking about it with @shuadotcom but it's finally done (and a lot longer than i anticipated).

thank you to: @wonwussy & @kwanisms who read over this for me (too long ago), and to @cheolism @wooahaeproductions @hannieween, & sj for all the brainstorming help along the way. tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone @crepecakeu

if you'd like to be tagged in this fic (or any of my fics), comment, click here for my tag list, or send an ask 💕

You still think this is a terrible idea, yet agree to meet Jeonghan’s friend, Joshua, anyway. Apparently, he’s somewhat new to the area, doesn’t know many people, and is incredibly easy to be around. There’s no mention of why Jeonghan thinks he might be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. A part of you wonders if your friend even told him, but he’s not that cruel. So, whatever the case, Joshua must at least have some idea of what he’s walking into.

Several days pass between the nightmare of a call from Johnny and you actually meeting Joshua, which only adds to your anxiety about whether or not this is going to work. Johnny is asking for a name for the seating chart and for dinner selections. Your mom wants to know when they’ll be able to meet this new boyfriend before the wedding (because “meeting him for the first time at a wedding is gauche” and we wouldn’t want that). Your sister is convinced that he doesn’t actually exist since you haven’t posted him on social media. That you can at least answer to say that not everyone posts their entire life online like she does. It doesn’t seem to allay her suspicions, though.

Then, there’s the fact that you’re actually meeting Joshua for the first time at dinner. All you wanted was to go for coffee, yet he insisted. You couldn’t exactly press the point. Not when you’re planning to ask this stranger to pretend to date you just so that you can avoid the embarrassment at your ex’s wedding. On top of that, because Jeonghan really is a demon at his core, you don’t know what Joshua looks like. Don’t know who to look for. Which leads to you doing the only sensible thing and showing up 5 minutes late for dinner, hoping that he’ll already be at the table when you get there.

It works.

When you give the reservation name at the host stand, you’re immediately led back to a table. Without even thinking about it, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress, looking for a small amount of comfort in this situation. It’s not even that you struggle around new people, this is just…well, it’s a lot. It’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. Whatever you’re expecting, it’s not the man sitting at the table the host leads you to. He nearly stops you in your tracks.

His black hair is perfectly styled down to the pieces on one side that come down over his forehead. The black dress shirt he wears is open at least one button too many, but he makes the exposed chest look work in a way models would envy. Even though his pants are black as well, he makes it look classic and effortless, rather than too dark. That’s all without even acknowledging the soft smile on his face. This man would break a thousand hearts without even saying a damn word. While you’re appreciating him, you miss the way his eyes rake over you appreciatively. Miss the way his eyes trace your curves and the way the dress clings to you.

In one fluid motion, he’s standing up to greet you, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek. Is it weird if your knees are a little weak? Well, even if it is, there’s nothing you can do. You’re completely captivated.

“You must be Joshua,” you say. Brilliant, you think. That’s obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you. Jeonghan had nothing but good things to say,” he answers with another smile as he pulls your seat out for you.

“I feel like he hardly told me about you,” you respond. Joshua raises a perfect eyebrow at that.

“Then why did you agree to go out with me?” Joshua asks.

“Go out with…is this a date?” The question comes tumbling out.

Joshua’s eyes widen in genuine confusion. “Is it not?”

“What, exactly, did Jeonghan say to you?”

A lot and nothing at all, it turns out. Joshua tells you about how he’s somewhat new to the area, which you knew. About how he met Jeonghan through work, kind of. They work in the same building doing very different things and happened to run into each other getting coffee a handful of times before Jeonghan introduced himself. The two had hung out several times, something Jeonghan had not really mentioned, and gotten to know each other over drinks more than once. The very first time, Jeonghan had mentioned you and Joshua admits immediately being intrigued without pressing for more information.

In any case, Jeonghan talked about you pretty freely, a fact that’s hardly surprising. Before Joshua texted you, Jeonghan had mentioned, in what Joshua calls an offhand way, that you were sick of dating the same people. According to Joshua, through Jeonghan, you were looking to possibly be set up. (Read: Jeonghan thinks he’s crafty and isn’t going to come out and tell this man what you’re really looking for. Typical Jeonghan, honestly. You know that “offhand comment” was anything but. And you had the audacity to think Jeonghan would have to tell Joshua what he’s getting into. Rookie move.)

Now you’re in a bit of an awkward situation because this man is honestly gorgeous, one of the prettiest humans you’ve ever met. And, already, he seems like he might be sweet with a pretty good sense of humor. It’s just…well, you’re absolutely not looking for a relationship and this is the last person you want to get involved in your mess. Thankfully, you get a moment to catch your breath when someone comes by to take a drink order and suggest an appetizer. It’s just enough time for you to talk yourself into telling Joshua the real story.

To his credit, he only looks mildly surprised as you outline your whole situation, inform him that yes, Jeonghan does know all of this, and clarify why you didn’t actually realize it was a date. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle a bit when you also admit that he’s absolutely stunning in a way that hurts your feelings. Easier to miss is the way his face barely falls when you say that you’re not actually looking for something right now. Interesting.

“So that’s the whole thing and now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, I’m sure you’ll understand if we never see each other after tonight,” you finish.

“How am I supposed to go to a wedding as your boyfriend in a matter of weeks if we don’t see each other after tonight?” Joshua wonders.

let me know if you want to be tagged when i post the full fic next week 💕 (and what you think so far)

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intoloopin · 13 days

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A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 2/2).

tws: dubious consent (Haruki is still very weird and forward about initiating sex! and sometimes that gets Toxic). alcohol abuse and alcoholism. semi-smut (the driest, most unsexy and robotic blowjob in the world is given). insinuation and one very direct discussion of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. a little hint of body dysmorphia (Hanjae's inner voice is often not very kind about how he looks). internalized homophobia, and a hint of biphobia in between the lines. queer pessimism (it gets a bit Hurtful). as always: if I missed anything, please tell me. starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, still stuck with a bit of Beomseok). Uhm Junghwa (new manager extraordinarie). the ghost of Choi Sangwon. a brief mention of Night Child / NTCD. timeline: early to the end of mid 2022 | quick flash forward to september 2023 (additional context under the cut). word count: 14,138 words. author's note: lil delay because life has to be life, sometimes, and because the hotel scene from May 26th was way more challenging to get right in tone than i originally expected (it's one of the ones to watch out for), but here we are!!!! the Hanruki end. things get much more heavy, morally grey and blantly sad in this final part, so really, mind the tags, skip if you must. and: music rec moment two. stay safe out there, everyone!

March 13th, 2022.

Hanjae doesn’t shower, or change clothes, or gets to sleep on the couch. He lays on it and spends the whole night awake, on his phone, and on his Nintendo Switch after that, back on his phone. He catches the sun rising through the window’s curtain and maybe he sleeps, briefly.

Was it even real?, he wonders when he finds himself with his eyes wide and restless, staring up at the ceiling; Did it even happen?

He pokes and pokes at the one painful spot over his shoulder, the marking of Haruki’s teeth, and gets consumed by shame at the confirmation that yes, it was real; yes, it did happen.

When Junghwa steps into their apartment to wake everyone up in the morning, Hanjae’s sitting on the couch, breathing into his hands. He still looks like a mess. Hair, clothes, face – a mess.

She gives him a crumbling look, half pity, half exhaustion, and laughs humorless. “Out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to misbehave, Lee Hanjae.”

Hanjae peeks up at her through his clammy fingers. He feels a genuine and terrifying urge to throw up on her shoes and buy her new ones immediately after.

“12 AM to 8 PM for you,” Junghwa tells him, with a sigh. She walks more into the house, close enough to lay a merciful hand on the crown of his head – pat, pat, pat. “Just this one time.”

Haruki hours, he thinks, dazed, because that’s what everyone calls it, because he’s the one stuck with the alternative schedule the most: fails to wake up for practice often, gets shoved at the company until late at night. He’ll probably get the same sentence today. He and Hanjae might have to train alone, together, for hours. His stomach takes another queasy turn.

Hanjae watches the world move around him, for once out of the routine; after hearing his fate, Taesong takes a minute out of washing his face to force Hanjae to gulp down ibuprofen while Haegon shoves a pillow at him. Junghwa goes upstairs to knock on Haruki’s door, phone against her ear as she calls him, and then comes down in record speed, by herself.

She asks everyone, “Shall we go?”

“Can I get Haruki hours, please?” Seungsoo begs from where he’s resting his head against the wall, eyes closed, sipping Gatorade.

Junghwa doesn’t look at him as she firmly says, “No.”

“But I’m dying,” Seungsoo whines. “I’m fucking dying. I can’t work. I’m gonna drop dead, dead.”

Minwoo shoves him angrily out of the way to open the front door, tells him, “Then drop dead, Seungsoo. Drop dead.”

It takes a while for the house to fall back into quiet, after everyone’s gone. Hanjae swears he hears the sound of everything amplified now, gonging inside his head. Maybe it’s the hangover – it’s probably the hangover, but he hasn’t had enough of those to figure all of their symptoms out.

He sleeps again, a miracle, wakes up again, and there’s the faint smell of something being stir fried coming from the kitchen, slowly drowning the whole room.

“I’m making tofu,” Haruki says when Hanjae sits up to check. He’s a slouched thing behind the stove, yet he’s flashing him a grin. “You want some?”

He looks, from a distant inspection – normal, regular, like Haruki always does in the morning: a little wan, with his voice a little deep. They’ve kissed, they’ve made out, and he’s absolutely normal, proposing to make Hanjae breakfast-lunch.

Hanjae says a meek ‘yes’ to tofu, and Haruki tells him, “Five minutes.”

It’s enough time for Hanjae to go brush his teeth, and hyperventilate in privacy: every corner of their bathroom makes him think back to Sunyoung’s, and to being on the floor– being kissed on the floor– being kissed by Haruki on the floor until he wasn’t.

He goes back to the couch, a stiff walk. Haruki comes to sit with him, holding a single bowl of food with two runny eggs on top, and Hanjae jumps back up and three feet away. He bumps his heel bone on the coffee table, and the pain is a shock up his entire leg; serves him well, serves him right.

“I want to apologize for yesterday or earlier today at night,” Hanjae says in a single breath, his voice coming out rough around the edges. His arms are set like wood on his sides, tight, fisted.

In front of him, Haruki’s face goes through a journey: startled, then confused, then amused, smiling. He takes a big bite of food. “Oh, you mean the bathroom? That’s what you mean?” He asks, covering his chewing mouth with a hand, and Hanjae nods once. “Pfff, no need. It’s not your fault a girl had to pee.”

“That’s not what I meant, not, not what I’m apologizing for.”

“So what are you apologizing for?” Haruki asks him, tilting his head, dark hair falling like a cloak over his eyes. He wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t I kiss you? I’m sure I kissed you. I’m sure you kissed me back.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says, helplessly, and has to turn his face to the side, closing his eyes briefly. “Still, everything– We were drunk, and everything, it wasn’t… appropriate. To happen.”

Haruki has stopped chewing when Hanjae looks back at him, has gone full body still for a moment. When he gulps the food down, it looks like it’s a painful thing for him to do.

“Appropriate,” he repeats, looking down at his own feet, like it’s an odd word, an annoying one. “Just sit down, Hanjae. Sit back down. We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not… What?”

Haruki abandons the bowl and chopsticks, puts them roughly on the table, then motions to the vague spot on his side – come here. Hanjae doesn’t move. He still has some word stuck under his tongue he has to work out.

Haruki doesn’t take his paralyzes at all. He clicks his tongue, walks up and close and puts both hands on Hanjae’s shoulders, maneuvers him and sits him back down not that gently on the couch. He tucks himself close to him, sideways, a bent knee almost on his lap, and stays there.

He eyes Hanjae openly then, a brand new thing. Haruki’s seen him, could have gotten sick of seeing him with how much it happens every day, but now Hanjae knows with certainty that he’s never been evaluated by him, or taken into this much consideration up until this very moment.

He hooks Hanjae’s ear lobe between two fingers and pulls, taps at the hoop earring. “I thought you would be a bad kisser,” Haruki says. “But you’re not.”

Granted, Hanjae wouldn’t call their kiss a good kiss. Both their mouths tasted bitter, he remembers now, and their teeth clunked against each other like two cogs being put in an unfit machine. It happened so quick– everything, so quick.

“Thanks,” he says nonetheless, and again, “Thank– Thank you.”

Haruki laughs at him, wispy, a single ‘ha’, and the air around them grows more tense. Haruki pushes himself close until he's full on Hanjae’s lap, a similar position to some hours ago. Hanjae turns his face a little away, to the side; sets his eyes on a wall, right where a painting Haegon made when he was eight years old hangs, framed.

The cushion of the living room couch smells like an amalgamation of all of them, he notices. There’s a stain on it where Chihoon had once spilled fancy carbonara – a meal everyone saved the whole month to have on their third debut anniversary. Seungsoo had offered him three bucks to lick it clean. The video of Dylan concluding the bet is a blurry 1 minute thing O.z had recorded, still somewhere far down Hanjae’s gallery.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says now, and taps at his nose. “You’re too tense. You’re zooming out. Get out of your head.”

“It’s just–” Hanjae mutters, and can’t stop – just can’t stop: “Here? Wouldn’t it be bad? If someone walks in, if they forgot something and want to come back, and I heard, I think I heard that, isn’t there a camera here, a camera Seo CEO looks through–”

“There’s no camera. Not a single one anywhere. I would know,” Haruki looks right into his eyes to reassure him, or tries to; Hanjae can’t sustain it much. His hands are a constant goosebump on their trail on the back of Hanjae’s neck, up and up and suddenly down, up again. “Do you want to take this to your room?”

But it’s not Hanjae’s room, singular. It’s impossible to look anywhere and not see one of Seungsoo’s too colorful caps, or Minwoo’s notes, scrambled and frantic, the only indication he’s yet to fully move into the studio.

This is LOOPiN’s home, collective. They’re coworkers sharing space at their core, and it’s– It’s all just–

Hanjae makes a whimpering sound, involuntary, not an answer to anything, and with that Haruki’s off him, a sudden rise up and turn around. He walks away with a loud sigh and Hanjae thinks, disappointment and relief an ocean in his stomach, It’s done. It’s over.

It’s not; Haruki just goes to open the fridge’s door, takes something out, pours it somewhere, comes back to the couch with it. He stands it for Hanjae to take – a red plastic cup filled to the brim with some leftover wine.

“One complaint,” Haruki tells him, and goes back to where he was; a stable weight on Hanjae’s lap, both arms hooked around his neck. “One sip.”

“It’s– It’s morning, hyung.”

“No. No ‘hyung’. Stop that,” he says, and Hanjae can’t figure out, either by hearing it or looking him in the face, if Haruki’s being serious or not. He’s still smiling. “I don’t like it.”

“So what,” Hanjae asks, and sinks deeper into the couch when Haruki makes to push himself closer, “Do you like, then? About me if, or this, or–”

It’s all he can get out before Haruki puts a hand over his mouth, firm.

“I’ll blow you,” he says bluntly, and puts his hand away. Another paper thin smile. “Will that shut you up?”

Around a gulp, Hanjae nods, manages to let out a shaky, “Ok–ay.”

Permission granted, it takes a moment for anything to even happen. Haruki grabs the cup out of Hanjae’s hand quickly and downs it, almost fully drains it. He takes a deep and loud breath when he gives it back, eyes closed through it, before he begins to go down on him.

When Haruki kneels in between his legs, Hanjae tries to put a hand on top of his head, a timid and gentle fondling, but Haruki bats it away, says, “Just stay still.”

And Hanjae stays still. He looks up at the ceiling – eggshell white, the same as all the walls, with the faint darkening in a corner where there once was a leak. The kitchen sink hasn’t been closed all the way, and he can hear the drip, drip, drip of the water falling on dirty tableware under the sound of his loose belt being unbuckled, his zipper working open, the downing of his jeans.

