#and occasionally furiously scribbling notes

[gilliontidestriderchampionoftheu]

the thing is i want to hang out but this part of the process mostly involves listening to the song on loop with my eyes closed

[bodybaggage]

Ghostly Heir or Batty Custody?

DP X DC

———

The Justice League Watchtower was an advanced piece of technology, housing the world’s greatest heroes. But even in a place dedicated to protecting the Earth, some things were simply unavoidable—like gossip.

It had started innocently enough, as these things often do. Superman, having just returned from Gotham, was discussing the latest developments in the Batcave with Wonder Woman over a cup of coffee. The conversation was meant to be private, but when you have people like the Flash who can be in and out of a room before anyone notices, privacy is a relative term.

“So, Batman has another kid?” Superman had said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Are we running a daycare now?”

Superman shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s different from the others. White hair, glows a little. Bruce is being… secretive.”

“Bruce is always secretive,” Wonder Woman pointed out.

“Yeah, but this one seems—” Superman’s words were cut off as the Flash zoomed by, pretending to be busy with something else. The two superhumans exchanged a glance but said nothing more, knowing that once the speedster got wind of something, the whole League would know within the hour.

And they did.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne—better known as Batman—was oblivious to the brewing storm. He sat in the Batcave, going over the latest reports on Gotham’s criminal activity with his usual intensity. Beside him, a ghostly figure floated lazily, occasionally glancing at the screens with mild interest.

Danny Fenton—known to most as Danny Phantom—had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, lying low while he figured out how to deal with some supernatural issues back in Amity Park. Clockwork had suggested Gotham as a good place to lay low, citing the city’s reputation for attracting all sorts of weirdos. Besides, Clockwork had argued, Batman wouldn’t care as long as Danny didn’t cause trouble.

And for the most part, Danny hadn’t. He’d stayed out of Gotham’s wayward criminal elements, kept his ghostly powers under wraps, and only occasionally wandered the streets at night to stretch his legs (or float, as it were).

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the Bat Family.

Damian had challenged him to a duel within minutes of their first meeting, insisting that he prove himself worthy of staying in the Batcave. Danny had countered by turning intangible and letting Damian tire himself out, which only seemed to frustrate the young Robin more.

Tim had interrogated him about the nature of ectoplasm and ghost powers, scribbling notes furiously as Danny tried his best to explain without giving too much away.

Jason had simply grunted, muttering something about “another brat” before disappearing on his motorcycle, while Dick had been the only one to offer a somewhat normal welcome.

“You’re like, what, the seventh kid Bruce has taken in?” Dick had said, clapping Danny on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying here permanently,” Danny had replied, but Dick had just laughed, as if Danny’s words were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

Things had been relatively quiet since then—until now.

It started as a low hum, a barely noticeable vibration in the air. Alfred, the ever-watchful butler, was the first to notice something amiss.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said calmly, setting down the tray of tea he’d just brought in. “We appear to have… company.”

Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer, his eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder, evolving into a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Batcave. Danny, who had been floating upside down, lazily spinning in midair, suddenly snapped to attention.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Danny muttered, his expression turning from bored to annoyed in seconds.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Alfred replied, his tone as even as ever, despite the growing disturbance.

The rumble turned into a roar, and suddenly, with a burst of green light, a swirling portal opened up in the middle of the Batcave. The vortex crackled with energy, and from it stepped a towering figure clad in ghostly armor, a crown of ectoplasmic fire atop his head.

Pariah Dark, the Ghost King, had arrived.

“BATMAN!” Pariah’s voice boomed through the cave, rattling the glass cases that held the old Robin suits. “I, Pariah Dark, King of the Infinite Realms, have come to challenge you for the custody of my heir!”

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air. Danny facepalmed, groaning audibly. “This is not happening.”

Bruce, for his part, remained as stoic as ever, though his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Your heir?”

“Yes, my heir!” Pariah bellowed, his eyes glowing with ectoplasmic energy. “The boy you have taken into your care! I will not allow this—this mortal to usurp my claim!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to Danny, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“Oh, come on!” Danny threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t what it looks like! I’m not his heir, and I’m definitely not up for custody!”

Pariah seemed undeterred by Danny’s protests. “You defeated me in battle, boy. By the laws of the Infinite Realms, that makes you my heir! And now this Bat-creature seeks to claim you as his own! I will not stand for it!”

Bruce’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not trying to claim him.”

“See?” Danny gestured to Bruce. “Totally not trying to claim me. So you can just go back to the Ghost Zone, Pariah. No custody battle needed.”

Pariah’s eyes narrowed, his fiery crown flaring. “The only way to resolve this is through combat! Batman, I challenge you to a duel for the boy!”

