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Animal Crossing is a horror game, change my mind

Solar Lunacy

Chapter 6: Promise

After your snooping pays off, you put the plan in motion to finally figure out what's behind the Daycare Attendant's strange behavior, and the secret that they're hiding. In the middle of it, the Fazbear band members reconcile with you, save for a specific alligator. Freddy in particular wonders why you've been avoiding him for a reason you find out you're really silly for. It all works out.

Though...Sun's demeanor cracks, anger and something else peaking through the cheery exterior.

Moon might kill you for real this time. Maybe not.

You find your answers in the security tapes.

Chapter Wordcount: 14,586

(This chapter was also sliced to keep the length from being overwhelming, so some stuff I had planned for this one will be pushed to next chapter instead. Thank you for reading!)

Ayup i ain't dead. Just been a while time lately, so im here to give y'all UPDATES

I got an F in math and later got splashed with water bc a car passed through a puddle right in front of me. Never felt like Rincewind more then in that moment.

I got surgery, something minor so don't worry.

And i know im late but HAPPY GLORIOUS 25TH OF MAY DISCWORLD FANS!!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME CELEBRATING IT BUT I HAVEN'T EVEN READ THE BOOK GAAAHHH

the year went by real quick though :(

Happy OT7 Sunday =)

finally through with writing chapter 04 of jsgng, you guys !!!!! i'm a slow writer i'm sorryyyyy

it'll be here tomorrow morning (it'll be morning for me, at least)

I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO POST FOR LANGA’S BIRTHDAY! HJDKKDJJK

but since sk8 infinity doesn’t have a manga i really cant..

sooo HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY LANGA LOVE YOU BB!! <33

So.. I missed Fanfic Writer's appreciation day, but I still really needed to talk about this writer

@xaandiir you are amazing and I can't thank you enough! Silence and Duality was the first sanders sides fic I've ever read and also the reason I beggan to see more of the fan creations, and the stuff outside the sanders sides videos. Because of you, so many great things happened to me and I'm very thankful for that.

The story is incredible, it has a really nice way to present the situations as it progresses, and it's compleling in a way that I can read it multiple times (in part because of the nostalgia it holds :D), you have an wonderful way of writting characters, and I'm happy this was my first impression of the fandom. It certainly made me want to stay♡

I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

Lucette had tried her best to calmly walk past Deacon but knew the moment he stopped her with his cane that he no doubt saw Uncle Kane’s still irritated behavior from the argument they had. She opens her mouth to greet Deacon, only to frown in irritation when he assumes that she did something. 

“I have done absolutely nothing, Deacon. It is Uncle who you should be asking that particular question to, not me. I merely stood my ground. It was Uncle who got angry at me first. All over an idiotic marriage proposal that I have and had no interest in.” She says haughtily, a scoff in her voice hidden under her words. 

One half of her mind was appalled at her tone, mentally strangling her to apologize to both him and Uncle but the other half stomped her foot and was practically breathing smoke out of her nose with anger. Telling her that she was in the right and they were not.

@kingarise reblogged for a starter from: Deacon!

The Armada’s Emissary has noticed his creator’s questionable behavior as of late. He witnessed his short-temper earlier this morning while they were discussing important matters. Every time Deacon spoke to Kane, he found the Commander’s responses to be rash and unusually rushed. Reactions he rarely had - unless something has agitated him as of late.

While walking down one of the hallways, he finds Lucette heading in his direction. Deacon decides to stop Valencia’s princess by holding his cane out in her way, ensuring he had her full attention. Whatever was bothering Kane was likely on her behalf - she’d been causing nothing but trouble to both the Elite and Valencia lately.

“What have you done now?” He asks, not bothering to clarify himself.

Lucette raises a single eyebrow when Deacon stopped midway into his sentence, something he rarely does. Too late, though, she already knew what he was insinuating. As if she hadn’t listen to Kane rant dozens of times.Only to freeze when Deacon points out that he saw her expression change that she had tried to hide and asked her if there was something else going on.

“Deacon, I alrea-AH!” She was about to speak until a sharp pain from her skull interrupts her, forcing her to bend over and grab her head to attempt to ease the pain. No, no,no, she can’t be doing this NOW.