What a waste, he thinks, over and over, tells himself that’s all he must think now; what a grandiose waste.

The blowjob’s a not so quick, but fully methodic thing. Hanjae taps Haruki on the shoulder when he’s finally near coming, says so around a pant. And then comes, Haruki swallows, that’s it – that’s the full scope of it, Hanjae has decided. Privately, he calls it efficient instead of emotionless, or confusing, or unsettling.

He zips himself back up as Haruki wipes his mouth and goes to collect the pot, the chopsticks. Hanjae catches him by the wrist before he slips away, asks, “You?”

Haruki laughs – Hanjae’s never seen him laugh so much so quickly, or in such a high pitch. He says, leaning forward, “Me? Me what? What are you even going to do? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack, Hanjae.”

Hanjae’s grip on him goes loose. Haruki breaks free of it and puts his hand on his pocket, rubs it in for a second like he’s trying to get it clean. Or maybe Hanjae’s just seeing things with his blurry hangover vision, his clear hangover discomfort.

“Right,” he mutters, and feels like he’s coming down from somewhere. His hold on the cup had faltered through their whole endeavor, and the spilled wine made a new damp on the couch’s arm. A story. He locks eyes with it.

“Don’t worry about me,” Haruki’s saying, back turned to him, halfway across the room already. The pot of leftover tofu clanks where he drops it, careless. “I’ll just shower.”

“You’re sure…?” Hanjae asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now stop talking, alright? It’s not going to make me put my mouth on you a second time.”

Hanjae blinks once, and then too many times to even count. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “I’m– Okay.”

Haruki flees the scene before he notices, goes upstairs; comes back down and looks around for a long beat as if he’s forgotten where he is, where he’s headed.

He goes to the bathroom and closes the door loudly, then soon opens it again, peeks his torso out. He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder and a smile that’s blinding when he says, looking back at Hanjae: “But next time. Make it up to me next time.”

April 14th, 2022.

‘Next time’, in industry lingo, as Hanjae has learned over the years, is the vaguest time scheduling there is. So Haruki said ‘But next time. Make it up to me next time’, and a day later LOOPiN released the final teasers for the ‘Punch’ EP, and things got hectic – music shows, variety content, a fanmeet, a fansign.

And then Seungsoo made everything come to a halt by jumping Kwon Dongwook and half of NTCD at Rewind K-Pop Fest on the 8th, getting them all thrown out of the event four hours earlier.

They missed the SHINee tribute they were set to be on. Hanjae even got handed Key’s bandana and the same blue shorts he used in the dance scenes in the ‘View’ MV, taken directly out of SM Entertainment’s archive. He had just stepped out of a makeup chair when he got the news, and was made to sit back down immediately to dismantle the whole look.

“Pussy didn’t even fight back,” Seungsoo grumbled, in their kitchen: icing his face where it hit a pole after Code pushed him off Hyunbin’s neck. He wouldn’t stop talking about Dongwook – it had been five hours, and everything that came out of his mouth was soon followed by ‘Kwon Dongwook that bastard’ this, ‘Kwon Dongwook that fucker’ that. “He made me look like an asshole.”

Hanjae ignored him. All he wanted was to drink a glass of water in silence and not look a single person in the eye that wasn’t Mijoo, his guitar instructor, in six hours time.

“You made yourself look like an asshole,” Taesong corrected him, pointing a spatula around from behind the aisle, and he sounded and looked angry in a way Hanjae hadn’t seen him in years. “You made all of us look like assholes, and now Minwoo’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill you because I’ll allow him to kill you. I will help him kill you. You deserve to be assassinated.”

“You deserve to be assassinated, you snake! You’re talking with Joseph Song, Taeng! Night Child’s Joseph Song, behind my back, about him, about me! Fuck you!”

Taesong dropped the spatula, put both hands on his hips, and looked up at the ceiling: his ‘Lord, give me strength’ pose. “I don’t talk with Joseph Song about Dongwook, or about you, Seungsoo. All we do is exchange schedule information to know when we all might meet, to try to keep peace between us and them because you’re all insane. All you, insane.”

“I’m not insane!” Seungsoo said, rising up from his chair, and Hanjae escaped the kitchen then, didn’t want to hear his bullshit claim to be functional.

He spent half an hour tuning and running his fingers over his electric guitar’s strings, and did the same with Dylan’s old acoustic one, and pressed random notes on Zhiming’s keyboard in their improvised music space, which was just a vacant corner in Heagon and Beomseok’s room.

On his phone, he got one message, and had to read it once and twice and a third time even, just to figure out what to say:

[haruhyung]: are you free ?

Hanjae sent, fingers flying over the keyboard:

[You]: Guitar pravtice with Mijoo nim sun

[You]: *practice

[You]: **soon

And shortly after, an afterthought:

[You]: Sorry

On his screen Haruki typed, deleted, typed again – the speech bubble looked like a glitch. Somewhere down on the first floor someone snorted, loud and mean, and Hanjae shuddered.

After five minutes, Haruki sent:

[haruhyung]: ok .

More texts came after those, spaced out between days or just hours, sometimes full sentences or just direct question marks, one time with a photo attached in the morning. Hanjae didn’t see it right away, went back to check during lunch break and found nothing but a short trail of deleted messages.

It’s all the interaction they have behind the scenes lately. No more idle talk in the practice room, no more shared space in the house, just ‘free?’ and ‘no’ and ‘sorry’ and ‘ok.’

Now: a live session for the english version of ‘You Can’t Hold My Heart’ that they managed to film in one single take. Jooheon PD promises to treat them to something for it, and everyone’s saying suggestions on top of suggestions at the speed of light. Hanjae’s trying to gather up courage to ask for hot pot again, preparing for the complaining it’ll cause, when his phone dings.

[haruhyung]: ditch with me .

[haruhyung]: discreetly .

Hanjae takes a wild look across the studio until he finds Haruki: set against a wall in a corner, waiting to be looked at, tapping one foot on the ground. After what feels like a minute of unstable eye contact, but couldn’t be more than a second or so, Haruki ducks his head down and goes back to typing.

[haruhyng]: im really not going to ask again .

It takes little to no excuse to ditch dinner – barbecue, they have decided, and Hanjae’s trying to cut off red meat, doesn’t want to go somewhere so crowded after seeing so many people all day, he says, and Haruki interveins to ask Jooheon if he can pay their cab home. No one asks why he’s not going; no one was expecting Haruki to want to go.

They don’t take the free cab home. They’re instead back at Deh’s apartment complex, taking the stairs quietly.

“I’ll be coming three times a week to feed her cats this month,” Haruki says, unlocking and holding the door open for Hanjae so he can step inside. “She’s traveling out of town.”

“Hm,” is Hanjae’s shaky answer.

The inside of Deh’s apartment looks very much like what he would assume it would: neat, colorful, synthetic fur coats everywhere – really, everywhere.

While Haruki gathers up the cats, two small and loud things, Hanjae sits down on the printed loveseat and makes direct eye contact with a wigged mannequin head next to the TV, plastic lips shiny with lipstick.

When Haruki comes back to the living room, duties all done, he opens the big window on the far left and sits on the cushioned frame, one elegant leg over the other.

He says, with a cig materialized between his teeth somehow, “Deh’s got a lighter on the second drawer– Second drawer, Hanjae– Yeah, that one, the green one. Come here. Bring it over.”

Hanjae brings it over, and Haruki tilts his head up, points to his cigarette, still hanging from his mouth. Hanjae lights it up for him after a couple of clumsy tries, and flees – bolts away with the lighter at the center of his fisted palm, goes to sit back on the couch, grows uncomfortable, slides down to the floor.

Haruki watches him move with an enerved smile on his face. “How funny,” he says, dryly, and then no one says a thing. He smokes, and Hanjae can’t stand the smell, coffs into his hand once. He sees Haruki move even closer to the window, peeking outside.

“So,” Hanjae tries, when it all turns into too much – the smoke, the quiet. He’s tracing a pattern with his finger on the carpet; a circle on top of a circle on top of a circle. “Do you– You come by often? To see her?”

Haruki makes a choking sound. His eyes are very narrow when he looks at Hanjae. “What are you trying to ask?”

Hanjae forces a shrug that he knows falls very flat.

“Deh’s a woman, Hanjae,” Haruki says after a beat, with a strong emphasis on ‘woman’, and Hanjae turns bright red and hot on his face, immediately responds with ‘Yes, I know’ – would rather shoot his own foot than insinuate she’s not. “And I’m not interested in women, so no, I don’t see her.”

“But you– You never told,” Hanjae stammers, and Haruki tilts his head at him, frown easing. “You never told any of us you’re not straight.”

“None of you ever just asked me,” Haruki counters, and there’s a little humor in him, somewhere – a bit of pride at that, maybe, until he recalls, “Except for Zhiming once, but he doesn’t count. Zhiming somehow always knows. Side effects of having a gay mom, I guess.”

“Did you know before? Before your… Your whole relationship, with– was your relationship what made you…” Hanjae stops talking. Haruki’s eyebrows have darted up and they stay up, waiting, challenging; ‘go on, finish the sentence’.

Hanjae sheepishly goes back to the mannequin head. It has a pink rhinestone hot glued on its nose, mimicking a piercing.

“Alright,” Haruki says, giving in. He rearranges himself on the window, puts his two feet steady on the floor, manspreading. “This again– Alright. You get three questions. Just three. Then we’ll never talk about it again, so be wise. If it’s something stupid I won’t answer.”

Hanjae accepts this, tonguing his cheek while he thinks. He has a billion questions, too many, all build up in these two months, but they’ve all escaped him somehow. He settles for an hesitant, “‘This again?’”

“I know you know Chihoon’s aware. And now Jiahang is, too,” Haruki says, and Hanjae patiently waits for more information. A whole minute goes by and Haruki, smoke coming in and out of his mouth, doesn’t offer him anything else.

“Since when?”

“Dylan? L.A. After the beach with you, he caught the… aftermath,” he grims, humorless. “And J.J knows since last week, after the festival. The day you ditched me for guitar practice with Mijoo nim.”

“That’s not,” Hanjae offers, alternating between looking at him and not looking at him; peeking instead at the shape he made on the green carpet, there still. “Not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” Haruki agrees, and his smile turns tiny, tinier, up until it no longer exists.

He takes a big drag of the cigarette, the last one; tosses the bug right out of the window without putting the flame out. Behind him, the world looks pink, green, warm yellow. It’s the sort of spring that makes you feel like it’ll never leave you.

“Look, Hanjae, you don’t want to know everything. Not very pretty, with him being married and a dad and my boss and all. Bottom line is he casted me, he made me into a trainee, and that might have saved my life. I understood the way he looked at me and decided to just– let him have it. So I asked him out, kind of. He said yes, kind of. Next thing I knew, it had been going on for years.”

“Years?” Hanjae lets out, a little scandalized, too blunt, and Haruki gives him a look – ‘last question’. He rushes to amend it with, “Why?”

Haruki, with a hint of afternoon sun contouring his falling face, says, “I don’t know. I don’t know why,” and it’s the one thing Hanjae didn’t want to hear.

He wished for: because he loved me, or because it made me happy. But he knew it wouldn’t be that, felt it like a hollow in his stomach. From that day in the rain, he knew.

“I have a question for you, now. Just one,” Haruki says, turning his face back inside. Hanjae hums, letting him go on. “Are you dragging it out on purpose? Fucking me, I mean. Are you trying to make it some grand thing?”

Hanjae takes a beat to respond because he knows he should. He thinks about it deeply, eyes stuck in a corner, and shakes his head ‘no’. It’s the truth; he’s not trying to turn it into a grand thing – he understands now, with a tang of sadness, that he can’t make any of it special.

“Good,” Haruki says, and nods too. “You shouldn’t. I know marketing wants everyone to think I’m some sex god, but I’m not. I’m really not. You should just get me out of your system already. Quick and nice. It’s not like there’s a point in waiting, or… courting. We’re never going to date, Hanjae. You know that.”

“Yes. I know.”

“So…?” Haruki looks around, to all the space, and Hanjae does too. There’s very little of it, it’s a little room, but still, it looks so lived in. It looks like a place that’s loved.

Hanjae lowers his head down, eyes his small circle, fading. “Would Deh mind?” He asks, a whisper.

“Hanjae, she won’t know. No one will know,” Haruki says, and he’s grown annoyed now, shifty in his seat. “No one cares to know. No one gives that much of a fuck, or– It’s fine. It’s really fine.”

“I just– the thing is–,” Hanjae stutters, and tries to push through even when Haruki makes a discontent noise. “I never planned to do anything about it, or act– really act on liking you. This,” he motions to the drift between them, the awkward air: this, “Is not just me thinking you’re attractive, or– I really respect you, hyung, as my bandmate, as my colleague. If anything, what I always wanted was just for you to trust me with who you are, someday, because I think you’re– I just want us to be closer. Any way goes. That’s what I feel.”

He takes a peek up, over his own bangs, and sees Haruki’s eyes flickering. He widens his stance, knees more apart, and his voice sounds very low when he says, “You can grow real close to me now.”

Hanjae sighs at him, because he can’t help it. He tries to think of words, better words. Tries to build some sort of bridge out of them.

“Is it a good time?” It’s what he asks. “It’s been– It’s been a really long week, and you just… Aren’t you tired? I’m tired. You look like you’re tired.”

Haruki’s face clouds, gets taken over by something very cold. “I am tired. I’m tired of you rejecting me.”

“I’m not. I’m not rejecting you. I just don’t want to feel like I’m making a mistake. I don’t want to make a mistake, and I think, neither do you, right? Again?” Hanjae asks, and immediately regrets it when he catches the effect of the word ‘again’. It makes Haruki close his legs shut, makes his jaw tense. Hanjae says, quicker, “I’ve lost a team one time, hyung, by being impulsive – and it looked like this, it felt just like this.”

The silence that gets in between them is loud, almost sticky. Hanjae fights an inner battle to not fill it up with, ‘Please let’s talk, can you talk to me, really talk to me, just talk to me, and tell me what is it that you actually want.’

In a room away, the cats scratch a door, begging to be let out, and Haruki’s new phone goes off – a familiar ringtone, a lack of surprise or urge to pick up Hanjae’s seen before.

Haruki rests his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. His chest visibly rises and falls when he breathes. “Ah, this is funny,” he says. “So not today, then, but soon? When I look better, not tired, is that it?”

“If you still want to.”

“If I still want to…” Haruki repeats, like he’s testing out the words, like he wants to figure out how they sound all together. And then rising up, out of the window, splinting behind the couch, behind Hanjae, “Okay. Alright, okay. If that’s what it takes– It’s on.”

“It’s… on?”

Over his shoulder, Hanjae catches the hint of a big grin being thrown at him. “It’s on.”

April 29th to May 6th, 2022.

After Deh’s apartment and the sex that didn’t, Haruki turns into someone else for a week.

It’s impossible to not take immediate notice; when Hanjae and Dylan sit down on Friday to play Fifa at night he catches the whole thing, even though he’s not a fan of sports, or video games, or hanging out. Hanjae scores two goals and Haruki cheers him on, in an enthusiasm that makes it seem like he’s winning the real World Cup.

When he excuses himself to use the bathroom, Hanjae and Chihoon share a quick, tense glance.

‘What’s happening?’, Dylan mouths, putting the game on pause, and Hanjae mouths back, ‘I don’t know’, pressing for it to go on.

Later, they order takeout food for everyone, and Haruki doesn’t drink anything with his pizza except for a Sprite Zero. He gathers up everyone’s scattered plates after dinner and takes them to the kitchen, where Hanjae has just begun to do the dishes.

