#I’ll be more active during after my birthday
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Moxie and millie + genderfluidy/n who is their adopted imp child platonic headcanons
Haha! Awwww! Let’s gooo~! M&M deserve their own baby! I’ll try my best to handle a Genderfluid coming out and Genderfluids as a whole, please forgive me if I’m handling you wrong. I’m not perfect! As usual… a bit short but I really like this one!
Moxxie and Millie- Appling
Moxxie is that loving doting father who is so clingy and sobs over his child being so precious. Like Blitzø, he wants to be a better parent than his own so he gives you unconditional love and support, he’ll always listen to you and he’d die to protect you. He never pushes you into anything you don’t want. He takes up a parenting style similar to his late mother
Millie, on the other hand, kinda sticks more to the way she was raised as a country gal but she doesn’t try to parent you like some callous tough southerner or to be like that, she only wants you to be tough enough to handle yourself and protect yourself! She is affectionate and kissy like Moxxie and especially loves giving you piggyback rides!
You are always holding one of their hands; either one, it doesn’t matter. One of your parent is always nearby if the other isn’t. Some days, Millie is with you all day and other days, Moxxie is with you all day! They trade looking after you singlehandedly and guarding you but don’t blame them for being cuddly and snuggly. They LOVE you deeply
Moxxie and Millie are the type of parents to always buy you presents, small or big. Rather you worked for them or not! They love you and they’ll pick up whatever thing they find they think you’ll like. Their spoiling mannerisms grow during your birthday
Moxxie and Millie bring you to get together with your maternal family once a month so you can grow familiar with Millie’s family. You’re always welcomed in with open arms and Sallie Mae adores playing with you, she’ll ask to babysit you at times
However. Never ever suspect you’ll meet your paternal grandfather, both of your parents refuse to let you meet Crimson… just. Nothing more, just that you’ll never know who Crimson is and your parents will actively avoid you being anywhere near that mafia boss
Moxxie doesn’t want you using weapons like guns and knives but Millie wants you to know self-defence so you’re split inbetween both… both knowing self-defence and not knowing self-defence
Moxxie and Millie love to bring you to cafés. Like those cute homely cafés with coffee and pastries. It’s kinda a ritual now, they’ll take you to your favourite and they remember your regular. It’s a great time since it’s a peaceful bonding time of you and your parents
Honestly… people are always surprised when Moxxie or Millie explain that you’re adopted… you look JUST like them. Not even just because you’re a Imp but because you just look like their lovechild
Moxxie and Millie are very accepting parents so when you finally get the courage to come out, the older you get, that you’re genderfluid. They both support you without any problem, and ask your pronouns every day so they can correctly identify you
Millie is more violent with her protectiveness over you than Moxxie is, so if you’re being bullied, both will try to resolve your problem differently and both are equally stubborn. Moxxie will give a big harsh lecture to your harassers whilst Millie will beat them with a inch of their life
Moxxie and Millie have those cute solo parent days with you as well. A mother-child day and a father-child day where both arrange fun events with you. Either way, you’ll come back covered in presents and with your father or mother having the time of his or her life! It’s precious
Moxxie and Millie prefer to leave you at home so you don’t have to see their job, mainly because you’re quite safe when you’re back at home and you don’t spend time around I.M.P, especially around Blitzø and his daughter, Loona since they consider those two bad influences on you
Yeah… Moxxie is also the type of father to cry hysterically when you do anything ‘adult’ since he is watching his precious baby grow up right in front of him. Millie‘s that type of mother to comfort them encourage you to try ‘adult’ things as you grow up, even if both would prefer you to stay as their little appling of their eye
Moxxie and Millie are a mixture of strict and loose. They’ll enforce rules of the house to protect you and ensure you know right from wrong as suspected but as soon as the punishment is over, both Knotlastnames are tackling you to pepper your cute squishy face with all the love their hearts carry for you
Moxxie and Millie are also the type of parents to always invite your friends over, rather you know or not. They like knowing who your friends with and they’ll happy cook for your friends, they’ll happily pick up your friends, they’ll happily chat with your friends. Both of your parents encourage your friends, if you’re happy, they are happy
This beautiful couple really is the best parents in Hell. You’ll grow up loved and cared for in all manners, happy with your gender identity and capable of being a perfectly functional adult!
“Oh, sweetie… you’re not wrong for feeling like this. I understand that you don’t feel like a girl today, but feel like a boy. That’s called being Genderfluid, cakepop. Listen to me, Mama and I will always love you across all the Rings, no matter who you love or what gender you say you are”
“Pumpkin-spice… no, no, no. Do’n ya’ cry now. Papa is so proud of’ou, I’m so proud of’ou, for final’y tellin’ me your feelin’s. I know it’s scary but we’re here for you. You do’nt want to be call’d a boy but a they/them? You’re our precious cinnamon-roll with whatever gender, never forget that”
#helluva boss x reader#helluva boss imagines#helluva boss characters#vivziepop helluva boss#helluva boss#helluva boss moxxie#helluva boss millie#moxxillie#helluva boss imagine#headcanons#cute parent stuff#parent headcanons#parental love#vivziepop#moxxie#helluva millie#helluva moxxie#moxxie and millie#millie#moxxie knotlastname#millie knolastname#helluva moxxillie#helluva boss moxxillie#father moxxie#father moxxie x reader#mother millie#mother millie x reader#parent moxxillie x reader#helluva boss fluff#fluff headcanons
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sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )
something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.
alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.
read the second part here!
pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader
verse: college au
rating: r ( minors, do not interact! )
warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it??
word count: 26.4k
a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!
p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!
You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties.
The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert.
The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling).
Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption — like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you.
While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease.
A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.
What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it.
And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine.
You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever.
Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory.
Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you.
Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM.
In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect.
And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.
Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer.
You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.
Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist.
Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront.
You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.
Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day.
But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.
Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.
All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will.
The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.
However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.
His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.
“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”
There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.
“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”
His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”
“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”
You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.
“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”
“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”
He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.
“Something wrong?”
“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”
“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”
“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”
Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.
“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”
“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”
You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.
“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”
“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”
The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”
“You said I should get a tutor, right?”
“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”
“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”
You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.
“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”
You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.
You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.
He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.
Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.
“You really won’t help me?”
Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”
“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”
You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.
“There’s no one better than you.”
Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.
He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.
Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.
You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.
In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.
A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.
He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.
“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”
“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”
“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.
“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.
“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”
There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.
You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?
“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”
Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”
“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”
“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”
“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”
You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.
“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”
“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”
“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”
“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”
From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.
Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.
But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.
If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.
By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.
“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”
“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.
The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.
It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.
“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”
“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”
He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.
The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.
His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”
“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”
You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.
But it just isn’t the right time.
Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.
You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.
Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.
Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.
As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.
Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.
That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.
What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.
Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.
Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.
And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.
You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.
You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.
Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.
You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.
You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.
Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.
Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.
However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.
You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.
You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.
“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”
“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”
You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.
“You got a ride?”
The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”
“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”
You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”
“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”
You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”
“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”
“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.
“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”
As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.
Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.
“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”
“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”
“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”
“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”
You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.
It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”
“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”
You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”
“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”
“And you know this because?”
He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”
You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”
“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”
“You don’t want it?”
“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”
“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”
He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.
“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.
You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.
The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.
“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”
He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”
“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”
“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”
“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.
“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”
It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.
You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.
For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.
You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…
“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”
“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”
The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.
You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.
“I want you to have it.”
“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”
“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”
“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”
“No — you have like… the golden touch.”
“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”
“Seriously, take it.”
“Absolutely not—”
It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.
There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.
Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.
“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”
“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”
“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”
“Why?”
He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.
“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”
His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.
“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”
You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.
Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.
“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”
You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.
“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”
“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”
“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”
You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.
Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.
You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.
Probably.
There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.
You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.
So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.
The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.
“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.
“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.
“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”
“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”
“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”
“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”
“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.
“Well, I would.”
He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.
“Can’t.”
“Because?”
“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”
“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”
“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”
Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.
“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.
“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”
“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”
“When?”
“Next Thursday.”
“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.
“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”
“Are you going to be here all day?”
“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”
“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”
“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”
“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.
At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.
“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”
“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”
“You guys seemed pretty close.”
“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”
“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”
The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.
“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”
“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”
“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”
“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”
“Yeah, for sure.”
“Cool. See you, _________.”
You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.
“Mark, wait.”
You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.
Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”
Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”
“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”
“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”
You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.
You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”
Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.
Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.
The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.
Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.
Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.
And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.
Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.
“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.
“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.
“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”
“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”
Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.
“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”
“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.
“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”
You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”
“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.
“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”
“He must really want you there.”
There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.
“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”
“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.
You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.
You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.
“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”
“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.
“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.
“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”
“I’m inviting you.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.
You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.
Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.
“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”
The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.
You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.
Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.
“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”
“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”
“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”
“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”
“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”
You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.
“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”
“The what?”
“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”
You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”
“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”
You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”
“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”
“What?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”
“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.
“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”
“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”
“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”
“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”
Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.
Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”
“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.
“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”
“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”
You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.
But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.
Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.
And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.
There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.
“Sorry?”
“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”
You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.
“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”
“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”
“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”
“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”
“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”
“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”
“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”
Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.
“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“You think I’m only using you.”
“No.”
“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.
A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.
But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.
“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”
“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”
“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.
“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”
“Respect what?”
“That you didn’t want… anything else.”
The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.
“You were jealous.”
Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”
“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”
“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”
You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.
“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”
Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”
“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”
“Even when I’m jealous?”
“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”
Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.
You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.
It doesn’t; it tastes even better.
It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.
“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”
And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”
“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”
The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.
“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”
“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”
His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”
A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.
“You don’t want to?”
“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”
“You seem worried.”
A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”
“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.
“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”
“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”
He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”
Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”
The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.
He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.
You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.
“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”
“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”
His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”
The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.
To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.
“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”
A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”
“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”
You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.
“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”
He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.
“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”
“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.
“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”
You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”
His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.
“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”
He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.
He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.
“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.
“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”
Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.
You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.
Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.
No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.
“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”
His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.
The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.
“Mark, please—”
“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”
You shake your head, and his brow furrows.
“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”
His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.
“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”
You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.
Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.
You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.
The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.
“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”
His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”
You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.
“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”
His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.
“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”
He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”
The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.
“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”
You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.
His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.
“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”
Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.
“Won’t you show me?”
You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.
The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.
The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.
“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”
“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”
“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.
You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”
His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.
“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”
The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.
“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”
“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”
His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.
You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.
“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.
You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.
You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.
“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”
He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.
“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”
You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.
“Show me.”
He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.
Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.
“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.
“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”
Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.
“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”
His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.
“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”
“Then take me.”
And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.
Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.
“You’re not—?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”
He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.
He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.
“You’re tighter than I thought.”
“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”
“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.
“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”
“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”
He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.
“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”
There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.
“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”
His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.
“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”
“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.
Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.
“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”
“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”
“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”
You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.
“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”
“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”
It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.
“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”
It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.
The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.
“Do that again.”
“What?”
“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”
You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”
“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”
Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.
Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.
The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.
“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”
You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”
“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”
You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.
“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”
“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.
“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”
You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.
You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.