@kingarise

Lucette lets a short laugh at Deacon’s words of Kane’s unpredictability, but then stops when he talks about Kane caring. She of course knew that her Uncle cared about her, she would not be here if he did not, but it never truly occurred to her that how much it showed. She had always assumed that whenever Kane shown displeasure or anger with her that it was a sign of him getting tired of her.

“You…you are right, Deacon. I should have thought more deeply about Uncle’s reactions and behaviors. He is not a simple…clockwork man.” She quietly admits, a sense of shame creeping up her arms. She raises a single black eyebrow when Deacon suggested that she have an honest conversation with her Uncle after they had an argument but she then realizes her mistake and mentally smacks herself, her expression shifting into one of embarrassment. Of course after an argument, especially now that they both had some space from each other. Though it would probably be best to save it until tonight or early tomorrow before lessons. Just in case.

“You’re right, Deacon. Maybe it is time that Uncle and I have a true discussion like adults rather than yelling at each other like children. It may not change his stance on the matter but…maybe it would help him realize that I am not withholding my approval out of spite or for Teach. I am just waiting for the right prince or noble to woo me off my feet and for him to be worthy of Valencia and her people. I am certain that Uncle wouldn’t like some inexperienced fool to have some control of Valencia, no?” She asks, a sly gin blooming upon her lips with her rising mood. Only to sour again when she felt her stirring about and getting ready to say something. Before Deacon’s progress could be ruined, she threw her back into the cage and turned her attention once more on Deacon, making sure to wipe away any trace of discomfort or annoyance from her face.

“I do not think any of us would appreciate an unsuitable heir. It is already enough that-” Deacon stops himself from trailing any further, not meaning to imply what he is thinking. He corrects himself and stands taller, taking a small note of Lucette’s facial expressions. He usually pays close attention to body language, and has noticed she’s been struggling this whole session.

“It seems that the argument must be affecting you greatly, or there is something else at hand.” He leans further to get a better look at her face. “Is something the matter, your highness?”

Deacon’s words of Kane dropping more important things for her surprise her but at the same time they didn’t. She knew that her Uncle cared about her dearly, but sometimes, its nice to hear it reaffirmed from someone else.

“You are right. If...if you are certain that Uncle would not mind us intruding.” She gives in, cowering behind Deacon as they approached the door.

‘How do you know that dear Uncle Kane won’t turn you away?’ 

Lucette cannot tell if those were her fears whispering or her. Another vicious headache ripped through her skull, giving her the answer. One she didn’t want. It seemed like with every step she took, she felt like something was weighing her down. As if a weight was on her back. Filled with the sudden urge to sit down, she started to pull on Deacon’s arm.

“Deacon, I-I think...I think I need to-to sit down.” She says, beginning to pant, out of breath suddenly. 

“I...I do not...feel well. Can you...can you bring Uncle?” She asks, falling down to kneel on one knee, gingerly massaging her head to try to make the sick feeling go away.

@kingarise

Lucette lets a short laugh at Deacon’s words of Kane’s unpredictability, but then stops when he talks about Kane caring. She of course knew that her Uncle cared about her, she would not be here if he did not, but it never truly occurred to her that how much it showed. She had always assumed that whenever Kane shown displeasure or anger with her that it was a sign of him getting tired of her.

“You…you are right, Deacon. I should have thought more deeply about Uncle’s reactions and behaviors. He is not a simple…clockwork man.” She quietly admits, a sense of shame creeping up her arms. She raises a single black eyebrow when Deacon suggested that she have an honest conversation with her Uncle after they had an argument but she then realizes her mistake and mentally smacks herself, her expression shifting into one of embarrassment. Of course after an argument, especially now that they both had some space from each other. Though it would probably be best to save it until tonight or early tomorrow before lessons. Just in case.

“You’re right, Deacon. Maybe it is time that Uncle and I have a true discussion like adults rather than yelling at each other like children. It may not change his stance on the matter but…maybe it would help him realize that I am not withholding my approval out of spite or for Teach. I am just waiting for the right prince or noble to woo me off my feet and for him to be worthy of Valencia and her people. I am certain that Uncle wouldn’t like some inexperienced fool to have some control of Valencia, no?” She asks, a sly gin blooming upon her lips with her rising mood. Only to sour again when she felt her stirring about and getting ready to say something. Before Deacon’s progress could be ruined, she threw her back into the cage and turned her attention once more on Deacon, making sure to wipe away any trace of discomfort or annoyance from her face.