He circles him around the room, then leans on the counter, close, says, “Hanhan, what did you do with my KidSuper jacket? I can’t find it anywhere. Come help me look when you’re done with that. I’m in the laundry room, come help me, don’t forget to help me look, yeah?”

It’s an excuse. There’s no KidSuper jacket that needs to be found in the laundry room. Hanjae goes in, Haruki closes the door shut and immediately kisses him against it, suddenly.

They break apart, and Haruki taps Hanjae’s chin up, making Hanjae’s hang open mouth fall shut. He breathes into his face, mutters, “Cute– You look cute surprised,” and leaves – just leaves, vaporizes in thin air.

Six entire days of this: playing cat and mouse at odd hours, being shoved and kissed by Haruki somewhere, catching no sleep, having anxiety all night, wondering if anyone saw it, if anyone has catched on to this whole… energy.

“You look like a zombie,” Haruki tells him, once – a direct whisper into his ear, with the slightest press of teeth. “Is it because of me? Are you not sleeping well because of me?”

It all comes to a halt on Friday, just as suddenly as it began, because Haruki snaps over something in the afternoon, and he won’t tell anyone what it is.

He locks Dylan out earlier than he’s ever done it, skips dinner, ignores calls; gets fully trashed somewhere between midnight and 4AM, alone. Beomseok had bought fancy imported dry sake for his older brother, a wedding gift he was keeping in the dorms, and the whole thing’s gone, drained.

Beomseok made a big commotion about it, went on to bang on his room door until the entire house was awake at 6 in the morning on a day off, soured everyone’s moods, split them into two: people pissed off at him and people pissed off at Haruki for pissing him off.

It’s tense through the whole day, with no one seeing eye to eye quite right, and when schedule breaks go this south Hanjae knows to expect an empty house after the sun sets.

Soon enough: at 6PM a voice message from Jiahang on their group chat, saying, ‘I’m going clubbing! I’m going clubbing and everyone can come with me! I refuse to not have a nice night tonight, I refuse it!’

Hanjae’s the first one to answer him, off the shower:

[You]: Pass

[jayjayjiji]: 🍅🍅🍅🖕🙄🖕🍅🍅🍅

Hanjae’s midway through sliding his shirt over his head when Haruki barges in without knocking. He stands there, arms up and tangled with the fabric, in his pajama bottoms, short hair wet. Haruki’s a figure that flops on his bed, face and stomach first.

He’s the only one who didn’t get a haircut for ‘Punch’. The hair stylist had run a hand through his hair, moved Haruki’s bangs one side and the other, said, like a joke, “But he’s perfect! He looks perfect already, Junghwa, what do you want me to do?!” It’s a wild thing now, at the back.

“I will sleep with you,” he announces, voice coming off hoarse and loud; drunk again, but mildly.

Hanjae, fully clothed, says, “Seungsoo–”

“Going out. Not a problem. And Minwoo, he is out.”

Hanjae takes small strides to get the burst open door shut. He takes a long peek at the two sides of the corridor: empty.

Behind him, he hears Haruki grumble, “These days, they’ve been so time waste. A waste. Why are you not caring?”

“What do you mean?” Hanjae asks, and comes back near, not too much. He’s still standing up in the crack diving his bed from Minwoo and Seunsgoo’s bunk one.

“I’m trying,” Haruki stresses. “To appeal to you. With my all, to get you to. Start something. You never do. Do something,” he commands at Hanjae, less angry, just agitated. “I am right here, so just– anything.”

Hanjae sits down on the edge of the bed, then. A calculated descent over the sheets.

“But hyung,” He stutters, and Haruki grunts something incomprehensible under his breath. It doesn’t sound like korean, it doesn’t sound like japanese, it doesn’t sound like anything. “Haruki, there’s people at home. No one’s left yet, we don’t know– Don’t know if everyone will.”

“So what? You were all always– So what?”

Hanjae hesitates, worrying his mouth. He takes one of his hands and slowly places it on Haruki’s hair, trying to somewhat pet it, but Haruki isn’t satisfied with that, and turns his face to the side, looks at him with a strong frown. Hanjae puts his hand back where it first laid on his lap, goes back to picking at the hem of his shirt.

And then Haruki reaches out a hand himself, and places it on Hanjae’s exposed knee, squeezes, sinks nails on it. Hanjae pushes himself further back, startled, and the hand follows, leaving a scratch; he almost falls off the bed trying to sneak away from it, and the hand stills, lifeless, not that far away.

“It is like,” Haruki says, and stops for a moment, gulps spit and something else down. “Like when you touch me is all so nothing. Like you do not… You do not really want me. Like you are not trying to make me remember. How can I remember. That you want me. I can not know if you are, just… Not leaving something behind. Like haunting.”

“Haunting?”

Haruki stops moving completely. “I really miss the way, really…” a breath. “The way you looked at me before.”

“And how,” Hanjae prompts, leaning closer, eager to hear it, “How did I look at you before?”

Haruki ignores him. “It is gone,” he laments, and Haruki actively looks like he’s grieving the death of it, whatever it might be. “You have not even fucked me yet, and– gone.”

It’s a quiet, long minute. Hanjae sees Haruki’s eyes go glossy in real time, catches the whole process up until Haruki turns his face away, presses it on the mattress again, hides it.

Haruki pushes his upper body up with his elbows, covers his face with his hands, inhales. Looks at Hanjae again, his eyes peeking through his fingers, dark.

“Ah, you are so nice, Hanjae. Very, very nice, you,” he says, voice still. He stands an arm out, matches every single word with an absent tap on Hanjae’s shoulder. “And all worried, all in your head. It is so annoying. So weird how you–” And he doesn’t say; doesn’t tell Hanjae what’s weird about him.

The hand on his shoulder goes up, scoops his jaw for a tiny moment, then yanks him forward by the back of his neck – Hanjae has to put a knee on the bed frame to not fully stumble. It’s a grip locking him in place, now, as Haruki drags his face near.

“Pick a fucking date. Pick a date,” Haruki tells him, and his voice almost doesn’t sound like his own; is a pure growl. “I am tired. Tired.”

He leaves the same way he came: a door meeting the lock loudly.

Before going to bed, Hanjae selects another shirt to sleep on, a clean one, red like blood in the water.

May 26th, 2022.

“I think I just– Hyung, I think it all comes down to the fact that I don’t understand what you’re asking, because you’re not– you’re not asking. We’re not communicating.”

Haruki’s long pace back and forth in the hotel room comes to a halt. He’s only in underwear under the bath robe he’s got on, black and with an embroidered logo on the chest and back – they both were, up until Hanjae put his shorts back on.

It didn’t take long for Hanjae to pick a date for them to officially have sex: the pre-Camp Camp filming days are the calmest, with the ease of certain success making everyone better to work with, smoothing all the nerves, and a day before they start shooting LOOPiN always have the liberty to do whatever they want. Most staff are too busy setting up cameras around the park, testing the traps, and putting the winning team barracks up to keep them all in check.

Hanjae brought it up to Haruki a couple of days before they traveled to Jeollabuk over their stale text messages, and promptly got an ‘yes’ and nothing further; Haruki kept his distance like a bride on a wedding day over the weeks, barely a blur on the corner of Hanjae’s vision.

So here they are, a day away from being shoved in a park to pretend it’s a jungle. Hanjae walked around with a condom in his short’s pocket since morning and he’s been trying to look forward to it, trying to rationalize the hollow in his stomach as positive anxiety.

By mid afternoon, everyone was leaving the hotel – absolutely everyone. Hanjae couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt like Haruki had something to do with it. They were sorted into their dorm roommate arrangements by Junghwa, all in the same corridor, both of their rooms at the extreme ends. Hanjae waited for his text to come over Haruki and Dylan’s suite, then made his way in a quiet and dragged on zig-zag – tapped a little song on a vase with a single flower on the hallway table just to bite time.

Dylan was still there when he got in, angrily tying his hiking shoes, and he refused to look at them as he made his way out. He stopped at the door, turned, looked like he was about to say something.

Haruki went to shove him off the room with a tight, “No, Chihoon, I don’t want to hear you, not today, no one wants to hear you, leave, get out.”

Things happened at a weird pace from there. They made out for a long minute, came close to fully undressing then froze awkwardly in the middle of Haruki’s bed, paused it.

“What do you want to do?” Hanjae asked from where he was set on top of him.

“Whatever you want,” Haruki answered, absently tugging at one of Hanjae’s red ears.

So he tried to work with whatever, since he didn’t know what he wanted – he tried to remember some guilty ridden fantasy of his which Haruki had starred in and use that as a guide, but the search came out blank. Hanjae wasn’t getting them anymore, funnily enough, ever since he had been kissed by him a second time.

But no matter what he tried, be it a kiss on the neck or a firm hold on his tight, Haruki barely made a sound, barely seemed to engage and, the most defeating of all, he wouldn’t get hard. It took Hanjae a long moment to notice, too long, and he did so by accident; went to push him by the waist closer but his hand slipped down, and he noticed how limp he felt under his underwear.

That wouldn't do; he asked Haruki again he wanted him to do, what he shouldn’t do, and under the scrutiny Haruki only blurted out dismissively, “Stop, no one fucks to get comfortable, anyway”, and Hanjae’s hand fell from his shoulders.

He said, “What?” and Haruki, “What what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean by what?” Haruki asked, an uneasy sound, and Hanjae could almost feel him growing cold under him, losing body heat, so he stepped away.

That was a whole hour ago. They’ve been trying to recover, but the mood has gone sour. Hanjae has put his shorts back on a couple minutes after his boner fully died and Haruki seemed to take that as a personal offense, hence the walking.

Hanjae reiterates: “I just can’t know if you like anything if you don’t tell me or… respond. Physically.”

Haruki rubs a hand over his face. He’s annoyed but he’s trying to mask it, says like a tease, “What’s with the language? Did you do research?”

Hanjae sighs. He’s tired of hearing this tone on him. He’s tired of one too many things at once, a Russian doll of exhaustion. A block; the everyday chaos of work, another; the weight of lying to everyone, the effort of keeping it up, and the core one: Haruki not wanting him, pretending to do so, going about it like a chore, like something he must cross off a list.

“What am I doing wrong?” Hanjae asks. “Can you tell me?”

“No, not– You’re not doing things wrong, it just doesn’t happen, okay?” Haruki lets out. “I don’t really get hard, or anything.”

Hanjae processes the phrase word by word. “You mean, you mean never? Or–”

“Not never, just not always. Not a lot.”

“Hyung. Shouldn’t you get that checked?”

“‘Get that checked’,” Haruki parrots, half heartedly, and then quieter, to himself, “I need a fucking drink. ‘Should have sneaked something, should have– Got something.”

Seeing him stuck in place, an unpleased thing, Hanjae can’t help but think back to his snaggletooth days, the pre-rhinoplasty times, that one White Day in seventh grade where his deskmate pity gave him half a chocolate, and wonders if he’s lying, if he’s making something up to make him feel better, if he noticed that Hanjae’s not feeling great, nowhere close to nice.

He’s been hiding his right hand under the cover, trying to not let Haruki hold it, not that he’s tried to do that yet, nor does it seem like he’ll want to.

“We can just not do anything,” Hanjae reminds him. It’s his fourth time saying it, and it gets the exact same reaction out of Haruki each time: an annoyed huff, a roll of eyes. “Not have sex, if it’s not what you want. If I’m not– Not attractive to you.”

“You are, you are. Very attractive,” Haruki says. “Happy?”

“And if I am,” Hanjae prompts. “It’s okay, right? You think it’s okay?”

Haruki’s mouth hangs semi open, his eyes semi shut, when he shoots him a look. “What? I– What?” It’s almost a hiss.

“Can you just tell me why?” Hanjae presses. It’s the right wrong question; it sends Haruki back to pacing, his back turned to him. “Why do you want us to have sex?”

“You want this to happen,” Haruki tells him. “You always wanted it to happen, everyone knows, you made this happen, with all– everything.”

“And you want it too?”

“That’s such a stupid question! Am I not here? Didn’t I tell you to be here?”

“You’re not just,” Hanjae takes in air, sharp through his teeth. “Looking and understanding and– letting me have it, like–”

He can’t fully say it, Haruki doesn’t allow him, shuts it down with a sharp, “Are you my therapist? You’re my therapist now? Fuck off, shut up, be quiet for just a fucking a minute, will you?”

Hanjae withers. From a place inside him, he recalls, he had hoped. He had cultivated hope the size of a grain of sand that maybe, just maybe, the hesitation ment care – that perhaps Haruki liked him, and didn’t know what to do about it, how to go about it. A nice piece of fiction to cling to. But no. It’s clear now: no.

“I really don’t want to pressure you,” Hanjae says, and tries to make his voice louder as the phrase goes on, less miserable, but fails at it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Hanjae, I understand korean, I understand what you’re saying, I’m not fucking stupid–”

“I didn’t say– I didn’t say you are,” Hanjae tries to reason, but all the sound gets drowned out; there’s only Haruki talking quickly, loudly.

“–So you can stop repeating all these good phrases now, these made up phrases. No one speaks like that. In the real world, no one says that–”

“I mean it.”

“–You’re not pressuring me, Hanjae, trust me, you can’t do that, no one– There’s no pressure, or urgency, or anything. I don’t feel any of that coming from you, so,” Haruki flashes him a smile, thin, ironic, sharp. It looks like something that would be carved out with a pocket knife somewhere.

“Then why,” Hanjae breaths. “Why don’t we end this here? Can we end this here?”

“Again?” Haruki asks, with a laugh. It’s a mean sounding one. “Are you serious?”

“No,” Hanjae says, and swallows. “All of it.”

He almost regrets saying it, given how hard Haruki’s face crumbles. It takes a full minute for him to recover, and Hanjae watches him try to piece an expression back together until he can no longer look.

“Bullshit,” he hears Haruki say, and then again, “Bullshit. C’mon, just. Give me a minute, alright?”

He moves very close, very soon, back on the bed. Their knees are touching again, and they both feel icy.

Haruki says, “I can do better, I promise,” and there’s a hint of a plea there. Hanjae hates to catch it.

“Haruki, it’s okay. It’s okay–”

“No, just, if you just,” His hands hover over Hanjae’s chest, unfocused, trying to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “I can do this, I can, really, if you just try to be more horrible, if you– if you force me, then–” and Haruki shuts his mouth very tight, looks down at the tangle of sheets between them, about to fall off the mattress.

Hanjae at him once and again, forces his eyes to stay open even though. He takes hold of both of Haruki’s wrists feather light, puts them away from him, pushes them to be on Haruki’s own chest. They fall limply on his sides once he lets go.

“Haruki,” Hanjae begins to say, and then stops, has no idea how to proceed. He puts his hands on his forehead, digging. He presses the heel of them over his eyes, hard. “I’m not… I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t want to do that, so can we not? Please? Can we not?”

He takes his hands off his face to try to look him in the eyes, to tell him with them to: I’m not doing that.

Haruki stags up, seems to tense from the heel off his feet to the top of his head. “This is so– awful, awful. What is it, your face is– It looks so–”

Hanjae takes notice of his frown, his quirked down mouth, his eyes – watery, blinking. It’s a sad face, an about-to-burst-into-tears face.

“I can’t stand this, I’m not– Not going to stand here, and be looked at like–” Haruki swallows dry, goes back into motion; picks his shirt back up from the floor, puts it on in a hurry. “I’m going to the pool. I’ll be in the pool, away from you. The whole trip, away from you.”

He stops abruptly at the door, a shaky hand on the handle. Haruki says without looking back at him, exasperated, “You’re gonna let me walk out? I’m leaving, I’m walking out.”

Hanjae says nothing, and experiences what might be the heaviest silence of his life. He feels it from within, taking the form of a bone crushing pressure.

Haruki is even quiet when he leaves, making the door fall shut with almost no sound; a complete dissonance.