You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.
“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.
“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”
He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”
You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.
“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”
Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”
Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.
Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”
He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.
“You’re all mine.”
#mark x reader#mark x you#mark smut#mark scenarios#mark imagines#mark drabbles#mark scenario#mark imagine#nct dream x you#nct x you#nct 127 x you#nct dream x reader#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 smut#nct smut#nct dream smut#nct dream imagines#nct imagines#nct 127 imagines#nct scenarios#nct dream drabbles#nct dream scenarios#nct 127 drabbles#nct 127 scenarios#nct imagine#nct drabbles#nct scenario
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MASTERLIST
A problem happened with my old masterless and I had to make a new one
* = smut
The masterlist will be updated every two weeks
MCU!PETER PARKER
Boxing lessons Stark!Reader
Tony asks Peter to gives you boxing lessons. Little did they know, you are not as defenseless as they thought
The forbidden Avenger Stark!Reader
It’s difficult to have alone time with Peter at the Avengers compound. When everyone goes away on a mission, you take invite Peter over and act on your feelings
I could never give you peace
Peter laments the lack of stability he can offer his lover and the danger his other identity puts her in (inspired by Peace by Taylor Swift)
I’ll always come back to you Stark!Reader
Peter returns after the blip
I’ll keep you safe Stark!Reader
You look out for Peter during the battle with Molten Man
Late nights sneaking in your bed Hogan!Reader
When Peter and May temporarily move in with you and Happy, you go against your dad’s rules and sneak Peter into your room at night
Maybe this trip wasn’t so bad
You and Peter sneak out for a date during the Europe trip
My baby’s fit like a daydream
Peter gets a new body from training with the Avengers. You like it - a lot
My friends gets annoyed by how much I talk about you
You talk about Peter to your friends a little too much
Now I wake up by your side
You found your way back to Peter after the memory spell
Spider kiss
Peter surprised you at your window
Uncharted territories *
You and Peter explore each other’s bodies while May is out
Want some help? *
Peter gets a little excited after training. You offer your help
What am I supposed to do if there’s no you
May dies. You find Peter on the school’s roof and comfort him
Wherever you stray, I follow
Happy go get Peter in the Netherlands and you play nurse
TOM HOLLAND
King of my heart (multi-part) Co-Star!Reader
You get the role of MJ for the new Spiderman movie…aka, the classic trope of co-stars falling for each other
King of social media
Tom makes a mistake and post a private video on his Instagram Story
Puppy pictures
You accidentally send Tom NSFW pictures while he’s at work
Surprise Spider!
You surprise Tom at a convention and dress up as Black Cat
That’s my man
Tom flashes his pants-less bottom half on live TV
Tom’s new girl
Tom has a surprise for you when you come home
JESS MARIANO
Do you want to build a snowman?
You convince Jess to partake in Stars Hollow winter festival activities
Follow your heart
You pay Jess a visit after Luke puts him on a bus to New York. A few weeks later, it’s Jess’ turn to visit you
Guiding Star
Jess gets a tattoo
I’d marry you with paper rings
From the day you met to your wedding day (inspired by Paper Rings by Taylor Swift)
Night visitor
Jess pays you a little visit in the middle of the night
Prom?
Jess tells you he won’t be graduating…but he still goes to prom
Silent breakup | part 1 | part 2
Part 1: Jess breaks up with you by leaving town
Part 2: Your boyfriend of three years get down on one knee, but there’s someone else on your mind
Part 3: After some thinking, you drive up to Philadelphia to see Jess
STILES STILINSKI
A dream within a dream
Stiles has a nightmare
A weekend in Quantico
You surprise Stiles and visit him in Quantico
An easy nightmare remedy
Stiles still has nightmares after the Nogitsune possess him. You offer your help
I only bought this dress so you could take it off
You confess your feelings to Stiles
My MVP
You come to Stiles’ game…and they lose
RAFE CAMERON
He should’ve been here
Rafe doesn’t show up on your birthday
My best friend’s brother (multi-part) *
You go on a boat trip with the Camerons…and get a little more than what you came for
Summer loving
You and rafe have a summer fling. You get attached
JJ MAYBANK
Don’t die on me
You and JJ fight against the captain. JJ falls over and almost dies
Father, dear father
JJ always sees his dad when he least expects it
Hot tempered, but loyal
JJ got fired from his job (set after the scene we got on ig)
I don’t want perfect
You get a new boyfriend, the perfect boyfriend. But you don’t want perfect
Simp
JJ is in love and the Pogues like to tease him
They’re alive
The Pogues gets a message from an unknown number: John B and Sarah are alive
The yard boy | Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six (coming soon)
DAEMON TARGARYEN
His wife’s bed *
Illicit affair *
A Song of heart and blood (multi-part) *
After an horrible prophetical dream, you find yourself traveling through time to try and save your sister, Daenerys, from her fatal ascension to the Iron Throne. During your mission, your heart derives you from your duty and you fall in love with your ancestor
Taking care of my dragon
After getting his pride hurt at the tourney, Daemon needs help to calm down and unwind
Warm me up
AEMOND TARGARYEN
Bigger than the whole sky
TW: Miscarriage
False god *
Naughty dreams | Jacaerys twin!Reader *
Midnight rain
JON SNOW
I’ll keep your bed warm
Need a hand?
What happens in the cave, stays in the cave | Jeor Mormont daughter!Reader *
You and Jon spend the night in a cave
XAVIER THORPE
The devil’s bite Addams!Reader
The night of the final battle, you get hurt by the hyde
I don’t want you like a best friend
You and Xavier have been best friends for a while, but you don’t want to be just friends anymore. Come the Rave’n dance, you decide to tell him
Jealousy, jealousy
Murder Mittens
Nightshades library *
Outreach day | Normie!Reader
Post Poe Cup
Sorry, wrong number | Xavier x Reader x Ajax *
After sending a nude to the wrong contact (your mistake), you and Xavier invite Ajax for one night
Wrong suspect
Because of Wednesday, everyone believes Xavier is the monster. Everyone except you.
AJAX PETROPOLUS
7 Minutes in heaven
Poe Cup distractions *
First time
Makeup
#house of the dragon#daemon targaryen#aemond targaryen#jess mariano#stiles stilinski#jon snow#jj maybank#rafe cameron#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#jon snow x reader#jon snow imagine#stiles stilinski imagine#stiles stilinksi x reader#rafe cameron x reader#spider-man#tom holland#peter parker#peter parker imagine
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Hiiiii! Since it's Hu Tao's birthday tomorrow, can I please have a scenario where reader celebrates her 🎂 🎇 🥂?? Thank youuu!!
Celebrating Hu Tao's birthday together
characters: Hu Tao x gn!reader
warnings: none
a/n: I'm writing this at 2 am, because today's also my mother's birthday and I won't have the time to write this during the day. So if I got some things wrong I am really sorry.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Hu Tao
Of all the people in Liyue, Hu Tao was the last person you had expected to have a somewhat normal birthday. Normally, she’d find some way of keeping both of you occupied, was it by advertising her services, dragging you along as her assistant to help her catch more fish than on her last birthday or going on a daytrip to one of the many places that caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.
So imagine your surprise when, instead of doing anything remotely close to those activities, Hu Tao set you down at the table and forced you to admire her newly gained culinary skills she gained from the lessons she had with Xiangling, causing you to feel just the tiniest amount of fear at what she might put in when you weren’t looking.
As you silently listened to Hu Tao complain about the decline in coffin sales, the funeral director completely ignoring the fact that talking while eating wasn’t exactly the most mannered thing a person could do, you slurped on your noodles, making sure not to accidentally bite them in half while also questioning why they had to be made *this* long.
Or at least you were, until a certain someone suddenly jumped up from her seat in the middle of her sentence, screaming in your face before just as quickly returning to her sitting position, laughing at how you nearly emptied your bowl on your own clothes… and bit off the noodles in your mouth, causing the remaining part of it to fall back into the bowl.
“Tao!”, you tried to reprimand her, only for her laughter to grow even louder when she saw your face, causing you to let out a defeated sigh before wordlessly staring at you noodles.
“Do you want to buy a coffin now?”, the funeral director asked with a smile, only to explain herself further when you didn’t respond, “you know, because the noodl-”
“You don’t have to explain it to me, it’s not like this is my first time eating longevity noodles”, you cut her off, the small smile growing on your face as you realized why she insisted on you eating some of them, even though it was her birthday contrasting your annoyed tone. Eat them whole for a long life, but fail and you risk your lifespan being cut short. You were far from being superstitious, but that still didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy trying to keep them whole for as long as possible, if only as a challenge.
“If you know, then you should be especially interested in one, who knows how many years you just lost”, she joked before finally continuing on her own bowl, slurping up an especially long noodle as if it was nothing before showing you a smug grin.
“You know I don’t believe in that stuff”, was all you had to say, only for Hu Tao to give you a small shrug, prompting you to add something in a more playful tone.
“But if your little stunt did just shorten my life, I’ll make sure to haunt you.”
Not a moment after the words left your mouth, Hu Tao jumped up from her seat again before extending her hand towards you and yelling out “Deal!”, causing you to bite of the noodle you had just put in your mouth, prompting a whole lot of silent cursing from your end while the director broke out in laughter once again.
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Void State Progress
So I want to start sharing my void journey on here and just be more active with posting on Tumblr (in general)
How I found out about the Void state was from Instagram back in 2021 I believe (I’m also into reality shifting, so I’m using the void to manifest my dream life and to shift realities) I found it under some shifting account so I decided to dig deeper to find out what it was. I then joined tumblr and I wasn’t on it as much then I decided hey why not look up the void state and the amount of success stories I found, liked and then rebloged was insane.
so I’ve actually entered the void twice BUT both times I woke up in the void and I had no idea I was in the void, I woke up in the void both times. And for those that will be asking I don’t remember exactly what I did, it was months ago, but I think I just affirmed “I am in the void” as I was falling asleep or just really drowsy then woke up there.
The first time it happened I was lying down on my couch with my family as we were watching a horror movie, normally I would be sitting up right but I decided to lie down (because I stole my sister spot, it’s like this long piece of the couch that’s not sectioned off like how newer couches are) I would occasionally affirm that I was in the void every now and then but it wasn’t my main goal, I didn’t even mean to fall asleep then I did then I woke up in this black void, I couldn’t hear or feel anything and I was confused, I just figured that hey maybe I woke up with my eyes closed (I know sounds stupid) then I would wake myself up more and leave the void.
the second time was when I was in my room, i can’t remember if I was listening to a subliminal or something, but I was in this drowsy state (and kind of bored) so I took a nap and I woke up there, Once again had no idea that I was in the void) then I woke up more to go to a birthday party.
I actually replied to a post that I saw that described this exactly and it made me realize that I entered the void both times without really realizing it.