“I do not think any of us would appreciate an unsuitable heir. It is already enough that-” Deacon stops himself from trailing any further, not meaning to imply what he is thinking. He corrects himself and stands taller, taking a small note of Lucette’s facial expressions. He usually pays close attention to body language, and has noticed she’s been struggling this whole session.

“It seems that the argument must be affecting you greatly, or there is something else at hand.” He leans further to get a better look at her face. “Is something the matter, your highness?”

The young Valencian Princess was strolling her way to her dance lessons, mind already thinking up what new court dance her tutor will teach her. Just when she thought she had learned them all, Signora Braccia conjures a new one! That’s when the sound of loud marching drawing closer brought her out of her reverie, looking up only to be surprised when she realized it was Rooke. Giving him a small curtesy to be polite, she tilted her head, similar to a curious cat, in a questioning manner at his question.

“Good evening, Rooke. As a matter of fact, I do. I must do my dance lessons with Signora Braccia BUT I do need a partner. Alfonso broke his toe last week, don’t how he did that, one minute he was flirting with me and the next he was screaming in pain, and you are a strong...clockwork are you not, Rooke?” She asked, swinging her arms behind her while staring up at the clockwork with wide, pleading blue eyes. The picture of innocence. Or perhaps mischief was the correct word? 

@kingarise reblogged for a starter from: Rooke!

When General Rooke reports to Kane’s fortress and finds he has no duties to attend to for the day, he is relieved. It feels like ages since the heavy burden on his shoulders has been lifted. Despite the heavy armor situated on his frame, Rooke feels light as he heads indoors and takes a look around, wondering just what to do.

It dawns on the clockwork that he has no clue how to spend today, having not expecting being relieved of duty so soon. To make matters worse, he knew Kane was going to be busy dealing with other matters, Deacon was out getting information elsewhere, Bishop was deep in his studies, Queen was nowhere to be found, and Rooke rarely knew the whereabouts of Phule.

He finds a figure standing out from the crowd, making her way politely against all the clockworks and other affiliated dwellers. It is the Valencian Princess, Lucette. He is not very close with her but still considers her family, regardless of their few exchanges. He makes his way to her and is stumped on how to greet her properly in this situation.

“Hello, Princess.” He waves a gloved hand in front of himself. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

Lucette stared with horror at the torn leg before growling lowly at Talia. Why does her stupid Uncle create and tolerate such needlessly destructive clockworks?! By the time the pirate gets here, more than half of their forces will be gone because of these knaves! Lucette quietly swallowed her anger and answered the question.

“You do know that the word content has more than one meaning, do you not?”

@kingarise

“Did you see the actual tale itself or something that reminds you of it? And how are you certain that you will not be forgotten?”

She asked in her royal tone used in meetings or at Court. She tilted her head in curiosity when the clockwork started scribbling something on the notepad. She had noticed it earlier but never commented on it out of concern of more important things.

“And may I ask why you carry that around and under your hat of all places?”

———-

Talia made a motion with her head, clearly an eyeroll if she had eyes.

She stood up and walked over to a red and yellow flower and squatted down to it, staring at it.

“I’ve been around longer than you could ever imagine. I was a last minute adjustment to a simple record keeping bot.”

Talia sat down on the ground, crossinf her legs.

“I’ve seen far much and been apart of far much more than you could imagine. Far much more than any stormy any wrinkle on a old dog’s face could tell.”

Talia looked back to Lucette.

“Oh. And bots don’t have pockets. Usually.”

She paused again.

“…and Rooke taught me to.”

When the giant armored man introduced himself and not reprimand her for her rude outburst, Maria thought it only polite to introduce herself in return.

“I’m Maria Dragoncaster of...Zafaria. Well, I’m from Zafaria, at least. But technically speaking, I spend most of my time at Ravenwood so it would be Maria Dragoncaster of Wizard City. I’ll just stick with Zafaria. A pleasure to meet you, Sir.” She quipped, having to bend her neck back really far to even glimpse at his face even though it was covered by his helmet. She watched as the two knights conversed, waving her hand when they mentioned her. Following them inside the palace, Maria let out an audible gasp in awe at the inside. It was magnificent.

“It’s like a castle from a fairy tale.”

kingarise

Maria’s grin returned to her face when the knight gestured for her to walk with him to the large structure that loomed in the distance, skipping alongside him to keep up with his long strides.