June 2nd and 3rd, 2022.

Hanjae lays down, once he’s alone. He spends the rest of the day checking the door, checking his phone – a wild expectation followed by nothing, nothing, except for a tense engulfment of sleep.

Summer comes and Hanjae sees more rain clouds then he sees of just Haruki. It’s voluntary and it isn’t; they’re both avoiding each other.

But promotions are not done, yet, so it’s not as intense as it could be. Just yesterday they got sorted out to film a Heart To Heart episode, and had to scrap it midway because it was heavy, horrible, quiet. Their prompt was: Beach, and they couldn’t hold even a one minute conversation about it.

He got an email from Seo CEO in the morning: ‘Let’s all keep a serene work environment free of misunderstandings and intrigue’, he wrote, underlined and in bold.

Hanjae presses the cold bottle of energy drink against his face, the back of his neck – pure sweat after filming another music show performance. He’s by the vending machine, catching some air, seeing Idols come and go, staff hushing from one side to the other. Some of them bow their heads at him, and Hanjae greets them back with an enthusiasm he knows falls short.

There’s a small commotion in front of their dressing room when he gets there, and he could spot it from a distance. A girl group or at very least a group of around twelve girls, Beomseok and Seungsoo supporting their exposed arms on the doorframe when they talk to them, smiles warm and easy, so he knows exactly what it's all about.

Haruki’s the odd one out, in the middle of them, the center of all attention. He’s always been popular in the hallways, no stranger to little pieces of paper sneaked into his cafeteria orders, someone coming up to him and asking if they can take a selfie, if he’s got a minute – he’s known for dismissing all requests politely.

Hanjae tries to walk by them meekly, without touching anyone, just muttering polite ‘Excuse me’s until he’s allowed through; he isn’t allowed through. Haruki’s got one warm over his shoulder before he can get even a foot inside, before he can even process how, locking him in a clumsy armlock, turning him around, pushing him close.

“And what about him?” He asks the girls, and he’s close enough to press his cheek against Hanjae’s; they’re the exact same height, and their bones fall perfectly aligned. Someone laughs about it, someone woos. “What do we think of him?”

A girl, the closest to them, wearing the sparkliest makeup Hanjae’s ever seen says, joking, “Oh, him? Hmmmmmm, let’s see…”

At his back, Hanjae feels a lingering over and soon can hear Dylan say, a sharp whisper, “Haruki, stop that. Stop.”

Haruki ignores him. His hold on Hanjae’s neck gets tighter, turns into an one armed hug. “Hanjae’s very very shy, but he’s also very very nice. A proper gentleman.”

“Really?” Another girl asks – long curled hair, jet black, dimples showing. “I thought all gentlemen had gone extinct.”

“Noona, so did I! But not Hanjae. He’s proper old school.”

“If that’s true, then he’s cute,” she says, and comes boldly forward to pinch Hanjae’s cheek. Haruki watches her do so with an enthusiastic nod of approval, and Hanjae can feel his sharp sideways grin form in real time. “It makes him the cutest out of all of you.”

“It’s all true, trust me, trust me. He is the cutest out of all of us, yes. Can you believe he’s single? I think it’s so sad, how single he is, how alone he is all the time, always too lonely. We should solve that, no?”

The girl smiles back at him – amused, having fun, flirting with Hanjae, with Haruki, with the two of them at once in front of everyone when she says, “We really should.”

Around them, everyone’s gone into a frenzy over the situation. Seungsoo is slapping Haruki on his free shoulder, screeching ‘You’re so crazy today, Haruki, what’s gotten into you, you crazy man!’, and Hanjae can’t tell if he’s breathing. Then he can feel his lungs moving and nothing else. There’s a small turmoil under them, right where his heart should be, an agitation – fight or flight, and he fails both. He freezes, throat tight and dry.

And then: the enerved click of Junghwa’s heeled shoes, her voice loud when she says, exasperated, “No, no no no, out, out, out! All of you girls out of here right now, what is this?! Where are your managers?!”

The girls scatter in a hurry, all waving goodbye and giggling. Seungsoo puts his hand on his heart and makes a show out of sighing, looking sad, makes a couple of them laugh louder.

Door shut, Junghwa slaps him and Beomseok naked arms with her papers, half joking, half actually slapping them. “I leave for five minutes! Five minutes! What is wrong with you men!”

“We were filming Tiktoks! Innocent little Tiktoks!” Seungsoo says, but he’s laughing, proudly taking his beating. Beomseok simply steps out of her reach, shrugging.

Junghwa stags when she’s in front of Haruki, papers down. She looks for a long moment at his face, searching for something and Hanjae knows what it is: a sign of winter coming earlier.

She’s gentle with him in a different, more impersonal way. He’s the only one out of all of them Junghwa doesn’t call by the first name; she doesn’t use ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ or ‘son’ either.

‘Fukunaga-ssi’ is what she says now, asking if they can have a word in private, and Haruki complies, follows her out, mute.

Hanjae slides his earphones in and tries to not watch them – doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, and thinks he means it forever, feels like it’s a vow being made.

Everyone’s getting more or less undressed by the time he looks up again, falling back into their usual clothes, and the small glimpses of everyone’s torsos at the corner of his eyes are depressing, being back an old discomfort. He sinks into his seat, blinks something off his eyes, looks at the floor. Counts to ten, scratches at his marked hand.

Jiahang comes to sit by his side, gingerly tapping his face with a makeup wipe, a question on his frowned brow, a deep concern. He’s wearing one of Minwoo’s ancient black hoodies, the one with the falling apart NASA logo that fits him too short at the arms.

Hanjae has no idea why his mouth tastes so sour, seeing it; why the next breath he takes through his nose is so sharp.

Junghwa and Haruki come back soon enough, and he and Hanjae are the only ones left to change. She hurries everyone else out, says, “Boys, grab your things– and make sure you have all your things, please– Yes, Kim Haegon, I am talking directly to you, kiddo.”

In a blink there’s only a fan in a corner, making noise, and Haruki in pristine white performance clothes in front of Hanjae, wearing an overshirt with a cascade of thin chains on the back.

“We’re alone,” he says, suddenly, while staring at the floor. “If you want to you can–”

Hanjae stands quickly up, puts a wall and a door between them, turns the lock shut in the small bathroom attached to the room. He’s only sharing space with a shitter and a sink, a little mirror, and he doesn’t want to see even an inch of himself in it.

When he steps out, jeans and an white shirt, Haruki’s gone. His stage jacket lies abandoned on the floor, a tear on the shoulder, a loose chain on the opposite side of the room.

Hanjae staggers at the door, and sees himself walking back to pick it up without thinking. He’s very cautious when he folds it, very gentle when he tucks it under one arm.

[...]

On the ride home Hanjae lingers on the backseat, blearing some song loud enough to not think – pure instrumental, a booming bass.

When they stop in front of the dorm, he stays planted where he is; unties his seatbelt and then thinks better of it, clicks it back shut.

“I’ll go to the company,” he tells no one, just says it out loud, and no one bothers to object. He rides with Junghwa to the New Wave building, even quieter, almost one with the silence.

He doesn’t give her a chance to speak to him when they park, just hops off and goes straight through the reception to practice room #A2, the one with a bunch of old instruments tucked into the lockers, mostly hand-me-downs, some of them broke beyond repair.

He’s aiming for the one drum kit that’s probably around the same age Hanjae is, nothing fancy: it was some staff's son's, someone else’s teenage dream, and he said Hanjae could have it – it’s what his kid would want. It has million pieces of old stickers glued on it and Hanjae never felt like fully peeling them out.

His mind gets lost in the long choreography of setting it up piece by piece. When he finally sits behind the seat, his hands move on their own, just making noise.

And then he finds his way into a rock song through muscle memory. By the end of it, Haruki is a long silhouette in the corner of his eyes, dressed from head to toe in funeral black, and Hanjae almost loses the hold he has on his sticks.

Hanjae’s sweatier than before, breathing slightly through his mouth, still upset with him.

Haruki has a very firm walk when he comes deeper into the room. He stands a paper out in front of Hanjae, his face turned away.

“Phone number,” he explains, waving it even closer to Hanjae like a treat, a gift. “From the girl, earlier. The one that liked you.”

Hanjae lowers his drumsticks as he stares at it, letting his hands fall to his tights. He has no idea what his face is doing, but he knows that if he says I don’t want it, that won’t be all that he’ll say. He might cry; he might fail himself and cry from exhaustion, maybe. Probably something worse, uglier.

“It’s better if you start seeing someone, now. Really seeing someone. This whole thing, it’s so much bullshit. It’s bullshit, Hanjae, it’s like you said. So let’s end this here, like you asked,” Haruki says, and when Hanjae doesn’t move to take up his offer he shoves it in his pocket, walks away, goes to one of the side bars. He puts an extended leg there, a perfect stretch, as he keeps up, carrying an echo: “We’re not compatible, anyway. There was never anything really happening.”

Hanjae’s acting before he knows it. He puts the sticks on their case, tries to get the zipper shut with a hard push that doesn’t do anything. He tries again, harder, and the dent gets stuck on fabric, almost breaks.

“So don’t get sad, Hanhan,” Haruki concludes, turning around, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and his posture is perfect, fully straightened out – a wall again. “It’ll make me upset.”

Hanjae looks at him, as straight in the eyes as he can from a distance – keeps looking even when Haruki dips his chin down, offering only the top of his head.

“It was fun for a day, right? You had one fun day, got your dick sucked,” he says, and he sounds like he’s smiling, like he’s trying to make it sound light, to paint it as something funny. Trying to be intimate, a bit they did. “I don’t mind that we never really– It’s not important to me. I didn’t even want to have sex with you, so– who cares?”

Hanjae closes his eyes tight shut, tries to take a steading inhale. He hears Haruki say, as if from underwater, “But I did want to like you. That week, with all the kissing, all that– I tried to like you. ‘Just didn’t work. Didn’t work.”

“You tried,” Hanjae says, a breath. “You tried to like me.”

From the opposite corner of the room, Haruki puts his face back into view, and the smile he has grows more forced, more visibly sad. It reminds Hanjae of a chalk line drawn on a black board, crooked.

“I told you.”

“What? What did you tell me?”

“Hanjae,” Haruki warns him. “Let’s not make it awkward. I understand you had your ideas, all these expectations–”

“I didn’t. I didn’t have any expectations I didn’t tell you. Everything– I told you. I tried to be honest. At Deh noona’s. That was really all I had to say.”

“Sure,” Haruki says, with a tiny laugh, the hint of a sneer.

‘Sure’. Hanjae’s up from the seat, can’t no longer sit down, can’t barely stand being here.

Haruki keeps eying him like he’s expecting Hanjae to walk straight out of the door, and grows startled when he doesn’t, when he walks near him instead, at half an arm’s distance.

“Why do you think I didn’t mean it? That I was lying?” Hanjae asks the shrunken figure of him. “What sort of person do you think I am? What sort of person do you think being interested in you makes me?”

He’s close enough to see how tightly Haruki’s jaw sets when he looks away, at a nothing point on the far left. His hair falls on his eyes, a curtain. “What sort of question–”

“Every time,” Hanjae speaks over him, and it hurts to do so, because Haruki reacts badly to it, flinching. But someone has to say it; he has to say it, he can’t keep on not saying it. “Every time I wanted to talk to you, hyung, just talk to you, to make sure you were enjoying anything in any way, you looked at me like I disgusted you, like you hated me. Do you hate me? Why? What’s so wrong about all the things, all the things I've done? What’s not correct? I tried being close, and it didn't work. I tried to give you space, and it didn’t work. I still don’t understand, so can you tell me? Can you make it clear to me now?”

Hanjae’s out of air, when he closes his mouth shut. The whole room – sucked out of air.

Very quietly, Haruki says, “I asked for one thing, one thing, and you didn’t do the one thing–”

“You just said– You said you didn’t want to have sex with me. Then why? Why ask? Just because you could? You just asked because you could?”

“Stop,” Haruki tells him, voice rigid. His arms have unfolded and are now holding on to the side bar with all they have. “Stop with the whole why, why, why, just drop it. I’m not saying. Not saying.”

“You can say. I want to listen. I want the answer,” Hanjae says. “I still– I want to be your friend, now. I want you well. To think you’re not– To think you’re hurting, it’s painful. It’s painful.”

“Oh, you’re in pain– You’re in pain, you,” Haruki spits, and laughs, and sniffs, all at once. “Give me a fucking break! Go care about people that care about you, Hanjae, this is so pathetic, everything you always say is– Quit wasting your time with all of this, when you can get a nice girl, someone nice like you and have a nice, normal thing that’s not– Not this. You can choose to not have this, so I don’t understand, I don’t understand why– And you, you won’t understand why, so fuck off, just fuck off! That’s what I want, what I always wanted! For you to fuck off.”

It’s said like an ultimatum, and it sounds harsh enough for Hanjae to feel it more on his chest than on his ears. He tries to take another look at his face, to match the tone to an expression, but can’t – Haruki won’t let him, and Hanaje won’t insist. It’s not his place to insist, and it’s been made clear now.

He leaves him alone, carrying himself very tightly out the door, out the corridor, out the entryway.

Out on the outside world, it’s already close to being night, and Hanjae takes in the stale air, looking up. He sits on the New Wave front steps despite himself, and the concrete’s warmth is a faint discomfort about to leave him.

The drum was still set there, in the room. Hanjae had wanted it, and promised to care for it, and still: left it there. He’ll have to go back for it, be back and fix it, put it back in place.

He should clean it first, and the floor, maybe the mirrors – not all, just some of them, the ones that look worse. Everything that looks bad, everything not quite right.

When he walks back into the practice room, there’s no sound, no lights on, and Haruki is no longer anywhere to be found.

The drum set is back on the case, compact inside the locker, exactly where it should be, exactly what it should be – as if it had never been touched at all.

[…]

Food tastes bland during dinner, and Hanjae doesn’t have it in him to pretend to have an appetite for Taesong’s sake.

He's been testing out recipes lately. He wants to impress his mother in law because he knows he wants to marry Yunhee, now. Not even two years together and he knows he wants to be with her forever, is sure that it’s mutual, it’s certain they’re in love.

He wants to show it to everyone; he gets to show it to everyone.

“Are you okay, Hanjae?” Taesong asks, over and over again – at the dinner table, on the couch during a drama commercial break, while they’re sharing space in front of the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth.

And each time Hanjae answers “Yes”, a tight “Yes”, and none of them sounds convincing enough, not even one of them he can get right.

Later, in his room: Seungsoo out, Minwoo out, and Hanjae all alone. Typical. Routine. Things as they’ve always been; as they’ve never stopped being, not even once. Haruki’s voice rings on his head when he lays it on the pillow: so alone, all the time, so sad, all lonely.

He checks the time on his phone: 8:03PM. Too early. Hanjae drops it, closes his eyes for a long time, checks it again: 8:16PM, and the pop up notification of receiving two messages from Dylan six minutes ago.

[dylari]: r things w/ haruki done?

[dylari]: plz answer quick

[You]: What do you mean?

[dylari]: idk how else to read this

Chihoon sends him a cropped screenshot showing a single lengthy Kakao message. ‘i don t know whyy is so hard’, the first line reads, ‘f or anyone ti just on ce do what i avsk and n ot sometind ellse like hsnaje he is sp–’

Hanjae stops reading it. He enters his phone’s gallery and deletes it, goes back to the chat and Dylan’s text now shows up as a blurry gray square, only says ‘media not found’.

[You]: Did he send you this?

[dylari]: yeah

[dylari]: our chat is his diary ig

[dylari]: when talking irl gets hard he blows my phone

[dylari]: i thought you knew

[You]: I didnt know

[You]: Sorry to hear you have to deal with that

There’s a long pause from Dylan’s side. When he resumes typing, Hanjae has long deleted both messages, regretted them – is sitting up on the bed with a hand on his face, a hard press, and regretting that too.

