#also sorry for the lack of posting I have been doing a Lot of project prep work as of late

[returntosunder]

So, kinds nervous posting this for some reason, but I've been wantin to make my own interpretation of some different aus, but i wanted to do Ink first.

Sorry if it's not as creative as how some people design them, but i feel happy with how he came out

Some close ups and info under the cut

I have a hard time explaining my train of thoughts, so if it doesn't make sense I'm sorry I'm trying my best T-T

I was kinda inspired by the kidcore aesthetic and I wanted him to have a lot of saturated colors and paint smeared all over the place, just colorful chaos... I was also inspired by Sherbet ice cream. Don ask why idk it just came into mind while coloring :/

I didn't want to stray too far from their original outfit, but I just made alterations to fit my style a bit more and made it have some more round shapes. I also had a theme of stars and hearts in the outfit. The stars is somthin all the star sanses are gonna have as a theme (obviously), but the hearts is just in reference to his lack of having a soul.

They also have some stickers they stick on broomy that id like to think others gifted them. Same goes with the bracelets, he gets them as gifts from others and likes to traid some of them (I'm kinda projecting here lol). He's also got paint in his fingers cause I'd like to think that he finger paints a lot on random blank surfaces, especially blank white surfaces (again, projecting here)

Overall, its not much of a difference, and it's more of a self-indulgent thing i wanted to try. I hope that people can enjoy this as much as I enjoyed drawing it :)

Im planning on doing both Dream and Nightmare next <3

Ink!sans belongs to @comyet

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

masterlist

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[ldrfanatic]

r9 for mattheo riddle pls🙏

shakin', pacin', I just need you

mattheo riddle x fem!hufflepuff!reader

r9 - "for you I would fall from grace, just to touch your face"

gonna be at the dentist office w my bf for the next three to four hours so I'm gonna try and clear out my requests <3

lowkey I was praying someone would request this for mattheo

part two anyone?

y'all I could not find where I wrote down my mattheo taglist so if you wanna be added please please PLEASE comment on this post so I can start a new one thanksss

slytherin boys works

"y/n are you even listening to me?"

the voice of hannah abbot, a fellow hufflepuff, tore your eyes from your only slytherin friend albeit reluctantly. when you finally looked towards your friend, her mouth was turned up into a disapproving frown.

"no. I know you think he's your friend, but he's not."

she wasn't entirely wrong. afterall, you couldn't honestly say that you'd exchanged more than a few words with the boy, though it wasn't for lack of opportunity. he'd approached you on more than one occasion but neither of you ever seemed to actually speak.

really, it was because mattheo felt stumped by you. he'd spent a lot of time with different girls while he'd been at hogwarts. but when he tried to approach you, he fumbled. every. single. time. that was how he first knew you were special.

the kind of girl that made him want to face his father's wrath even though he knew that liking you would be more than enough for a crucio.

between your friends, his family, and his inability to articulate his thoughts around you, mattheo never really got the chance to talk to you.

that is, until now.

somehow, by the grace of the universe, snape had paired you with him for the d.a.d.a. project studying boggarts. you touched on them briefly in your third year but due to lupin's condition, didn't get the chance to finish them. for once, mattheo actually wanted to do schoolwork and do well on this project so you didn't resent him for a bad grade.

as class was dismissed, a hand softly grabbed your wrist.

"wait."

it was mattheo. he was actually speaking words to you rather than just sitting there and staring. it was almost unsettling if anything.

"d'you maybe wanna meet in the library after classes and..."

you smiled sweetly and nodded.

"are you sure you can handle it riddle? don't you have to be talking to someone to study with them?"

there was a teasing tone in your voice which caused mattheo's face to bloom and pink to tinge over the tips of his ears. suddenly, like a switch had flipped, a cocky smile took over his face.

"i can't help it if you take my breath away. maybe you just bring out the best in me like that."

caught off by his banter and yet undeterred, you continued.

"well we all know that you're at your best when you shut up."

you spoke the words with a teasing smile. his jaw fell promptly open at your words, completely surprised that a hufflepuff would say something like that. while mattheo attempted to collect himself, you shoved your dark arts textbook into your satchel and swung it up onto your shoulder.

"the library. tonight. 5pm sharp. don't be late riddle."

five o'clock could not come fast enough. potions with professor scalby was simply exhausting. she was a kind enough women which was a nice change from professor snape after she'd taken over the class following his promotion to d.a.d.a., but the woman had a love for potions that you could safely say no one else in the class really shared. unless you counted hermione granger, a sweet enough gryffindor also in your year.

by the time that scalby finished gushing about the amortentia your class would attempt to brew next week, you were sure you'd aged an entire year in this class alone.

finally, after what seemed like an eternity, class was dismissed. you quickly packed your books away and scurried off to the library, arriving a decent few minutes before mattheo sauntered in with an otherworldly confused look on his face.

"sorry i'm a little late. i got lost."

he spoke to you in a deep yet gentle rumble that had your heart beating a little faster in your chest. it was hard not to notice the way that he gawked at the old century library which was probably your favorite collection of books in the whole world.

"have you never been here before?"

mattheo's dark curls bounced atop his head as he shook it slowly. he looked down at his large hands with what appeared to be shame.

"i've never really taken an interest in school before."

wanting to make him feel better you gently bumped your shoulder into his as the two of you walked back towards the study tables.

"you're taking an interest now."

"in you."

his words made the both of you settle into a thick silence. though it was hard not to notice his lingered stares across the great hall or after a slytherin-hufflepuff match, it was the first time that he'd spoken words aloud that alluded to his feelings for you, and it seemed to catch the both of you off guard.

after a moment's pause, mattheo spoke again.

"i-uh, i don't know why i said that i'm sorry."

you reached your hand out from across the table where the two of you had settled down and grasped his hand in yours. you flashed him a reassuring smile.

"don't be."

abruptly, mattheo let out a strangled noise of frustration and tugged at his hair with his fingers.

"i can't do this anymore."

your heart thumped so quickly against your ribcage, you feared it might stop beating altogether.

"can't do what anymore?"

"this, y/n. i can't keep posing that i want to be your friend and do friendly things together like study at the library."

now your heart was breaking. hannah was right. mattheo riddle was not your friend and-- oh. mattheo riddle was not done speaking.

"i can't keep pretending when i want to be so much more than friends with you. when i want to do very not friendly things with you. to you. when i feel like throwing these books on the floor and yanking you across this table and pressing every part of your body against every part of mine."

instead of doing that, he stood from his seat and knelt in front of you. it felt weird to have the son of the dark lord on his knees in front of you all but begging you to be his girlfriend.

"i know i'm not the chosen one or anything and i'm never gonna be the good guy. but damnit if i have to stay away from you any longer i don't think i could stand it."

his confession stunned you into silence. how the hell could yoou possibly respond to that?

"say something, please."

a hopeful look had taken over his features. his brown eyes sparkled under the dim library lights.

"i don't care that you're not the protagonist mattheo. i would fall from grace for you."

---

<taglist>

@blobsblobician @helendeath

07.07.2024

[gb-patch]

Sorry to send another ask amongst the sea I'm sure you're receiving, but I find myself more concerned about Rose being a sensitivity reader as I find more information. One of Rose's friends continues to insist that the conversation about Tamarack and male MCs was part of a larger discussion about biphobia in the fandom. However, they claim that Rose's position is "people erase Tam's bi/pansexuality by refusing to portray [her] as being attracted to anything other than men." This explanation of Rose's belief is, in-and-of-itself, biphobic. It claims that portraying Tamarack as attracted to men erases her queerness. This is textbook biphobia and bi-erasure that I as a bisexual encounter every day. It is NOT a good-faith defense of a queer character. It reduces us down to our partners and makes the claim that if we end up in a relationship that's "straight-passing," we're erasing our queerness. Especially as a bi sapphic myself, it reduces my identity strictly to the perceived-man I'm dating, and not my inner or previous experiences, or those of my partner. It's very uncomfortable that Rose, a non-bisexual, was discussing this like they're defending Tamarack's queerness when they're doing the opposite.

This is a doubly strange position when Our Life is a game about the acceptance of love in all its forms. The conversation could be different, MAYBE, if Our Life was a TV show or a book or a comic. But this is a game where people are meant to play as characters of their own design. I do not feel confident about Rose being a sensitivity reader for a game with bi/pansexual love interests if these are their beliefs about bi/pansexuality, particularly if they're unable to adapt their opinions to be relevant to different formats of media; this shows they're lacking in skill in the areas of media literacy and critical thinking.

I’ve been trying to make a post that presents the concerns people have about this, but your ask touches on the points I was going to, and I’d say it’s better to have it said by a player than me deciding what people are thinking. So, this is something that I want to make clear- that I see this and other asks/comments about it. What you’ve said is something a lot of people are unsure and upset about. I am sorry that you feel so out of place in this community now. And I am also sorry to players of any sexuality who use a male MC. That comment dismissed players and Tamarack’s identity.

It did come from a longer discussion about bi-phobia issues. The overall feelings were “if people did only want Tamarack to be interested in men, I really wouldn’t like that and wouldn’t it be a funny concept if Tamarack then left them for a woman?”. The comment itself didn’t encompass that idea at all. It does not give a good impression about where they’re coming from. It was unkind.

The viewpoint Rose is trying to have isn’t that “Tamarack can never express an interest in men” which would be wrong, it’s “I stand by the fact that Tamarack is someone who wouldn’t only be interested in men and no one else”. If it’s true that Rose likes Tamarack being interested in all genders and doesn’t want her bi-ness to be forgotten, I’d say that’s an acceptable view. If the point actually is that Tamarack should only be with women and if she’s not than Tamarack is no longer bi or she’s a bad character, then you're right- that isn't acceptable and that is going to get someone removed from the project. I do believe Rose agrees with what you’re saying and means it when they say they want to stop bi-erasure, not participate in it for real. But they had a very harsh way of talking about it.

I understand that people don’t know Rose and this situation has made them believe they do seriously hold that first view. But from working with them, there’s never been any feedback that shows an opinion of the sort.

Right now, I think that comment was being edgy and making a quick, very poorly-worded quip to people they’d been chatting with about that topic already. Rose has left the GB Patch discord servers, they used to be a mod, and may or may not ever be back in there. Rose won’t make blog posts responding to players going forward. They’re going to take a break from this and then try to give helpful feedback. We’re going to see if things can be okay from here.

And with this coming up, we’re all really aware that it’s something to consider about the game. I’m going to be as conscious as I can for any advice that seems to go against the character’s identities and I’m going to question my own knee-jerk choices for how I handle things. Other sensitivity readers will be able to give their viewpoints as well, so will the players. If the game’s content isn’t welcoming or is biased people will notice, and I’ll be here to accept what I’ve done. I don’t want that to be the result of this, of course. I hope the game will be thoughtful and considerate, but I can’t fire Rose at this point to try doing that.

No one has to keep following the game, though. I’m sympathetic to anyone who is too uncomfortable with all this to stay around.

[arrowsperpetualcringe]

Y'all I'm back on my bullshit

Here's a Interpol + Emmet doodle dump (in Kalos!!)

Expanding upon this post about Emmet in PLZA and also my Emmet + Interpol hcs

Tentative outfit design for this little au/story/concept I got going on.

Is an outfit design necessary?

No.

I'm just extra

plus making different outfit designs for characters I like makes me happy hrjdndjd

Added Nanu to the height comparison drawing, because I hc that he's a bit smaller than everyone else, so seeing him next to AZ was something I needed to do okay-

More Nanu, because I'm not normal about him.

I want that man to smile in be happy in a way that doesn't look snarky for 0.05 seconds so I projected my love of bread onto him.

This is probably most likely ooc as shit. (Sorry, I admittedly don't know much about Nanu, or even Looker or Anabel. I never played their games, but I have gathered what information I could from their wikis, plus as few videos, so go easy on me)

But like. I hc that if you catch him lacking and enjoying life, he'd be startled for all of 1 second, before pretending it never happened. Like he just moves on like he wasn't happy, and wasn't also startled by being perceived as genuinely happy.

Joy? What's that. Never experience that shit a day in my life.

Why is this the hc I have the most to say about... Idk...

EMMAAAAAAAAAAA

UR DAD'S HOME SWEETIE AND HE BROUGHT YOU TWO NEW PARENTS HEHE (And a strange unrelated man. Do not look at him.)

I want to give Emma a cool design too. Y'know something updated to reflect that she's been taking care of herself and the Bureau while Looker was off on other missions.

Something that says "I'm doing well for myself"

But uh I couldn't figure out what that would be, so it'll have to be for a future post hehe

Self explanatory. Interpolshipping + Emma = Nanu is a dad now fuck you

From what I've seen, he already kinda seems like the type who's casually a parental figure to any kid (though he'll never say it out right) the type who's gives tough love and advice you may not wanna hear.