“Sir vel-stadt? Is he a knight? Is he undead like you?” She questioned, fumbling with the strange name. As they walked, she took a chance to actually look at the environment that surrounded her. Pure, untouched snow spread out before her eyes in every direction, no buildings other than the large fortress they were heading towards, filling the air with still silence. It unsettled her, reminding her of the moments of silence in horror movies before the killer popped out and stabbed another victim. She shivered, not from the cold but the scary thought. As they drew closer, Maria tensed up as she spotted an absolute giant of a figure waiting for them on the steps. She was prepping up energy from her inner fire for a spell, only to then stare at the Knight King next to her in confusion as he chuckled and greeted the giant, her eyes widening in shock at the name.

“You’re Sir Velstadt?!” She blurted out rudely, only to slap a hand over her mouth and blushing in embarrassment. If her mother was here, she would’ve been six feet under.

“Sir Velstadt of Eleum Loyce, commander of His Majesty’s forces, the Royal Aegis of the King, and the Captain of the Knights of the Flame.” The golden armored knight returned with pride. Leeroy met his smirk with a grin of his own.

The city of Eleum Loyce that sat at the foot of the mountain bearing the royal palace sprawled out over the cold snow plains, its populace long having learned to carve out their living in the frigid lands of the north. They were both proud of the city they stood guard over, even if he himself was the true king here.

“But all in all, I am well, Your Majesty.” Golden eyes focused on him, the Aegis dropping to one knee before him as custom to the knights of Loyce. “So I see that we have a guest.”

“Indeed, but first, we shall speak inside.”

Velstadt nodded, and a pair of white armored Loyce Knights pushed open the double doors leading inside the palace.

Just as it had been in the time of the Ivory King, the palace itself retained its white marble appearance and the sky blue drapes that decorated the walls and their stained glass windows - one of which showed none other than Faraam himself, in all his glowing glory with his dragonscale armor and golden crown, brandishing his dragonslayer swordspear atop of his stormdrake - and many, many more Loyce Knights patrolling the hallways.

Late Valentine’s Day Oneshot

                                        Valentine’s Day Special

Lucette and Militus Terrus/Taavetti

“Terruuuus!” A female voice rang through the palace hallway, catching the raven haired man’s attention; barely giving him a warning before a slim warm body slammed into him, knocking him down onto the plush velvet carpet. Normally, such an action would’ve made his body instinctively whip out his dagger to stab the perpetrator, but this time, he knew exactly who it was.

“Such inappropriate behavior for a little princess such as yourself, Lucy.” He teased, sitting up when she finally got off him. Lucette’s ice blue eyes twinkled with amusement at his jest.

“Oh please, Terrus. We all know that you of all people would know true inappropriate behavior.” She responded, giving him a sly look with a thin smile. Terrus didn’t bother denying or informing his princess that he had eyes for no other being except her. She was an enchanted rose in a garden full of maggot infested weeds. Instead, ignoring the distant pang of hurt in his chest at the thought of his princess thinking of him as a womanizer, he gave her a shining smile.

“You know how I am, Lucy. How can I resist the lovely ladies when Valencia is so full of them? Especially when the princess is the fairest of them all.”

At his comment, Lucette’s cheeks started to puff up as a faint red glow started to appear on them. Unable to resist the urge, he leaned forward and placed a small chaste kiss on one of her inflated cheeks, causing her to let out a short burst of giggles.

“Such a charmer you are, Terrus. I wonder where you learned it from. Surely not from stern ole Deacon.” She laughed softly.

“Dominitus above, no. Deacon would probably force me to do reports for a month if I ever acted in such a way in front of him. For a mission, sure. In front of the Supreme Commander and the princess? I’d be lucky to not get hit with that damned cane again.” He snorted, amused by the suggestion. While he held his mentor in high respect and esteem and with much fondness, he will not deny his sternness. And he really did hate that damn cane of his.

“Sounds like a stern father.” Lucette said with a short laugh only to freeze when she realized what she said. Terrus had tensed a bit at the word “father”, his eyes clouding over with dark storm clouds as a quick flash of cold, painful childhood days and a whiskey-ladled breath roaring loudly in his face while the eyes of a livid bull glared down at him. When he finally dragged himself back to the present, he was met with the sad sight of a saddened and embarrassed Lucette picking her fingernails in a downcast manner.