[dylari]: dude i dont mind knowing

[dylari]: look dont worry hanjae this is fine

[dylari]: im his roomie im on it i can take care of this

[dylari]: ill keep an eye on him now

[dylari]: im sure you tried your best your own way so thank you

[dylari]: telling you that now because he wont say it even if he wants to say it he wont so let me do that for you

[dylari]: good job

[dylari]: go breath

Hanjae falls asleep with his phone held tight, tight to his chest: 11:49 PM. He dreams of it ringing, ringing, ringing, and not being surprised, just being afraid.

[...]

It’s way past 1AM when Hanjae’s mattress sinks to the weight of Haruki sitting at the far end corner, some few inches away from his feet.

He had heard him unlock the door and come in, Seungsoo with him, making the most amount of noise – slurring more than singing some old pop ballad.

Minwoo had jumped awake out of bed, angry; threw a pillow at them, and then a shoe, told them both to fuck off, and disappeared.

Seungsoo began snoring as soon as his body hit the bed, loudly, which only happens when he’s exhausted; they must have danced all night, must have club hopped all night, trying to be too shifty to get caught.

Haruki stayed for a long moment in the middle of the room after tucking him in, silent. And then he sat there, in Hanjae’s bed, not moving, not breathing, Hanjae even thought, until he took a long inhale through his nose just now.

Hanjae won’t look; he can’t look at him. He promised he wouldn’t.

“I’m gonna leave you alone, now,” Haruki tells him – tells him directly, because Hanjae can almost make out the shape of his stare on his back, right at the shoulder. He bit very close to there once and meant nothing by it, thought nothing of it. “You’ll never have to talk to me when we are away from a camera, Hanjae. I promise. You’re gonna look around and I’m not gonna be there. Not an inch of me. I’m not gonna be there.”

He sounds so clear when he says it – slow, but still sober in a way Hanjae doesn’t hear from him much. He keeps on looking ahead into the dark, a hand gripping this pillow; his eyes won’t close.

Haruki swallows, resumes: “The thing is, you’re too nice, Hanjae, so, so nice, you’ve been so nice, so it’s not– It’s not you, it’s not. It’s me. I can’t– I can’t have that. Doesn’t work. I know it, for a long time. So with you, I was just… Lying. To you, not to me. I know that’s wrong, and I know what’s wrong and I just, still– I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Hanjae, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have– I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I promise, I’ll stop. I’ll stop everything, everything, so don’t cry, alright? Why are you crying? Don’t do that– Over me? Don’t do that. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Hanjae, don’t cry, please, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, I– I didn’t want to make you cry. I didn’t want–”

September 26th, 2023.

He can see Haruki clearly now, the stark shape of him. He’s still wearing the outfit intended for the airport – a sleeveless designer shirt, blue overcoat, and a wine purple trouser with an abstract David Bowie painted on the right leg.

Hanjae observes him from a small distance, catching his breath. He had run there, trying the piece the way back together from memory, growing a little desperate everytime he turned left and it wasn’t the right left; every time he saw an abandoned lot and it wasn’t the right lot.

But he was the one to find him in the end, sitting right on the floor, tense but not so small. He has a moment now to think of the right thing to say.

Hanjae wants to go with the essential: your sister’s at home, she’s looking for you, she wants to know you’re well. As does everyone; as does everything.

He opens his mouth: can’t make it. Opens his mouth again and takes another breath, a hissy breath, through the teeth.

Hanjae isn’t looking at the ground, this time, as he walks forward; he steps over a twig and it breaks loudly in half, disrupts his equilibrium lightly, and Haruki takes a slow look behind his shoulders. Their eyes meet then – and Haruki’s have grown tiny on his face, swollen. They quickly look down, at himself, to the ground.

“Someone found my spot,” he says hoarsely, with a single laugh. He picks one of the bottle pieces on the floor near him, raw glass, and throws it down the hill. It doesn’t make a sound. Hanjae keeps waiting for the glass to break and make a sound, and doesn’t hear it, never hears it. “They got rid of all my chairs– that sucks. That just sucks.”

It’s been a long, long year – 2023, that is. The oddest one yet, their busiest. Hanjae’s half an actor now, goes to TV and gives magazine interviews alone now, and Haruki models often, editorials and campaigns and a whole outdoor, once.

Hanjae squats near him, some inches behind; he’s still scared of how big the drop is. He waits, and waits, and waits more.

Haruki leans a bit on his back, tells him, “You can see his house from here. That's why I liked it, it’s why I came.”

Hanjae squints, looks ahead, trying to spot it even though he has no idea what to look for. He’s never been to Choi Sangwon’s. He knows some of the others have, back when they were Boy Of The Week trainees. Their reports were mixed: he had a big pitbull, a bathroom wall painted in a horrible shade of red, and all the carpets somehow smelled like they were brand new, like no one ever stepped on them.

Haruki laughs, meek, and points ahead; right at the only house with no light coming from the windows, empty.

“That one,” he says. “I had a key copy, front and back door. I had a floor mattress, mine. I got clothes there, still– mostly underwear, sleep clothes. And my favorite necklace pin, family heirloom, in a drawer, there.”

Hanjae gulps something acid down his throat. “I see,” he says. “I– I see it.”

Haruki turns his whole face at him, suddenly. Looks sad, and tries to not appear sad, smiles. All white teeth. “Are you happy, Hanhan? Like, ever? Are you well, most of the time? Is your girlfriend nice to you, lately? You’re so busy now. With your dramas and all. I hope she understands. I hope she’s watching them, that she likes to see you on them.”

“I’m well, hyung. I’m– Yoora and I, we–,” Hanjae swallows again, dry. The raw truth is: happiness creeps up on him and it’s a battle to let it linger, when he looks around himself. He tries to start over, tries to sound firmer. “And you?”

“Pfff. What do you think? I know you saw the whole,” Haruki makes a hand motion – mimics an explosion, a disaster. “I heard you. Through everything. And thank you, by the way, for not bringing an army with you. For not acting like I’m a princess– Like I’m a runaway princess.”

Hanjae nods, uses that to say ‘you’re welcome’, and doesn’t mean it much. He should have brought an army with him. Or just his sister maybe, whom Haruki adores; avoids but adores.

Hanjae clears his throat, says, “Furumi’s at home. She wants to see you– talk to you.”

Haruki lets out an airy laugh. “Right. The baby.”

“You asked,” Hanjae reminds him.

“I know,” Haruki says, and turns his face upfront; looks at the drop, looks at the house. “I know I asked.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He sees Haruki run a hand over his face, up his hair, leave it there. He soothes himself before he speaks, a whole damn breaking sort of thing;

“It was so– I was checking on what Monica sent me to wear at the airport, and when I saw Bowie my first thought somehow was, did my boyfriend get a funeral? He was afraid of that. Of dying without a ceremony. His only real fear, I think, the only fear I figured out,” Haruki trails off, for a moment; seems to dive deep into a memory, takes a moment more. He comes back with a sneer. “Why the fuck Bowie? He didn’t like old music, didn’t like rock. Nothing connects– it’s just two dead people, that’s all, that’s it. And Chihoon was right there, right behind me, but for a moment– For a moment, it didn’t look like it was him. It looked like, from this one angle– Fuck, I can’t even say his full name, now. My first boyfriend, a name I can’t say. How sad. How very sad…”

He sounds like he’s giving Hanjae a cue to laugh. Hanjae doesn’t, wouldn’t be able to remember how to do so even if he tried.

Haruki says, “The thing is– The thing is, he made himself my life and then he died. He chose to die, picked a date and a place to die, and I can’t grieve, I shouldn’t want to grieve because it would be insane to feel– When I know he didn’t love me. He didn’t even fucking like me, treated that fucking dog better– Liked the dog better. It could kill me off, and he would say it was my fault. Everything about me made him so angry, all the time, all the time so angry when we were in private. My age, my face, my name, my accent. Everything. And everyone knows now. They all know, because I had to say– Because I can’t get a hold of it, lately. It’s always very cold in the winter, I always felt it, but now it’s the whole year. I feel very– very sad, cold, all year.”

“But they want this so bad, Hanjae,” Haruki tells him, quieter, holding in tears. “All of them. It’s not like you and me. We just landed here. To dance. To act. They live and breathe this thing, this Idol group thing, and it hit me then– It hit me that I can’t be like them, our members. That’s why I panicked, that’s why I couldn’t go to Fashion Week, why I had to come back here. I can’t do it like everyone else does it because it’s never been the same, my career– I don’t think I deserve these things. I didn’t even want them. I was in college, I came here to be in college. I wanted to dance, just dance, like my grandmother did– I wanted to do something for her memory, I wanted to be something she would be proud of, something anyone– anyone would look at and be proud of, and now no one fucking talks to me, anymore, my family doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know my mom’s new phone number– he didn’t even let me keep my mom’s new phone number. ‘Said I didn’t need it, said it didn’t matter.”

“I wish, back then–” Hanjae says, barely feeling his tongue moving. “That I did more. Anything.”

“You really wish that, don’t you? You mean it,” Haruki sounds like he’s marveling at it, that is a truly remarkable thing that Hanjae has said something and meant it. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever been with, Hanjae, really. The coolest, too. While I’m the worst one, right? Worst person you’ve ever been with. By miles. You can’t– Never again. No one like me. Never again.”

“Not like him again,” Hanjae tells him. “For you, not like him again.”

Haruki shows him an even sadder face, more wobbly, and shrugs. Just shrugs, looks away.

“I think no one,” he says, with a firm nod. “No one is better. It feels fitting to let that die, too. If I can’t get it right.”

“That’s not true,” Hanjae says, more with his clenched teeth than with his voice. “Not true. It��s not– Not better.”

“Oh, you don’t think so?” Haruki asks, and it’s just words. Just words being said to fill in silence, to cover up a strong sniff.

Hanjae can feel it again; the sharp line of disconnection rising, cutting the air in half, and he still doesn’t know how to stop it. He doesn’t know how to reach him.

He tries; he has to try. Hanjae licks his lips, forces some sound out of his throat: “You know– Haruki, you know, that all of us, everyone, will listen to anything you have to say. All the time.”

“I know that? Do I? And anything? That’s big. That’s really big. You shouldn’t let anyone say anything– no one should have to listen to just anything. Look at Chihoon now, Jiahang now. What good did knowing everything do?”

Hanjae’s at loss of words again, breathing around a lump on the middle of his throat. He’s too bad at this, too tired to think – just off a long action shoot. He still has his outside mask shoved into his jeans back pocket.

Somewhere in the distance, he can hear a dog haul; a coded hymn to the moon, maybe. Something about wanting life to stay still, wait a little longer. And then silence, a defeating one. A shuffling coming from Haruki in front of him.

“Can you, we– Ah, it’s so,” Haruki begins to say, shaking his head. “Can you hug me? If it’s not too hard or– bad for you. Just one time.”

Hanjae’s up on his feet before he’s even done talking. He stands his hand out, a timid invitation, and Haruki takes it, allowing Hanjae to help him up.

Haruki lays his forehead on his shoulder and stays there, being hugged, fully still until he takes a big shuddering breath. His arms stay glued to his sides, limp.

“I’ve never really– I never did just this,” he tells Hanjae; a shaky whisper, an old time secret. “It’s never been just this, before.”

Hanjae turns his face to the side and away so he can suck in air, so he can close his eyes shut, for a moment. He can’t think too much about it now. He taps at Haruki’s shoulder blades warmly, like a dad or a coach would – pat, pat, pat.

It gets an airy laugh out of him, a long and disbelieved one. “Bro hug!” Haruki exclaims when he steps away, whipping at his running nose, “You just gave me a bro hug. It’s really over now. We’re never going to fuck now. All that, over. What are we, if we’re bro hugging?”

“We’re a team. We’re friends,” Hanjae says, and thinks; you said so right here, once.

Haruki’s face makes too many things at once, hearing it. He looks down at himself again, accessing all the damage done to Monica Imano’s design. Bowie’s face has turned red with dust, and it looks even more smudged.

“VIANFINO is going to fire me,” he concludes with a dry chuckle. “They told me one more slip– the sponsoring, over.”

Hanjae bats an idle leaf off his shoulder and for once Haruki doesn’t flinch out of reach. He tries to give him a truthful close mouthed smile.

“Leave it to me– Leave them all with me,” Hanjae says, and leaves his hand there, a firm hold on him. “I’ll wash them.”

#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ writing .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ haruki .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ hanjae .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻�� dylan .#fictional idol community #fake kpop group #kpop fanfic #kpop au #kpop oc #(maybe the Hanruki sex scene was the friends we made along the way?)

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centralperkchenford · 8 months

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Since it’s the anniversary of Jackson’s death I kinda want Ava saying he’s her imaginary friend because kids can see ghost better then we adults can and Lucy explains to her who he is

I’m sorry this is so late but I did want to do this one! I hope you like it!

Since it’s the anniversary of Jackson’s death I kinda want Ava saying he’s her imaginary friend because kids can see ghost better then we adults can and Lucy explains to her who he is

Ghost

Lucy walks by Ava’s room to see her sitting in her rocking chair smiling and laughing. Lucy pauses outside her door and watches her daughter. She is five now and has the best imagination. Ava gets up and holds her hand out to the air, and giggles and turns around jumping and leaping. She sees Lucy and runs over to grab her hand. “Whatcha doing Ava?” Lucy asks her. Ava giggles and leads Lucy to the rocking chair.

“My friend and I were just playing.” Ava says proudly. Lucy tilts her head at her daughter curiously.

“What friend Aves?” She asks her. Ava licks her lips and points to the corner where her toy bin is.

“He says his name is Jackson.” She says. Lucy heart nearly stops as Ava continues not noticing Lucy’s face.

“He says he wants to be my friend because I remind him of you.” She says and Lucy has to swallow down the sob that is about to come out.

There’s no way Ava can see Jackson.

But yet…

She glances at the unicorn calendar on Ava’s wall and swallows again. How did she not realize?

September 26th.

The day Jackson was so brutally and senselessly murdered.

“Mommy? What’s wrong?” Ava asks and Lucy wipes a tear from her cheek and holds out her arms for Ava. Ava comes and crawls on Lucy’s lap. She reaches out and brushes a tear from her cheek.

“What’s wrong? Jackson doesn’t want you to cry!” Ava says again sounding almost panicked and Lucy kisses her cheek.

“Oh baby. It’s um—Jackson was my friend a long time ago. H-he died today many years ago.” She says and she’s not sure how a five year old can comprehend that. Hell sometimes she still can’t believe Jackson is gone.

“Oh.” Says Ava. “He didn’t tell me that.” Lucy chokes out a laugh and puts her chin on Ava’s head.

“Maybe he didn’t want to upset you Aves.” She says quietly. “He was a very good friend.”

Ava is quiet for a few minutes. “What was he like mommy?” Lucy sucks in a breath. It’s not that she didn’t think of Jackson, but sometimes it was hard to think about him. And everything that could have been, should have been. He should be here.

“We went through the police academy together. Along with uncle John. And he was my best friend. He was kind and thoughtful. He was smart and he was going to make a great police officer.”

“Like daddy is.” Ava says. Lucy has to bite back a laugh remembering how much she complained about Tim to Jackson. He probably would have been shocked at first to know they got together, got married and had four kids. But then he would have been supportive and maybe a little more than smug.

“Yes baby. Daddy is my best friend but not at first.” She says and Ava makes an offended noise.

“Jackson helped me through a lot. We went through a lot together.” She says. “We were thicker than thieves.”

“Do you miss him?” Ava asks. Lucy nods and kisses her head again.

“Yeah I do.” She says. “You would have loved him Ava. He would have spoiled you rotten.” Ava grins up at her.