I wanna see that cranked up to 11 with Emma. Has the potential to be really cute imo.

ANYWAAAAYYSS

That's it for now.

I had a lot of fun with this, just thinking about dynamics in my head

Sorry if this is all ooc asf. I don't actually know these characters in depth, but I still like them, and this is just me having fun with them.

With PLZA taking place in Kalos, there are so many ideas to explore hc wise, I could do this forever.

(If any of this interests you at all, or if you have information on any of the characters you want to tell me, feel free to drop an ask!!! Let's yell at eachother about these idiots!!! I love them smsm!!!)

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mental Healing with the Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Hey Guys, I just wanted to say I am still super sorry with every chapter that takes longer than I used to be to get them out. I asm currently in the middle of the last 2 weeks of college, so lots of studying and prep for our huge Final Projects or Tests. On top of that my FSAE team and I are prepping to leave for the Big Competition three weeks from now. However, I do not want any of my chapters to lack in the love and work that I put in to writing them. So I will do my best to try and get them out more regularly, but I will not post anything early or with any less love than the last one. So should they continue to take longer please remember this. No one has said anything about this but I still want to make sure that everyone knows I am not done with this story, just a little busy right now. With that said please enjoy...

The gym lights flicker on just before sunrise, humming low above my head like they’re still waking up, too. My hoodie is heavy with sleep and my shoulder twinges the second I shrug it off, revealing the newer, thinner brace beneath. It’s progress — less restrictive, easier to hide under my clothes — but it also means I’m out of excuses. The world thinks I’m still resting. But rest never made me stronger.

I roll out my mat in the same corner of the performance room as always. Familiar. Quiet. Grounded. Axel lays just a few feet away, head on his paws, eyes tracking my every move like he knows this day is going to be rough.

Because it is.

Today is cardio and strength. And no cast means full-arm weight again. It’s the first real milestone — a make-or-break kind of day.

I sit on the mat for a moment, my back pressed against the cool wall. My fingers find the scar on my forearm, tracing it absentmindedly. A reminder.

The crash didn’t defeat me.

"Alright, warrior,” Diego calls, stepping into the room and clapping his hands once. He’s grinning, but there’s a crease between his brows — the one that always shows up when he’s worried about me. “Scale of 1 to 10. Pain?”

I crack a tired smirk. “About a 4. Maybe a 5 when I raise my arm too fast.”

He raises a brow. “And how much of that are you downplaying to look cool in front of us?” Slightly nodding towards Axel.

I glance over at my dog, who immediately perks up like he knows he’s being talked about. “A solid 60 percent.”

Diego laughs, but he kneels down next to me, softer now. “Y/N, you’ve made insane progress. But we’re still building up. You don’t have to prove anything today.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m just trying to… feel strong again.”

He doesn’t challenge me. Just gives a nod and offers his hand to help me up. “Okay. Let’s do this. But the moment I see that shoulder falter or your breath get shaky, we’re pausing. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The warm-up is fine. Easy even. Jogging laps around the indoor track with Axel trailing behind me like a shadow. My lungs are steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I feel… almost like myself.

Then we shift to shoulder presses.

“Let’s start light,” Diego says, passing me the small dumbbells — the baby ones, I tease in my head. I hate how small they feel in my hands.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, planting my feet. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. Hell, you used to double this weight for warm-ups.”

“That was before your bones tried to throw a party and forgot to invite safety,” Nico pipes in from the corner where he’s leaning against a table, flipping through my training notes. “Let’s not reenact the crash scene here, yeah?”

I shoot him a look but secretly, I’m glad he’s here. He grounds me. Keeps me from letting the fire inside burn too hot, too fast.

I managed the first set. My form is shaky on the second. By the third, my shoulder screams. My breath catches.

Diego notices before I say anything. “Stop. Drop ‘em. Right now.”

I obey, lips pressed tight. My pride stings more than my shoulder.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench. “Now tell me what your body’s saying.”

I slump onto the bench, sweat trickling down my spine. “It’s saying I’m not ready.”

He kneels again in front of me, tone low and honest. “No. It’s saying you need time. Which isn’t the same thing.”

Nico steps closer now too, crossing his arms. “You’re not failing by resting, Y/N. That’s the bravest thing you could do right now — listen.”

I exhale shakily, brushing my sleeve across my face. “I just… I don’t want them to worry. The boys. They were scared enough. If they knew I was training again, they’d—”

“—They’d be proud,” Diego finishes for me. “Because you're doing this smart. You're building up again. You’re not throwing yourself into a cockpit half-healed. You’re working for it. Quietly. Strongly.”

I don’t respond right away. Just nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes on Axel who’s still watching me with that serious, almost human stare.

“Just… don’t tell them yet,” I finally whisper. “Let this be mine a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his voice softer now. “Your story. Your pace.”

“Besides,” Diego adds, grinning again as he hands me a bottle of water, “when you finally show up at the garage again and toss your helmet on like nothing happened, they’re gonna lose their damn minds.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

I pick the dumbbells back up before they can stop me. Not for another full set — just one more press. One more reminder that I can. I lift them once, clean and steady, before lowering them again.

“That’s enough,” Diego says gently. “Today, that’s enough.”

And for once… I believe him. Because I know I’ll be back again tomorrow. And the day after that. I’m not chasing the old me anymore. I’m building someone stronger.

—

I hadn’t realized how much I missed the scent of race fuel and burnt rubber until I stepped through the paddock gates again.

The buzz. The noise. The heartbeat of a track that never really goes quiet.

The second my shoe hit the pavement inside the circuit, it all came rushing back — that itch in my fingers to feel the steering wheel again, the thrum in my chest that didn’t hurt anymore but still pulsed with memory. I wasn't driving today — still under the "you're technically held together with sports tape and medical optimism" clause — but I was here.

That counted for something.

Nico was walking just to my left, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his black team jacket, looking every bit like my silent, slightly too-calm bodyguard. Meanwhile, Paul practically bounced beside me on the right, grinning like a rookie who’d been handed keys to a spaceship.

“I swear, I thought you were just a myth,” Paul said, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder. “They said ‘Ghost will meet with you before FP1’ and I was like, cool, should I also expect a unicorn and a sentient AI?”

My voice changer cracked slightly as I tilted my helmet toward him. “Sentient AI would be less chaotic than most of this team.”

Paul snorted. “And here I thought you were gonna be mysterious and intimidating. You’re… kind of hilarious.” I shrugged beneath my oversized hoodie. “Don’t get comfortable. I bite.”

“That would explain never taking that helmet off.” he said with an exaggerated look of fear. “Let me just go prep for my debut with the racetrack cryptid watching me from the pit wall.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your job today is to not crash my car, Aron. It likes being pampered.”

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, just as we turned down the garage hallway.

I smirked under the helmet, then nudged him with my elbow. “Lots. Don’t downshift too hard into turn six — it’ll get twitchy. There’s a subtle bump on the exit of nine, trust your rear to hold but don’t overcorrect. And if you talk back to Diego during the debriefs, I’ll personally short-sheet your bed for the rest of the season.”

Paul stared at me, eyes wide. I tilted my head playfully. “What?” “That was… disturbingly specific. How do you even know about short-sheeting beds?”

“Because I’m creative and mildly vindictive.” Nico coughed — poorly disguised laughter — and muttered, “He learned it from Oscar.”

I pretended not to hear him and turned my attention back to Paul. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be on the pit wall the whole time, headset on, translating Diego’s feedback into ‘Paul Speech.’ He’s been dying to lecture someone other than me.”

“Oh great, I’m the replacement victim,” Paul said, mock sighing. “But really, thanks. This means a lot, Ghost. Being the reserve is weird — you never know when you’ll actually be used. I thought I’d be invisible.”

I reached up and tapped the visor of my helmet, voice softening through the modulator. “Invisibility doesn’t mean unimportant. You’ve got this.” He smiled then, really smiled. That bright, pure grin that reminded me so much of Jack it almost stung.

“Alright, cool,” he said, straightening his posture like he was trying to match the height of his moment. “Let’s go make you proud.”

“Oh, you’re already halfway there,” I replied. “You didn’t trip coming off the shuttle. That’s one more point than I had on my first day.”

“I knew you were a disaster once,” he laughed.

“Once?” Nico muttered beside us. “That implies improvement.”

“Rude,” I said flatly through the voice changer, flipping him off.

We turned into the garage then, the loud hum of tools and chatter dimming the second we stepped through the threshold. The mechanics looked up, a few nodding in recognition as I passed, others just giving me that respectful kind of glance — Ghost’s back. Even if I wasn’t driving, I was here.

Paul peeled off to go suit up. I took a breath, looking over at my car — technically still mine, even if someone else would be behind the wheel for FP1. It gleamed under the overhead lights, waiting.

My fingers twitched. Soon.

Nico said something, but I didn’t hear him — not really. Because just then, the gravity of being back settled in my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just this warm, solid weight of home.

And I didn’t even realize how tightly I’d been holding onto that until I let myself feel it again.

—

The hum of the garage had dulled to a low buzz after FP1 wrapped. Tools were put back in drawers, pit boards were stacked, and Paul was somewhere in the back being debriefed, grinning like a kid who’d just aced his first big test.

I stayed where I was on the pit wall, not wanting to really speak to the media or answer questions. I didn’t need to hide here. But, it still gave me that edge of comfort… a thin line between me and the rest of the world. Especially when emotions threatened to press a little too close to the surface.

“You looked good out there,” a voice said behind me — calm, familiar, warm.

I turned slightly, already recognizing Franco’s tone before my eyes landed on him. He gave me a soft nod, leaning his elbows against the barrier beside me, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I wasn’t out there,” I said, the voice changer wrapping my words in static.

He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp and quiet. “Didn’t say you were driving. I said you looked good out there.”

I paused. Then exhaled through my nose and pulled out the mic cord completely, letting it hang from the railing as I leaned forward a bit, matching his posture.

There was a moment of silence before I added, softer, “You know it hurt… at first”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“It hurt a lot to sit here and not be the one buckling in. To know that the car — my car — was about to be driven without me. And that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fight it.”

My hands clenched slightly at the memory — the ache in my ribs still faint under the surface, the scar on my arm pulling a little under the hoodie.

“I kept thinking about how many races I might miss… how slow recovery’s felt. How I used to fly in that thing. And now I’m grounded. Watching. Coaching. Like I’m some kind of whisper in the background of my own team. Truly a ghost by name. ”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly against mine — an anchor.

“But…” I said, slowly, breathing in deep. “Then Paul started talking. Asking me questions. Getting excited. Like… full-on spark-in-his-eyes excited. And I realized I could still be part of it. Just from here. From the wall. From the headset.”

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. “He listens. Like really listens. And seeing him figure things out… watching him light up after his first laps? I don’t know. It felt… right. Not perfect. Not the way I wanted to be here. But right… okay.”

Franco nodded once, voice soft. “You’re still racing. You never stopped.”

I looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Just because you’re not in the seat doesn’t mean you’re not driving this thing forward. He wouldn’t be out there doing so well without your help. You’re shaping him. You’re shaping this whole team.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

My throat tightened a little behind the helmet. “I think… for the first time since the crash… I don’t feel broken being here. I feel like I still have a purpose. I want Paul to do well. I want him to prove himself. I want him to have the chances I had. And if I can help him get those… then maybe this isn’t all just pain and waiting.”

Franco reached up then and gently knocked on the side of my helmet. “That’s the champion mindset. And the good teammate mindset.”

He grinned. “Even with the scary voice mod.”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s for dramatic effect.”

“You’re terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Inspiring, but terrifying.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that eases tension like a pressure valve finally letting go.

Then Franco leaned back and said quietly, “It’s okay to feel both, you know. The pain and the pride. You’re allowed to miss it. And you’re allowed to find joy in what you can do right now.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “For saying that.”

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time that day, I let myself take my helmet off — slowly — and just breathe.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t stare. He just offered a genuine smile, no different than the one he gave me when I was Ghost.

“You’ll be back in the car soon,” he said. “But until then? This version of you — the strategist, the leader, the teammate — is just as badass.”

I blinked at him, then smiled.

“Don’t tell Diego or Nico that. It’ll go to their heads, like some mother duckling they might pull me from my seat.”

Franco smirked. “My lips are sealed.”  I smiled back before following him back across the pit towards the garage. 

—

It was race day when the others finally found me.

Sure, they knew I was here. The media had caught glimpses of "Ghost" in the paddock all weekend, whispers and blurry photos circling online. But catching me for a real conversation? Actually pinning me down? That was a whole different challenge to them.

Until a very familiar flash of papaya orange caught me out.

I was tucked away in a quiet corner behind one of the hospitality buildings, sitting on a crate, sipping from a water bottle, my legs stretched out in front of me.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up — only to see a smirking Oscar Piastri standing there, arms crossed.