Bruce glanced at the portal, calculating the odds. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take the boy by force!” Pariah declared, raising his massive sword, which seemed to materialize out of thin air, crackling with ectoplasmic energy.

Danny floated down between the two, trying to keep the peace. “Guys, let’s just calm down. No need for a duel. I’m fine. No one’s taking anyone by force.”

Pariah looked down at Danny, his expression a mix of paternal concern and royal indignation. “Do not worry, my heir. I will defend your honor.”

Danny groaned again. “I don’t need my honor defended. I need you to stop making this weird.”

Before Danny could protest further, Bruce stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever. “Very well. A duel, then.”

“Seriously?” Danny looked at Bruce, incredulous. “You’re just going to agree to this?”

“If it ends the situation quickly, yes,” Bruce replied, his tone as dry as ever. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with an overprotective guardian.”

Pariah raised his sword, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Prepare yourself, mortal! I will not hold back!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Danny zipped between them again, clearly exasperated. “We don’t need to do this! Pariah, go back to the Ghost Zone. Batman, you don’t have to fight him.”

Pariah looked genuinely perplexed. “But… the honor of the Infinite Realms demands it.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Danny insisted. “The Infinite Realms don’t care about some weird custody battle! Besides, I’m not a kid, and I’m not staying here permanently! I’m just crashing for a bit!”

Pariah frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You… are not staying?”

“No!” Danny said, exasperated. “I’m not staying! I’m not your heir! I’m just Danny, okay?”

The Ghost King looked around, as if trying to process this information. “But… you are under his care. It was reported by reliable sources.”

“Reliable sources?” Danny echoed. “Who told you that?”

Pariah seemed to hesitate for the first time. “A rather talkative sorcerer in a trench coat. He mentioned it while muttering about ‘bloody bats’ and ‘undead nuisances.’”

Danny blinked, realization dawning. “Constantine. Of course.”

Bruce’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a faint glimmer of irritation in his eyes. “This… Constantine has been spreading rumors?”

Danny sighed heavily, feeling more tired by the minute. “Look, can we just forget this whole thing happened? Pariah, you go back to ruling the Ghost Zone. I’ll handle Constantine. And Batman, you can go back to doing… whatever it is you do.”

Pariah Dark seemed to mull this over for a moment before finally lowering his sword completely. “Very well. But know this, boy—if ever you require my assistance, you have but to call.”

“Sure, sure,” Danny muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last, dramatic sweep of his cape, Pariah Dark stepped back into the swirling green portal, which closed behind him with a final, ominous crackle.

For a moment, the Batcave was silent. Then Danny turned to Bruce, looking both sheepish and annoyed. “So�� I guess I should have warned you about that.”

Bruce simply nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Next time, try to keep your interdimensional family disputes to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best,” Danny promised, floating back toward the Batcomputer. “But with my luck, that’s not gonna be easy.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bruce replied dryly, already turning back to his work. “And tell Constantine to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he floated back to his usual spot, thinking about the supernatural messes that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

As the Batcave returned to its usual state of brooding silence, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn’t the best place to lay low after all. But with the alternative being another encounter with Pariah, he figured the Batcave wasn’t so bad—at least, not until the next interdimensional incident.

[sun-kissy]

heyyyy do you think you could write a James blurb where reader hangs with Severus and Lily (she's a Snape but it's not really common knowledge as she's a few years younger) and everyone thinks James likes to come around for Lily but it's actually for the reader? I love your work btw!!!

yes, of course!! and thank you ♡

beautiful | j.p.

tw: fluff

snape!reader, james potter x reader

A frustrated sigh escapes Severus’ lips as you flick a petal at him for what seems like the umpteenth time that evening. You can feel the quivers in Lily’s body from where you’re laying on her lap as she laughs.

O.W.L.S. had just ended for your brother and best friend, so you dragged them down to your usual spot beneath the silver-leafed tree for a picnic. Lily was concentratedly twining vines together, crafting a daisy crown.

The light breeze caused her auburn hair to cover her face as she worked, the sun hitting her face in all the right places. She looked like some sort of heavenly wood nymph, you thought as you stared up at her. She was really really pretty.

Meanwhile, Severus was engrossed in some old, weathered-down potions book - furiously scribbling down notes for god-knows-what. Your legs were propped up on his lap as you threw the petals which occasionally fell from Lily’s flower crown at him. His expression was growing more cross by the second.

Your brother starts to grumble at you under his breath as a petal drifts straight into his nostril. A giggle bubbles out of you as he sneezes and the petal shoots out his nose, not missing the huff of annoyance he let out.