Basically I wrote that I’ve been experiencing exactly what this person has been experiencing, and later on in the months I’ve found that a lot of people also have this same problem, being in the void but not knowing it then waking up from it. Basically what would happen to me is I’ll be affirming then I’ll fall asleep then I’ll “wake up” and I’ll just be in this state of being awake and also unconscious (if that makes sense), I would just be in the blackness, not feeling anything, not hearing anything, not like a floaty feeling but just I’m just here in this moment feeling, existing (probably sounds confusing) I would just think that I woke up with my eyes closed and I would forget to affirm because I didn’t think that I entered also because I would wake up and have no thoughts in my head (which is a sign of the void!!!) so I would just wake myself up.
I’ve been honestly kicking myself after realizing that I’ve entered the void two times, but I think I know what works for me, a few things that work for me:
Attempting while I’m tired during the day which will cause me to nap (this is where it happened the second time I entered and I might have entered it a little bit yesterday while also taking a nap, I’ll get to that story in a bit!)
listen to submlinals (or really just anything that’ll be background noise as I fall asleep) and affirm while being in a sleepy state
keep going over my void list (stuff I want to manifest) for motivation also it’s just fun to add stuff
and to never give up, I’ve already entered it twice! TWICE!!! Even if I didn’t know it at the time I still entered the void twice. It’s real, I know it’s real, because I’ve been there.
so my experience yesterday was that once again I was in my room, watching a YouTube video, getting tired (normally I never take naps but the past week has been rough) so while I was falling asleep I was affirming not a lot but saying “I’m in the void” or “I will wake up in the void” then I woke up in the void for like a few seconds before I realized that I was “asleep” (I wasn’t asleep I was in the void again!) I panicked and I woke up because I thought that I would be late for my college classes (I’m doing high school classes and college classes at night) so I woke up thinking I was late once again NOT REALIZING I WAS IN THE VOID!!!
i’ll get my act together one day but I think this is good for me, I mean I’ve been having doubts about the void and how easy it seems that everyone else is entering it (but also keep in mind I’ve been putting it off for awhile so that’s my bad for being lazy) but I’ve realized how easy it is to enter or tap into. I just hope that next time when I do I’ll remember to affirm for my desires and I will of course be updating on my journey and if anything else happens.
thank you so much for reading all of this and reading about my journey, I know it’s a lot but I’m just excited to be sharing my journey and when I do enter I’ll share my success story to help even more people. (Also one day I will learn to make my posts look more fancy 😂) but for now, I’ll see you when I see you ❤️
#loa#loassumption#void state#the void state#void state success#manifesting#manifestation#law of manifestation#manifest#master manifestor#i am state#void state journey
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And here we are, at the end of this countdown. Hope you’re having fun with Indigo Disk! I’m gonna be doing that when this post goes up since it’s queued for that day.
I’m just gonna cut to the chase here. Koraidon is, without a doubt, my absolute favorite Pokémon. And I’m gonna gush so much that I feel it’s probably best to describe the scene here, and have the gushing under the cut. Koraidon (or Scarlet, as I nicknamed mine) is with Ogerpon and Dipplin since they rep the DLC.
Okay, let’s start from the beginning…
For a while after ScVi released, I didn’t buy it. I looked at the glitches and kinda thought it just wasn’t worth it. Well, until some people told me it was actually pretty good, the glitches were the main problem and they’d been mostly patched.
So on my 18th birthday, I’d buy Scarlet off the eshop as a little gift for myself, just to see what it was like. I chose that version because I preferred the overall aesthetic over Violet.
Pretty soon after I started, that’s when I met Koraidon. I find them injured on a beach, and I gave sandwich to help them regain their strength. They ended up saving me in a cave after a Houndoom attacked me, but they’re still not entirely able to fight.
As it turns out, they belong to Arven, a grouch who happens to be the professor’s kid. Apparently he kinda hates Koraidon, so he just decides to leave him with me. From then on, I’m able to ride upon Koraidon! At first, there’s not a lot they’re capable of, but that changes quickly.
See, Arven’s on a quest for Herba Mystica, a legendary plant that gives great power to any who consume it. These are what happen to power up Koraidon, the first giving them the ability to quickly dash, and the second giving them the ability to swim.
At the second one, I find out that Arven’s not so bad actually, as he’s going on this journey for his injured Pokémon to heal. And not only do I learn more about Arven, but also about Koraidon. At one point, Arven speculates that Koraidon isn’t just physically unable to fight, but they might also have some trauma holding them back.
Eventually, Arven successfully brings his Pokémon back to full health, but Koraidon’s still unable to battle. But his mom has called him down to Area Zero for some reason…
Once I’ve finished with all three of the main quests, I’m ready to descend into Area Zero. But at first, Koraidon’s too scared to come out of their Pokeball… Slowly, you learn more about Area Zero and the Paradox Pokemon, including that Koraidon are Paradox Pokemon from the past.
Eventually, you meet another Koraidon. But this one isn’t as friendly as my companion, and the latter seems terrified of the former…
And then I meet Sada, or rather the AI made in her likeness, and I learn that my friend was traumatized by the hostile Koraidon bullying them and also the death of the professor.
I have to fight AI Sada now, with all her ancient Pokémon… and then at the end of the battle, the Paradise Protection Protocol is activated, and the hostile Koraidon attacks.
I can’t run, the door is shut. And I can’t throw out my Pokeballs, all are locked except for Sada’s…
Except for one.
I now have to send out my friend, my friend who has been traumatized by the foe they must face down… but they fight. They fight for my sake. They cannot be defeated during the battle, they will tough out all the attacks, and once I Terastralize them, their Tera Blast makes quick work of the bully who they once feared.
And thus, from now on, they are officially able to battle. When you need them to do so, you have to enable their battle mode to put them in your party, though you won’t be able to ride on them until they’re back in riding mode. A lot of people find this annoying, but honestly? I don’t care about that. It just doesn’t feel like a problem for me. I think they’d like a rest from battling sometimes, and I’ll just send them out when I really need them.
I know this has all just been recapping the story of the game, but I don’t know how else to explain how attached I got to my Scarlet. My closest friend, my dearest companion, and my greatest treasure…
I’ll be off tumblr for a bit, I’m just gonna be busy partaking in new adventures with my friend.
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Oh, fuck I forgot another thing... I never put up part 2 of this. So, here it is lol. Finally put it up when the word doc was at exactly 99 pages too. The tarot still isn't done. god...help..me.
It’s probably because when Boku Mikoto went to sleep at the beginning of Milgram Ore Mikoto woke up and just did whatever the hell made that boing noise. On top of that all the things that Ore Mikoto does are things that Boku Mikoto has actively tried to quit doing. Mikoto states this during his first interrogation,
Q.17 Do you smoke?
Mikoto: Only electric; I used to smoke real cigarettes in the past but since I started my job, I’ve stopped.
We can discern that this happens after him starting his job because his murders are implied to be heavily tied to his work predicament as the tarot thing explained.
Q.20 Are you more of a morning person or a night person?
Mikoto: I used to be basically nocturnal. Recently though I’ve been falling asleep pretty early.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that right as they show Ore Mikoto begin to watch tv it then transitions to this scene of Boku Mikoto waking up.
So the other guy is more than likely the reason the other prisoners don’t know when he sleeps and that alone may have been why Kotoko had her suspicions about him before his first interrogation. The guy is just in there literally doing anything to release pent up energy to the point Amane made a noise complaint.
I’m not over that boing noise coming from his room. Like what the hell made that noise. I mean if there’s a bed in that cell, he’s jumping on it at that point. Es was too afraid and confused by the boing to go in to check and if Kotoko went in back then she would’ve gotten her ass handed to her.
Because of point C. The other Mikoto has limited patterns of behavior. This is illustrated in the John Doe voice drama when Kotoko fights them. She states that “Your technique is definitely that of an amateur. The way you use those muscles of yours is subpar.” The other Mikoto, unlike what is illustrated in MeMe doesn’t have a full understanding of how to use Mikoto’s strength, at least not in a calculative way.
During MeMe, we see that Mikoto plays into his strengths by using something he’s admittedly educated with a baseball bat. To make up and account for any gap in strength between himself and his targets. Sneak attacking most of his victims as we see Kotoko do as well.
MeMe doesn’t show many brute force head on attacks like we overhear in the John Doe voice drama. However, since memories vary between personalities he always has time to learn the more he’s out. He seemingly learned his lesson from his first encounter with Kotoko since he’s able to fight her off during the intermission.
Kotoko’s birthday interaction with them also supports this framing as he responds to her threats with,
“Haah?! Why don’t you try it then you lunatic?! I’ll crush anyone who tries to harm me. I’ll make sure to thoroughly beat you at your own game!”
Did you catch that last part? I’ll make sure to thoroughly beat you at your own game. The fact that Ore Mikoto is comparing Kotoko’s behavior to a game implies that he is actively working to understand the rules of it. Not just the rules around Kotoko but probably around Milgram as a whole.
Which honestly makes the most sense. For him to actually be able to protect anything he first needs an understanding of what’s going on and where danger could come from. During the intermission he doesn’t go on the offensive immediately like he did in the interrogation room or like Kotoko does. Given he remembers good and well how that turned out even if Mikoto doesn’t.
Instead he spends his time being so outwardly hostile and closed off that Mikoto basically becomes unapproachable. Then actively chews through his restraints. Mikoto's trial two design directly reflects who’s been out the longest. In this case Ore Mikoto who unlike Boku can’t tie his shoelaces perfectly,
Boku Mikoto:
Ore Mikoto:
Scratches at his head messing up his hair instead of rubbing the back of his neck,
Oh, yeah and may eat through leather! None of his restraints were lengthened/undone because of the verdict he just bit through it like a gremlin bastard child. He even ripped the fabric beneath. For comparison let’s put Mikoto side by side with Amane.
The clasps at the bottom of Amane’s restraints are still visible and they’ve lengthened. Showing that they’ve gotten tighter because of her verdict. In contrast Mikoto’s restraints have gotten shorter and looser because he bit and ripped through them. We know this is not a result of his verdict because Jackalope says he’s been running about free and unrestrained.
Even though I find the idea of Kotoko resorting to knawing on Mikoto in their fight just because she was losing that badly amusing it’s implied she didn’t even get close enough to him to do anything. Also, if she did get close enough to do this, she wouldn’t bite at his restraints.
Come on we all know at this point she has a tendency to go for the eyes. Too soon sorry. (It's not too soon at this point!) Sometimes she goes for the arms and legs too though. Okay, okay I’ll stop. That and she would definitely want to keep him restrained. I mean the restraints are the result of Es' judgements and a byproduct of Milgram. So, why would she purposely destroy them if her intended goal is to work alongside the facility?
Honestly, Kotoko taught Ore Mikoto dodge and inspect, then immediately regretted it. She’s just here like this fucker shouldn’t exist because she’s embarrassed to admit that once again in her haste to physically assault people for kicks she ended up causing more problems for herself. That’s what she gets for showing her hand early in the interrogation room, I suppose. Something she was called out for by Yuno after her whole attack during the break.
Now that we’ve gone over why Kotoko couldn’t do shit to Ore Mikoto during their second round. What does this mean? Well, it means that once again, like with the hangman, his current state is something self-inflicted. It also means Haruka isn’t the only one learning stuff in Milgram Ore Mikoto is slowly learning as well. Yet, if he’s learning how to be a calculative fighter now... I'm sincerely asking again, then what’s with the behavior in MeMe?