“Well, look who I finally found," he said, tilting his head at me with a grin. "Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy during your injury. Yet here you are. Hiding like a delinquent.”

I didn’t get a word in before he stepped closer, peering dramatically at me.

“I hope you at least have your brace on under that hoodie," he teased, tugging playfully at the sleeve. "Would hate to have to carry you back to the medical center and explain to the physios why you’re broken again."

I scoffed behind the voice modulator, batting his hand away. "Relax, Mum," I said dryly. "Brace is on. Doctor's orders. I’m being good."

Oscar chuckled, dropping down onto the crate beside me with a quiet oof, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.

"I dunno if sitting here in your emo corner counts as being good," he quipped. "But it’s good to see you. Missed you, you know."

I smiled — small, hidden — but it was there.

"Missed you too, mate."

We sat there for a beat, the sounds of the paddock — tools clanging, fans yelling, engines roaring in the distance — fading into a quieter hum around us.

"You look good," Oscar said suddenly, voice softer now. "Healthier. Stronger."

"Feel stronger," I admitted, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie. "Still a long way to go. Still can’t race yet. But it’s... better being here. Even if I’m not in the car."

Oscar nodded, watching me with that patient, careful look he only ever used when he dropped the sarcasm.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply.

Before I could say anything back — feeling dangerously close to getting a lump in my throat — another familiar voice floated over to us.

"There you are!"

I turned just in time to see Charles approaching, helmet in one hand, hair a little messy from pulling it off, suit half-zipped down. His face was lit up with relief, though there was a thin line of worry etched between his brows too.

"I have been looking everywhere," Charles said, crouching in front of us, resting his elbows on his knees so we were eye-level. "You are impossible to find sometimes, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," I joked lightly, voice still crackling with the modulator.

Charles huffed a laugh, but then his gaze softened as he studied me.

"You are really here," he said, almost to himself. "And you are doing well."

"Trying," I said honestly. "It... wasn’t easy at first."

Oscar nodded beside me, nudging my arm. "But she's kicking ass. You should've seen her, Charles. Advising Paul like a damn pro. Ghost engineer era unlocked, I can’t wait to see what they can do during the race together."

Charles smiled — a real, warm smile — and reached out to squeeze my hand where it rested on my knee.

"I am proud of you, mon amie," he said. "More than you know. It takes a lot of strength to be here. To stay when it hurts."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing gently into my chest — not painful, not overwhelming. Just... steadying.

"I needed to be here," I whispered. "For the team. For myself. Even if it’s just helping from the wall. It feels like... I'm still part of it."

"You never stopped being part of it," Oscar said quietly.

Charles nodded, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. "And you never will."

For a moment, the three of us just sat there in the shade, the chaos of race day spinning on without us. It didn’t matter. It could wait.

Because here, hidden behind the noise, tucked into a small, forgotten corner of the paddock, I was reminded that even when I couldn’t drive, even when my body wasn’t at a hundred percent — I wasn’t alone. And that was enough. For now at least.

—

The race was chaotic.

From the second the lights went out, my heart thundered in my chest, the noise of the engines vibrating through the pit wall. I sat perched on a high stool right beside Diego, headset snug over my helmet, live feed on the monitors in front of me.

Paul's voice crackled through the radio — tight, a little anxious. His first F1 race. His first real chance. He'd qualified P14, and while it was a hell of a debut, he wanted more. We all did.

"Focus up, rookie," I murmured into the radio, voice softened by the modulator but still carrying the firmness I knew he'd hear. "Eyes forward. Breathe. You’re better than half the grid out there."

"Copy," Paul answered, clipped but trying to sound calm. I could hear the nerves anyway, layered under every word.

The first few laps were brutal — midfield battles that could turn ugly fast. Paul held steady, sharp and clean even under pressure. But he hesitated at key moments — lifting just a fraction when he could’ve pressed the attack.

"Car ahead is struggling with rears," I said, low and steady in his ear as Diego fed me data. "Watch him out of Turn 7. You’ll have him on exit."

A beat.

"Okay," Paul breathed. "Okay, Ghost. I trust you."

I smiled behind the visor, chest tight with pride.

And sure enough, two laps later, Paul slipped past in a beautifully patient move, climbing to P13.

The race ebbed and flowed, the pit stop cycle throwing chaos into the midfield. Every time Paul's focus wavered, I was there — guiding without overwhelming, steering him without grabbing the wheel.

"Car in front weaving under braking. He’s nervous. You stay clean. He’ll crack first."

"Brake balance forward two clicks. Save your fronts, we’re gonna need 'em later."

"Trust your exit speed. You’re faster in S2. He can’t stop you if you set it up early."

It was like music, almost — this silent, invisible dance we did together, woven between the roar of the engines and the crackle of the radios.

Lap by lap, Paul clawed his way forward. P12. Then P11.

When we hit the final stint, fresher tires on and the car lighter on fuel, Diego leaned toward me, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"One more position," he said into my private channel. "We get points."

I keyed my mic again, calm even though my heart raced like mad.

"Paul. Eyes up. P10 ahead. You are faster. You are faster. Stay close. Pressure him."

Paul’s breathing was heavier now, the strain of the race wearing on him, but he responded instantly. "Copy, Ghost. I’m on it."

I watched, fists clenched, as he chipped away at the gap — lap after lap, tenth by tenth.

Finally, into Turn 4, he made the move — bold, late on the brakes, perfect.

P9.

Inside the points.

The final few laps were a blur of adrenaline, shouting, encouragement.

When the chequered flag waved, Diego practically threw his headset into the air beside me, and I couldn't hold back the yell that ripped from my throat over the radio.

"YES, PAUL! YES! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!" I screamed, voice cracking with pride and joy.

Over the team radio, Paul whooped, the pure exhilaration pouring out of him.

"OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, GHOST! THANK YOU!" he shouted, breathless. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU!"

"You did that," I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt under the helmet. "You kept your head, you fought smart — you earned this, Paul. You earned every bit of it."

He was still yelling and laughing as he pulled the car into parc fermé, tires screeching slightly. The mechanics and engineers around us were clapping, cheering, and I stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.

He did it. We did it.

I pushed through the crowd toward the car, heart hammering.

Paul barely waited for the car to cool down. As soon as he wrestled himself out of the cockpit, he tore off his steering wheel, slammed it into its mount, and sprinted toward me.

"Ghost!" he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion.

I didn't even have time to react before he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking us both off balance.

Our helmets clashed with a loud crack, making both of us stumble a little, but neither of us cared. Paul clung to me like a lifeline, arms tight around my back, helmet pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around him in return, gripping him just as hard, laughing breathlessly even as something in my chest squeezed and ached with pride.

"You absolute legend," I said, voice trembling. "I'm so proud of you, Paul. So, so proud."

He pulled back just a little, enough that our visors almost touched.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ghost," he said again, voice thick. "You believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it."

"I knew it from the start," I said quietly. "You just had to see it for yourself."

For a moment, the noise of the world faded away — the shouting, the music, the celebration. It was just the two of us, standing there in the middle of it all, holding onto each other like it mattered.

And maybe it did.

Maybe it mattered more than either of us could say.

Masterlist

Taglist @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym @ferrarisstrategy

[docsbestkissedoperative]

The (My) Centerpiece of Violence

Sequel to the Ocean of Blood

See under the cut for transcript and rambling

[START OF TRANSCRIPT]

DOC/2BDAMNED: I've been thinking of that dream you told me about.

And as I did, I started to ask myself...why I never considered what would become of you.

(and you) (and you) (and you) (and you)

Living a lifetime of violence. Forced to fight and forced to rise without your say so.

Do you do it willingly, HANK WIMBLETON? Does it even matter (to me) if you do, HANK?

There are things at play much larger than either of us. And I know at least one thing. They need you for whatever it is they have planned.

But the problem is, I need you too.

You are perfect in the ways I need you to be.

You knew madness before you knew your own name.

You are a killing machine. Violence is an inseparable part of your being.

It is exactly what I need. MY DUTY cannot be fulfilled without it.

Many sacrifices have been made to keep us (me) alive. And you are the latest one.

...

...

I'm sorry, Hank. I will not stop now. That status quo must remain.

Maybe you resent me for it already, and maybe one day you will understand (forgive me),

but I will not wait.

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

Rambling starts here! I'm very tired so I hope this makes sense. I also won't talk about every bit of the comic, so it might be that I jump here and there!

WOW! This one took a long time to make. This comic has been cooking up in my mind not long after I posted the Ocean of Blood one. From Doc's perspective, it is the point where he has to fully acknowledge the ramifications of what he does. Specifically, if he can justify taking another person's agency for the sake of his goals.

I mentioned in another post how Hank lacks a lot of agency, and how his status as the "eye of the storm" plays a lot into this. I added that this is partly because even if he has his own goals, he's only usually able to move if they happen to align with another person's goals as well. Right now, that person is Doc, and in the comic now, he's contemplating on whether to bring Hank back or not.

I believe Doc's work is very important to him. In one of the flashbacks in Project Nexus, Christoff describes what Doc does as "ghoulish", and THIS is the only time we actually see him mad! In the rest of the game, he's always the one who's keeping his cool, even when a meeting with the VendeVice goes wrong. To see him drop that and snap back because his work was questioned is SO interesting.

With how much he values what he does, I think another point of interest is his willingness to let someone lose their agency to fulfill his goals. The two best examples I can think of here is Hank and the Player from arena mode.

Quick context on this, the Player is essentially trapped in a timeloop because if not, Nevada will fall. While Doc can't control these loops, he shows no desire to help the Player even when he is made aware of the loops by them. At most, he thinks it's impressive and fascinating, and he tends to be cagey about revealing the information he knows.

For Hank, that's what I wanted to look at in the comic! I wanted a moment where Doc can't shrug it off as easily. In this case, not only does Hank directly tell him about it, but he has to contend with the fact that Hank is experiencing this because Doc has and will continue to make decisions that takes Hank's agency away from him.

For the Player, it's easy to say it's all as it was intended to be, all he did was start the process, especially when the Maker himself agrees on this. But now, Doc has to do more than just waking someone else up. He has to deliberately choose to bring a body back, put it together, revive it, command others to bring the body and revive it, tell Hank to do things for the sake of SQ, etc. He is now the main decision maker.

On the comic itself, I wanted to mention my color palette. While I use three colors, the most important ones here are red and white. In this comic and the Ocean of Blood, I tried to follow this logic: Red is a representation of violence and madness, while white is a separation from it. More often than not, the backgrounds are red because Nevada itself appears to be inherently violent.

(I try to keep this logic when I choose what color the text is, but I have to admit that it sometimes becomes a matter of compromise so you can actually see it)

When I drew the Player, white was used to also represent the Nowhere, which I see as separate enough from Nevada that that permanent state of violence doesn't quite reach it. The only thing you can do there is surrender yourself to it.

Moving on to Doc, his hair isn't kept as short as it usually is, and the things that tend to give him a more intimidating appearance are also gone (goggles, jacket, etc). Doc is just as prone to danger now as every other Nevadean. This is my way of showing Doc being "vulnerable" to some degree, since this is a moment where he has to think a LOT about what he's doing and its costs. So when he tidies his hair and puts it all back on in the end, it's his way of "locking in" so to speak.

Also fun fact! the parentheses were, for me, a way of Doc being just a liiiiiittle more honest about how he feels, but very quietly so.

I can't say he's made complete peace with his decisions, but because he deems his work as highly valuable, there's nothing that will stop him from continuing it.

A lot of panels also make use of things that have appeared in the Madcom series! The vollyball (it's spelled this way in the series!) and wanted poster are from MC4, the guitar lessons are from MC 9.5 part 1, and "MY:DUTY" and the poster in the same panel is from DISSENTER. I did my best to copy each one (with some liberties and added symbolism). If you look at which line Hank's name is written on the vollyball and guitar lessons posters, it should line up with where it's written in the real ones!

The vollyball and guitar lessons posters are also very important in Hank's case! For someone who lacks agency, the moments where he does show agency are really noteworthy! Hank chose to sign up for these things!

The Vitruvian Man is said to symbolize the perfect/ideal man, and the fibonacci sequence is said to appear often in nature. I wanted to say this because these are the 2 panels I had in mind since I first made this comic. the Vitruvian Man was something I considered for Ocean of Blood, but decided to move it here. I wish I could spend paragraphs here complaining about how long it took to make these 2 panels, but I'm happy with how they turned out so I'll let it slide

The last thing I want to mention is the hand gesture Doc does in the MY DUTY panel is the symbol for chemical equilibrium! Tbh, i struggled to find something that could symbolize the status quo, but i'd argue that doc would want that equilibrium as part of it

EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION UNTIL SOMEONE MENTIONED IT IN THE TAGS! It might be obscure-ish, but the panel that says Hank knew madness before he knew his name is from part of the 2nd makeship plush description of him: "A little known fact about Hank is that he was unaware of his name until he read it on wanted posters."