“If mother hadn’t instructed me to take care of you,” he mutters, a hint of irritation in his tone as he rubs his nose, “I would’ve tossed you into the black lake already.”

Lily grins, flicking your forehead as you bat your eyelashes at him playfully. “You love me.”

“Lies.”

“You bought me a whole bag of chocolate last weekend!”

“That was merely because-”

Your brother’s rambling comes to a halt, his eyes suddenly narrowing as he glares at something across the field of grass. His mouth twists up into a disgruntled frown.

You follow his line of vision to see none other than James Potter stumbling towards your clique, casting dirty looks at his friends behind him as they urge him towards you.

A sigh escapes you before you can even think about it. It annoyed you greatly, whenever James came crawling after you all like a desperate dog, just for the sake of Lily.

That was all it was, you tried to convince yourself. You told yourself that the acidic burning sensation of your heart in your chest was just because it was frustrating how obsessed he was, how his eyes lit up whenever they landed on Lily, how he stumbled over his words whenever he was near.

He was annoying, a stupidly beautiful wanker with an achingly gorgeous smile and eyes so bright they could rival the stars.

But you knew why you really hated him, and it frustrated you immensely. You despised him for liking Lily, hated his guts for not liking you instead. It was sickening, the way he gazed at her. And it was even more disgusting how envy took ahold of your entire being when that happened.

It gutted you, whenever you saw him looking at your best friend with heart-eyes. But it was obvious why - she was everything a guy could ever want, and she was a perfect girl for the golden boy. How could you even think about rivalling her?

What upset you the most, though, was how Lily always seemed to ignore him, looking away and rolling her eyes when his eyes met hers. You wanted to shake her, yell at her for being so ungrateful and wrack some sense into her brain. But all you did was stare quietly at the ground whenever James was near, zoning out so you didn’t have to hear the sickeningly mushy stuff which surely poured out his mouth in front of Lily.

So it was an understatement to say that your heart stopped when you heard your name coming out his mouth. You furrow your eyebrows, snapping back to the present as you press your palms down on the grass to lift your head from Lily’s lap. “What?”

James was looking at you anxiously now, with that glimmer in his eyes and a nervous smile. “Y/n, I um… I asked if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me? Tomorrow?”

You blink, the cogs still turning in your head. It was unfathomable, James Potter asking you out. Surely, it had to be a joke or a dare or something. Or maybe he meant to ask Lily, that was probably it. He had just asked the wrong person and was too nice to go back on his word, right?

“But you like Lily!” you blurt out immediately, a pang of hurt overwhelming you, for both you and your best friend. James’ eyebrows bunch up in puzzlement, his lips slowly twisting up into an almost comical smile. “Lily? You think I like Lily?”

You were sure you’d get whiplash from how fast you turned around to look at Lily, seeing her eyebrows bunched in confusion. “So, you don’t like me, Potter?”

He chuckles, a bit of the tension leaving his muscular frame as he shakes his head. “Redhead, you’re cool and all. But Y/n….” His gaze flicks over to you, and the affection in his eyes made you want to melt into a pool of hot mush.

Lily starts to smile, before it turns into a full-blown grin and she turns to you, nudging your elbow suggestively.

“Me?” you question slowly, suspiciously. You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart felt like it was going to burst even at the prospect of going out with him. “You like me?”

James immediately nods, turning slightly red at how long it was taking him to get an acceptance from you. But then again, he thinks he’d wait a lifetime for you to say yes, and he’d wait forever even if you said no.

Just then, you hear a loud cough on your left, and turn to see Severus glaring at you with a deadpan expression on his face.

You feel an arm bristle the hair on your head as Lily reaches over from your right, mussing up your brother’s hair. You laugh as he swats her away, tsking and cursing under his breath. “Shut up, Sev. Let my girl have her moment.”

Severus, to his credit, does shut up. Though he still has that bleary, stormy look on his face.

You turn back to James, slightly dizzy as the thought began to plant itself in your brain. The smile on his face was asking a million questions, holding a hundred insecurities. Yet you knew that there was only one right answer to them all.

“Yes,” you say softly, your lips beginning to curve upwards. Your heart was beating so loud, you were sure he could hear it.

“Yeah?” he asks, starting to grin. He lets out an exhale and scratches the back of his head, smiling at the floor before looking back at you. “Alright, then. I’ll pick you up outside the Great Hall, 5pm.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He beams at you, and it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever seen a person look before. “Bye, Y/n. And redhead, and Snivellus.”

James winks at you before turning around, causing your heart to jump and lodge itself in your throat. He jogs back to his group of friends waiting with wide eyes and bated breath.