“I apologize. I should not have said that. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s not your fault. Never apologize for being a part of my past, Lucy. You were my savior in more ways than you know.” He pleaded with her, grasping her hand tightly. He knows she would never truly understand how much she helped him and that saddened him. She doesn’t see that she truly was his angel. Yes, she wasn’t utter and complete perfection, but that made her better. Why would an absolute perfect being stay beside a man like him?

“Weeeeell, if you consider me your savior, theeen you would accept a gift from her, right?” She asked, rocking back and forth on her knees with a mischievous grin on her lips.

“Yeeeeees. Why?” He asked, giving her an amused suspicious look. He knows when Lucette is planning something and she definitely planning something right now. With a bright smile, Lucette brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing her present for him. A cloak of deep, dark midnight blue hung from her hands, the material; Terrus can tell from being around aristocracy so much, pure velvet. There were no decorations since, he assumes, it would serve as a new spy cloak for him. Gently taking it from her, Terrus carefully inspected the clothing, stunned silent by the gesture.

“You had your old spy cloak for so long now. I thought it was about time that you got a new one and one that would keep you warm when the nights get cold. I embroidered our initials inside so no one but you would see. And I heard that dark blue was actually better for blending in with the night instead of black” She explained sheepishly, going back to picking her nails as she nervously peeked up at him from underneath her long lashes. “Do you like it?”

“I...I love it, Lucette.”

“Do you really?” She asked hopefully, looking up with a grin. Terrus wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and fastened the pin under his neck, softly stroking the engraved L and T on it. Their initials intertwined. When he looked up with a cocky grin, as small tendril of worry wormed his way into is heart when he saw tears in Lucette’s eyes.

“Lucette, what’s the matter?”

She only shook her head, quickly wiping away her tears with a smile.

“Nothing, Terrus. Nothing at all. I’m just...really glad that you liked it.”

Terrus raised a single eyebrow at his friend’s odd behavior but decided to let it go. For today. That’s when he suddenly remembered what today was. St.Valentines Day.

“Happy Valentines Day.” He said gently, smiling softly at her. Lucette’s body tightened up, her eyes briefly clouding over as she disappeared into her memories. No doubt of that piece of filth, Teach. When she came back, a veil of sadness has covered them, but nonetheless, she returned the smile.

“Happy Valentines Day, Terrus.” She returned, reaching up and gently kissing his cheek.

“Is that why you were sad?”

“No, well...yes. In a way.” She tried to explain, looking down at her lap. Terrus understood even still, wrapping an arm around her waist in comfort. The young princess laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a bit. For a few minutes, nothing but silence hung in the air, a peaceful silence that the spy relished in. Eventually, she leaned up again with a bright smile.

“Thanks, Terrus.”

“Of course, Lucy.”

“Now,” She started, clapping her hands together loudly. “I heard that Phule was planning a prank on me today. I feel it is about time we put him back in his place once more. Of course, I will need someone to help me.”

She gave him a sly look with a devious smirk, hinting at what her idea was. Terrus could feel a smirk of his own start to emerge.

“Whatever you are planning, I’m in.”

“Perfecto. Come on! I got the plans in my room!” She urged, hopping up from her place on the carpet and sprinting down the hall, her black curls flying behind her like a comet’s tail. Terrus shook his head at her amusedly, but followed anyway. Always right behind her.

tag nine people you would like to know better: thanks for tagging @andypantsx3 ! Nosey ass...

last song: LOL "Burn for You" the unofficial Bridgerton musical (I still need to watch the show)

currently watching: I stay perched on YouTube's lap as I avoid the growing list of shows I want watch

currently reading: Book Lovers by Emily Henry (thanks for the rec my love)

current obsession: Other people's routines because I am trying to have a better one lol

No pressure! @kweenkatsuki @rayemelanin @niggette @oh-katsuki @hantaswrld @sukunastoy @willowser @mushiewrites @otomiya-tickles @idreamofticklehugs @wishitweresummer

Whoops 11 because I'm nosey.

MaskanronpaV5/masked singer season 5 spoilers

DC Pride: Love & Justice (2024)

art by David Talaski

· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date. 

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

han turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath.  your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and han look at each other, sigh. han takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him…and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice.

“you’re so fucking sexy, holy shit.”

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before from curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck. 

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence. 

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips. 

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade. 

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

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