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 8

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: Jungkook, cursing, ghosting, wooyoung <3, angst. like a lot of it oop, vague mentions of what happened with Jungkook three years ago

☆word count: 7.2k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: this one is very sad and i'm sorry :') but i hope you guys still like it! I'm posting it from Seoul!!!! I'm so excited to be here:) and thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, October 26th

You wake up with the morning light, confused as to when you actually fell asleep. All you remember is tossing and turning, tears staining your cheeks, but it seems sleep found you at some point. You don’t feel rested though, heaviness clinging to your very soul, and you turn on your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. 

You turn it on, letting it scan your features before it opens on your conversation with San. His text sits there, unchanged by the last few hours, and your heart twists in your chest once more. Your reply, much less ominous, winks at you, its lack of response evident.

[3:07 am] You: are you okay?

You’re not surprised he hasn’t replied. His behaviour last night was strange, hurtful, but not quite as painful as it was to see Jungkook again. 

To think that Wooyoung was with Park Jimin…

You turn off your phone, lying on your back as you stare up at the ceiling. You wonder what happened for San to decide to leave without talking to you. You assume it must have been bad - San isn’t one for abandoning you like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes as your heart aches in your chest, fear wrapping around it like a tight, suffocating embrace. You don’t let the tears come this time, or maybe your exhaustion keeps them at bay. Indeed, your cheeks remain dry, and you’re able to take a few shuddering breaths in until the wave passes.

Fucking Jeon Jungkook…

You’re not even going to fucking say hi?

Jungkook’s words ring in your ears, as they’ve been doing since last night. The sight of him was surprising, disconcerting, and you still can’t believe he’s changed so much. Though he still had those same doe eyes that had stolen your heart when you were too young to see the evil lurking in their depths.

You wish last night had never happened. You wish you hadn’t seen Jungkook again, because you feel the trauma returning, you feel the pain that he’s caused you taking hold of you again. You barely survived the first time - will you survive this time around?

You ask yourself that question all day, as Sydney and Yunho force you to hang out in the living room with them. They’re cautious around you, but you barely even notice, too distracted with glancing at your phone every five minutes hoping that San might have replied to you.

But he doesn’t reply, and night comes again without a single word from him. He’s never not texted for such a long period before, and the fear from the morning strengthens its hold on you until you barely can breathe, tears once more spilling on your cheeks.

You think you know. You reckon you know, yet you don’t want to wrap your head around this new reality. You don’t want to accept it, and so you push the thoughts away, telling yourself that he might just be unwell.

What if something happened with his father? As much as it hurts, you wouldn’t blame him for pulling away. You know damn well that sometimes, you just need some time alone to figure shit out. Maybe San is similar to you in this way.

And so, while the moon laughs at you from its throne up in the sky, blazing bright in the cloudless night, you chase sleep that evades you, trying to ignore the stifling thoughts that haunt your mind.

Monday, October 28th

You sit at the back of the classroom, a bleary ghost barely able to keep your eyes open. You haven’t slept much over the weekend, the lack of response from San keeping you awake despite your tiredness. 

He didn’t reply yesterday either. And so, despite your short night of sleep, you decided to make your way to class, hoping to run into him. 

Hoping that he’ll reappear and everything will be okay now. So you anxiously stare at the door, worrying at your bottom lip. People come in, dispersing in the classroom, yet San stubbornly  remains out of sight. You clench your fists, letting the pain of your nails digging in your palm keep you grounded. 

Letting the physical pain keep you from crying in public like this. Because you feel like crying - you’ve been crying so much over the last two days. Everything about Jungkook rushing back in, San’s disappearance from your life…

You’ve always thought you were strong, yet you’ve never felt so weak. Weak enough that a single gust of wind might break you down, that a single ‘Are you okay?’ might have tears run down your cheeks. You feel feeble, like you might break into a thousand little pieces if somebody even looks your way.

But you hold on strong, staring at the door, hoping that he’ll be the next one to come in. But he doesn’t and, five minutes after the class starts, Wooyoung rushes in, sitting at an empty desk towards the middle of the class.

He glanced at you first. You’re fully aware that he glanced at you, but the apologetic smile he sent your way was nothing reassuring, and the knowledge that something really did happen settles so deep in your bones that you think you might collapse.

You don’t. You stay standing, always - what is there else to do anyway? 

When the class ends, Wooyoung lingers by the door, and though you don’t want to talk to him, don’t want him to tell you what might have happened out of fear of you having fucked it up without even realizing, he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Pain swells up in your chest, and you take a deep breath, looking towards the end of the hallway so that Wooyoung can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Ah, I guess so,” you reply. 

“Have you…” he trails off. Nayeon passes, and he smiles at her before continuing, “Have you talked to San over the weekend?”

San’s name stabs into your beating heart. It’s such a drastic change from the usual warmth that it brings you, and you want to go home. Want to go home and hide in a blanket until the world moves on and forgets all about you.

“I haven’t,” you reply flatly. “Why?”

“He’s been ignoring everyone all weekend, and he refused to let me in when I went to his place last night.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, hope threatening to lighten the dark skies your mind has been clouded with. Because if he’s ignoring everyone, and not just you… then surely it can’t be about you.

“Why would he…” you trail off.

Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders, pursing his lips. “I don’t know. I assumed something must have happened with you?”

“The last time I saw him was at the party,” you say. “He left without even saying goodbye.”

Wooyoung frowns. “He told me he was leaving after the stack-the-cup game. Not too long after you guys disappeared somewhere together.”

You blush as you reminisce about what you disappeared for. Was San embarrassed of it? Why else would he leave?

“He told me he was going to find you, but he didn’t tell me he was going to leave.”

“Did he look upset?” Wooyoung asks.

You pull at some dry skin on your lower lip. “Not at all… he said he’d find me later.”

Wooyoung sighs, grabbing his phone. You watch as he opens it, going to his instagram. He opens his conversation with San. He types a message, sending it without you being able to read it, and then he puts his phone back in his pocket.

“It’s fucking weird.”

Your gaze drops to the ground as you try to think, and all you can come up with is, “Did something happen with his dad?”

Wooyoung cocks a confused eyebrow. “His dad? Not that I know of.”

It’s the only thing that crosses your mind, especially after the conversation you had last Wednesday.

“I’ll try to talk to him again today,” Wooyoung says. “Let me know if he replies to you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and then you glance at the end of the hallway again. “Will do. Tell me if he replies to you, too.”

“Of course.” You’re starting to walk away when Wooyoung speaks up, saying your name. You turn to look at him again, and he adds, “I didn’t know you had an ex.”

Of course he didn’t. None of them did - only Sydney and Yunho know.

“Ah,” you let out. “He’s not really someone worth mentioning.”

Wooyoung walks towards you, and then you head together towards the stairs. “He’s got a weird vibe.”

You’re surprised Wooyoung noticed - most people always believe Jungkook to be the sweetest person. But then again, Wooyoung was there when Jungkook talked to you last Friday.

“He is…” You shrug your shoulders. “He is indeed weird.”

“Jimin refused to say anything about you and Jungkook,” Wooyoung adds.

You’re halfway down the stairs by then, and all you want is to step outside and run away from the conversation.

As much as you were ready to have said conversation with San, you don’t want to talk about it with Wooyoung.

“He probably just doesn’t want to stir shit,” you reply, offering Wooyoung a tight-lipped smile. 

Wooyoung shrugs. “Yeah, I got the feeling too.”

An awkward silence descends on the two of you, though you cling to it for dear life, hoping Wooyoung won’t ask any more questions. To your relief, he remains silent, clearly lost in thoughts too, and you make it all the way outside before he talks again.

“Are you coming to class this afternoon?” he asks, noticing you turning away to head out of campus.

“I’m kind of really tired,” you admit, and Wooyoung’s features turn apologetic.

Much like they had when he walked into class, and you only realize now that he was probably sorry because he couldn’t sit with you, and not because he knew something about San.

“No worries, go rest up,” he says, flashing you a smile. “I’ll send you my notes.”

Your eyes water at his words, and you blink it away as subtly as you can. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Wednesday, October 30th 

Two days later, and you still haven’t heard from San. You sent him a message yesterday night, telling him to let you know if he’s alive and that you don’t have to talk, but the message was delivered with no answer ever coming back.

You didn’t really expect one. Though Wooyoung did plant a seed of hope in your heart on Monday, that seed was quickly crushed by San’s neverending silence. 

It doesn’t help that you’re supposed to meet at the library tonight, like you’ve done every week since you started working on your project. You’ve been debating asking him if he’s still coming, yet you’re starting to feel like you’ll only get on his nerves.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would have already. And as much as it hurts to think he doesn’t want to talk to you, it’s also starting to anger you. You’ve never been good with silence - especially with how much Jungkook wielded that against you - and you hate that it’s starting to taint the image of San that you had in mind.

The only thing saving it from full corruption now is the fact that Wooyoung still hasn’t had news either, except from San liking a message that Wooyoung sent saying that he was there for him if he needed.

At least you know San is still alive.

You’re in class, eyes unfocused on your laptop in front of you. You blink a few times to bring it back into focus, and then you write down the sentence the professor just said, even though you have no clue if it’s important. Wooyoung is sitting next to you, pretty much in the same state as you, though you both startle when his phone vibrates on the desk between the two of you.

Especially as you both catch sight of who’s calling, San’s name burning into your retina.

You exchange a glance, eyes widened, and then Wooyoung grabs his phone, mouthing to you that he’ll be back. The professor barely even pays attention to him, and Wooyoung jogs out of the class, leaving you with your heart beating out of your chest as you wait for him to come back. 

And it takes a while, so much so that you’re left wondering if Wooyoung ran away. It’s a silly thought to have considering all of his stuff is still next to you, and so you take a deep breath, trying to slow down your heartbeats.

It doesn’t work. Your heart is beating so loud you can’t even hear the professor anymore, and it only increases, adrenaline spiking in your blood, when Wooyoung comes back with a dreary expression. 

He sits next to you, putting his phone face down between the two of you. You tap his arm, question marks etched in your eyes, but he only mouths that you can talk after class. You clench your jaw, knowing you won’t be able to focus on the class at all now - not that you were really focusing before - and you take a deep breath, looking at the professor.

The class is unending. The class is time stretched into a moment of hell, and you think you’ll be stuck here forever, your heartbeats echoing in your mind louder than bombs. Your hands are slightly shaking, making it hard to take notes, and the next thirty minutes pass like fifteen hundreds of them.

You think you have died four times by the time the professor tells the class to pack their bags, yet it does eventually happen, making your heart rate spike in your chest again.

“So?” you immediately say as you turn towards Wooyoung.

His lips stretch in a tight line, and his eyes flutter close, almost like he’s pained. “I…” He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and looks at you. “I think you should move on.”

The words stop the world around you, leaving only them and their incessant echo, and your lungs fill with burning lava, making it hard to breathe.

It can’t be. It can’t fucking be - you’ve only had weeks with Choi San, and now life is tearing you apart? It’s unfair.

But you know. You know you never should have fallen in love with him. Why would you deserve it anyway?

“What?” you let out, your voice smaller than the atoms holding a single drop of water together.

A single drop of water, now lost at sea.

“He refused to tell me exactly what happened, but he said…” Wooyoung stops, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“What did he say?” you ask, furiously blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

“I just think you should move on,” Wooyoung says softly.

“What did he say?” you repeat, your heart slowly shattering in your chest, like a car crash in slow motion.

Wooyoung sighs, closing his eyes. “He said that he doesn’t want to talk to you, or to talk about you.”

Your hand clenches in a tight fist. “Why? What happened?”

“Fuck if I know.” Wooyoung seems resigned, sad, and he meets your gaze with such pity in his eyes you almost want to punch him.

But it’s not his fault. Of course it’s always been yours.

“I’m really sorry,” Wooyoung whispers. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

One tear wins, and you immediately dry it with a swipe of your hand. “It’s not your fault,” you reassure him.

You look away, putting your stuff in your school bag hurriedly. Wooyoung stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you clench your jaw hard before biting into your tongue, hoping that it might keep the rest of your tears at bay.

“Give him some time,” Wooyoung says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to talk to him to figure out why he made that decision.”

You think about Jimin. You think about how he was stuck between you and Jungkook for so long before he inevitably chose Jungkook’s side, leaving you alone in the end. And so you pat Wooyoung’s hand, offering him a sad smile.

“Don’t put yourself between me and him,” you tell Wooyoung.

“I just…” he trails off as he watches you getting up.

“It’s not worth it,” you add. “If San made a decision, the only thing we can do is respect it.”

No matter how much it hurts. No matter how difficult it is to walk away from Wooyoung now, your fist tight on one of the straps of your school bag like it’s a buoy keeping you afloat despite the storm raging in your heart and mind.