A moment later, you can hear the cheers and whoops from across the field.

You turn back to Severus, afraid of what you’d find. He’s gazing at you with a terse expression on his face as you gulp anxiously.

“I’m sorry. If you’re not okay with it…”

“No. You are not going to bail out on him,” he says, the firmness in his voice catching you by surprise. “I know how long you’ve been waiting for this. And this is something you need to learn to do, getting your hands on the things you want. You’re a Snape, you always get what you want, you hear me?”

You nod helplessly.

“And if what you want is Potter,” he sneers, “Then Potter it is. Just don’t expect me to play nice.”

A small smile graces your lips. “Thank you.” You know he’d understand what you meant, all the things you were thanking him for.

You can see him start to soften, though perhaps that frown would be etched on his face permanently. He sighs, “Yes, yes. You’re welcome.”

Lily squeals and forcefully turns you towards her, gripping your hands. “This is awesome.”

“You’re just glad he doesn’t like you.”

“Am not!” she exclaims, but the mirth in her eyes betrays her.

You sigh, smiling bemusedly as you lie back down on her lap, watching her continue to craft the flower crowns. Maybe you’d give James one tomorrow, though you doubt he could look more beautiful than he already did.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hello how are you?

you could write Aemond offending Y/n in a moment of rage but he regrets it and asks for forgiveness

HELLO, I AM WELL, THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

YOU GOT IT, DUDE.

Warnings: Angst, eventual fluff. Word count: ~1700

She breathes a withering sigh as her hand strokes the cold, empty space in the bed next to her. It is now the eighth night in a row that Aemond has not come to bed when she has. Sad as it is to admit, she is becoming used to falling asleep alone. 

She knows that Aemond always joins her eventually; even in sleep her subconscious mind registers the dip in the mattress as he climbs in beside her at whatever godforsaken hour he has finally finished his crown duties. But then when she wakes in the morning he is gone again, rising before her to get a head start on the day. All that lingers of him is his scent and the subtle warmth of his body on the sheets. Both are long gone by the time night falls again. She misses her husband.

Deciding that she can take no more of her and Aemond being passing ships in the night, she slips out of bed and pads barefoot to the library, the space she knows he is now spending all of his evenings, evenings he used to spend with her. Her hair is loose and she is dressed only in her nightgown but she doesn't care; the hour is late and there is no one around to see her.

She pushes the heavy wooden doors open - not all the way - just enough for her to slip through the gap without causing too much of a draught or a disturbance. There he sits, her husband Aemond. His eyepatch is discarded on the table next to him, his hair though still in its usual half up, half down style is disheveled - the likely result of how many times he has run his hand over it in exasperation. He is hunched over a table littered with scrolls, furiously scribbling notes as his good eye occasionally flickers towards the papers spread out around him. He does not even register her presence.

“Aemond…” she whispers, causing his head to finally rise from his note taking as he looks towards her, his brow furrowing with concern.

“What is the matter, my love?” He asks. “You ought to be asleep by now.”

“I am missing my husband.” She purrs, stepping behind him to rub his shoulders.

“Mmm. And the realm will miss its Prince Regent and Protector, while Aegon recovers, if I neglect my duties.” He says matter of factly.

“What about your husbandly duties?” She asks, rounding his chair to face him. “I have barely seen you in over a week. You are neglecting me.”

She can sense the irritation in the flare of his nostrils and the furrow of his brow as he looks upon her, but she hopes that she can win him around. She has always managed to in the past.

She moves to sit in Aemond’s lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning in to whisper to him. “Can your wife not provide a welcome distraction, even for a moment?”

The force with which Aemond shoves her off of his lap plants her bottom firmly onto the cold flagstone floor. She stares up at him wide-eyed. If she had thought that action cruel then the words that tumble from her husband’s lips next are a death blow.

“I have no taste for your depravity.” His voice is cool, but his tone is spiteful. “If you wish to parade around the Keep like a common whore, and believe yourself more important than the Crown, then I believe you’ve married the wrong brother.”

She flinches, her heart constricting painfully as she scrambles to her feet.

Aemond’s face immediately softens, rising from his seat to reach for her but she backs away, a soft whimper escaping her with the force of which she is holding back her tears. She runs from him, throwing open the library doors and hurrying down the hallway.

She does not return to their shared marital bedchamber, choosing instead to retreat to her own. It is a room she has not entered since her and Aemond were wed. Neither of them ever felt the need to make use of their separate rooms following their wedding night, preferring to sleep together.

There is a coldness and an overbearing sense of emptiness in the air that serves only to deepen the ache in her chest. As she lays upon the now unfamiliar feeling bed the tears finally come; hot, salty and relentless.