Dissociative Amnesia is when someone is incapable of remembering integral personal information about themselves. Information that would usually normally not be forgotten due to general forgetfulness. Usually, the information forgotten is directly connected to one’s conscious awareness and would be described as autobiographical memory.
Is anyone starting to see why after writing all this and looking this song over more times than I should have, it keeps coming back to how the murders are depicted within the mv. The way it conflicts with all the information we have on the other personality but coincides with what we know about Mikoto. All this is what has led me to believe the murders weren’t done by Ore Mikoto but by Boku Mikoto, who, like Es said from the start forgot he did it.
More than likely due to dissociative amnesia. So, let’s talk about that.
What’s dissociative amnesia?
Is there a difference between it and dissociative identity disorder?
Can you have one without the other?
Is this starting to click yet; are you getting what I’m putting down? Mikoto doesn’t remember his murder but that’s not because Ore Mikoto did it. In fact, as stated before, Mikoto very well could have had undiagnosed dissociative identity disorder way before any of this even happened.
Dissociative amnesia can occur after most traumatic experiences. Even though the memory isn’t consciously accessible by the individual it can still subconsciously impact their behavior and mannerisms. For example, if someone is recorded doing something and it’s shown to a lot of people, they may forget the incident itself happened and what they did in response to it but subconsciously be hypervigilant about being surveilled.
All without really remembering why.
Mikoto is very straightforward when it comes to doing things with others in mind, and it’s heavily implied this isn’t a mentality that started recently through the lyrics of his song. That his whole life he’s probably been doing that, and while it’s easy to go oh he just snapped and then the other personality appeared.
That’s not how DID works, baby. So, let’s get into that and any other wrong assumptions. So, speed run. Mikoto isn’t bad system rep cause DID is not a system. At least it’s not when it’s formed. What?? I hear you asking it’s not? No, it’s fucking not and I’d enjoy it if people would stop asserting it is. Because it’s never been. If you’re looking for system representation though that’s Amane.
I have no kind way of saying this please stop imposing surface level interpretations of actual disorders on media and people.
Wait but Amane isn’t a system? Okay, let me break it down for you. A system is usually what people with dissociative identity disorder work towards having after becoming aware of these other personalities. Until they are actively made aware of these separate personalities it is unlikely that a system will exist. This is the reason Boku Mikoto has at least to Jackalopes admission been restrained but Ore Mikoto has not been.
Now why are you saying a genuine case of dissociative identity disorder isn’t a system the same thing. NO, NO IT’S NOT! That’s OSDD or Partial Dissociative Identity Disorder.
Milgram has already made it clear that the thing stopping the prisoners from attacking Es was imposed through a form of psychological manipulation. This manipulation makes them believe there’s a barrier between them and Es. However, the truth is they’ve been mentally conditioned to not be able to hit Es. The reason this conditioning only affects Boku Mikoto and not Ore Mikoto is because they are existing in two separate mental states not as a system.
I feel like that should’ve been the first hint that it wasn’t a system but a genuine case of dissociative identity disorder. Unlike in a system where there is some communication between separate personalities, or they are at least aware of each other’s existence. Other personalities when it comes to dissociative identity disorder aren’t really controlled, spoken to in that capacity, and most times the person with the disorder can be completely unaware that they have it until much later in life.
But what are those?!
Okay, OSDD stands for Other Specified Dissociative Disorder. It’s just as difficult to get diagnosed with. However, when people don’t fit all of the criteria necessary to be diagnosed with DID yet have been facing long term issues that cause distress or impairment along with some dissociative symptoms, they likely would be diagnosed with this.
On the other hand, Partial Dissociative identity Disorder is a more recent term for a type of OSDD. It’s unlikely that you’d come across the term in North America unless you were doing an essay or something but who would do that… It’s also possibly what Amane has.
It’s when a person still experiences disturbances with their personality, like with DID, but there is a dominant personality. Intrusion from other parts is usually irregular and may only happen during emotional or distressing situations. This is more reminiscent of the discussions around systems brought up as points of contention to the depiction of Mikoto’s DID.
Remember that first post the prelude or preface when I said, “All we’re missing is overt ableism, racism, and sexism disguised as feminism.” Bet most thought that wasn’t coming up again.
But guess what we’ve got one baby! We found it, OVERT ABLEISM! Pop the champagne ma we made it! Okay fake celebration aside. Yeah, now while some thought they were being kind, others considerately just advocating for better rep most were just grossly uninformed. That’s something anyone can be regardless of if they have the disorder or not.
I’m not going to claim that I know everything about autism or adhd just because I have them both. Hell, I only skimmed my diagnosis forms. I don’t believe any neurodivergent person would or should claim to know everything about the disorder they have. Unless I don't know they're a psychologist specializing in the disorder I suppose. Even then a person’s diagnosis is very personal to them, and I can’t tell anyone who has DID or any other diagnosis how they should personally feel about how said diagnosis is represented in media.
However, how someone personally feels and what’s being asserted as fact are two different things. The only people being hurt by the assertion that dissociative identity disorder only works one specific way is people with that disorder. Most of whom go undiagnosed for a multitude of reasons.
Look, I know it hurts to be called out for internalized ableism or any ism. I’m not trying to be a dick about it. It sucks but sometimes ableism is caused by well-meaning people who don’t know what they’re talking about. Being misinformed and under educated can cause instances of discrimination. Instances that can be avoided by taking a moment to step back and genuinely ask do I know enough about this topic.
Especially when it comes to something as personal and diverse as mental health. If the answer is no then go do research, look for information, broaden your horizons. If your opinion still hasn’t changed that’s fine but you’ll be more informed and better equipped to explain why. We’re all learning together here. Do you really think I planned that reveal out.
Sure, I had a feeling that Amane may have a dissociative disorder before starting this essay and even discussed it with friends. However, the overt ableism thing is something I discovered alongside everyone as I was typing this. Okay maybe a bit earlier since I’m not putting this up directly after typing this. Or am I? No, we’re not.
You don’t even have to believe me. I did say do your own research after all. Since I said that this is a great time to list the books I got as references for this. Because I too could be full of shit. I am not a psychiatrist because I didn’t finish college and I’m here now still in debt writing over sixty pages on a fictional character and typing out an existential crisis-
REFERENCES
Eich, E., Macaulay, D., Loewenstein, R.J., Dihle, P.H. (1997). Implicit Memory, Interpersonality Amnesia, and Dissociative Identity Disorder. In: Read, J.D., Lindsay, D.S. (eds) Recollections of Trauma. NATO ASI Series, vol 291. Springer, Boston, MA.
Kluft, R.P. (1996). Dissociative Identity Disorder. In: Michelson, L.K., Ray, W.J. (eds) Handbook of Dissociation. Springer, Boston, MA.
Reinders, A.A.T.S., Willemsen, A.T.M. (2014). Dissociative Identity Disorder and Fantasy Proneness: A Positron Emission Tomography Study of Authentic and Enacted Dissociative Identity States. In: Dierckx, R., Otte, A., de Vries, E., van Waarde, A., den Boer, J. (eds) PET and SPECT in Psychiatry. Springer, Berlin, Heidelberg. International Society for the study of trauma and disassociation: What are the dissociative disorders.
Now back to Amane. How do we know that she is the system or partial dissociative identity disorder rep people are looking for? Because they show it in the Minigrams all the time.
Since this is a common gag in some anime and manga it’s easy to overlook. The most recent example of this I can think of is My Next Life as a Villainess. However, what sets Amane apart from that iteration of this trope is one thing. Shidou keeps getting in there too.
The reason Shidou keeps finding his way into this council may not just be a funny little gag but in fact a way to allude to there being a system here. Not only that but Shidou just may be directly impacting it. Amane’s entire council is only made up of variations of herself until Shidou appears out of the blue one day. It’s even shown that at times Shidou isn’t even still discussing the thing that Amane is deliberating on in her head. Like here-
In Amane’s mind Shidou appears and brings up the phrase seeing is believing. Which honestly sounds like something he would say but when she throws the pancakes in his face he’s begun discussing where the word pancake comes from. He’d already said this is something she wouldn’t be able to understand until she experienced it herself. There’s not much reason for him to reiterate that again but this time attach it to a saying.
Plus, the next time he appears in the council he doesn’t even speak before the other Amane’s run out screaming then Amane our usual Amane throws the pancakes in his face. The council doesn’t try to kick Shidou out from the table or just kill him.
They’re just trying to avoid him so his presence doesn’t impact their judgements which would explain the fear filled screaming especially if up there it’s only been them for the longest time.
Plus, it’s not out of character for Amane to react viscerally to him getting up there. Yet him getting in there shows that regardless of how much Amane wants to admit it or not he is growing on her. This interpretation fits with her first cover Positive Parade as well.
“We can’t stop. You’ll be alright and end up smiling beautifully. I’m not wrong but if someone says “no that’s not right” I won’t support anything that denies you.” Also, literally today as I’m typing this:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAHIRU
Also, thanks for accidentally helping prove my point lol-
Amane: Happy Birthday. Mahiru; how has your condition been lately?
Mahiru: Ah, Amane; thank you. Yes, I’m fine. If I use a wheelchair, I can still move around. It’s all thanks to Shidou’s treatment.
Amane: It is only appropriate that I give a warning first. The realm you and Shidou are treading within is forbidden. If you continue to work against or disrupt the natural order, you’ll only hasten your demise. So, think about your next steps carefully.
Mahiru: Amane…Are you actually, Amane?
Sometimes things just fall together was literally messaged this by Star after having a phone call about this exact topic. Also, lol, Amane literally went if God wanted you to walk, you’d be walking get out of that wheelchair. Like come on Amane it’s a wheelchair calm down. She is not toeing the same line as Shidou. He is a literal doctor she’s just injured. Leave her alone!
Damn she really hates all aspects of medicine.
Mahiru is so unlucky she gets jumped almost dies and then is threatened for using a mobility aid by a fifteen-year-old. Mahiru and Mikoto having some of the worst birthday interactions this trial. Like happy birthday Kotoko- You shouldn’t exist. Happy birthday Mahiru, also if you continue to test fate you will meet yours sooner tee hee. As they’re just there like “???”
I didn’t even really need to defend this idea this much since the minigrams literally tell us all this is happening in her head with a big sign but we’re here now so…
That’s not even going into all the similarities and contradictions between her and Mikoto. Her believing deeply in a higher power while he says he doesn’t believe because there’s nothing he’d gain from it. Yet, clearly believing in Tarot a great deal. They both committed murder through bludgeoning and have the same empty look in their eyes in their trial two designs. So, we may have gotten two forms of dissociative rep. Though I get the kneejerk reactions since I rarely saw any decent representation if any growing up.
So, sure people were uninformed, but does that really make it ableist? Can't it just be being uneducated?
People assumed that there was a typical way DID presented itself and felt that Mikoto didn’t properly represent that. Ableism is the discrimination of and social prejudice against people with disabilities under the belief that people with typical abilities are superior. A lot of people assume ableism cannot happen within disabled communities. It very much can.