You don’t know how you make it home. You’ve gone into survival mode, taking one step at a time without really looking at where you’re going. You just hear Wooyoung’s words on repeat - so many words have been haunting you lately.

You wish you could forget all the words in the dictionary. Wish you could be hit with amnesia so that the pain wouldn’t linger too long. 

But it does. The pain makes a home in your heart, taking all the memories of you and San and tainting them with bittersweet heartbreak.

He decided to ghost you. San, sweet, sweet Choi San decided to ghost you, and you don’t even know why. You don’t know what brought him to that decision - is it because you said you wanted to wait before being boyfriend and girlfriend when he called you his girl at the Halloween party?

If only you had known… you’d go back in time and change your words, tell him you want him like the moon wants the sea, pulling it just a little closer whenever it passes in the sky. Yet the moon never touches the sea and maybe, maybe that’s what your story with Choi San was supposed to be in the end.

The story of reaching for someone, but only meeting a void instead.

You’re outside in front of your apartment building. Have been for a moment, looking at the door. It’s like you’ve been frozen in place - maybe the atmosphere was wiped from the Earth, and you were hit with absolute zero.

Yunho appears, opening the door in front of your dead eyes. He takes you in, gaze widening, and then he’s jogging towards you.

He says your name alarmingly, and then adds, “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

A sob wracks through you, cracking the ice covering your body, and you hide your face in your hands. Yunho immediately pulls you into a tight hug, and then he’s guiding you towards the door, and all the way to your apartment.

“I’m calling Syd,” he says once he’s had you take off your coat and boots, and told you to sit on the couch. 

“Don’t bother,” you say, taking a deep breath through the heartbreak. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s all he says before he’s pressing his phone to his ear. Sydney picks up a moment later, and you barely listen as Yunho explains he’s found you crying outside, and that she should come over. He’s hanging up not too long after, and then he goes to the kitchen, bringing you back a glass of water.

“I’m not thirsty,” you mumble.

“Do I look like I care?” he asks. “Drink up.”

You glare at him, but he looks so serious that you do grab the glass, taking a sip from it. “Happy?”

“More,” he insists, folding his arms on his chest.

Annoyed, you take another longer sip. “Happy now?”

Yunho sighs, sitting down on the couch next to you. He doesn’t say anything for a time, and the tears start making their way to your eyes again.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho says. “Drink your water.”

“I don’t want to drink the fucking water.”

“I don’t know how to cheer you up, so you’re going to drink your water while we wait for Syd to get here, m’kay?”

He’s stupid. Your brother is stupid, but at least he’s trying. And you realize that, when you’re drinking water, the sobs don’t quite make their way to the surface. It helps with keeping you grounded, and you’re not really crying anymore by the time Sydney arrives, twenty minutes later.

She looks worried, kicking off her boots by the door before walking towards you and your brother. She meets Yunho’s gaze, who shrugs, and then she’s sitting on the other side of you.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.” You chuckle bitterly, not surprised when tears wet your eyes again. “San just decided he was done with me and had Wooyoung tell me.”

“Oh.” You’re crying again, and Sydney awkwardly wraps you into a hug, patting your back. “I’m sorry, bubs.”

“I just don’t get it,” you say through the renewed sobs. “We were all good last Friday, and then he left and he ignored me and now this? What the fuck did I do?”

If only you had known that your last kiss would have been that kiss outside of the bathroom by the stairs. You would have kissed him longer, held him longer, kept him close until the Sun would have burned out in the sky. But you didn’t, and all that’s left is a memory that’s not quite focused because you didn’t know it was going to be so important.

“What a fucking ass,” Yunho grumbles next to you.

Sydney moves and, knowing her, you assume she’s glaring at him. “I’m really sorry.” She rubs your back soothingly some more, and then grabs the empty glass of water to give it to Yunho. “Did something happen in the days before the party?”

You rack your mind in search of an explanation and once again, all that comes up is the conversation about his dad.

“He told me some shit about his dad,” you reveal. “But I don’t know why that would lead him to end things like this.”

“What did he say?”

You don’t want to say it. Especially not when he mentioned he’d never told anyone before. Even if you somehow fucked up the relationship, you don’t want to betray his trust like that.

“Just that his dad is an ass,” you choose to say, the half-truth having to be enough for now.

Sydney and Yunho don’t reply, as if expecting for more to come, but you fall silent, focusing on trying to breathe normally. It works enough for you to sit straighter, and Sydney’s hand returns to her lap.

“He’s wild for doing this considering we have friends in common,” Yunho says after a time. He curses underneath his breath, shaking his head. “Like for real, what does he think will happen when Hongjoong organizes something again?”

“Don’t stir shit,” you tell your brother sternly. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“You haven’t done shit, though,” Yunho says. “Unless you’re not telling us something.”

“Yunho,” Sydney warns.

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

Yunho’s gaze widens in fear. “Wait no, fuck no. I know you haven’t done anything.”

“Did you… tell him about Jungkook?” Sydney asks.

As always, the name stings, yet you think San’s name stings a lot more now. “I didn’t even have time to tell him.”

“Jungkook was there at the party…” she trails off, and it only then dawns on you that San and Jungkook might have talked that night, even if Wooyoung didn’t mention it.

“Do you think Jungkook told him something?”

Silence settles in your mind, clarity hitting you. Your gaze widens, and the pain momentarily disappears. “Oh shit.”

“You should try to talk to him.”

The thing is… how? San is visibly ignoring your texts, and he’s not coming to class anymore. You ask yourself that question for the rest of the day, especially once you’ve assured Yunho and Sydney that you'll be okay just so that they let you retreat to the quiet of your room.

You end up trying to work on the project, only for you to stare at the screen as all the times you studied with San keeps popping up in your mind. Treacherous little thoughts, yet they are tinged with a flicker of hope now at the thought that you might be able to fix things if you talk to him.

But what would you say? How would you say things? Most importantly, how are you going to convince San of your story if Jungkook already said his side?

You’re going insane. Insane with questions and sorrow, anxiety and hope and what ifs. Because what if you had talked to San before? What if, tonight, you were going to sleep in his arms instead of alone in the vast, empty expanse of your bed?

It’s late at night when you finally gather the courage to text San. It takes you forever to figure out what to say, and you spend so much time trying to convince yourself to press send. Hell, you think an eternity has passed before your hovering finger finally presses down, and another eternity for the message to deliver.

But at least it delivers. And so you reread, hoping the message is conveyed properly.

[2:08 am] You: hey San! wooyoung told me to move on but i want to give us a try. you matter to me, and i really think we should talk just to see if we can fix things. so please, please reply to me, i can meet you at your place tomorrow evening or over the weekend. no pressure as to when, but please let me just talk to you… it’s been hard without you

So it’s with hope in your heart that you eventually fall asleep that night, your dreams clinging to Choi San as if that might bring him back to you.

Thursday, October 31st

The streets are filled with kids in their costumes, their laughter echoing as they run from houses to houses, carrying bags of treats around like their own little treasures. You’re walking amongst them, face hidden in your scarf - the weather is back to being cold - yet you don’t have much of a destination.

Unlike the kids, your evening isn’t born out of the excitement of youth. Indeed, the heartbreaks of early adulthood are plaguing you, and you don’t know what to make of it.

San hasn’t replied to your text. You weren’t really expecting him to - the hope had been but a decoy of the true pain sitting in your chest. It did linger for part of the day today, but when you finished a class he once again didn’t attend, Wooyoung waving at you from where he sat at the front, you knew it was over.

You don’t think there’s anything you could do or say to salvage the relationship with San. Maybe at first, telling him the truth about Jungkook - your truth - would have made things possible, but San’s constant choice to ignore you, to ghost you like you never mattered, has been making you realize that maybe the whole thing was just painted in the pink tint of budding love. But now you see clearer - now you see San’s choice for what it is.

Avoidance of commitment, and a side of emotional immaturity. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since after the class, if only so that you don’t drown in the heartbreak.

It’s not quite working. Maybe because you can’t bring yourself to see San as the villain, especially not with how sweet he’s always been to you before last Friday. Or maybe you just didn’t truly know him. Maybe he’s the type to run the second a hint of true commitment appears on the horizon. You wouldn’t be surprised - besides Nayeon, he hasn’t really had a relationship. And you don’t know if she even counts. When he spoke of her, it seemed like their relationship was more of a close friendship over anything else, but you might have been wrong.

You might have misinterpreted his feelings for her. In truth, you might have misinterpreted everything when it comes to him, considering the ending. 

You should have known. He does have the reputation to be the kind of guy that sleeps around, yet you went into the whole thing blinded by your need to have someone that stands by your side. A need you didn’t even realize you had until it was too late and you’d lost it.

Because you feel astray now. You feel lost, empty, with no true sense of north and south. You feel like you’re just wandering, like the only goal you’d had in mind has been stripped away from you.

Yet your feet have a goal of their own - your walk brings you close to San’s apartment complex, and you find yourself looking up at the windows, wondering if you can tell which is his.

Wondering if somewhere up there, he’s looking back at you. And so you stand there, your heart trying to reach for him yet only finding an empty void. You take a deep breath, your gaze dropping to the ground.

You miss him. You fucking miss him, fucking wish you’d known that it was the end. You wish you could have at least committed something to memory so that you could have something to remember him by.

But will you even remember him? Twenty years down the line, will you visit memory lane and find him standing there, or are those mere weeks going to be wiped from your memory? It’s a bittersweet thought to realize that something that matters so much might just disappear.

San might disappear. Part of you thinks he’s already started to disappear.

How else could he become such a ghost in your life, if not for him disappearing?

Your eyes fill with tears, and you blink them away frustratedly. And then you take another deep breath, and you look up one last time.

San is on the other side of the street, and your heart stops in your chest. He’s looking at you, too. For half a heartbeat, you think he might even call your name. You think you might even run across the street, run to him and let him whisk you away again.

He looks tired. Exhausted, haunted, much like you. Or maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you just wish the burden is shared between the two of you. Perhaps it won’t crush you if it is.

But then San turns around, walking into his building as if you’re just strangers, strangers that share memories that will soon disappear. It hurts so bad your knees feel weak, and you think about running across the street. You think about running to him, only to tell him how much of an asshole he is. How much of a coward he is, too.

Because how can he turn his back on you like that? How can he pretend that, eight days ago, he didn’t make love to you? That even more recently, he didn’t tell you he wanted you to be his girlfriend?

You’ll never understand men. They throw away without trying to fix anything, thinking that connections are replaceable. You can’t blame them - in this day and age, it’s so easy to find someone. But you thought that what you and San had was special. You thought it was different, written in the universe the same way the constellations are written in the night sky. 

It’s a startling thing to realize there is no night sky for you and Choi San in this universe. So you turn back around, too. You turn your back on you and him, choosing yourself over someone that didn’t even think you mattered enough to talk to you. You turn your back on the way he held you, the way he kissed you and made love to you. You turn your back on the feelings he used to ignite in your chest, welcoming the pain and anger instead.

Though you don’t know who the anger is really directed to. Is it directed to him, for choosing to not talk to you, or to yourself, for not being honest with him from the beginning? You can’t tell and... and perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps it’s okay that the anger is directed to the both of you. It keeps you afloat, helps you drift back home despite the sorrow threatening to take a hold of you.

But when you hear Sydney laughing from behind Yunho’s closed door, loneliness hits you head on like a car hitting a wall of bricks. It hits so hard you almost collapse by the door, but you don’t want to worry them. Don’t want them to realize that, maybe you never told San because you didn’t think you deserved him anyway.

Maybe you thought you were always going to lose him anyway, so why offer such a fragile piece of your soul to him? A piece that would have been corrupted by whatever Jungkook told him at the party, if Jungkook even talked to him.

You think about Jungkook. You think about the night he told you it was better to take a break, and the lonely weeks that followed. You think about how you’d use to stalk all of his friends’ socials, Jimin’s included, hoping that you might catch sight of him. You think about the August night when he came back, right after the loneliness got too much for you.

History repeats itself, doesn’t it? 

And so you hate yourself. You hate yourself for all the mistakes you’ve committed in your life, for the way you lost Choi San without ever really having him to begin with. And maybe that’s why you find yourself calling your mother. 

You doubt anyone other than her would be able to stir you away from your spiralling thoughts.

“Hello!” your mother cheerfully says when she picks up after the third ring. 

You remain silent, not finding in you to reply. All you manage to do is kick off your shoes, and your mother says your name as you’re walking towards your room.

“Hey.” Your voice is flat. Empty, hurt, and you wish you could sound happier. You wish you were, but there’s only pain where joy used to be.

“Is everything okay?” your mother asks, her concern so evident you find yourself missing her like crazy.

“Not really,” you reply truthfully, tears pricking at your eyes. 

You lean against the door of your room, softly letting yourself fall to the floor.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

Everything. It feels like everything is wrong, yet you can’t really tell that to your mother, can you?