There is a rational part of her that knows that Aemond does not mean what he said. He is under immense pressure at the moment and is struggling to juggle the responsibilities of being both a husband and a Prince Regent. His reaction was one of frustration at feeling backed into a corner. Duty has always weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

However, knowing all of this does little to remove the sting from his words or the pain in her heart. Perhaps she should have gotten dressed before seeking him out. Maybe he really doesn’t think they are suited for each other.

The thoughts swirl continuously around in her mind as her cries turn to sniffles, before she falls into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

For a few brief moments upon awakening the next day, she forgets, and all feels right in the world. Then the room swims into focus as she drifts fully into consciousness and she takes in her foreign surroundings. It is as though a large weight has suddenly been placed upon her chest and she groans, pulling the blankets up over her head as she curls in on herself. She cannot face the day today.

When her handmaidens enter her bedchamber, offering to help ready her for the day, she dismisses them. She claims she is not hungry when she is told that breakfast is being served. She remains curled in a ball, miserable thoughts consuming her mind and breaking her own heart. She wonders if Aemond feels as broken as she does. Somehow she doubts it.

As morning bleeds into afternoon, she finally rouses herself from her bed. The ceaseless rumbles of hunger in her stomach making it impossible for her to wallow any longer.

Taking in the lack of possessions in the room - she has moved almost everything to her marital chambers - she silently curses herself and wishes she hadn’t spent all morning sending away the various servants that had attempted to tend to her.

In only her nightgown, she makes the inelegant, but thankfully short, walk from her own rooms back to the ones she shares with Aemond, seeking clothing and perhaps a bath.

She freezes at the sight that meets her as she opens the door, her heart feels as though it has leapt into her throat. Aemond sits on the bed in a sorry state. His hair is untied and he is wearing only his undershirt and breeches. 

He looks up as she enters. It looks as though he has been crying. They stare at each other in silence for a few moments, neither one of them knowing quite what to say. Usually he is in council meetings at this hour of the day, she was not expecting to see him.

“I- I didn’t think you’d be here…” She finally confesses.

Aemond gives a small nod. “I have asked Grandsire to lead in my stead today. I said I was unwell.”

She has never felt so awkward or uncomfortable in her own husband’s presence before. She shifts from one foot to the other, keeping her hands clasped in front of her. “I…um…just came back to get something to wear. All of my clothes are here…at the moment.”

Aemond’s face twists in anguish at the last part of her statement. He rises from the bed, taking her hands in his. “Here is where they should stay. I am so very sorry, my love.”

Considering the heartache she has felt since leaving the library the previous night, she surprises herself when she doesn’t melt at Aemond’s words, instead she bristles with anger, yanking her hands away. “What you said, what you did to me, was terrible.”

Aemond bows his head slightly. “I know…I should never have said it. I did not mean it.”

“Then why did you say it?” She folds her arms across her chest, looking at him defiantly.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It has not been easy for me these past few weeks. There is so much pressure on me, acting as Protector of the Realm. My duties pull me away from you. I am only able to hold you when you are sleeping. I feel like I am failing as a husband and when you confirmed that I am…I lost my temper. I am sorry, my love.”

“You aren’t failing as a husband, Aemond, you are just busy. All I wanted was a little of your attention.”

“I am trying. Everything I do is to make you proud. The thought of holding you when I return each night is what gets me through every tedious Council meeting.”

“You hold me?” She asks, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Every night. Except last night. When I returned you weren’t here...” She glances over his shoulder to see that her pillows have been heaped onto Aemond’s side of the bed.

He follows her line of sight before turning back to her sheepishly. “They smelled like you…”

She huffs a small laugh and he looks at her hopefully.

“Do you forgive me?”

“I will work on it.” She says honestly. “You really hurt me, Aemond. I need you to remember I am your wife. Don’t treat me like an enemy. I am on your side.”

“I know. I never meant to make you feel like I thought otherwise. And I will spend every day proving to you that I am worthy of having you on my side.”

He steps forward cupping her cheeks and gently pressing his forehead to hers.

“We should get dressed, people will be wondering where we are.” she whispers. 

“No”, Aemond murmurs, “The realm has all of me every day, but today they will not have us.”

[deoreoo]

hi i really like your writing!! i was wondering if you could do like subspace x reader snd the reader is a rivaling scientist or engineer from a different faction like playground or something, i think that would be cool have a nice day!! :3

LITOST

Subspace × Engineer Reader!

Okay so uhm... im not really busy now ish??? BUT YEAH IM BACK!!