Even without stating ableism can occur wherever a norm or typical depiction of something exists whether physical or psychological. Which a good chunk of the fanbase tried to create a standard version of DID. Something that in of itself is already a problem.
It’s literally just ableist to ask if someone is really disabled, how disabled they are, or imply they’re faking. Made incredibly worse by the fact that Mikoto never self-reported having DID. Everyone else but him has said he has it. So, how the fuck is he faking at that point?
For a racial equivalent I’ve personally experienced it’s basically going, “You don’t talk black?” Except as a person with a disability I got its lovely variant, “You talk so well you can’t possibly have autism.” That stopped me from getting tested for autism before. That psychiatrist went I know what’s actually wrong with you it’s low self-esteem you just communicate so well when you open up it can’t be autism.
Congratulations; can you communicate while also having Autism? Then some specialist may believe you aren’t entitled to your diagnosis. Or even just, “But you can write entire essays on a topic how could you have ADHD but pay attention that long. Are you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to be lazy.”
To the surprise of no one that first lady was also racist cause isms tend to come in pairs. Spent a session telling me that critical race theory shouldn’t be taught in schools. Honestly, no one would believe the people with psychiatry degrees in my state. The woman who diagnosed me immediately weaponized the diagnosis against me and begin being directly ableist towards me.
It’s no secret that I’m 27 (at the time I wrote this I am now 28 can you believe how time and my inability to do shit in a timely manner coincide) and this fandom skews on the younger side for a psychological murder show with a heavy mystery aspect… So, I can’t be too surprised that this isn’t common knowledge, I guess. I’m saying all this to get the point across that I am a full ass adult but when she found out I had autism she literally just started talking about me to my father like I was still a child. Basically, just talking about me and not to me.
She would also repeat things over and over like do you understand. Then got really mad when all her testing was finished and she discovered my verbal comprehension (vci) was above those of approximately 99% of my peers as though I was just pretending to be stupid. I was just here like oh your fancy test says I’m not a dumbass look at that. She also withheld my diagnosis forms from me and lied about sending them to my primary care doctor. Had to fax that shit to them myself.
Is it apparent I’ve faced multiple forms of discrimination at this point because got damn. Everyone experiences ableism in different ways and as it happens they might not even know it’s that. My experiences won’t align with everyone else’s and that’s absolutely okay. In that same vein I think it’s okay for Mikoto, Haruka, and Amane to not be perfect representations of whatever disabilities they may have. At the end of the day I don’t think their murders had anything to do with their disabilities and trying to play it off as though they do is a disservice to them.
It's like Amane said with her age we shouldn’t treat her any differently just because she’s a child. Because that doesn’t mean she has any less of a freewill than the others here and it’s the same when it comes to disabilities as well. Every type of person can be a murderer not just people with disorders or disabilities.
So, I think there’s ableism involved here absolutely.
It also certainly didn’t help that I saw a good deal of people putting forth that the writer was perpetuating a harmful stereotype despite there not being any proof of that outside of the confirmation Mikoto had DID. I don't think this has to be said but a character having a confirmed disorder doesn't immediately make them bad representation. Some went as far as projecting the same stereotype, they were against on the media to further prove it was bad.
It's fine to dislike the dipiction or Mikoto as a character but I feel it's reaching shakey ground when people are going this character having confirmed insert mental disorder here is bad. Not only that but I believe it should be interrogated why this mindset was displayed when it came to Mikoto having DID but not Haruka possibly having autism. I feel the response to Mikoto and his narrative serves to highlight just how stigmatized and overlooked DID remains even now.
Super fun. Moving on.
Then through doing this most of the fandom fell right into the exact same stereotypes and subconscious biases that negatively affect people with dissociative identity disorder on the regular basis. Grossly asserting that he must be faking because the way it presents in him doesn’t fit ones view of the disorder or how the internet has presented it, immediately blaming and asserting the other personality committed the murders check, saying he deserves to be in there cause he’s either a danger to others or himself check. Something made worse simply because individuals who have DID and no more than two personality states are often times accused of faking more than those who have more than two.
However, it's still difficult for either types of people to get diagnosed or taken seriously just because of how the disorder continues to be meet with a wide range of skepticism both publicly and professionally.
Unlike with what Amane has where there is a dominant personality. The thing that makes d.i.d difficult to manage and deal with is that lack of communication and awareness when it comes to the issue. At times dissociative identity disorder can form rapidly due to incredibly traumatizing situations. However, Mikoto’s situation may not be one of those cases.
Okay follow me for a bit we know that Mikoto remembers playing baseball in high school from his first trial interrogations questions.
“Do you have baseball experience?
I played baseball in high school; I wasn't very good at it though. I still practice my swing when I get frustrated with work.”
Remember that emphasis I put on the pullback in the swing on that attack in the previous post go back and look at the pictures if you need to. The reason we highlighted that is because it shows an understanding of how much strength is needed to get the desired result. This sort of move as we've gone over doesn’t seem like the guy we heard fighting Kotoko in the interrogation room or heard about fighting her off when she had weapons like plural not just a single weapon.
Certain behavior from Mikoto after doesn’t make sense like the thing on Kotoko’s birthday. Would he really attempt to call a truce with her after experiencing being attacked by her even if it was the other who faced the attack unlike with being watched Mikoto shows very little- Well, more so no signs of being wary of Kotoko after either of their conflicts.
Let’s talk about interpersonality amnesia. It’s exactly as it sounds amnesia between personality states. There is already a solid example of how this works within Milgram. It is the reason that the other personality within Mikoto can hit Es and Mikoto cannot. Whatever conditioning that occurred to have the prisoners be incapable of hitting Es did not occur to the other personality.
In fact it’s pretty much like it didn’t even happen to him. Because it didn’t it happened to the other guy. His continued wariness around being surveiled is consistent with what we know about dissociative amnesia. He remembers what triggered the trauma to avoid it but for now at least to our knowledge not the trauma itself. This issue could occur even if he already had dissociative identity disorder before facing this trauma.
As of now the other Kayano knows about their murders to some capacity even believing he was right to respond in the way he did without specifying what he was responding to. Because of this he has no reason to be chummy with anyone here and while he’s out he hasn’t been. Because if he knows that they themselves have killed, then they’d have no reason to believe that the others haven’t like Mikoto does at the beginning of Milgram.
Mikoto asserts that he hasn't killed anyone so more than likely no one else did. Because if Milgram is wrong about him which it must be than how could they be right about the others. Basically he labeled everyone else as Innocent in his own mind through association to himself. He pretty much goes if I murdered someone well I'd know that wouldn't I and all I do know is I haven't. Sure my memory is bad but I wouldn't forget something like that surely.
The memory of that conditioning is therefore specific to the Kayano who was fronting at the time of their incarceration. This is probably why Jackalope reacts to Mikoto settling back down as an issue because that conditioning can’t take place without the other personality out. It's could also be why despite the other Mikoto knowing they did something he's also vague about it when talking to Es during the first trial. When asked about if he remembers his murder now instead of confirming or denying it he just laughs and says Es doesn't know when to shut up.
This can be viewed as a confirmation that he knows or showcase that he's does know they did someone but what exactly could be lost on him as well. If it's a memory Mikoto lost due to dissociative amnesia then the other guy may not know a thing about the sin Mikoto was brought in for just his part in it. If Mikoto was pushed to brink of stress the other personality could have come out during the crimes. In most sce es in MeMe Mikoto seems to have firm control over the situation. However, as I believe we discussed in the previous post if Mikoto was injured during one of his attacks successfully had the tables turned on him it's not unlike the other guy would come out in response to that.
This could be why he immediately rushes Kotoko and jumps to violence with Es because he learned the best thing to do when facing conflict is get offensive before your opponent does. Just charge in because if you don't you could end up dying instead. So when cornered by Kotoko he immediately fell back on what he did before rushing in.
Now the thing with the conditioning could be proven false if the Kayano who was incarcerated attempts and succeeds at hitting Es sometime later. However, the likelihood of that is nonexistent due to said Kayano’s statements on violence. Since he thinks resorting to violence is immature and embarrassing, he is less likely to attack Es overall. Especially given the fact that he still holds to the belief that he is being surveilled. A belief that at this point has been confirmed. So, this is much less likely to be an action he takes, especially in a room where he knows he is being recorded like during interrogations.
However, it seems that the guilty verdict from trial one has pushed Kayano to such a state of stress that such a buildup is no longer necessary for a personality change to occur. Basically, he’s constantly stressed now. This is saying something given the fact he was already on the edge when he was brought into Milgram. Given his hyperveligence about being surveiled and tge fact he is now being forced to live in a panopticon for an indefinite period of time and his concerns about losing his job.
Honestly, if Mikoto heard the recording of him in the John Doe voice drama he’d probably die of embarrassment or never leave his cell again. Personality shifts in people with d.i.d at times can have very specific triggers. Kayano has made it clear on numerous occasions that theirs is stress. We saw on Kotoko’s birthday that switching between personalities has become more common and more seamless. We hear Kayano begin to hyperventilate (as a result of Es' continued assertion that he's a murderer and then weaponization of Kayano's admittedly poor and now poorer memory against him) before the other personality presents itself in the John Doe voice drama.
Okay, finally done. I doubt anyone is gonna finish this.
All of this leads us to believe that there's a high chance that if Mikoto Kayano is voted Guilty again that we won’t be seeing the Kayano brought in by Milgram at all third trial. The second trial commencement notice even alludes to this by saying we'd need to get the other Kayano out again for him to be restrained. Because the restraint within Milgram isn't just tying them up but mental conditioning as well there's no telling how it will affect the two personality states.
For all any of us know it could very well be the equivalent of forcibly merging the two states together.
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Those of you who have been to my main blog in the past year or so might recognize these familiar faces.
The little girl is Karin Fjellvik, a character from the game “My Child Lebensborn” (I call it “MCL” for short), and the woman is Karita Omdahl, my MCL fan character/self-insert and Karin’s adoptive mother. I’ve made a few posts about them both on my main blog as well as my sideblog which specifically focuses on my OC x canon relationships, so take a gander if you’d like to read more about them!
I’ll probably mention a bit of the game as I talk about them in this post, so minor spoilers ahead!! Also, fair warning if you do decide to check out the actual game for yourself: it’s based on real historical events (specifically having to do with the end of World War 2) and involves prejudice/racism and violence towards a child (among other things). Needless to say, it’s quite emotional, and let’s just say that by the end of my play-through, I wanted to punt quite a few people into the shadow realm because of what they did to my poor daughter. 😭
While MCL was originally set during the aftermath of World War 2, I imagine my sims counterparts live in the modern day. Funnily enough, the developers of MCL are currently working on a sequel which will take place in a more modern setting!
I would think the sims versions of Karin and Karita moved to this new place in Willow Creek after they’d gone through similar events that happened in the original game. All they wanted to do was to just... get away from their old town, from Karin’s old school, from everything their cruel neighbors had done to them.
Karin and Karita would start their new lives in this modest but pretty one-story home with a small outdoor area for the two to sit and for Karin to play. In the game, you happen to make contact with Karin (or her male counterpart Klaus)’s biological father, who wires you money to help you move out of town. I imagine Karita used much of that money to pay off this new house.