“Remember the guy I told you about?” You take a shaky breath in. “Things didn’t work out with him.”

To say the words aloud… it makes everything much more real. It feels like your heart has turned to ice in your chest, cold seeping in your soul until tears start rolling down your cheeks.

“What happened?” she gently asks.

You don’t know what to tell her. You can’t bring yourself to say something that would make her hate San. It’s not like with Jungkook - your parents never liked Jungkook. But she’d said that San sounded like an amazing person, and that she was excited to meet him one day. You’d told her that she should be patient, that you weren’t even sure if you’d date him… 

But it was your first time even showing any interest in a guy after Jungkook, outside of your occasional hookups. Obviously your mother had to be excited about it - it was a sign that you were healing.

You inhale sharply, drying some tears on your cheeks. “It just didn’t work out,” you choose to say. “I guess I wasn’t ready after all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It hurts, mom,” you let out, and then a sob breaks through your previous countenance. “I really thought I was going to date this guy.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “Please remember that there will always be someone else.”

But you don’t want there to be someone else.

“You met dad at nineteen,” you say. “I’m already twenty-two and I’m just so fucking miserable.”

You’re full on crying now, and your words don’t even make sense.

“Honey, you’re still so young,” your mother gently says. “There are so many people that you will meet that you haven’t met yet.”

“But that’s what scares me.” You sniffle. “What if I just end up forgetting him?”

“Is that so bad?”

It is. It is so bad in every way it could possibly be. Because you don’t want Choi San to become a memory, but the story has ended. It ended with a blank chapter, yes, but it ended nevertheless.

“It’s just sad, no? Like… how can someone matter a lot, and then they just leave?”

Your mother sighs - not out of annoyance, but out of pain for you - and you hate that you’re the one upsetting her right now. “You really liked this guy, didn’t you?”

You did. So much more than you even realized you did.

“Yes.” You lean your head back against the door, your eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I did. I do.”

“I’m sorry.” You hear your father’s voice on the other side of the line, and your mother whispers something to him that you can’t quite hear. “Why don’t you come here this weekend?” she suggests. “We could go on a shopping spree and make some apple crumble.”

You chuckle through your sobbing. “That’d be amazing.”

To get out of the city for a while… it might be much needed indeed.

“Ask your brother too! We might even be able to bring dad to the Christmas tree farm and decorate for Christmas early.”

“Don’t rope me into your plans!” your father teases in the background.

Your mother’s answering giggle makes your lungs burn, and you clench your jaw so hard it tastes like blood. Because they’re in love - you don’t know how you went wrong with Jungkook, and now San, but your parents have always shown you the perfect picture of love. Yet it’s something you’ve never attained, something you think might forever be out of reach for you.

“We need you to carry the tree,” your mother says.

“Yun will do it.”

“He’ll be too busy with Syd.”

You can’t listen to the conversation anymore. Not when it makes you realize how everyone around you is in love, even though you don’t have a lot of people around at all. You only have Sydney, your brother and your parents - it’s almost embarrassing.

“Hey, mom,” you say. “I think I’ll go.”

“We can talk some more!” she immediately says, most likely sensing your discomfort.

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I’ll check with Yunho if he can this weekend.”

“Honey…” your mother trails off. “I’m hugging you through the phone.” 

Your lips stretch in a sad smile. “Thanks, mom.”

“Can’t wait to do face masks with you!”

She’s trying. She’s trying so hard, yet you don’t want to talk to her anymore. You want to be alone, you want to cry your heart out until all the pain is out instead of in. 

“Can’t wait either,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“Oh, honey, I can’t hang up when you’re crying.”

You sigh. “It’s okay, mom. I’m just going to lie down.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping well, so maybe a nap will help.”

There’s a moment of silence in which you expect her to try and keep you around, yet she eventually says, “Okay. But call me again if you need to talk, alright?”

“Yes, mom.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You hang up, putting your phone down on the floor next to you. Your room is dark, but you don’t feel like turning the lights on. You don’t want to - there’s some comfort in the darkness, like you don’t need to pretend anymore. And so you bend your legs, pull them to your chest and put your chin on your knees as the tears freely fall.

But you don’t sob anymore. It’s like you’re too tired, and you might actually be. There’s just so many rollercoasters your heart can take in such a short period of time. And so you cry. You cry for what could have been with San, for the loneliness that settles in your chest like it’s been its home all along. You cry for everything you had started to build with him - for Mr. Snake, for the box cakes, for the Lego set and for all the nights you fell asleep in his arms.

You cry because there hasn’t been enough. There hasn’t been enough, and there won’t be more, and you think life is cruel for that. Or perhaps he’s the cruel one - would a conversation have been able to fix things, or would he have been too far gone anyway?

To think that it happened overnight, from one day to the next… You never could have imagined that losing him would be so drastic. Like taking a step off a cliff’s edge, and falling to your demise.

It’s unfair, and you want to hate him. Still think part of you hates him, though most of this hate is directed at you. It always has - why would it be different now?

You pick up your phone, swiping it open and heading to the conversation with him. You reread your last text message and then your fingers are moving of their own accord, flying on the keyboard.

[8:21 pm] You: i just don’t understand. i don’t understand what happened, and it feels so unfair. why can’t you even talk to me? did i do something wrong? did i say the wrong thing? i really don’t fucking understand. i really thought we had something… i hope you don’t do that to all the girls you see bc fuck san are you even aware of how much it hurts? i fucking miss you and you just fucking ghosted me out of nowhere and now i’m just supposed to pretend idc? cause shit you’re so good at it. did you even care about me at all? you tell me all this shit about your dad and then you leave like it’s nothing. i’ll never understand you. and i don’t even want to fucking understand you.

When the message delivers, you put your phone back down. It doesn’t feel better now that the words are out, now that the anger spiked and left you. It only feels worse because, if you weren’t done with him before, now you surely are.

You and Choi San are done, the blank chapter has been filled with a text message.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, only to be haunted by nightmares of a better time.

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i apologize infinitely for this chapter please don't scream at me (feel free to scream at me). let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[linksfunroadtrip]

Link's Fun Commentary - Prologue!

+ sailor design commentary. link's fun extra

Twilight Field, War of Eras...

Sailor starting in Hyrule Warriors and being dropped immediately into Shepherd's era is actually the second pitch for the beginning of the comic, the very First pitch being the first two pages of chapter 1.

More than anything we just wanted to get it done, but we didn't really know what we were doing . We cobbled together a custom font and got right to it. My Fun Facts: All the grass is the same image reused over and over except for when it isn't . Literally all of the smoke was just repeated/moved around. We didn't even really know how to use gradients effectively...

... Which can be seen in these next two panels. LOL.

The work split on this batch set a precedent for sure. @islandlobster took up lining and flat colors, and had the Hard Job of harmonizing our styles, processes, and experiments. Do you see a lot of small, long-form comics with grainy, textured line-art? Maybe no? Well we found out why.

These panels also feature the Only Two Triforces we remembered to draw !!! Oh My God!!!

As much as we struggled, things moved pretty quick from the get-go. Since the prologue is only a handful of pages we didn't really run into the issues we would with chapter 1, especially regarding our complete and utter lack of script. This went straight from thumbnailing to the final result!! (NOT A SUSTAINABLE WAY TO DO A GROUP PROJECT...!)

I wanted to mention though that when I wrote the line above, I wasn't sure if this was how you would spell it for like . a Soldier Troop or a Performance Troupe. Which I just looked up now and found out I Absolutely got them mixed up. so umm. Sorry. Sailor is not in the circus yet.

Cia was just defeated in the main campaign! I felt like such a smart cookie for this one.

She doesn't even know she wont be going home yet‼️ laughing and pointing ‼️

It was an Early idea that Sailor would conveniently miss the time portal transporting the field (with her in it!) back to its era. This was supposed to be a reoccurring bit, but we didn't commit to it too hard going forward, so who's to say if that'll be realized.

The pirate charm plays a big role in the prologue. A little funny because we were absolutely sick to death of drawing it by the end, as well as the fact that it is there in lieu of her red-gem necklace that we forgot to draw. it is Welcome and Unfortunate that it doesn't work anymore, especially because having the chance to name drop like this was very indulgent.

The era of twilight ! Including the locations and times was in the original sketches, but when we found out that our inexperience with backgrounds wasn't lending itself to establishing Where we were, it came in handy. We Agonized over placing the castle and argued* for like a week about how forested the area should be. Luckily we use noclip now, so things have improved as we've moved into chapter 2 :]

Either way, hopefully it wasn't too confusing, and as we introduce new characters the picture will be clearer. We've talked a little bit about returning to the prologue to spiff it up a bit, but we feel we aren't far enough into the comic to make it worthwhile.

and now over to Pea with the weather:

my name is pea islandlobster and you can't tell that it's me because we are writing on the same post but trust okay 🤞 I am here to talk about SAILOR!!!

Sailor has been my baby brainchild before LFRT was even a blip in our minds eye (my proof) and it has been a beautiful indulgence for me to both put her in AND have her be the first Link we meet. YAY!

I have two designs for her, for which I have helpfully made a diagram just for you..! Labeled and everything..!

A: pheww my big one that I have been sitting on forever. Sailor's necklace was constructed over the course of her adventure, initially only having her red gem (given to her by King Daphnes, from his own crown). Four pearls were later added, parting gifts from Oshus and the three spirits. Also intended to mirror the three Goddess pearls from Wind Waker..! and an extra yellow one i guess. triforce? idk

B: Sailor's chipped tooth is a funny one that I will have to make a small comic about at some point. It's not even anything from her adventure. A couple years before WW, Aryll was pretty upset about losing her first tooth, and in typical Link fashion she thought the best way of comforting her was to ALSO lose a tooth. Grandma was not happy.

C: Most Links have a triforce mark, and each one we are giving a reason towards ^.^ Sailor's mark is entirely scar tissue, specifically it is hypertrophic. She held her triforce for only a few days and got it (maybe quite literally) ripped from her by Ganondorf, so take that as you will. Tetra and her are matching yayyy..!

D: Giving her hero outfit it's own section so I can tuck it out of the way lol. A modified version of her original hero outfit, courtesy of shipmate Nudge (guy in the top left). She was a little upset over having to alter Grandma's hard work, but she preserved it where she could. Like her seashell belt! ^_^

E: SIDEBURNS! Not present in the prologue because it has been a recent development but I figured it was worth bringing up. During WoE, as she grows her hair, her sideburns resemble little lobster claws. Cute! In LFRT as grown out as it is, I thought making them swirly as a reference to pretty much every cloud/wind effect used in WW lol.

From a combination of outgrowing stuff and missing home, Sailor was christened with Lobster Shirt 2.0 as we know and love today. Who made it for her? I dunnooo..... let's sit and think about this one.

Phewww. This was a long one - and no doubt the next will be longer - but this is all for now! Feel free to send any questions you might have ^.^ Thank you for all the support! Chapter 2 part 2 soon!

[anon-sect]

picture source anonymous.

Drey and lab partner Nile were given a tough assignment in chemistry class of there sophomore year in college. Drey was a hard working student that always got straight As, while Nile was one who slacked when it came to assignments. The professor wanted to help Nile become a better student, so he partnered him up with the smartest student in the class, hoping some of those good habits would rub off on him.

When the assignment was complete and graded, both Drey and Nile were given an A for the assignment. The professor asked Drey if Nile really did pull his weight on the project, and he told him yes. What the professor didn't know was that Drey was forced to say yes by Nile.

Once they were partnered together, Drey started noticing Nile's feet. When Nile noticed that Drey was looking at his feet often, he figured that he had a foot fetish. He decided to use this fact to his advantage. He offered his feet to Drey to do whatever he wanted to do with them.

Drey would have feet worship sessions in Nile's dorm room when his roommate wasn't present. Nile would even let Drey lay under his desk as a footrest while he gamed on his computer, sometimes for hours sniffing his feet. But when it came time to work on the project, he told Drey to do all the work and they both would take credit. A day before presenting the project, Drey had threated to tell the professor he had done all the work and Nile did none. Nile then showed a ton of pictures and some videos of the foot worship sessions. He then threatened Drey that if he didn't say they both worked on it together, he would show the pictures and videos to his roommate first and then to a lot of other students. Not wanting his foot fetish to be well known, he relented to Nile's demand.

Three days after getting the A, Drey had a change of heart on his decision to remain silent. He texts Nile that he was going to tell the professor the truth, it didn't matter if he was exposed. Nile texted back that he was sorry for blackmailing him and that it was wrong for him to do that. He also told him that he will tell the professor the truth. If he wanted one more foot fetish session, to come over to his dorm room. Drey believed him and went.

Nile let Drey into his dorm room and shut the door. Drey got down on the floor and started kissing Nile's feet like he usually does in their sessions. He didn't notice what he was doing up above him. He looked up briefly to see a strange ray device pointed at him. "I got you here so that my secret would be safe. You won't be ratting on me if you are under my feet for a very long time." Nile spoke to Drey and fired at him.