Under the dim light of a solitary desk lamp, You were furiously scribbling notes onto a stack of paper the room around you filled with a haphazard array of discarded prototypes and crumpled drafts.

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, its rhythmic cadence almost mocking the sense of urgency in your movements. Each stroke of the pen brought forth ideas that, while promising in the moment seemed to fall short of the breakthrough they desperately sought

With a frustrated groan You tossed the latest draft into the trashcan, but it missed its mark, fluttering down to join the scattered debris on the floor

The pile of crumpled papers, filled with half-formed theories and abandoned dreams, continued to grow a silent testament to the countless hours spent chasing the elusive spark of innovation.

A few seconds pass before you slammed your own forehead onto the desk with a dull thud, the impact barely registering over the throbbing frustration that seemed to pulse in temples. The room was eerily quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the low anguished murmurs that escaped from your lips.

"Maybe this is like karma for choosing engineering..."

As the minutes dragged on you felt your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. The relentless strain of the long hours began to weigh on them, pulling your own thoughts into a foggy haze

Your poor attempts to stay awake became more desperate punctuated by occasional, futile slaps to their cheeks and half-hearted sips of cold coffee- jumping up in down inside your apartment, and even walking around playground's park

Despite the best efforts, you return back to your apartment the room's dim light seemed to blur and waver as your eyes struggled to stay open.

Soon enough your head drooped slightly, chin resting on the crumpled notes spread out on the desk. Breathing slowed, becoming more rhythmic and even, as the exhaustion began to overtake their frustration The ideas that had once seemed so vital now floated in the periphery of their mind, merging with the dreams of sleep that beckoned irresistibly.

"Maybe just a little bit..."

Amid the scattered papers and discarded blueprints, Your own body finally surrendered to fatigue. Their breathing became a soft, steady rhythm, the room’s quiet now embracing the stillness of their unintended rest

BANG

BANG

BANG

Your deep sleep was abruptly shattered by a series of sharp taps against the window most likely pebbles, thrown with a persistent urgency.

groggily and sitting up properly, the remnants of frustration quickly giving way to confusion. The pebbles continued their insistent patter, echoing through the quiet room.

Groaning, You pushed aside the scattered papers and shuffled to the window. pulling the curtain just enough to peer outside. Only to get flashbanged by the sun making you quickly close the curtain back

"Dear illumina..."

You whisper under your breath before looking back outside again, your eyes adjusting to the now bright sky only to see people... 2 people... people frlm blackrock to be exact- but it did make you think where the other one is-

The unexpected intrusion yanked you fully awake as your mind races with questions and disruption.

"HEY LOOK WHAT I MADE PEASANT"

Was what Subspace yelled at you, you could tell he was grinning behind that mask as he was playing with pebbles on his right hand.... you assume he was the one who threw it on your window...

"What is wrong with you?? Cant you give me some sleep??"

Glaring at him he just let out a snicker before pulling a Biograft infront of him as he booted the robot alive again, that made you a tiny bit curious

"So what-"

"TARGET LOCKED, ENGAGING INTO BATTLE MODE"

Your eyes widen as your breath hitches when you heard what Biograft had said as you make a mad run away- hearing Subspaces manic laugh and the sound of an engine and metal clanking right behind you as you jumped down on a window on the other side of your apartment

"THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE PERFECT SCIENTIST IN ALL OF INPHINITY. DIE"

with Biograft's glowing orange sensors and a deadly retractable blade pursued relentlessly. As it swung its arm, the blade sliced the air dangerously close. You yelped and ducked, narrowly missing the strike. weaving through crossroads your mind racing for a way to out wit a strong tincan-

As You rounded another corner you were abruptly yanked to the side by a familiar figure. Hyperlaser- as he presses a finger to your lips to silence you. They remained still as biograft trundled by, its heavy footsteps reverberating through the alley

Hyperlaser leaned in, whispering harshly, "This is just out of pity. Don’t think too much about it nor expect me to help you ever again."

With that, he stepped back and left you, allowing You to regain footing and organize your thoughts.

"Maybe i do need to move to another city...or maybe just anti-blackrock my house..."

You mumble since you did not want to get your head chopped off... and also did they just walk all the way here to playground-

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 3)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

“Narcissus, the figure from an ancient Greek tale,” Professor Smith began, scribbling on the board, “is the origin of the term ‘narcissism.’ This is a word we now associate with a self-centered personality style. This quality in extreme contributes to the definition of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, a psychiatric condition marked by the trademark qualities of grandiosity, excessive need for attention and admiration, and an inability to empathize with others.”