“I wish I could have met him when he was alive.” She says. “He sounds fun.” Lucy nods and Ava slips off her lap suddenly. She goes back to the corner and leans in, a grin on her face as she turns back to Lucy.

“He says he loves and misses you.” Ava says and Lucy stands up to go over to where Ava is. She bends down on her knee and looks at to where she thinks Jackson is.

“Miss and love you too Jackson.” She says quietly and Ava hugs her tightly.

***

Later that day, Lucy drives out to the cemetery alone. She finds Jackson’s grave and lays the flowers on it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here much.” She says. “You deserve better than that. But I miss you man. It took my five year old daughter seeing your ghost to make my heart ache at how much I miss you.”

She bends down and wipes some dirt off the grave. “I will do better Jackson. I promise. You would love Ava. She’s so.. wild. And Daisy is a gentle soul. And Levi is a mama’s boy and so sweet and June.. she’s amazing. And Tim.. he’s the love of my life. Are you surprised? I fell in love with my hard ass training officer. But he’s worth it.”

“That’s good to know.” Says a voice behind her. She straightens up and turns around to see Tim. Ava, Daisy, Levi and June who are in their double stroller. Ava and Daisy are holding flowers. And Tim is holding a tiny police car.

“Hi.” She says making her way over to her family. She lifts Levi up and Tim grabs June placing her on his hip.

“Ava told me about her friend Jackson. And then I remembered today was..I figured this is where you would be.”

She smiles at him and leans in to kiss him. “I just needed to talk to him.” She says and Tim pulls her close. “I miss him.” Tim kisses her on the top of the head.

“I know you do baby.” He says. “I’m glad you had him in your life.”

“Me too.” She replies. “Now what did you guys bring Jackson?” Ava bounces up to the grave first and puts her flowers on gently.

“Come visit me again okay?” She whispers loudly. “I love you.” Lucy looks at Tim who is staring at Ava with awe. Daisy goes next, her little three year old voice quiet.

“I brought daisies cause that’s my name.” Daisy says. She backs away and Lucy smiles at her as she backs into Lucy’s legs. Tim fidgets with the car and looks over at Lucy a guilty expression on his face.

“I wish I had treated him better.” He says. Lucy leans up to kiss him.

“He knows.” She says. “I know he does.” Tim smiles and goes to lay the car on Jackson’s grave, June still in his arms.

He backs up to Lucy and she leans close to him again. Ava at Tim’s side, Daisy at Lucy’s and the twins in their arms.

Lucy knows if Jackson were still alive he would have been a huge part of the family. And standing here right now, Lucy can feel him and she knows she will always have an angel watching over her.

When they turn to go, the sun is setting and it’s a beautiful orange and pink. And Lucy knows Jackson painted that just for them.

#chenford #the rookie #tim bradford #chenford fanfic #tim x lucy #lucy chen #chenford fic #anon answered

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ninalove616 · 11 days

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Starting a Pokespe challenge (May 1st 2024)

•So, basically, I started reading the Pokespe manga last month and last week I decided to give it a shot and attempt to challenge myself to something. As you might know (if you've read the manga yourself, course) they usually give us the natures and characteristics of the protagonists' Pokémon and, well, let's just say that I'll be searching for them as faithfully as possible to their manga canon! My target will be Ruby (mostly because Sapphire's torchic is a female and I don't like to suffer that much) on Pokémon Alpha Sapphire cuz I felt like playing it again after reading ORAS arc. I'm a shiny hunter so I kinda have the experience with trial and error when it comes to Pokémon RNG so it's not that new to me. So, let's begin with today's updates.

•I started this challenge on Friday (April 26th), and since then, I've been resetting for a Male Relaxed Mudkip that likes to relax. Let's just say that it was a damn pain, the resets took a while given that I had to skip all the dialogues from the professor every single time, yesterday I had the brilliant idea to change my 2DS' date to match that of Ruby's birthday because that's when he got Mumu and, today, I open my 2DS, do one reset and low and behold:

Mumu acquired!

This was definitely a moment to commemorate ngl. Anyways, I used a small strategy, I'm not sure if it helped or not but basically I instantly soft reseted any Mudkip that had 20Hp given that, from what I understood from Bulbapedia, the characteristic "likes to relax" derivatives from a Pokémon's highest IV being Hp and having a specific number. So yeah, Mumu's home!

•Next step was going Ralts hunting thanks to its ability Synchronize, which will help me a tons given that it makes finding a certain ability much easier. I'm still missing a Naive one for Kiki but the others are home.

•Next step was getting Rara which, honestly, could've taking a lot longer than what it did

Rara acquired!

(and I'm out of pokeballs and money)

Anyways, now the only thing left to do is to progress the game because I have no money left yay. Time to go visit my dad that doesn't care about his family I guess :D

And he immediately puts me on babysitting (jk) duty just to not connect with his son

Wally's music is kind of a banger ngl. I honestly dunno why they would put the catching tutorial here cuz there was plenty of time for you to decipher it by yourself.

Ur kinda late to the party, friend. Online service is no more!

After beating random children I finally got enough money to buy some pokeballs I decided to search for the last Ralts I needed, took me a while but finally he decided to pop up!

I still had a few pokeballs left and I was on the right route to find Nana, which I did quite easily, literally the first one I found after the previous mentioned Ralts

Nana acquired!

(and my wallet is still in a critical condition)

Only Feefee, Kiki and Fofo left!

Well, Tumblr doesn't allow me to post more pics so I guess I'll leave the rest for part two! I guess I'll call this "Ruby team challenge" kind of a self explanatory name.

#pokespe #pokemon special #trainer ruby #pokemon oras #oras #pkmn #pkmn oras #pokemon #omega ruby #alpha sapphire #pokemon ruby and sapphire #Ruby team challenge

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valyalyon · 2 months

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January-July, 2025

Ayooo errybody :) Continuing from December 20 and 25, 2024 , this is mostly all fluff for Raphael and Dolores during D's pregnancy. Jan 19 for cravings March 3 gender reveal April 9 Raphael's birthday + Julius confrontation May 27 family picnic July 10 maternity photo shoot + foreshadowing

For more, including SMUT, see below. DIE MASTER LIST OR #LYONDIE DIVIDERS

January 19, 2025.

By mid-January, the pregnancy cravings were really doubling down...

CW: Mentions and descriptions of pregnancy symptoms and experience. It isn't super detailed, but still might make someone uncomfortable, so I did want to mention it <3 No sexual content, no violence, no drug use. 1.2k words

...I woke up feeling starved that morning, and went to the kitchen right after checking on Theo.

Raphael was getting up, too, but he had gone to the bathroom.

My craving that morning was chocolate covered strawberries. Now, let me explain something. And don’t judge me. I don’t like chocolate, so we definitely weren’t going to have any chocolate covered strawberries in the fridge.

When it hit me that I had no way of having my craving, I immediately started to cry like a baby. This pregnancy was way harder on me emotionally than I had expected.

Raphael came into the kitchen and quickly rushed to my side when he saw I was crying, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“I woke up craving chocolate covered strawberries and I want them so badly but we don’t have chocolate because I hate chocolate,” I said everything so quickly, sobbing as he pulled me into a hug.

Summer's gone, but you can be my winter loving. Summer's gone, but you can be mine.

“I’m not going to ask right now, I’ll get you chocolate and fresh strawberries. Do you want milk or dark chocolate?” He asked, rubbing my back as I cried into him.

“Milk, please,” I choked out in between cries.

“Okay, I’m gonna get it, but you wipe away those pretty tears, Doll, you’re hurting my heart,” he used his thumbs to wipe some tears off my cheeks.

I nodded my head, wiping my eyes as my lip still trembled.

The world stops spinning when you open your eyes, my darling.

March 3, 2025.

Towards the end of February, Raphael and I had gone to the doctor and the doctor had written down the gender of the baby in a letter. I gave the letter to Catalina, my childhood best friend.

On March 3, our families and our closest friends, came over to our home for what they thought would be a late dinner to celebrate our wedding.

Raphael had invited his parents, his older siblings, his best friend Marcus, and Julius. I had invited my parents, my little sister, and my friends Catalina, Natalie and Sara.

Once everyone arrived, we all stood around talking in the living area. Theo was playing with J’s son, Anthony. Raphael cleared his throat, “actually… this isn’t a dinner for our wedding…”

There was a confused silence.

Raphael placed his hand on my tummy, flattening my dress over the bump, “Dolores has a little baby here, and she’s due to give birth end of July.”

Everyone erupted into congratulations, except for Catalina who broke off from the group to go to her bag. She came back with cards for everyone, and waited.

‘We didn’t just want to announce my pregnancy. We also wanted to find out the gender with all of you,” I smiled, thanking everyone for their kind words.

Catalina happily handed out the scratch cards that she had gotten made, and she was smiling ear to ear.

Everyone took their card and we all crowded the dining room table, putting our cards down and beginning to scratch together.

Natalie was the first to finish scratching, so excited to hear I was pregnant again, and she squealed when she saw, “Dolores! Theo’s going to have a little…”

Raphael, Julius, my sister, and Raphael’s mother, shouted at the same time as they all finished scratching, “brother!”

April 9, 2025.

I planned a 26th birthday party for Raphael, inviting all his closest friends and family to our home. I invited Catalina and Natalie too, so I’d have help with everything. I was 25 weeks pregnant and my mobility wasn’t terrible, but I definitely couldn’t run the party alone.

I was glad I had invited my friends, because when the party was winding down, Julius came up to me while I was apart from Raphael.

“You think I could talk to you?” Julius asked, semi-casually, but there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

I made eye contact with Catalina, and she left quickly to get Raphael, I turned my attention back to the dishes I was in the middle of, “About what exactly?”

“The baby, uh… your pregnancy?” Julius shifted and got closer to me, just as Raphael entered the kitchen.

“Julius,” Raphael’s voice was tense, and I was worried he was going to rage out on his birthday, but he seemed to be keeping his cool.

“I just have a question,” Julius said, his attention on Raphael now.

“What exactly would that be?” Raphael asked just as I finished the dishes.

I turned toward the two men, they were staring at each other with each face showing clear irritation over the situation. I was always so confused about why Raphael insisted on inviting Julius to things if he continuously would get mad at him.

Julius turned his expression to me, “does he know?”

I looked at him utterly confused, “does he know what?”

Julius groaned and finally spoke his mind, “you two announced that the baby is due at the end of July. I had unprotected sex with Dolores the week he would have been conceived.”

Raphael was about to speak, but Julius continued, “are you sure that he’s Raphael’s son, Dolly?” His eyes were on mine.

I turned my eyes back to Raphael’s, but he wasn’t looking at me. His face and eyes were dark and unreadable. I’d never seen him so angry.

“Yes, we are absolutely sure that he is my son,” Raphael said, his voice so sharp that I felt personally cut by it. His expression was cold as he stared at Julius, “Man, I still want to be your friend, however… Dolores is my wife. Do not call her any pet names, and do not speak to her without me around.”

Julius nodded his head, “you’re right, Ralph. Sorry for overstepping.”

“You got your question answered. Don’t ever bring that up again,” Raphael led him out of the kitchen.

May 27, 2025.

I got orange blossoms in the air right now. Smells so sweet, until they hit the ground.

We took Theo to Papago Park for some much needed time in the sun. We took turns playing with Theo, and on Raphael’s turns, I would look into baby names for our son.

I won't save my breath for another day, 'cause the wind might come and blow them all away.

By the end of our family picnic, Raphael and I had a list of about 10 names that we liked. I had made a list of about 30, but there was a lot of back and forth and we crossed out so many names.

I can't think of anything I wanted more than to see the colors of my seasons change.

Still, the name we ended up picking for our son was actually on that 10 name list.

July 10, 2025.

I was nearly 39 weeks pregnant when Raphael booked a maternity shoot for me. We went out into the desert with the photographer and I wore a red gown.

In between photos, Raphael and I would talk back and forth, and it was during one of those conversations that I said, “you know, I really don’t think he’s going to come on his due date.”

“Do you think he’s going to come early?” Raphael asked, touching my belly.

“I wish, but no… I really don’t think he will. I really don’t know why I feel this way, but I think he’s coming in August,” I placed my fingers over Raphael’s for another photo.

“This is going to be such a long pregnancy for you,” Raphael spoke after the photo had been taken.

“Yeah, but he’s worth it.”

“100%.”

SONG REFERENCES Summer's Gone by NoMBe, Thutmose Orange Blossoms by GoldFord

#fluff #pregnant #dark romance #writeblr #creative writing #lyondie #bluestlyon #booklr #original story

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blackbrightweek · 1 year

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Schedule and Frequently Asked Questions

◆ May 26 - June 8: Prompt Submissions Open

◆ June 10 - 16: Prompt Voting Period

◆ June 18: Prompt List Reveal

◆ July 17 - 23: Blackbright Week

◆ July 24 - August 6: Late Submission Period

FAQ after the cut!

◆ How do I participate?

Once the event starts, tag your posts with #blackbrightweek or @blackbrightweek so the mods can see them and reblog them here! There is also be an Archive of Our Own collection here for writers to submit to.

◆ What kinds of fanworks can I make for the event?

Anything and everything! Fanart, fanfiction, edits, headcanons, playlists-- all are allowed and encouraged. We're excited to see what everyone comes up with!

◆ What platforms will Blackbright week be running on?

Tumblr (@blackbrightweek), Twitter (@blackbrightweek), and Archive of Our Own (collection here)

◆ Do I have to make something for every day?

Nope! Feel free to participate as much or as little as you'd like.

◆ Do I have to follow the prompts?

Also nope! They're provided as a fun way to help spark creativity, but if you decide you'd like to try out a different Blackbright idea that doesn't fit a prompt, we'd still love to see and share it anyway.

◆ Are late submissions allowed?

Yes they are! We will continue to monitor the #blackbrightweek tag and reblog entries for two weeks after the event closes.

◆ Can I include other characters in my pieces, too?

Absolutely! But the focus should be on Simon Blackquill and Bobby Fulbright's relationship, however you envision it.

◆ Is this a Phantomquill event, too?

No, this one is for Blackbright, specifically. You're welcome to submit a piece that features the Phantom, same as any character, but for this event the focus should be on Blackquill and the real Detective Fulbright.

◆ Are explicit/NSFW works allowed?

While you're welcome to create any works you wish, we've decided that this blog (and the associated Twitter and AO3 pages) will only be sharing works rated up to PG-13. We also ask that participants tag any potentially triggering or sensitive pieces appropriately, according to the regular procedures of whichever site they are hosted on.

◆ Can I submit a prompt for Blackbright week?

Yes you can! But not just yet-- we'll be opening prompt submissions on May 26th. So watch this space!

◆ I'm so excited! I just can't wait!

Neither can we! In the meantime, we're going to be using this space to share some of the incredible pieces participants made for the previous Blackbright week-- as well as a few small surprises, too! 😉

Thanks for reading! And if you have any other questions or would like any clarification, feel free to DM the mods here or drop us an ask!

#ace attorney #blackbright #simon blackquill #bobby fulbright #dual destinies #blackbright week

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anthros-vanitas-archive · 5 months

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#CalmWriMo Final Weeks (Wrap-up 19-31)

Hello it's been a while, hasn't it? So this is the final actualization of this month event, and as you can see for the date is December already... my bad.

In this case there was supposed to be an actualization the past Sunday 26th and another one marking the finish line on Friday 1st. That didn't happened however, I got a lot of things keeping me busy this past weeks and at the same time I didn't have quite the energy or the motivation so in the case of progress I didn't have a lot to show you...

But after all that I did wanted to do this post, marking the progress of this month dedicated to build and reach certain goals but, in spirit of the same tag #CalmWriMo, doing those at my own pace and with as much calm as I wanted.

So here's my late and final actualization of this journey into this month writing and selfcare goals. First blog here for reference.