Drey saw his whole view change as his body shrunk in size and started to turn white. He tried to speak, but his mouth was sealed shut. Everything happened so fast within seconds. One minute later, Drey was gone, and in his place was a pair of white flip-flops.

Nile laughed as slide his feet into his new flip-flops. "Now my secret is safe and I have a new pair of flip-flops to add to my collection. He laughed more. He placed his phone on the floor to snap a picture of him and his new flip-flops. He then posted on his social media page. He added caption beneath the picture, 'Thanks for my new flip-flops, Drey. I think I will keep them for a very long time.'

Drey was mortified mentally as Nile's feet crushed his face. He could feel Nile's feet started to mold his face to service his new owner's feet. He had no means to call for help and lack the ability to move on his own to escape. His fate was sealed. He was Nile's flip-flops forever. Had he left things alone, he would not have been where he was now. He could only partially blame himself for all the pain that Nile's feet was going to cause him for the rest of his life.

[lukeynewtssimp]

When Nic is out and about with her bf all I see from Lukolas is pure hate and disdain for them both. It’s only now that the man brought out his gf that suddenly everyone is okay with it. Does that seem like equal treatment to you? Where was your defense before this?

You’re happy and proud of him for finally claiming her but where is the happiness for Nic? I’m still talking about Lukolas in general.

Do you not see the people saying he’s finally with someone well matched with him? And when people said the same hateful things after premiere night because of that stunt where was the support for Nic? You think his choices didn’t affect her, whether it was intentional or not?

This side of the fandom is extremely male-centered and you just don’t want to admit it. I am still very much hoping to be proved wrong in the future.

Wow okay there is a lot to unpack here.

Let me start by saying that my blog is very new. I only started posting like a month or so ago so excuse me for my lack of defence back when Nic apparently “needed” it.

Neither of them “need” anybody to defend them lol. We don’t get brownie points for proving we are their number one fan. They literally have no fucking clue who I am and don’t care to find out either. I just use my platform to express my love for the people I am a fan of and the things I am passionate about and to express my frustration at things and behaviours that annoy me. That’s the point of having a personal blog.

idk how to make it any clearer. Like it’s literally in my username, yea I am a fan of Nicola too but I’m a bigger fan of Luke. We all have our faves so I don’t get why you’re so angry that Luke is mine.

Yes I see the very small number of people making comments like that about Antonia looking good next to Luke or whatever. I choose to ignore it because I have seen a very small number of these comments and me talking about it would only amplify these pathetic people’s voices. I obviously do not agree with this take. It is rooted in fatphobia and those people can say whatever they want but they do not speak for Luke or Nic.

Nic is not some self conscious young girl waiting for a man to notice how beautiful she is. The fact that you think Luke’s decisions about who he’s dating affected her, then you’re the problem. You’re the one painting Nicola as this desperate girl crying for attention. Nic is a confident and very sexy woman and she fucking owns it and knows it. She literally ruled 2024 and has gained so much popularity last year as she deserves. And you know what? Luke knows it too and that man, unlike what you and other people think, is not and was never ashamed to show that he’s attracted to her and finds her beautiful and sexy and smart and talented. He’s not the most talkative when it comes to that stuff, that man literally blushes at everything. But his actions speak louder than his words. Just because he is dating a woman who doesn’t look like Nic does not mean he does not find Nic attractive and it also does not mean he rejected Nic by doing so.

As @jenhack beautifully put in the comments: Nic is not bothered! She is busy talking to other SAG nominees and being lauded by her peers. She does not need to, or have to be defined by any man she is connected with.

Crazy Lukolas do not only hate on Jake and Nic but they also hate on Luke and Antonia. Have you seen all the nasty stuff they have called this poor girl?

Sorry this has been very long but I just need everybody to stop projecting their hurt feelings and traumas on Nicola and Luke PLEASE!

PS: the “you” is not just aimed at you specifically anon, but everybody who agrees with that discourse of Luke hurting Nic by dating another woman and taking her to the premieres that I am tired of hearing about. And let’s not forget Nic took Jake to that premiere too…

[bovinewriter]

THE CHRISTMAS CHAPTER IS FINALLY OUT, IGNORE THE CALLANDER I KNOW IT'S LATE- I LOVE POSTING CHAPTERS AT UNGODLY HOURS.

Anyway I hope you all enjoy it. But there is some important info that I'll put under the cut.

I'll go ahead and keep this brief. I'll be taking a break from writing for about a month or two. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning the fic. But i need y'all to remember that I started this at like the end of May/start of June, and I've cranked out 21 chapters now in the span of like 8 months, not counting the lack of chapter in January. Basically I need a break.

Since the Puzzle park chapter I had gotten a bit burned out, and the fact that Mr. Puzzles is stuck in jail in canon really hinders the motivation. But hey I can use this break time to plan things out because I hadn’t planned out a whole lot other than the important plot points, I don’t have much for like, the meat of some chapters, just a skeleton.

Sooo yeah, that's about all I needed to say. I do wanna thank you all for sticking around for this long. For all the nice comments both here and on ao3. And of course all the wonderful fanart I've gotten. It's like fuel to me, I'm eating them. I hope you guys won't mind the break, think of it like a mid season hiatus of a show. I'll be back eventually, prommy.

Also you're not getting a Valentine's day chapter. Sorry not sorry but it ain't happening. Use your imagination, Insert and Puzzles were too cringefail that the chapter can't exist. If you got problems then take it up with Switch idc.

And with that, I'm going to bed. I wish you all a good day/night/whatever.

This has been your very reliable Narrator. Thanks for reading.

(I'll still answer asks though and post art. So this place won't be entirely dead during the break.)

[riality-check]

hi, I'm new to arcane and I've been going a bit nuts trying to figure out what viktor's disability might be so I can write him right. I'm also disabled in my right leg but I know for sure we don't have the same thing at all.

I've seen people say his back brace is for scoliosis, and you write him as having a disability that leads to that, so it sounds like you have a pretty specific thing in mind! Could you please tell me what you're thinking of, so I can do my research? Or is there a lore bible or something with all this info that I just haven't been able to find? Any help would be super appreciated, thank you

Hi anon!! I'm also new to Arcane (literally became a fan less than two months ago) so I feel like we're in the same boat!! Theorizing about this was a very fun part of brainstorming for my current project, so I'm using this as an excuse to infodump about that part of the process. This might be long. Sorry (not sorry) in advance!

I wanted to write a Viktor character study informed by his experiences with ableism and classism in Piltover (be the change you wish to see in the world, and all that), and I was particularly inspired by this post discussing the specifics of his disability. Obviously, that's the only canonical disability (beyond the terminal illness caused by exposure to the fissures) that Viktor has, but I got to speculating.

There are a lot of conditions caused by poverty, whether from lack of sunlight (obviously rampant in Zaun) or food deserts (also probably common) or other socioeconomic issues. I did some research into what some of these conditions were and assigned some of the most likely ones, given what we know in-universe about living conditions and Viktor's appearance/progression, to Viktor in my series. These additional (non-canonical) conditions are as follows:

Rickets (caused by a Vitamin D deficiency, can result in bowed legs as referenced in the post about his leg, as well as progressive scoliosis if acquired in childhood)

The progressive scoliosis, as caused by the rickets.

Calcium deficiency (coupled with the Vitamin D deficiency, this is a big yikes; also causes slightly yellowed teeth if acquired in childhood. Kind of went on vibe for this one)

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (This is genetic, not environmental. I thought the leg brace being multi-functional was fun, and earlier drafts of the project had a section in which baby Viktor makes temporary friends by showing off "party tricks" common to those with hypermobility.)

I hope this answers your question! As far as I know, there's no lore bible, just one post that inspired me and some of my own rudimentary research. If anyone else has any additional info they'd like to add, please do! I love dissecting my blorbos.

[akookminsupporter]

Sorry for the skz fan but... i dont really think they are lol

They are doing better in terms of streams than other bgs (but worse than ggs) and they have a lot of sales like any other bgs cause the fans inflate the sales. Bts with the same year (i think 5?) were already top10 on hot100 and all the charts made sense (number 1 on bb200 and top10 on hot100).

A lot of these groups are only able to go to these awards shows and be nominated (kpop categories) bcs bts made it possible, but i dont think they will ever leave bts shadow

Maybe ive been too harsh sorry lol but yeah they are not there yet and i dont think their music is going to take them there either (they are not even successfull in their own country - only on sales bcs of the 2973 versions)

In my initial post about this, I made it clear that my question wasn’t about streaming numbers because I know that when it comes to that, no one comes close to BTS. Even Jimin and Jungkook, as solo artists, have streaming figures that other groups haven’t achieved even if you combined their entire discographies. So no, my point wasn’t necessarily about streaming success or chart dominance although that's an important part of this conversation.

What I’m really referring to is the general interest in the Western market. For instance, another group that is often mentioned alongside BTS is BP. From what I’ve seen, they don’t have the same numbers, records, or awards that BTS has earned over the years and their popularity seems to be driven more by their individual projects, which are often unrelated to music, like brand endorsements, fashion appearances, or acting roles but despite this, Western mainstream media frequently references them as references to KPOP.

BTS’s success and interest in them have definitely been because of their music and their fans. Those are the key things you always hear or read about when people talk about them, and that’s not something I’ve noticed happening with other groups. Even when you move away from social media—where many groups are incredibly popular—you hardly see them mentioned in specialised press or mainstream media in general.

In my everyday life, I know plenty of people who’ve at least heard of BTS and even of Jimin. Jimin, in particular, seems to have some serious name recognition among locals. They might not know his music and a lot of the time, they don’t even know what he looks like, but they’ve definitely heard his name. At least, that’s been the case with the locals I know. I just don’t see that happening with other groups.

Anon mentioned examples where SKZ has broken through certain barriers in the West, but maybe it’s not as consistent. I think one major thing other groups are lacking—and it’s a big disadvantage—is the kind of fandom they have. ARMY is a fandom that’s almost as well-known as BTS itself. It’s massive, and despite its size, it’s surprisingly organised in many ways.

What’s more, ARMY generates a lot of interest because, at the end of the day, the goal of any market is to sell and to have people ready and willing to buy. The sheer scale and dedication of ARMY make it an undeniable force. It’s not just about supporting BTS; it’s also about creating a presence that attracts attention from all kinds of industries. That’s a level of influence that other groups and their fandoms just don’t seem to have yet.

[eleventhhourfactor]

First day of 2025 has been good so far. So good, in fact, that I've decided to actually make a self-reflection/look to the future post, as much as I'm trying not to be vain.

Anyway...2024. There was a lot happening there.

If we're looking at Tumblr alone, it's pretty clear that this was the year that solidified Mario and Luigi as a hyperfixation for me. Helped along by the mutuals I made along the way, I turned out a lot of stories for AO3--moreso than I'd ever done for any other fandom prior to this. It's...mindblowing, honestly. Just the year before, I'd written and deleted my works after becoming convinced that it wouldn't amount to anything and ought as well not be out there. It was a pattern I longed to break, and I think I've finally cracked it, and I've never been happier to put myself out there and be cringe and free.

The rest of 2024 was a hell of a lot of change for me--mostly good. I moved across the country, started writing for another company, found another special interest in the form of Mario RPGs. I also realized that a load of my extended family have garbage takes, and that I alone can't fix that for them. My cat needed teeth taken out, my car got hit by a delivery truck in the parking lot, and I got holed up at my in-laws' house with the flu on Christmas Day. I'm still trying to make real-life friends, which seems to be an outstanding issue for little ol' me. Outside of college, I've never been great at making and keeping friends.

But I do have my network, without which I wouldn't have been able to publish a story, plan a big move, or even doodle on occasion. And you, dear mutuals and others, are a part of that, I've come to realize. It's stupid and corny, but there's something really neat about going to the internet and nerding out about things through headcanon posts, fabulous art, and wonderfully-written tales. What's even crazier is what fanwork can drive me to do in my original little things.

So, for 2025, along with some outstanding fics I need to wrap up and work on, I also want to put some work and effort into fleshing out a long-running project of mine: the world of Astrara, the worldhoppers moving throughout, and the threads of the universe tying it all together. There's characters I've been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a decade now, and it's about time I clear the sad lack of confidence from my space and actually draw them to the life they deserve. Might I make a comic? Who knows. For the next year, I just want to draw my little dudes until I run out of pencils, and then scan it in and color digitally. I want to make more art, and I want to write out the story of Lenora, Aylín, and their absolutely batshit journey to find their way home. Or at least, get the bullet points down and go from there.

It's crazy, but I thought turning out over a dozen fanfics was insane as well, and look where I'm at. Anything can happen. The spark has caught aflame. I want to keep creating. For the first time ever, I want to keep going with whatever the heck I've got going instead of letting it sit while I grind to live.