Your gaze fluttered to the board. Quickly, you typed out the title: Topic; Day one of the lecture series ‘Senses of Disorder in the Modern Self.’  You jotted your notes in single-streamed thoughts, highlighting subjects, then tacking on more details as they came. Narcissus… Greek myth, personality disorder, grandiosity, need for attention, lack of empathy.

“His story and the motifs found within were fitted to the preoccupations of the subject, subjectivity, and intersubjectivity, and these are all within the realm of psychoanalytic theory.”

The professor switched topics and lines of thought too quickly, and even though  you smashed the keys on your laptop as fast as your fingers would allow, you were left with unfinished bullet points. Finally giving up, y leouaned back and allowed yourself to stretch, slowly moving your wrists in circles. It seemed like your classmates shared the same sentiment; some scribbled furiously while others typed away. You decided to give up and conduct research to supplement the parts of the lecture you missed.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard; spying Cillian’s utter lack of preparation gnawed at your focus. He hadn’t even bothered to bring a journal, much less, even to appear focused, occasionally jotting strings of thought on a crumpled sheet of loose leaf paper. His eyes remained fixated on his phone, thumb swiping up and down with a languid grace that somehow irked you.

As his pencil dragged across the page,  you peered over at his notes, startled to discover a few scrawled lines. Half of them were dedicated to meal planning while the other was pretentious strings of thought to caption his posts. You weren’t too upset with the latter. With the task often falling into your consideration, you wished you could have applied it to a resume; helping Cillian run his social pages was nearly a separate job itself.

But how did he expect to pass the upcoming final exam when he had hardly anything related to the class written down? Only his outfit was exemplary, but even then, there was room for improvement; he wore a singular earring, and he donned a chunky, ugly sweatband, exposing his angular forehead and sharp eyes, and to top it all off, he sported a jean jacket with a design of half-melted smiley faces, though it looked more like they were grimacing. The compilation almost looked ridiculous, but a face like his was the ultimate saving grace.

He kept glacing at his reflection. Didn’t he have better things to worry about? He was rich, but to dedicate such a vital time to looking good was a travesty. You wondered if his parents were proud of the son they raised.

You shook your head to dispel the thought. You let out a soft sigh, almost imperceptible amidst the lecturer’s steady drone, and resolved to quell the tide of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm you. Your fingers drummed on the desk, gaze flickering between the professor’s slides and the clock at the front of the lecture hall. Your mind, however, was soon sent into tumult.

“So, how was your date with Rian?” Cillian abruptly asked, still refusing to look up from his doodlest.

“Date?” Your voice hitched, the word snagging in your throat like a fishbone. “How did you— Well, it wasn’t a—”

“Thanks to a street photographer and Rian’s Instagram, everyone gets to see you two cozying up,” Cillian cut you off, his tone deceptively light.

His smartphone lay between you, its screen glowing with the evidence—a photo of you and Rian, sitting at the window, laughing together, shared by some account you didn’t know. You tried committing the username to memory, but when he noticed you staring a little too long, Cillian snatched it back.

“We were just grabbing a drink, and I was too buzzed to answer any calls. You know I would never purposefully ignore you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away?” His words were soft but pointed, like a dagger wrapped in velvet. He leaned closer, and the scent of his cologne enveloped you, a mixture of citrus and something smoky. “Why don’t I feel like I’m your most valuable friend anymore?”

“You are,” you stammered, your hands now clutching at the fabric of your skirt. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourrself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t look at my phone the entire night. I didn’t mean to make you think—”

His voice was even as his eyes bore into yours, seeking something far beyond your gaze. “It’s fine. Just remember to call me back next time.”

You nodded, an unvoiced apology hanging in the air. You glanced back at the lecture, where neural patterns danced on the screen, mocking you with their clarity. If only understanding your tangled emotions and Cillian’s cryptic intentions were as simple as memorizing textbook definitions.

You tried to refocus on the lecture, the hum of voices and the professor's monotonous drone becoming a distant echo as Cillian's leg brushed against yours under the table. You shifted in your seat, pulling away slightly, only to feel his warmth follow.

“I will. You’re my friend, after all.” You managed to say. You could feel every eye in the room, or so it seemed, even if they were all fixated on their own notes, their own worlds.

“Friends?” Cillian echoed, tilting his head. “Is that all we are? What makes you like Rian better than me?”

“Cillian, you know that’s not the case,” you hastened, your lips dry. “You’re my closest friend. You’re the most important person in this world. Like I’ve said, last night was just… it was nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious.” He repeated the phrase slowly, tasting each syllable as if it were a delicacy laced with poison. “Then why did I find out from pictures online? Why did it have to be a secret?”

“It wasn’t a secret. It was just an impromptu meet-up. Trust me on this.”