They started with only $200 in simoleons, which was a nod to how you would start off with 200 coins (? - dollars? Or whatever they used in Norway during that time? I don’t think the game actually specified what that actual currency was lmao) in the original game.
As money is tight in their household, Karita knows they’ll need it only for the most important items, and she’s made sure Karin knows that. There are times where Karin wishes she had the newest toys or clothes like the other kids have, and she’ll get upset when she can’t have them. Karita promises she’ll buy them one day for her, just not today. After all, it’s better to be selfless than selfish.
Karin recently received a whole mini art studio set for her birthday, and she LOVES it! She plans to create lots of artwork to display in her room, and she even uses it occasionally in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep.
She even says she hopes to help her mother earn money by selling her best artwork. 🥰
On certain days of the week, Karita works as a manual laborer as a way to bring in some stable income (I thought this was the closest to some kind of factory work, which is your/the parent’s job in MCL). The catch to this, though, is that she currently works during the weekend, which means Karin is left at home alone in the morning. :(
Karita knows how much her daughter hates being by herself, so once she returns home from work, she makes sure they spend plenty of quality of time together. Their favorite activities include fishing (they can catch something to eat or Karin asks to keep one as a little pet), reading books, drawing pictures, cooking, and watching television.
See the little fish next to the television? Karin caught it and wanted to save it from being eaten!
Other than Karin’s idea to sell some of her artwork in the future, the two also already have creative ways to earn extra money on the side (or when they really need money fast).
For one, Karita happens to enjoy gardening and has made a habit of exploring her neighborhood and harvesting wild plants to grow around their home. She may keep some to use as fresh ingredients/food, but most of the time, she’ll sell them when they’re fully grown.
Being experienced in manual labor, Karita isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty by digging for things as well. She’ll sell the majority of her finds along with things she catches through fishing.
Karin is also a keen explorer and likes to look for frogs. She’ll keep them as pets, too, but once she catches a new one, she knows she’ll have to sell the old one since multiple frogs is... kind of a lot to deal with in such a small home, lol.
This is her latest find, a spotted leaf frog!
So that’s basically how a typical day would go for Karin and Karita!
Karin goes to school during the week, of course, and since Karita doesn’t work on weekdays, she’ll usually spend those days building her skills and doing the many things she’s already come up with to earn extra money.
Currently, Karita is hoping to save up for some renovations, including expanding the interior of their home so she will able to build a little writing studio! She wishes to write about her and Karin’s experiences and to send a message to the world to be kind to each other - something among those lines.
I like playing wholesome families like this, and I think the added challenge of reduced funds not only ties into the original game where the characters came from, but it also makes playing this household a lot more fun and interesting.
Oh, I forgot to mention, guess who came by their household while I was taking screenshots of them for this post?
a wild rose appears lmao
also i just realized you can spy one of dina caliente’s sons in the background
#the sims community#the sims 4#sims 4#ts4#ts4 gameplay#the sims 4 gameplay#the sims 4 storytelling#the sims 4 screenies#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 screencaps#the sims 4 screenshots#my child lebensborn#maddy's sims
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April 10, 2024- 111.6
I can get back down to 108 by Friday morning by just doing what I do, and keeping to the liquid fast. I tried cooking for myself when Soul left. Nothinh astounding I guess, just an egg sandwich that’s special because it’s what momma used to make me when I was little and her and papa were still together… when they seemed alright at least… but it’s a comfort I guess and ever since I made it for Soul, I’ve been having one sometimes. It’s not the same though. I think eating it just makes me sad. I haven’t seen her in so long. But like momma I’ll make them for him, because he really likes them. Soup is pretty adamant about anything I cook and lately has had such a love for cream cheese chicken that he told me he dreamt about it the other night. Haha. Next time I make that I intend have half of one, take a few bites and then put it in the fridge. Then the time after that not have any do he can work out all 4, as is or I can put a sliced one on a sandwhich like he was drooling about. He’s so cute. I love feeding him after a hard day of missions and/or school activities. So I tried to eat the sandwich earlier… and I just felt… too full and gross… I drank water to try and help the nausea but I wound up getting sick… so I won’t make one for me in awhile… it’s really greasy anyway… I should be eating things more clean like fruit and vegetables and maybe I’ll boil my eggs… cause protein will help will my muscle build and my body will burn more naturally that way during the day so I’ll be super healthy! ^^
Soul is going to get home pretty late after piano practice and basketball with Kid and Blackstar, so he’ll bring something to eat home. Sometimes he’ll eat half with them and finish it home later with me. Our meal times together are usual so it makes me happy hes even subconsciously out of his way to have dinner time with me. Getting sick like that stole my energy, and I want to read some on my rest day today, so I’m having an energy drink. I used to never drink them, but soul has the Reign sometimes and I found sometimes when I’ve uo too late studying, it’s just what I need for a little kick here and there. I’ll get a case maybe when we go grocery shopping Sunday, among more necessary things like toilet paper and tooth paste. I got a part time job to help with living. You know grants can’t pay for everything forever. I’m really happy for soul too, he picked up a few shifts at a record shop we live pretty close too, just a 5 minute drive on his motorcycle, so I don’t have to worry about him being too late when he’s sluggish in moving around, doesn’t have to be there til 11 anyway. I tried so hard to find a bookstore to work at… but nothing was available unfortunately, so I’m making do with retail, working register or organizing shelves. They sell a lot of older items and the people that come in a pretty nice. Tomorrow I get to open the store which is nice. First time doing that so I’m a little nervous. My manager said if I’m still doing well in a month or two, he’s going to move me to the back to help with truck. It would be 7-3 pm shifts. Lots of lifting, tagging merchandise and stacking and the last 3 hours I could be called to go help with register but it would be fun to be promoted and get to basically workout with weights instead of the more cardio base that’s happening now. So yay! I just have to keep it up to get to that point. Which reminds me soul’s birthday is a month and half away now. He’ll be 17 which is amazing for him, I know he’s so excited to be 18, but still just enjoying the moment… I guess he’s taught me that it’s okay to look forward to something but not let it overwhelm you… just enjoy the the ride. The month after I’ll be 16! I know sweet 16 is a big thing, but I really prefer putting together surprises for other people. I almost feel bad sometimes when so much is attention is on me. It will be fun though, I’d really love to just cook everyone something and play games, or go out for sushi and go to an arcade… OR a picnic and swimming party since it’ll be summer time. The hassle of swimsuits though… I mean I don’t mind it… I love swimming and I’ve really missed it… it just going to be kind of embarrassing. I don’t know. The last thing I want to hear is how small my chest is… or I don’t fit a swimsuit right or ‘ of course I’m wearing a one piece.’ I kind of feel like the odd one out. Tsubaki, Liz and Patty and Blaire… they have beautiful womanly bodies… and I’m just different. My momma had a petite frame too- I’m not mad at her for the body she gave me… I can go down a rabbit hole about papa not being satisfied with momma and that’s why he treated… all the women I see him with definitely look a certain way. Whatever. If we swim for my birthday… I might even recommend it and I’m sure the others would bounce on the idea… beach volleyball… the boys would love. Liz would drag me and tsubaki to go tan a little while, so warm in the sun, and Patty and kid could make amazing sand castles and giraffes. Haha. Soul would be happy about popsicles. Creamsicle sounds so good!
I’m blabbering so much but I haven’t really said everything out loud before… or written it down really I just think about everything.
So swimming in two months and half potentially, well actually it’s for sure going to happen that sounds so fun. Liz will love if I ask her to help me find a nice swimsuit, and be totally positive about me getting a two piece. I think I will… maybe it can be light blue or white? My body and face is still really soft. I guess you could call it baby fat, and being more active lately, being more carful about what I eat, I can kind of see a bit of toned stomach action happening. I’m excited for what I can achieve in two months and even the one you know? Getting rid of baby fat and butterflying cacooning into my more young adult body will be good. I’m always going to be small and I’m trying to work on being okay with that, so I just have to make myself as proud as possible of the way I look. I’m going to look strong and healthy, so what if I don’t have the greatest curves, I’ll have skinny curves… angles and definition that I earned by working so hard. I’m almost 5’3 instead of 5’0 now from when we first moved in together and I was 14 so my baby weight is evening out and gosh soul is growing too. He already called me shorty but sometimes he looks down at me in such this smug way, like he’s so cool for being taller. He’s almost 5’7 now. I assume he’ll stop growing at 5’9 since I think Wes is around there or 5’10. Soul has always looked really handsome and like me, he’s growing into a more young adult version of himself, angels of his facial features a little more sharper, shadowed by a vague sleepiness like always, more movement to the way his scar runs along his chest in abdomen from natural definition. He’s the type of person to not workout barely at all, and look like he must go 3 days a week and eat like a clean freak, but nope, typical boy like Blackstar to be able to hork down unhealthy food and still look like he puts the work in. Ah being young with a great metabolism. Haha.
Oh what else…?
Oh yeah, last I made an entree, I was saying how I was nervous to get my hair cut, to repair damage and try something new for the warmer weather. Liz got highlights in her hair too, and even trimmed her front hair pieces ( evenly of course) to frame her face; it looks so pretty she’s like one of those victorious secret models. Tsubaki didn’t cut her hair, just a basic trim. She so pretty all the time, and Patty did a more blunt look with her bangs. My hair is shoulder length now, so we took 5 inches of dead hair off. It’s a big change. I can’t really wear my hair in pigtails right now in my normal mid spot because the hair at the nape of my neck is just barely too short to stay pulled up. I can do really tiny low pigtails but it’s really not helping with my “ growing up glow up” as the Thompson put it. I’ve been wearing it in half up pigtails when we’ve gone on missions so my hair isn’t swinging around in my face, like I did for the dance two years ago. But my hair will be around my upper arms in October, and then I’ll fully put my hair up again, and it won’t matter if it’s a more girlish hairstyle, I’ll be so confidently me by then it won’t even matter and I can pull off anything. Since I’ve lost some baby weight, I’ve noticed Soul doesn’t really knock at me having ‘ fat ankles ‘ anymore like he used to joke. Maybe he realized it hurt my feelings or i actually did have bigger legs and don’t anymore… if so then goodbye preteen fat. He’s been sweet too, picking me up from the couch to carry me to bed and either he’s just proud of how strong he is, but doesn’t brag because that wouldn’t be cool, or I’m actually fun to pick up because… like me lifting him in scythe form, it’s not a challenge? Rather than poking fun at me in what feels like an almost mean, taunting way, he’s been calling me ‘ itty bitty’ and ‘ little maka’ when he’s done his proud looking down at me..: or we’re just walking around town and sat for some deathbucks and he just kinda set his hand over mine, emphasizing how he could hide my fingers completely with his, sounding like he was marveling instead of mocking me when he said, “ you’re so tiny.” His comments are sounding more like compliments than half annoyed jabs, and I guess it’s him just becoming g more mature? Either way, it’s made me feel really nice and even a little more proud of my petite stature. If my partner thinks it’s cute rather than unattractive and off putting, then why should I feel so bad? He hasn’t said anything about my chest in awhile… maybe because I’m not so flat chested anymore? I did go from an A32 to a B32, and I think honestly where my chest size will be sitting at even when I’m momma’s age. Maybe he’s noticed I’ve grown a little… maybe he’s too embarrassed to say anything? Maybe it wouldn’t be cool to point out my chest or body changing at all because he doesn’t want to get slapped with a book? I’m overthinking everything… but doesn’t it feel kind of nice imagining he’s been able to see me grow and evolve some the same way I’ve seen him. I just texted him to tell him I’m proud of him. I know how much it bothers him his parents not approving of his work and how he’s going his own way about things apart from his family’s expectations. We were hugging a few months back after a slight argument I don’t even really remember what it was about but we were hugging about frogging eachother afterwards and I teared up telling him how proud I was of him if he ever felt like no one saw how hard he was working, I did. I feel his soul swell with emotion, and he’d tighten his hold on me, uttering a cool thank you, though I’d heard the way his breath shook like he was soft. I keep thinking about that day a lot, so I hope even when I don’t say it, he knows how proud I am of him. I know he’s proud of me too, especially lately trying to be nicer to papa, comforting me too when plans with him don’t really work out. I cried on his chest a few weeks ago when I made plans with papa and he forgot… too drunk when he’d been talking to me I guess to remember because when I went where we supposed to meet
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A3! Hyodo Juza - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Party (1/3)
*Please read disclaimer on blog
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Actor A: “Eat this!”