Writing Goals.

I did have some notorious progress into the writing of the Eternal Throne, I wasn't able to write everyday as I was looking forward to do but I did manage to write 11 out of the 30 days.

Tracking this progress in my spreadsheet I manage to have a final word count of: 18,362 marking the progress of this month alone to 2,240 words

I didn't catch up with all the request and tag games I had in my backlog because of having to be too much hyperfixated in certain scenes I wanted to edit and a particular scene I wanted to finish before releasing.

I did reorganize the archives, and they're feeling quite cozy lately. It's great to see the new organization, and that I no longer need to scroll down to find certain things as well as how the Archives thematic feels just as I intended since the beginning.

Second blog planning has been rough but I still have hope into it's development.

Gaster ☝✌💧❄☜☼

Self-care goals.

Now with the progress of the Archivist trying to be kind to themselves.

The sleep schedule recovery mission had their ups and downs but I would say now is more stable that it was a month ago which is great.

I did go back to running each week successfully (yay!) out of the 5ish weeks of the duration of this event I did go for this exercise 4 out of 5. Mixed results with each but the habit is back on track, after so many months without being able to be consistent so that's great.

My health was 'good?'. As the sleep schedule it has been a bumpy ride, but at least I'm better now. I would not get into details but before this month started I was really concerned about that regard, now finally I can say that at minimum it doesn't concerned me that much anymore.

So that's all I have to say. Thank you to the ones who keep up with this journey and for those in the future who just pick their interest. This archivist is very grateful for your visit and they hope to see you soon, take care and don't forget: Memento Mori.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #calmwrimo #week update #the anthros archives

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randomvarious · 2 years

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Today’s compilation:

Just the Best 4/2000 2000 Pop / Eurodance / House / Europop / Pop-Rap / R&B / Alternative Rock / Downtempo / Hard Rock / Indie Rock / Pop-Punk / Trance / Progressive Trance / Latin / Novelty / UK Garage / Britpop

God, do I really love going through these Now That's What I Call Music-type comps from Europe. Late 90s/early 2000s releases like these always make for such fun, eclectic trips down memory lane, but from the perspective of a different region of the world. Our top 40 charts in America share a lot in common with other places, and that leads to a nice nostalgia rush for everyone involved, but there's also a lot of music we don't share in common at all. So the goal when listening to these ephemeral things is to get some of that good nostalgia, discover a few sweet tracks that you weren’t previously familiar with, and then hopefully find something so patently absurd and terrible that you can't help but smile at how ridiculous it is. And fortunately, I was able to tick all three of those boxes with this 26th dispatch from Germany's Just the Best series, although those latter two categories ended up being fulfilled to a much lesser extent.

So, first, the nostalgia: those Swedish-produced teen pop acts like Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and 'N SYNC lead the way. There was a time in my life when I loved those songs, then a time in my life when I hated them, and now I'm back to loving them again, and not even really from a nostalgic standpoint. The production on so many of those tunes is actually genuinely fantastic; just so lush and so intricate. Go back and listen to them if you still need convincing. Max Martin and his Swedish disciples were spinning pop gold back then, and many of us turned up our noses at it, but I've been a total convert for a while now, so join me, won't you?

More nostalgia: America slept super hard on Craig David. "Fill Me In" is his most remembered song, and I don't even think it's really all *that* remembered. And even more forgotten was "7 Days." It was a top-ten hit on Billboard's Hot 100, but I feel like most Americans aren't even aware that it exists. This British dude could've been our R&B king and it's kind of inexplicable to me that he wasn't. Amazing voice and great, unique productions.

Also, did you know that catchy song "Around the World (La La La La La)" by German group ATC is an English-language ripoff cover of a Russian Eurodance song from 1998 called "Pesenka" by Ruki Vverh!? Now you do!

Plus, we've also got "Jumpin', Jumpin'" by Destiny's Child on here, "Porcelain" by Moby—possibly the greatest single off of an amazing album that was chock full of pretty much nothing but great singles—and the post-Britpop bop, "Dancing in the Moonlight" by Toploader, a song with a very early 2010s kind of vibe that actually came out in '99.

Now for the sweet tunes I'd never heard before as well as the so-bad-it's-good stuff. First is this song that kind of sits between both categories: an irresistible cotton candy fluff of Euro-cheer from Austria's Marque called "Electronic Lady" that blends 80s new wave/synthpop and Euro-disco vibes and kind of sounds like if Robbie Williams was channeling some kind of ABBA phase, but with an extra coating of sugar (🎶Just press "Yes" and I'll be on your screeeeeeeeen!🎶). And then there's this piece of Eurodance trash by this German guy called Kosmonova, who lays these big indigenous flute melodies over a pumping Euro-backbeat. A solid dose of purely bad and silly fun with that one.

Always an enjoyable ride with these compilations. Was hoping for a little bit more of that mindless Eurotrash absurdity, but there's still a good nostalgia rush to be had here anyway. Plus that Marque song is a total fucking pop music bop!

Highlights:

CD1:

Britney Spears - "Lucky" ATC - "Around the World (La La La La La)" Craig David - "7 Days" Christina Aguilera - "Come on Over Baby (All I Want Is You)" Marque - "Electronic Lady" 'N SYNC - "It's Gonna Be Me" Moby - "Porcelain" Toploader - "Dancing in the Moonlight"

CD2:

Kosmonova - "Discover the World" DJ Ötzi - "Hey Baby" Destiny's Child - "Jumpin', Jumpin'"

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thebindingofdragonshy · 1 year

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Meet The Character: Lunys Aizenot

I finally remembered to do this. This is probably going to be very long so I have provided a read-more for your convenience

🌙~🦋 Basic Info 🦋~🌙

Name: Lunys Aizenot (Lunys) Age: 14 Birthday: March 26th, 2108 (Using the start date of Futurepunk [Feb 12th 2123], the RP ny's for, as reference) Pronouns: Ny/Nym/Nys/Nymself Orientation: Gay + Demi-Sexual Discord Tag: Lunar Moth #37153 (*This is fictional I did not make nym an actual account don't even try it)

🌙 ~ Physical Characteristics ~ 🌙

First important thing, ny's a robot! Not just any robot, but an.. Android? Whatever term you use to refer to a robot which is supposed to look like a human. With fake skin and hair, ny even feels like a real human. The next important, and definitely more obvious (to the other characters), thing is that ny is only 4 feet tall. Ny also has a cloak, a shirt with the logo of nys favorite band (Aiz-Eclise, which is totally made up), and a giant hammer that is at least the size of nys body, possibly even taller... Describing appearances is hard, here's a picture

🦋~ Personality ~🦋

I've only just started playing nym so personality is subject to a lot of changes. Ny is very much an extrovert, befriending basically everybody ny meets. In fact ny's probably the reason the party ends up being friends lol. Ny tends to be friendly, but has a definite sarcastic snarky side which can come out at any moment. This hasn't been shown in rp yet, but ny also sometimes has a weirdly mysterious and possibly even wise mystic side.

🦋🌙~ Trivia ~🌙🦋

As previously mentioned, Lunys is only 4 feet tall. Very small

Very importantly, ny is completely blind. Cannot see absolutely anything at all. Yes most blind people can still kinda see like, the light level or something, but Lunys gets nothing. Somebody forgot to make nys eyes work I suppose

Lunys has weird moon and moth related powers

Because of this, nys favorite animal is moths, and ny loves the moon and space in general

Ny loves listening to music, favorites include Aiz-Eclise, but also P!atD, Set it Off, and Cepheid. Of course, ny will also listen to almost anything you give nym

Magic color is green

Ny has a sister named Cloe

Nys dream is to explore the world

Nys parents are... Questionable decency at best. I could elaborate more, but unfortunately that is a mystery to be solved later and the other people in my RP Group follow me on here so. Oops.

Nys theme song is Catch Wind

This is also nys favorite song, with In Hell We Live, Lament being a close second

Ny actually has a bit of interest in biology, mostly Entomology (insects)

🌕~ Quotes ~🌕

Not much here yet but here's some particularly funny ones

"I know how to count, dumbass"

Your friends befriending each other is good, right? Wait, do they even realize I'm their friend? Too late now, they're all my friends until proven otherwise (Thinking to self)

"You can't have only one interest and only kind of like it!! Everybody LIKES things!!! It came free with your fuCKING EXISTING"

Also here's an image of nys soul for fun as I dunno how to close this out

#dragonshy's ramblings #oc stuff #meet the character #Lunys Aizenot

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blackroom93 · 10 months

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My Depeche Mode Experience, part 3 - I'm here now, I'm found

….it's been a while since I last wrote about live performances, so bear with me, I'll try my best.

The last time I saw Depeche Mode live was so long ago that…it kind of feels like it happened in a different lifetime. I wasn't even in my mid twenties back then. Spotify wasn't available in Romania (yet). Cluj seemed mostly an unknown thing to me. I was into bands that I'm kind of not into anymore. I wasn't wearing glasses. I was more positive towards their previous album, Spirit.

So what has happened since then?

"Are you talking strictly about your relationship with Mode and their music? Or in general?"

The first part.

I soured on Spirit, but I still think it has enough bright spots to not see it as my least favourite album from them.

I got a Spotify account in 2018…and, while I can't for the life of me remember my 2018 Wrapped, I do remember them making every Wrapped from 2019 onwards.

I went to see Spirits in the Forest in cinema in the autumn of 2019.

I was happy for them when they got into the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame in that odd year known as 2020. (I'm still not the biggest fan of that institution, but it's nice to hear that the band is appreciated)

I continued to listen to them a lot.

I made a really dumb joke involving Enjoy the Silence and a public transport strike in Bucharest in early 2022. A joke which prompted my dad to say "Oh, you're missing them, aren't you?".

I woke up one morning in late May 2022 to find out that Fletch had died. I was shocked…and over time, I started making peace with the idea that I might not see them live anymore.

But then…

The Universe decided to throw some positive stuff at me. In October 2022, Dave and Martin announced that they were working on a new album, titled Memento Mori, and that they were going on tour next year.

That tour was going to include Bucharest too.

I bought a ticket (tho not too in the front, those were a bit expensive), I watched the days go by, I enjoyed Memento Mori, I got home earlier at the beginning of June 2023 to watch a livestream of their set at Primavera in Barcelona….

And then I found myself on the hot afternoon of July 26th waiting to see the band live.

The opening group, Haelos, were pretty chill. I initially thought I couldn't hear their frontwoman loud enough, but I got over that pretty quickly…cause it wasn't like I couldn't hear her at all, I just wasn't hearing her loud enough at times.

"How were Mode live?"

Amazing as always.

My Cosmos Is Mine worked well as an atmosphere builder.

I'm still not thrilled with Wagging Tongue as a single choice, but it sounded good live, so who am I to complain about the song?

Walking In My Shoes had a singalong moment - one of the many during the night - and that was nice.

It was neat to hear people around me singing the words to It's No Good. (I still don't get the donkey visuals tho)

I loved hearing Sister of Night - one of my favourite deep cuts from Ultra - but a part of me will never forget the sight of Dave's butt facing the crowd.

I know I said that hearing the album version of In Your Room back in 2017 was the gods' gift towards the audience…but you know what? I liked the single mix too. I would never complain about hearing this amazing tune in concert….no matter the version.

Everything Counts was still great live.

It was nice to hear you live again after 10 years, Precious.

Speak to Me, one of my favourite songs from Memento Mori, got me in my feelings…and in my fears, given that the rain started…and came with two of the things I like the least…lightning and thunder.

Home was as magical as always….Soul With Me was amazing, too, in spite of the technical difficulties in the beginning.

Ghosts Again is already a classic and it felt like one live.

I'm still surprised I haven't got bored of I Feel You. I don't know what it is about this song and resisting overplay.

A Pain That I'm Used To started with technical difficulties - can't blame the band tho - but it still managed to be fun? I guess I like the Jacques Lu Cont remix almost as much as the original…

World In My Eyes …was great, but bittersweet. I miss Fletch. I hope that he enjoyed the dedication…wherever he is now.

I didn't mind hearing Wrong again.

Stripped was wonderful as always.

Teenage me would be pleased to know DM played John the Revelator live.

Enjoy the Silence was a great choice for the last song before the encore…cause the people went nuts.

Waiting for the Night felt intimate and full of tranquility. Also nice screen projections, though I can't for the life of me tell you why I like them so much.

I guess I have matured a bit…given that hearing Just Can't Get Enough live again didn't send me into hysterics (like it almost did a decade ago). It just put a smile on my face. And made me dance a bit.

You know what? It really doesn't matter whether they end their gigs with Never Let Me Down Again or Personal Jesus. They were both legendary and putting them next to each other was brilliant.

Conclusion?

Man, it feels amusing to say that it rained at a Mode gig again…but I'm not going to complain too much: they were great, the audience was great, I love their music and I feel grateful to have seen them live multiple times.

#depeche mode #memento mori tour #2023 #bucharest #concert review

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96percentdone · 1 year

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31 the higu kids post-canon

31. Road-Trips

July 26th, 1986: the 61st year of the Shouwa Era

On a sweltering summer morning, where the air sticks to his skin almost as much as his clothes—typical for Hinamizawa this time of year—someone blasts the car horn for the seventh time outside of ‘Maebara Manor’ at 8:45am. That Mion…. With a half snort/half grumble, Keiichi throws the last of his things in his makeshift backpack-suitcase and speeds down the stairs. “I’m off!”

“Make sure you call once you get to a hotel,” Mom calls from the kitchen.

“I will!”

“And don’t stay out too late! Rika-chan and Satoko-chan are both still middle schoolers!”

“Okay!” Keiichi agrees, and the door thumps closed behind him. It’s funny how much she worries; even after all these years, she still has no idea the kinds of shenanigans their club gets up to!

Though she can definitely see him, just to be annoying Mion slams her fist on the horn of her brand-new bright red Mitsubishi Chariot for one final, lengthy honk. “You’re late!” she greets just as he opens the door.

“Stop honking! My mom is still home!”

“Oops!” In an instant, Mion’s hands fly off the wheel and to her sides, like she means to sit on them. “Sorry! I forgot!”

“She would have hit it less if you just packed your things faster.”

Whirling around, Keiichi lunges over the backseat and scruffs up the first hint of blonde hair he can spot. “Like you weren’t also slamming the horn!”

“Auau…I told them not to…”

“Mii, it’s more fun this way~”

Satoko whines and swats at his hands—“Unhand me, you brute!”—but he does not relent, not until her hair is sufficiently mussed up. “So full of energy this early in the morning…”

“Good morning, Keiichi-kun~☆”

It’s only with Rena’s greeting that everything fully clicks into place. In the back, Rena sits with Hanyuu, with a tower of homemade snacks in the seat between them that’s crept into the middle row with Rika-chan and Satoko (who is sitting right behind him). Isn’t that basically everyone? But when Mion first knocked on the door, she was alone, wasn’t she? “When did you all get here?”

“Turn around, and put your seatbelt on; I’m not getting ticketed a week after getting my license.”

“Mion-san did barely pass the test in the first place.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

A hand reaches from behind the driver’s seat and just barely manages to pat Mion’s head. “There, there.”

Although she’s still grumbling under her breath something about ‘that damn Shion…,’ she slowly pulls out with the telltale click of his seatbelt.

Rena actually answers him. “Mii-chan came to pick us up while waiting for you.”

“Mhmm!” says Hanyuu. “Said it would waste less time, since she knew we were all ready.”

“Haah?” Keiichi yells. His home disappears down the road, foot by foot into grass and mountainside. Why didn’t anyone tell him? He’s always the last to know, throwing shit into a bag and booking it out the door as the event starts.

“I did tell you,” Mion says.

“When?”

“Yesterday. I called.”

“You just said to prepare for the adventure of a lifetime!”

“She also said to pack your things,” says Rika.