So, follow me as I get this going. See how far I go or fall short. Maybe ask me some more about what exactly I'm working on. I'd love to brainstorm and share and get others interested, too.

A bit of insurance in the form of doodles. Lenora on the left, Aylín on the right. One's being careful, the other wants to fight.

Kinda funny how much I project onto my own little stories.

Thank you all for sticking with me. Sorry this turned from reflection to a bit of narcissist goal-setting, but I've never felt so set on a creative goal before. This project means a lot to me and my growth over time, and without stepping out and meeting you all, I'd never be able to do this. So, thank you for being there, and I hope I've been able to do half as much for you.

Under the cut special! Sending love to all the people who keep me going on here. Like, y'all are so great. You are all great people.

So, mutuals and creators I admire (as well as my frens), this one's for you:

@giddlygoat @peaches2217 @snakeeyesdraws @bberetd @itsavee4117 @silenzahra @silksongmaiden @fyreburning @akiiame-blog @megamagimugi @supergay-64 @artizonka @rainbogen @loud-kid2 @@diamondempp @dooxliss @lu1g199 @laatgag @moriouchou-radio @thegravityshark @gustygardns @vulpixfairy1985 @vbnhuet

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (10/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: As you heal, you're not alone. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,604 (this chapter, 24,863 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Apologies for the break we took for a few weeks here. 😳This chapter turned out a little longer than I expected, (please enter "that's what she said" joke of your choice here), so I hope that makes up a bit for the delay. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Pressure on your chest brought you startling awake, flinging your left arm up as if to try and break free of a restraint. White hot pain burst from your shoulder down your bicep like a cord of fire trying to amputate your arm. You gave a strangled cry, managing to sit up and clutch at the various points of hurt as the agony gradually faded.

Out of the darkness, a now-familiar woman's voice said your rank and last name. "Are you all right? Do you need me to dispatch medical assistance?"

"No," you quickly said, automatically straightening your sleep-rumpled shirt. "I moved my arm wrong. Thanks, though."

"Of course," she returned, her tone kind.

"Are you, um, monitoring me?"

"Just for sounds of distress or pain. John was adamant that your privacy be respected as much as possible."

That made you smile slightly under the cover of the lack of light. "I hope they've given you something else to do other than to listen for me to say ouch."

"Not to worry, I keep busy."

You nodded even though she couldn't see it. Or maybe she could? Was she holed up in some ONI office, watching you with thermal signatures or some other sort of tech? "I appreciate it, Ms. Classified. Though I believe you gave me your name, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember what it was."

"You were a little busy at the time," she demurred. "It's Cortana but I rather like 'Ms. Classified,' I have to say. It's like a nickname between friends, isn't it?"

"It is," you said. "And please feel free to use my first name. No need for friends to stand on formality."

"Thank you," she said and, after a slight pause, added your name as if it were an honor to do so.

Was she a Spartan, perhaps? Something about her careful manner reminded you of how John sometimes reacted to interpersonal things as if he hadn't ever dealt with them before and wanted desperately to be right in his response.

You wasn't sure if you should ask and while you were still wondering, she said goodbye with a sound like pixels vanishing, though there had been no hologram of her to see this time.

Your day was a lot more mundane after that. PT came by as Dr. Savannah had said they would, and you dutifully did the exercises with minimal grumbling and complaining. The ancient saying about medics being terrible patients was still said for a reason, after all, but you didn't want to be One Of Those if you could help it.

The therapist had brought you breakfast from the mess for after your session: the cold cereal MRE, typically called mush rarely edible, along with plain black coffee. She also told you that the next session would be tomorrow instead of later today, due to a scheduling conflict.

So that left you with a whole lot of day and very little to fill it.

You were scrolling through your padd, looking through old documents and messages, intending to clean up and organize things but, more often than not, ended up reminiscing on the past, on friends once part of your every day life now long gone, either transferred away or worse.

You discovered a folder full of sketches of various Mjolnir designs you'd done back before you'd decided for certain to begin training to be a Brokkr tech. Your interest in the Spartans and their armor had been a mere hobby, then.

You were far from a gifted artist but trying to capture the different iterations, the bulkier but classic shapes of the Mark V, the more streamlined Mark VI, had made for fun practice. You'd also tried out a few ideas of your own, such as "floating" pieces of armor to try and better protect the Spartans' joints without sacrificing mobility. The final image, though, had been a purely fanciful one: a fusion of Mjolnir and medieval, a literal Spartan in shining armor.

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was no number on the chest plate but it was clearly Master Chief to anybody who was familiar with his armor configuration. The patterning on his visor had a texture reminiscent of a knight's helm and the flare of his shield had a shape like the plume of a feather at the crest of his head. One arm was extended but incomplete: you hadn't decided whether to give him a BR or DMR or go for something like a broadsword or lance. Then you'd simply never come back to finish it and it had been forgotten in your drafts for all this time.

Tapping a fingertip contemplatively against your lip, you thought for a moment, then impulsively picked up your stylus and began to draw.

Gentle fingertips brushed against your hair and you woke to find John next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," he murmured, "but you looked uncomfortable."

The moment he said that, your neck began protesting the odd angle your head had slumped into.

"Well, that was a bad idea," you said plaintively, straightening up very slowly. Your entire body ached like you'd been moonlighting as a punching bag. Your padd slipped off your lap to the mattress, then bounced towards the edge, and John easily caught it on the fly.

You suddenly remembered what had been on it. The screen was dark but all it would take was a brush of a finger to activate it again and he'd see--

"What's this?" he said, orientating the padd right side up.

"That's... my poor attempt at artistry," you said, feeling heat blooming up your neck. You resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand and throw it to the floor yourself.

"It's not poor," he countered, studying it even more intently. "Not at all. I like it a lot, especially the detail here."

He tapped the image and the SPNKr rocket launcher you'd placed casually in the Spartan's hand, resting on the armored shoulder, expanded to better reveal the intricate filigree you'd spent a considerable amount of time adding to the large missile chamber.

"I mean, it's not practical, of course," you mumbled but his sincere appreciation lessened your embarrassment. "I wanted a medieval feel to a modern weapon."

"Do you have others?" he asked, handing the padd back to you.

You appreciated that he didn't just start flipping through the images. You swiped back to show him your other Mjolnir studies.

The very corner of his mouth twitched. "These are all mine, aren't they?"

"Hm, I suppose they are," you said in mock surprise. "It looks like I've had a favorite Spartan for a while now."

"Good," he said decisively, then glanced at you with a soft smile. "Could I send a copy of this to R&D?"

"Which one?" you asked, alarmed.

"The floating armor," he said, the smile growing a bit.

"Yeah, if you want," you said and forwarded the study to him. "I doubt I've thought of anything they haven't by now but I guess you never know."

"And could I have a copy of the other one, just for me?"

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

You switched back to the medieval drawing, adding your signature with a flourish in the corner before forwarding that one as well.

The door chimed and he went to open it as if it were expected.

"Master Chief, sir!" the young private said, making a motion no doubt intended to be a salute that he couldn't complete because of the large and apparently heavy covered tray he was carrying.

"At ease," he said, taking the tray from him.

The private snapped a salute as crisp as if he were in the presence of Lord Hood himself, then kept standing in the open doorway, staring rather starstruck.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," John told him.

"If you or the Hero of the Pit need anything, let me know, sir," the marine said earnestly before backing away.

Once the door closed, you said, "That really is a terrible nickname."

"The Covenant call me 'Demon,'" John said, bringing the tray to the bed and setting it on the foot.

"'Demon' is badass," you countered. "Mine sounds like I fell in a hole and somehow managed to crawl back out."

"Crawling out of that hole wasn't a given," he said, "and you made sure nobody else was in there with you."

He lifted the cover on the tray, revealing two sizzling plates of food. The smell that hit you was divine.

Your voice dropped an entire octave. "Is that eggplant parmigiana?"

"I... think so? It's whatever was being served in the Spartan mess for lunch." His expression darkened. "You were supposed to get breakfast from there, too, but there was apparently some sort of mix-up. It's been dealt with."

You felt momentarily sorry for whoever had been on the receiving end of being dealt with. "I can't eat Spartan portions."

"You actually can because it so happens that I can calculate how many calories a Brokkr mechanic-slash-medic needs in order to heal properly." He held that with a serious expression for a moment, then winked. "And I also asked Dr. Savannah about it. She said, and I quote, 'Tell her it's fine to live a little.'"

"Oh, well, if it's doctor's orders..." you trailed off with a grin.

He left to get a small table and chair for himself since there was only the one lap tray and you took the opportunity to hit the head, thinking you'd be settled back in before he returned. As it turned out, you either greatly underestimated how far he had to go to find what he was looking for or, more likely, had greatly overestimated how quickly you could move.

Your left arm wanted to draw up to your torso from the way your damaged shoulder muscle was currently being foreshortened. Raising it even close to 45 degrees made it feel like it was being ripped off of your body. You took a couple of deep breaths, forcing it straight down to your side, and gritted your teeth though the pain as you returned to the main room.

John had already finished setting up the portable table and turned, his expression going almost comically aghast. "Should I call somebody? What can I do? I can carry you or--"

"No, it's fine," you told him. "I just have to work through it."

He hovered next to you as you made the few, torturous step back to the bed, his worry a palpable thing. Your bad knee buckled and he caught your arm -- fortunately, the right one -- to keep you from going down. His fingers hit a bruise hidden under your sleeve but you managed to not react.

The stricken look he gave you meant he'd seen the reaction anyway.

"There we go," you said, trying to sound breezy but the result was more winded than anything as you propped up against the headboard. "I'm ready for lunch. Are you? Lunch sounds great right about now."

He seemed at a loss as to what to do. You gingerly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his.

"I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm healing on schedule and it could've been much worse."

He nodded shortly, very, very carefully folding his other hand over yours. With a brief glance away, he nodded a final time as if agreeing to something you couldn't hear and then exhaled purposefully, affecting a lighter tone. "Well, let's see how that eggplant parmigiana is, then, hm?"

Even though physical therapy wasn't scheduled again until tomorrow, you went ahead and did the exercises anyway. Not only did it give you something to do after John left, but you were even more inspired to try to regain your strength as soon as possible.

Since you were alone, you felt free to swear your way more and more creatively through the entire session and only after the fact did you worry that maybe you had accidentally taught Cortana some new words and phrases.

Nah, you thought. Surely, she's not stuck sitting at some console all day and night, listening for me to need something, right?

You almost asked it out loud, just to see if she was listening, but decided against it. You didn't want to imagine she'd been instructed to keep her earpiece in to monitor you even when she took a meal or bathroom break. Or that maybe she never even actually got to go off-duty at all. It hadn't escaped your attention that John apparently didn't trust anybody else to provide your erstwhile overwatch.

You ate your dinner when it arrived, a very delicious chicken gumbo, then turned in early, since sleep was also an important factor in healing.

But your sleep was restless, the aches in your body keeping you from getting comfortable, and then when you did doze off, your mind kept taking you back to those moments when you were trapped. A couple of times, you found yourself jolting awake, John's name on your lips. You wondered if he was on base, asleep in the Spartan quarters. You'd assumed he would come back if he were here but you hadn't actually asked him to. It was his room, though, so wouldn't he...?

Try to get some sleep, that's the best thing right now. You'll feel stronger tomorrow, you silently instructed yourself, trying to find a comfortable position.

The next time you woke, your heart was thundering in your ears and you made a small panicked noise.

The lights abruptly came up to a quarter and you looked around wildly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

John sat up from where he was stretched out over on the couch and you instinctively reached for him. He was there almost as if appearing by magic, letting you grip his hand as he leaned over you.

You were tangled in the covers and struggled to free yourself. He carefully extricated you with his free hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked and you nodded.

"I- I didn't know you were here," you said, stumbling over the words. "Why are you on the couch? You could share. I'd- I'd like you to."

He got that slightly stricken look again. "I'm heavy. I'll hurt you by moving around. I can't... I can't cause you more pain. I'm right here, though."

You understood what he meant but it still stung a bit like rejection. You normally would've let him go, would've tried to accept it gracefully, but the phantom weight on your chest changed the words on your tongue.

Your voice emerged small and compressed. "I need you, John."

The words clearly hit him like a plasma bolt to the chest and his fingers closed gently around yours.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll be careful."

It took a few minutes but eventually you were in his arms, turned on your right side with your injured left arm resting on his chest, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. All of the movement did hurt but you absolutely didn't care; all that was important was that he was here, you could hear his heart beneath your ear, could feel his warmth seeping into all of your pains and soothing them.

"Thank you," you murmured into the softness of his shirt.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, kissing the top of your head and lightly brushing his fingers across the hand you had on his sternum.

You were almost asleep when you thought, but weren't completely sure, that he also quietly said, "I need you, too."