*hits*
Juza: “Guh…! Damn you, you betrayed me!?”
Yuzo: Juza, just now when you received the first kick and how you dealt with it after that…
Juza: …Got it!
-pause-
Juza: Phew.
Actor A: Man, Juza was on fire today.
Actor B: Yeah, his stage fighting was super intense.
Actor A: Right, it feels like you’ll get swallowed up when he faces you and stares you down.
Yuzo: The face-off scene was pretty impressive.
However, the scene where you reappear in the second half and the stage fight could be even better.
Be a little more conscious of your forward movements and the timing of your lines.
Juza: …Sure.
Actor C: Hey guys, let’s take a picture after practise.
Get in here too, Juza!
Actor D: C’mon, Juza. Scooch in, scooch in!
Juza: Okay.
Actor E: Here goes~. Say cheese!
*click*
Actor E: Alright, nice shot.
I’ll send it to you later, Juza. Post it to Inste too~.
Actor D: Yeah, yeah. You haven’t posted your rehearsals, so I bet all your fans are waiting.
Juza: …Alright.
-pause-
Juza: (I moved a lot during practise today, so I gotta wash my sweat off in the bath first.)
?
There’s a comment on the pic I uploaded to Inste earlier?
Fan comment A: “Thanks for posting a picture during your rehearsal!”
Fan comment B: “I’m totally in love with Juza-kun’s acting and I’m so happy I get to watch as he grows more and more as an actor”
Fan comment C: “I’m looking forward to your next play!”
Juza: (All these different comments…
I’m grateful.)
*door opens*
Sakuya: Oh, Juza-kun?
You’re home late, huh?
Juza: I was helpin’ out in Yuzo-san’s rehearsal up ‘til earlier.
Did you have work, Sakuya?
Sakuya: Yep. The store was bustling, so I ended up a bit later than planned.
A hard day’s work for both of us, huh?
Juza: Yeah.
Sakuya: Were you looking at Inste?
Juza: Yeah. I posted a rehearsal pic earlier and it got lots of comments.
Sakuya: Oh, you’re right.
Supportive comments sure are encouraging, aren’t they?
Also, I totally understand how the fans feel.
Juza: Eh?
Sakuya: I like how you always have a straightforward attitude towards acting too. I respect that!
Juza: You’re the one like that, Sakuya. You’re always facin’ acting with all you’ve got… I think that’s amazin’.
Sakuya: Ahaha, thank you.
While working with MANKAI Company, you’re also actively participating in Yuzo-san’s troupe’s rehearsals and plays—.
You’re steadily gaining experience as an actor, so it feels reassuring to hear that from you.
Juza: That’s…
…
Sakuya: —Err, I’m sorry for saying something like that out of the blue!
Juza: S’fine…
Sakuya: Come to think of it, your birthday event is going to be held soon, isn’t it?
And the VLOG that’s going to be shown is supposed to be filmed with the theme of “a sight I want to show my fans”. Have you decided what you’ll do?
Juza: Actually, I was still muddlin’ over it—but I decided just now.
Sakuya: EH!? Just now!?
Juza: Yeah. So I have a favour I wanna ask you, Sakuya.
-pause-
Sakuya: So you’re always practicing here with the Furinkazan troupe, huh?
Um, can I start rolling the camera now?
Juza: Yeah. I got Yuzo-san’s permission to film, after all.
Sorry I asked you to film my VLOG.
Sakuya: Not at all! In fact, I was really looking forward to watching Yuzo-san’s troupe’s rehearsal too.
I’d love to learn a thing or two while I’m filming.
Juza: I see… glad to hear that.
I’m countin’ on you.
Sakuya: Same here!
Alright, let’s start right away.
Juza: Sure.
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#a3!#a3! translation#hyodo juza#act! addict! actors!#idk if anyone's done this yet#but oh well#yeet#happy belated birthday ju-chan~
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10th Anniversary Merch...
Well, suffice to say that there is no Weverse merch, yet.... Somehow, someone or some people seem to think that to sell BTS official merch that it needs to be via pre-order 3 months before it is available to ship. Most of the time....
So here we are on June 13. BTS’s and ARMY’s BIRTHDAY. 10th BIRTHDAY. And, where is the offical merchandise to celebrate the occasion? Well, if it’s coming through Weverse, then it’s gonna arrive sometime in September. Yeah, a tad late to put that hat or tee-shirt on to help add to the festivities that happen during Festa.
I still ordered my hat and my tee-shirt, and I’ll still wear them proudly when they arrive sometime after September 19... But I have to say that someone at HYBE needs to reconsider how they offer BTS official merch to their adoring fans, and the timing of such.
This morning I put on my “Yet To Come, Busan” hoodie. It was either that or my “SooWooZoo” Hoodie (both of which arrived long after the activities that they were named after.) It’s what I have, until the W-Concept (licensed merch) BTS tee arrives in a couple of weeks.
They probably would have sold a lot more had they offered them before the 13th of June. AND, ARMYs all around the world today would be proudly wearing their tee-shirts, hats, bracelets, and such, as they celebrate the BIG day!
Sorry that this is a little bit of a soft-rant.... I’m still loving the guys, and still happy to celebrate this day. There is STILL a ton to be grateful for. 💜
#bts 10th anniversary#bts festa 2023#happy birthday bts#bangtan and army forever#bts merch#wheres the tee#its purple day#love them#miss them as 7
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Every month of 2022 with Belle!
I was tagged by @ambivartence and @coupsnim to link your favorite and/or most popular post from each month this year (it’s totally fine to skip months!) and tag some CCs you love!
Since I’m a rambler I’ll be putting the list under a read more 😅
January So the most popular post was my favorite looks of Lee Know... I have maybe 20 posts max of stray kids, bur they certainly have one of the most active fandoms, this post will make a comeback from time to time and suddenly there are yet more notes, but my favorite must be this crazy interaction and incredible face expression by our one and only Joong in one of Maddox’s vlogs hehehe
February my most popular here was Yunho crying during endingment cause apparently we all love to suffer (is one of my favorites too); and I guess my favorite would be the compilation of all of Wooyoung’s Thanxx outfits (at least the 9 I could find for the set heheh)
March I’m not surprised at all to find out the most popular for march was the 97 Line entrance to their cover of Light A Flame... I get it; My favorite tho was YunGi for Ode To Youth... this photoshoot is still one of my favorites and I could have chosen any of the *three sets* I made of this specific part (don’t judge) but in this one I tried a coloring a bit different from my usual and I really liked the result
April This was a reeeally slow month cause of some life changes heheh (I literally made only three gifsets, I am shook myself) so I’m not surprised the most popular post was my gfx for Mingyu’s birthday; all my gifsets were for my HwaYunGi in every logbook series and although I like them all I can’t really chose a favorite....
May As expected the most popular post was the one made for Seventeen’s Anniversary (i’m such a sucker for before and afters <3 babiees) and even tho it was a slow month as well, my favorite post was the one for Hongjoong’s cover of Lemon Tree, I really liked the coloring hehe
June Now, this is not only the most popular post of the month, but the most popular of the year hahaha ngl I expected the Ateez as Onion Headlines post to do good, but I was overwhelmed all the same ahah I had such a great time making it!! Besides this one (cause I really love it) my favorite is the set I made for my favorite songs of the first half of the year... I love when and idea just works exactly as you want it to
July I was so happy with how this post turned out so I’m glad to see that the most popular set of July is the Cheers vs Change Up one; and I have some other favorites in this month be it for coloring or whatever but THIS ILLUSION!JOONG POST was completely robbed for not showing up on the tags... I know he would do so much better if it wasn’t for it... thx tumblr...
August The most popular set was this stunning DK during Good Offer GoSe... I understand why, believe me, but this is such a plain set I did not expect to do as well as it did haha and omg I have so many to choose for my favorite.... I discarded some others but I can’t decide between this two and since both kinda have the same appeal to me I give you Pink Cat and Sleepy Pink Bunny Hwa
September I have a brand and I’m glad you clearly understand my vision, no wonder the most popular set was the 97 line literally just standing there in suits hahahah Now, again there’s many favorites here... ugh this is hard... I’ll go with my set for Anna with her biases in the special Mama stage (Again, one of those cases where you have an idea and everything just WORKS... so satisfying); But I also have to mention this Pouty Puppy Yunho set because I love the look, I love the coloring and I know it was also robbed by tumblr not adding it to the tags....
October This was THE month of before and after thanks to Ateez’s anniversary and our little countdown event hahaha (I have to mention my two favorite sets of the countdown: Woo for the evolution and Hwa cause I was REALLY proud of the coloring) but no surprise the most popular set was Ateez’s Anniversary d-day; Now, besides the special mentions, my favorite set was this Mingi during tour... not because of my coloring or really anything I did just... THIS MINGI
November Time for Atiny’s anniversary and is no wonder the most popular set are our cuties dancing in pajamas to celebrate it hahaha and my favorite set marks not only the end of some long time without a computer but also a new era of coloring since I can’t calibrate the screen and the first time I actually remade a set and was able to visualize how much I’ve improved also DK singing to Smile Flower will always be a vision
December I had to have it in my blog and apparently you feel the same cause the most popular post so far is Producer!Joong ... is such a simple look AND YET!! I can’t explain what is it about it but I know you get it... For my favorite I have to go with Paradigm Hwa cause witch/vampire coded Seonghwa is always a win for me
Honestly... If I had not yet admitted to you and to myself that Ateez became my ultimate group this post would be eye opening and quite embarrassing to carat Belle...... I’m still a carat and Dokyeom is still above all other bias, he is the ultimate, but I can’t deny I have been creating waaayyy more for those 8 pirates that just barged into my life AND I’LL SEE THEM LIVE IN MADRID!!! CAN YOU HER ME SCREAM??????