“‘At least a week’s worth of supplies to survive the wilderness and the city streets!’ or something like that,” says Satoko.

“How do you know?”

“She gave us the same speech, au!” Hanyuu says.

“Plus, Keiichi-kun, I also called last night and asked if you needed help….”

That’s what that was about? Was this all obvious? Is he that stupid? It’s just him after all that didn’t realize she was planning a road-trip? I was never good at those word association games…Now everyone is bullying him. Again. “Pull over. I’m going back home.”

The whole car erupts into laughter. It’s been three years since Maebara Keiichi first moved to Hinamizawa; some things never change. In the middle row, just behind Mion, Furude Rika smiles with a satisfied hum.

July 1st, 1983, the 58st year of the Shouwa Era

The last day of June still rests, crumpled into a ball in Rika’s hand as she stares at the wall calendar. “I’ve made it.”

“Mhmhm!” Hanyuu agrees. “What do you want to do next?”

A great question. She can do anything now. The world is so big, so full of places and moments outside of this small town she calls home, beyond June of 1983, where does she even start? How can she begin to see it all? To do it all? “It’d be nice to travel.” It wouldn’t matter where she goes, just that she can.

“Auau, it would! Although it will be a little difficult to go far until you can learn how to drive.”

That’s true, eighteen years old is a ways off, but she has time. She has years and years and years! Right now, she can take her bike an hour down the mountain to Okinomiya, and play games with her beloved friends, but when she gets bigger, grows up further, they can go farther, to Shishibone City, and beyond. “Maybe I can conquer Japan before high school. Mii should have her license by then.” In this world, anything is possible.

“Auau! Let’s do it!”

“Rikaaaaa! Hanyuu-san! We’re going to be late!” Satoko shouts from the doorway.

“Coming!” Rika tosses the paper ball into the wastebasket, and dashes towards the door. Her new life starts now: how far will she go today?

#hope.txt #higurashi #maebara keiichi #furude rika #higurashi no naku koro ni #sonozaki mion #houjou satoko #ryuuguu rena #furude hanyuu #my fic #my beloved children....#it has been an utter delight to write my FUCKIGN kids #im love them #ambiguously canon to gousotsu just like gousotsu is ambiguously canon to me!#meaning you can make it fit in there but you can also ignore it

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mechahero · 2 years

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//uhhhh writing exercise i spent too much time on last night

July 13th

Taking the time to write this down since it's important. I just got settled into the house. Or rather, I just got done moving the house into town. Honestly, it kind of sticks out like a sore thumb compared to all of the other houses but it'll be fine? Probably? Anyways, I've never really been anywhere farther than Motor City so to move here is… weird. Not sure if it's the good kind of weird yet. Hopefully, I'll figure it out.

July 14th

Checked in on Motor City today. I can't help it! I'm so used to looking after everyone there! They're fine. Talked to Elevator Steve too. I told him I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing leaving everyone for a year to sort of pick up (or jump ahead I guess) where I left off education wise. He told me that this was just as important as running the city and that if I didn't take this chance, I'd regret it. And then he patted me on the head with one of his tentacles.

I guess he's right but I'm still unsure. Will be feeding more of my attention into city stabilization while I'm gone.

July 16th

The weather's just been awful today. Never could stand those summer days where it's just TOO bright. It always looks weird and it feels wrong. So I've just been staying inside, watching TV with all the curtains in the house drawn, avoiding people. People and the application form for the school I'm going to. There's a whole bunch of info things my parents are supposed to fill out but uh, they're not here..

I'll fill it out…. eventually. Once I actually figure out what some of these things mean and quit procrastinating, that is.

July 22nd

Am I making my entries too long? I worry about doing that so dang much. Anyways! I actually got off my butt and went outside today! Figured since I'd be living here for a while, I might as well get acquainted with the layout of this place so I don't end up wandering the streets trying to find my house like some dumb little idiot.

But anyways, I just kind of poked around. Lots of interesting stuff I wouldn't see back home! I shouldn't really be surprised because yeah, that's kind of expected when it comes to different dimensions but still! I just think it's cool, alright? Didn't go too far into the rest of town though. That'll have to be for another day.

July 26th

Spent the past few days dealing with a massive power outage. Wasn't sure what caused it at first and was going bonkers until I thought to check the inside of the walls. Found what looked to be lab rats chewing through the wiring. Went even more bonkers and chased them off and fixing wires, yelling and cussing up a storm. I'm pretty sure the neighbors could hear me… whoops.

August 12th

Been pretty busy lately. Checked on Motor City again only to be smacked in the face with a rolled up newspaper the second my head poked out of the portal. It seems someone's got Elevator Steve on guard duty. He apologized afterwards but told me he didn't want me to make such a fuss and enjoy myself. It's not like I can't NOT be a worrywart. It's in my nature.

It kind of hurt emotionally though? I didn't make much of a fuss though. I just went home and stayed there.

August 21st

Made the decision to go further into town. I was bored, needed something to do, and the idea was just too tempting. Honestly, not the worst idea because I found out this place has a mall! Can't even remember the last time I saw one of those. (Well, I mean, Motor City has one but uh, I kind of kept forgetting to go in there to be honest…) Anyways, I might've indulged, ha. I bought a whole bunch of stuff. Mostly clothes because yeah, I needed some and they looked nice. It was surprisingly easy to find clothing in the style I like! Honestly? Kind of happy about that. Grabbed a couple of magazines that caught my eye too.

Also went and poked around the tech stores in the mall because come on, if you're a different dimension, you HAVE to see the kind of tech they've got. Imagine my surprise when I saw that their tech is a lot like the tech back home, just more uh, spooky looking? I guess? Anyways, I have a coffin shaped phone now. It's kind of neat. Can't type worth crap though. Fricking claws.

August 22nd

Spent half of the day inside. (How many times have I said something like that now?) Still trying to get used to things. Silly, I know. But there's a lot of stuff going on with a lot of things and I need time to absorb it. Is it kind of stupid to say that I spent most of it with the TV on while I looked through websites? Not the most productive way to spend my time but I mean, I can do what I want so it doesn't really matter. Probably going to set up an account on one of the sites I saw. Lots of activity on there and looks fun enough?

I don't know yet though. Going to read one of those magazines I picked up yesterday, listen to some music and settle down a bit.

August 26th

I'm confused. I keep reading and re-reading a part of this one teen magazine I got. (Yeah, I got one, don't gripe about it. I wanted to live out a part of the quintessential teenage experience I missed out on, sue me.) But my magazine is talking about how to make a good impression on people for the new school year. And what I don't get it, what's with these tips? I keep reading them but they still feel suuuuuper off. I read them but they're just words to me. I can't parse what they actually mean past the surface. Or maybe they're supposed to be surface level? I don't know, it feels like this section is more for people that have an easier time talking to people? I don't know what this would do for me. Tempted to write a letter to the magazine and ask for them to elaborate but it seems like it'd be really embarrassing?

Okay, maybe I'm more frustrated than confused.

August 30th

I think I have way too much time on my hands? Honestly, it feels like that every summer but I really don't have anything to do here compared to being at home. It's weird. Ugh. Maybe I'm more homesick than I thought….

September 2nd

I've still been kind of feeling icky lately? So I went out again in some attempt to try and make myself feel better. Wasn't sure where to go so I went to the mall again. I had fun looking around the stores again at least! (Yeah, I already saw half of the stuff there last time but shut up.) I bought a belt. Also went and checked out the food court afterwards because my feet were KILLING me! (And I was hungry.) The food here is kind of weird too. I very much question the existence of a hamburger with a purple bun.

September 6th

Today is upgrade day. Or uh, maintenance day, I guess. My insides don't really need improvement but Elevator Steve said that it couldn't hurt to be in good shape for when school starts. So I've been allowed to come back to Motor City for the day! (Thankfully I haven't been whacked with a newspaper. Yet.) I'm kind of a nervous wreck, in all honesty. Usually, I'm freaking out when it comes to ANYONE poking around in my insides but instead I find myself worrying about making a good impression and what I'm going to wear tomorrow.

I just hope I don't screw things up completely… Ah shoot. That's my call for maintenance. I gotta go but I'll update as soon as I can.

#//wrote this like one of the doll diaries bc yeah it kind of IS one?#//this is just working more on that neat little crossover im working on/already have going with a couple of mutuals #//not sure how to make the text pink but it absolutely WOULD have been pink to emulate the glitter pen he writes with #//basically the little plot of this is lambda straight up hopping dimensions for school and keeping to himself like a little weirdo gfhfhsjk #//also bc he doesn’t want to bump into ppl that he just doesn’t want to know yet but yeah #//don’t have a writing tag whoops #backup log {ooc}

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dianthus-sy · 2 years

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Day 26th. August 1st, 2022, Monday

hey guys! I hope you're all doing great. It's been a long while, I admit, and I'm really sorry for not keeping up.

I had been completely packed for the last three months, being on one extremity, compared to my schedule (I would hardly call it that) now, where I'm completely free and have nothing to do but stare at the ceiling for long hours.

I had also started 'working', perhaps it isn't the right time. never mind that.

I have been reading A LOT quite lately, since I have absolutely NOTHING else to do. A couple of days back, I finished reading a book titled 'VERITY' by Colleen Hoover (you might know her from 'it ends with us'). Her genre is technically romance, but here, she had beautifully portrayed out the eerie-ness (not a word though, but an essence) and obsession in any relationship. The plot twist is something you might not see coming.

Also, I worked in a hospital as an intern for a week; it was quite fun. it's a different environment out there, that I might not resonate with as of now, but eventually I will. You always have to stay on alert in the ER, of course, it's different for different fields. well, there's a lot of time till I reach there. But the previous week was quite thrilling; I've made 'contacts', as you might say. but i was finally relieved to talk to people of the same field though for a duration so short. You share the same brain cells, work in an environment which is homely, talk about things that only certain people in your circle understand. I've even learnt a couple of medical procedures, not that I can practice them right away, but just out of curiosity.

But now, It feels like a still world, another extremity for a person like me. Yet, I'm still adapting, still getting used to the routine. I have people around, but I still don't really have them (if you know what I mean). It feels kind of lonely, but I work more efficiently when I'm alone. So I'm just trying to devote some time to the hobbies I once had, and make them dear again.

Yesterday I was sitting on a bench in the park, alone, and wondering about various things children are oblivious to. we, as adults, have a ton of problems and responsibilities to carry but children are free and honestly happy. When was the last time you let go of all the problems and acted like a child just to find true happiness (except at the time you were drunk and couldn't think straight)? (inbox me)

Until we meet next time through words, which will be soon ;) ( I plan to write weekly, let's see where it goes. btw, there'll be a follow up post tomorrow, on a solid topic)

Till then, stay safe, stay young, stay happy and stay innocent for as long as you can.

With ♡

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girldigital · 2 months

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Yankee wanker part trois

Building some more evidence that is not going to help me feel more at home here in the slightest. I was thinking about the birthday I had in New York and how my birthday post, were I to make one, would now probably come a year late, but also how that is an experience that I couldn’t have had here. It’s funny. I’ve seen Kode9 in New York and I’ve seen Kode9 in London and both experience were very drastic. Is it fair of me to compare them? Probably not. However, I will.

To talk about the day I saw Kode9 in New York, I need to rewind all the way to the very start of the day, the moment midnight struck. I turned 26 in some random guy’s apartment. His friends had left a few minutes prior, leaving only G and I with him as he plowed through blow with baseball still playing on his TV. There was one of those light up waterfall frames on the floor next to it. We left not too long after and I grabbed myself a bacon egg and cheese to celebrate my old age. The morning after, I was surprised by a birthday breakfast, with a candle propped up in the middle of my pancake. G really is such a perfect friend to have. Anyway, I don’t remember much of the rest of my day up until the evening. G and his friend had bought this antique Samovar and had propped themselves up in front of Bossa at night, offering tea for a dollar to anybody who wished to have one in the wee hours of the night. This was going to be their second iteration, in the middle of Maria Hernandez park. I crossed paths with Umru on our way to share tea with strangers. The evening started pretty quietly, with mostly friends joining us to share a relaxing beverage out of this Russian contraption. As the night went on, more and more people joined us, exchanging giggles and dances. There was a group of older Latino gentlemen next to us, gratuitously taking care of DJing the evening with the help of their giant boombox. Both of our groups ended up merging after a member of our tea party pointed out the shirt one of these men was wearing said, unbeknownst to him: “Don’t bully me, I’ll cum”. We danced so much they went and bought this massive bottle of wine and I finally revealed to the group that today was actually my birthday. So here I was, in the middle of this park in Brooklyn, happily cheering with a bunch of strangers of all ages to my 26th year of life on this silly planet. Hard to say if any birthday is ever going to top this, especially since the night wasn't even over yet. We still had to head to Silo to catch the man of the hour, legend Kode9. He was playing live which is always bittersweet for a serial Shazamer and obsessive archivist. On one hand, it is pretty sad to think this might be the last time I hear some of these melodies. On the other, it is freeing to attend a show and only have to focus on the now, forced to fully lose yourself to the music. I think we had taco truck food after, then I went back home, one year wiser.

Now on to London….

Well, I went to see Kode9 on the Friday of my first week at my new job. I had gone out for drinks with my co-workers, as brits do, and I must say: I got wasted like shit. Spent a nice chunk of the night talking with this person I think didn't match me on Hinge and they were pretty cool. Anyway, I got drunk bitch. Like real drunk. I remember walking to my place on autopilot, mindlessly calling the Chinese joint on my way in order to pick up the noodles I had just started craving out of nowhere. I went inside, devoured, napped for literally 10 minutes and went out to London’s attempt at their very own Berghain (or maybe not but they did also confiscate my Mini DV...). I also kind of forgot that they actually care about poppers here and the hag at the door took my freshly Paris-imported golden bottle of pleasure and threw it in the bin. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the klepto in me (most likely a mix a both), but the moment she turned away, I did just snatch my bottle right back. Once inside, the music was good, but my God was I not well. I sat on the floor for a little and a few people came up to me to check up. When I couldn’t handle it anymore, I stepped out and sat out for a little nap, only to get told by security that I had to leave if I was to sleep. I think I got approached by 4 or 5 people in total during my first hours there, just asking me if I was fine. Anyway, after I sobered up a little, I could finally enjoy the music a little more. The music was good obviously, but you can only enjoy yourself so much when in that state I think, especially when you're by yourself. I went to the smoking section for some air, and potentially make a friend like I tend to do in the city that owns my heart. Instead, I got a man coming up to me asking me if I was dressed as Ash Ketchum. He told me I could join him and his friends and needless to say, I went back on the dancefloor, by myself. I caught what I could of kuffiyeh-wearing DJ Paypal, but my battery (both human and phone) was running dangerously low. I chose to be cheap and commute home. B and I were texting and she mentioned a bacon sandwich from Wendy’s which made me crave the same bacon egg and cheese I got the day I turned 26. However, as you can imagine, that is not possible to get at 4:30am in South East London. Thus, my still slightly inebriated ass decided to walk in the first 24 hour shop I saw to try and get bacon to make myself one at home. I walked in the first store I saw with lights on. There were 3-4 guys standing at the door, smelling of weed who might have said something as soon as I came in. All of a sudden, I felt my common-sense re-entering my body, feeling unsafe for the first time since being here. As I was leaving, bacon-less mind you, one of them tells me his friend wants my number. Headphones on ears, I pretend not to have heard and start power walking the fiercest way imaginable. After all, I was slightly drunk girl, alone, in the middle of the night, about a 15 minute walk away from home, with nobody to come rescue me in case of emergency. These guys easily could’ve done horrible things to me if they wanted and I’m very grateful they didn’t. After what felt like the longest strut ever, I got home, exhausted and still anxious, barely remembering most of my evening. That was the time I saw Kode9 in London.

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