Anyways... I had to share the good news; back to the tag game hehehe I tag @jinniebit and also some newer moots to see what you were doing in the beginning of the year! @jeong-yunhoes @skz-films @chwejongho @dazzlingkai @woosanmas @changbeens @hansolz and @jonghho
#year in review#such a journey down memory lane#hope you have fun doing it!!!#Ateez#Seventeen#tag game#Belle is babbling#Hi Siyuan 🍳#Hi Izzie 🌿
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Luna’s Birthday Celebration Ideas
After seeing how joyfully others in the writing community celebrated their birthdays last year, I’ve decided I’d like to make a big deal out of my birthday for once.
I’m not usually one for big celebrations. Asking for or receiving attention has always made me feel uncomfortable. I’m sure it has something to do with growing up disabled. Most of the attention I got during big milestones in my life felt more like happy surprise instead of loving acknowledgement. Eventually, I stopped inviting the attention and quietly commemorated those moments in private.
This year I want to enjoy my birthday, not dread it. I have some ideas to accomplish this goal:
Art giveaways all through the month of March (book covers, book jackets, character banners, moodboards, quote banners, playlist covers, etc)
A weekly countdown to the day with personal posts about my writing growth
Ask games throughout March— I’ll post them, and anyone who reblogs will receive an ask from me
A weekend-long write-in
… And I’m open to other ideas. Obviously, I’m not sure if this sounds like a silly idea to anyone, but it feels important to me. Would you participate in any of the above activities? Let me know!
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Just an unnecessarily long post about dog gear I want- scroll by if you don’t want my ramble
So in feb I’m gonna have a treat yo self month because it be my birthday, and I may have a lil extra spending money from working a bunch of overtime during Christmas (I am knackered but I needed the cash and work needed my assistance)
And seeing as no-one likes buying me dog gear as Christmas/birthday gifts I’m gonna buy myself these nice things.
I wanna get Juno a lovely leather collar, nefjas person sent me a link to a German company who make elk leather collars in a martingale style??? Absolute perfection. I’ve been a sucker for martingales for a couple of years now and am reluctant to turn back.
What a delectable collar. So chic. So stylish. Fancy collar for my non-fancy mutt to strut about the town with (no flooded field walks for that collar)
Gonna pair it with a brand new cute dog tag because Juno currently wears Hana’s old one. I think after a year she’s earned her own tag, don’t you think?
Lookit!!! So cute!! It’s not Juniper tree but it’s close enough (don’t tell my partner, the tree surgeon, I said that). Would look so good with the collar.
And since my mendota lead is looking real ropey (haha, because it’s a rope?) I’m gonna treat myself to a new one. It’s served me so well but I did not look after it. Now it smells and is fraying and the leather by the clasp is loose. It just looks a mess. Love my mendota lead, don’t love that I’ve destroyed it. I did dabble with the idea of an adjustable lead but they’re all flat and I’m sorry but round leads are superior. I’m not ready to go back to flat. Mendota so comfy, mendota so röund, medota have goldish clasp to match tag and collar ring.
But do I stop the spending there?? I’ve been gagging for a ruffwear backpack but my lord £100 for a backpack??? I know it’s quality, built to last, and most importantly designed to minimise injury but it’s a rather frivolous spend.
My reasoning is that added weight to some walks may help reduce some pulling, she’s so much better but still gets excitable. It can be useful if we wanna go on longer hikes once my partner and I have time to do some weekends away. Carrying water etc. I really want to do a camping getaway at some point and having her carry her own food is adorable and practical. But also it could be useful on days where we want or need to be a bit lazier. Dog needs exercising but we’re burned out/ill? Cool, mile and a half sniffy walk with lightly packed backpack. If I wanna tire her out because we have plans and need her nice and calm? Boom, backpack walk.
Also, backpack cute. Backpack could have patches. Backpack bring joy to look at. Backpack make chronically ill days much easier.
Backpack.
Oh there’s also an adorable martingale collar on Etsy that I want. An unnecessary purchase but I so rarely find a martingale I really really like (I’m picky okay)
But there are things that I could spend my money on that is (arguably) needed more. Waterproof longline, new treat pouch, new walking boots because mine are leaky, dog toys that serve a purpose more than “it squeaks and can be thrown”. I also need a haircut and new prescription glasses but it’s more fulfilling to spend money on the dog.
GAH! Maybe I’ll win the lottery on Friday and I can buy it all. But until then I gotta budget and make informed purchases.
Anyway I just wanted to rant to the void because I usually do all this in my head but I wanna get more active on tumblr and sometimes airing these thoughts helps make decisions. And if you suddenly see me posting Juno in 4k completely decked out in new gear in the mountains? I’ve won the lottery, quit work to travel with dog that has a whole new wardrobe, captured on a top of the line point and shoot 😂
#so many things so little money#but also my February paycheque lines up perfectly with rent#long story short the way the dates line up I don’t have to use any of my feb pay to pay rent#a rare but very welcome occurrence#I’m so used to being broke but I can allocate myself a lil bit of spending money to get at least the top three things#but the backpack would be completely frivolous#i do have an Amazon voucher from my mother for Christmas and I could use it to cover some of the cost if I order through there#she doesn’t have to know that I still used Christmas money on dog things#and at this point I’m sure she knows I do it
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if you’re hearing GO GINA by SZA playing, you have to know FEMI LUONG (SHE/HER; CISFEMALE) is near by! the 35 year old OWNER OF AFTERTHOUGHTS TATTOO/DANCER has been in denver for, like, TEN YEARS. they’re known to be quite HEDONISTIC but being DIGNIFIED seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble KARRUECHE TRAN. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those BUTTERFLY KISSES, MESSAGES WRITTEN ON BATHROOM WALLS, MISSED CALLS AT 2 AM, FRESH TATTOOS AND HALF USED BOTTLES OF PERFUME vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the CHERRY CREEK DISTRICT long enough!
full name: femi luong
nicknames: fefe, em
birthday: november 8, 1988
hometown: torrance, california
occupation: owner of afterthoughts tattoo, dancer
hobbies: giving herself late night tattoos, taking pilates classes, roller skating, washing money
lives: cherry creek district
background: tw prison, drugs, criminal activity
born to anika and duy luong, the first ten years of femi's life were picture perfect. family dinners, road trips to visit relatives, summer camp every year. that was until spring of her eleventh year, when her father went to prison for the first time on a burglary charge.
shortly after her father's first sentencing, her mother divorced him and remarried, having known nothing about his criminal side gigs. during the next year and a half, femi had little to no contact with her father as her mom and stepmom felt it would be best for her. after his release, he was allowed supervised visits and eventually every other weekend.
on these weekends her dad would take her to the ice cream shop, which was actually a deal. or the park, where they were pulling a gig. you'd be surprised how many people believe you were under their car because your kid's ball rolled under it, not because you were actually stealing catalytic converters.
femi found these secret trips with her dad exhilarating, the need for chaos and the next come up following her throughout high school. her moms often had screaming matches with her, not understanding where they'd went wrong and still not privy to what actually went on when she went to her dad's.
despite her tumultuous extra curriculars, femi maintained excellent grades and often found school too easy. after graduating high school she was accepted to el camino college where she transferred to ucla, receiving her bachelors in business. up to this point, she'd still been living a double life and painting a picture for her moms while doing jobs for her dad on the weekends.
after graduating, femi decided she needed more than la had to offer and packed her things up, moving to denver. since being in denver, femi has been dancing at various clubs and lounges, with brief stints as a bottle girl to support her luxury lifestyle. it wasn't until 6 years ago when a regular ( wc pending ) let her in on his business, washing money through their nightly dances. after doing successful work for 3 years, he was giving consistent bonuses and realized her business degree was worth something, noticing how she brought in and kept clientele while remaining discreet.
this is when they became partners rather than being his subordinate. being let in on the business, femi knew she would need something more legitimate for the amount of income she intended to have. tattooing had originally been a hobby she practiced on herself and friends, but she decided to use it to her advantage and opened afterthoughts tattoo. she's been successfully washing money and leasing to other artists yet is unwilling to give up her dancing gig because of the familiarity.
#*femi x intro.#eeeeee im so excited for her#i have lots of wcs that ill add to this in the am#but for now give it a like n ill come for plots <3#chq;intro
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Countdown to Coven of Chaos: Day 365
So, to celebrate a year of Countdown to Coven of Chaos, I want to take the opportunity to branch out from the usual silly incorrect quotes. As someone who has both studied art history and art, I thought something longer form might be of interest:
A lot of my artwork uses references and inspiration from media I love, ie to help draw curtains angles, shapes and perspectives, or has a theme I root ideas in but quickly branch off into something entirely new. Most of the time unless you know what franchises and media I’m currently hyperfixating on - you won’t recognize those things in my art. Often times I have library of ideas and stills from movies, songs, books, comics, etc. that I catalog for later inspiration (distinction: NOT to copy). It’s a process I’m pretty familiar with, but not used to being questioned on. However I recently got that rare question when I was receiving critiques:
“Where are these images from?”
I sat there in horror, how much do I divulge? Do I just play it safe with the safe option of my imagination? That drawing in particular was something I had directly mashed together from scenes of MoM and Wandavision with a fair bit of personal liberty so it was transformed into something new. I decided to simply go with:
“Comics!”
And I got the response that, though that was okay, it was something I should keep to myself. Other more esteemed artists would look down at my work if they knew that I took inspiration from comic books. And honestly, that’s really stuck with me. I may be biased since one day I would love to illustrate comics and think the early drawing of Stan Lee are timeless and beautiful, but that comment felt like a sting. Comic books in general have always been regarded as low brow art, but after the work of the 70s Pop Art movement, you would think that these styles would have a more positive reputation after widespread popularity.
I still have a lot to learn about art still, but as an active consumer of comic books and art history…I have to ask: how different are comic books than religious paintings? Though the subject matter is extremely different, paintings during the Renaissance (and before) were used as methods of storytelling in religious institutions for the masses. Hundreds of years later, the stories are different, but the sentiment is the same. Combining art with narrative to convey a story. And though comics now can sometimes cost an arm and a leg, they were once forms of inexpensive entertainment for the average or lower class. Similar to the religious paintings of Renaissance Europe, it was a method of consuming narratives through art regardless of status. It feels a bit strange, and rude, to regard one form of art as lesser than another simply because it didn’t gain popularity with high paying patrons of museums and institutions.
So, I’ll keep reading comics and I'll keep eagerly awaiting the release of Coven of Chaos to see how the set, costumes, and editing comes together to form some beautiful scenes that may inspire some art…and I’ll keep believing that storytelling, in any form, deserves recognition.
Happy 1st birthday to the Countdown for House of Harkness, now known as Coven of Chaos. Thanks to everyone who enjoys each day, cheers
#did this turn into a small essay?#yes#but I hope even though this was very different people still enjoy#agatha harkness#wandavision#agatha all along#house of harkness counter#hahndavision#marvel#marvel comics#art history#wanda maximoff#house of harkness#coven of chaos#coven of chaos counter#multiverse of madness#dr strange mom
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