“Trust is a luxury,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And I’m afraid to say I’m not afforded much of it by you these days.”

“Look, I’ve already said sorry. What more do you want?” You sighed, your patience fraying at the edges. “If you’re really that upset, I’ll make it up to you, okay? It really isn’t worth arguing over.”

“I like the sound of that.” Cillian mused, leaning back in his seat, seemingly satisfied. You turned, finding him ruffling his hair with an air of nonchalance. “But I want you to enjoy it too, and you look like you could use some retail therapy.”

“Shopping? I don't know…”

“Is it about last night? Did that guy bum off of you? You don’t have to worry about costs with me. I’ll pay. You can make it up to me this way, and you’ll get something nice, too. It’s a win-win.”

You weighed the pros of placating him against the cons of further indebting yourself to him. Although you had the same humble beginnings, Cillian had long since joined a world you could only imagine belonging to. The longer you entertained him, the more he seemed to thrive on appearances, on being seen with someone willing to play the part he assigned them.

Fortunately, you played your role well and reaped the rewards.

“Fine,” you finally breathed out, the acquiescence tasting of sour grapes. “But not today, and just for a little while. I really need to focus on this lecture.”

As if the universe was conspiring against y,ou the professor exclaimed, “And that’s all for today. Any questions?” he said, scanning the room for any raised hands. “No? Well, that’s all, then. You’ve got ten minutes left if you want to stay in this class, but I’ll get going now. I’ll post the slides by tonight.”

Shamelessly, you grabbed Cillian’s hand, stopping him from closing his notebook. You pulled back, releasing him when a slight red tint came to his face. His dangling earring occupied your thoughts for a brief second. Chrome against porcelain, topped by his dark locks. The paleness suited him, although it caused his features to meld together, almost like he wore a flawless mask.

“Sorry, I was just wondering if you caught anything I missed.”

Gaze fluttering up from his phone, he breezily said, “Do you need help? I booked a study room in the library, but if you’d like, we can go to my place.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just wait for the professor to post the slides.” You turned until he was invisible in your peripheral vision. Nevertheless, you felt his gaze trained to you as you shoved your laptop into your backpack. “Where are you going to be during your free hour?”

When your shame deemed that you had punished yourself enough, you was able to face him once more. Turning around, you saw the sunlight playing off his form. His face seemed to illuminate like a lightbulb against the chalkboard’s dreary background. Just over his head on the board, Professor Li’s messy handwriting read ‘Narcissistic Personality Disorder.’ Your gaze quickly returned to admiring his face.

“I’ll be at the bio building if you need me,” Cillian replied, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I just have to turn in this paper and then I’m done for the day. Want to come with me?”

He smiled at you, and suddenly, your spirits brightened. You returned that brilliant grin, losing a few kilowatts in transmission when your phone pinged.

‘Need ur help. Too bright. - Rian.’

Quickly cramping the device into your bag, you laughed. “Sorry, something just came up. I’ll meet up with you at our regular place instead.”

Cillian’s smile faltered slightly. “You’re not coming with me? Did you already make plans with someone else?”

You didn’t want to outright say such, so you skirted around a direct answer.

“It might take some time, but I’ll be there with you,” you assured him. Knowing the promise wasn't enough, you tacked on more words that would soothe his mind, stating, “Who else would I be with? You know I don’t have that many friends.”

That he knew of. There was benefits to walking on the chasm’s edge; you treated Cillian as your own secret world, a portal to an otherwise unobtainable, glamorous realm. With Rian and his group, you were fortunate enough to experience what life might be like if you were regular, and in Cillian’s presence, you got a taste of the life of an overworked talent agent, passing excess through your hands like a sieve onto his pampered lamp. But you were fine with the day-and-night difference; your relationships were unique. With Rian and Connor, even. People were people, and people had different personalities, thoughts, aspirations, goals, and fears, so it wasn’t wrong to cleave yourself into parts, to send each into different orbits.

“Okay,” Cillian finally conceded. “Don’t take too long. I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“No, let me,” you quickly interjected, prepared to atone.

Cillian winked, his smile retreating to its fullest potential. “No. Let me take care of you.”

Before you objected, your phone pinged again.

“I’m sorry! I’ll meet with you later!” you blurted before he could object and trap you in a web of guilt. With a swift turn on your heel, you darted away, leaving the classroom and its muffled sounds of a lesson continuing without you. Your glasses threatened to slide off your nose as you hurried through the crowded hallways, your form a blur against the sea of students, then out the doors. Legs pumping, you raced across the yard, toward the library.

You pushed through the heavy doors and into the hushed ambiance, immediately searching for Rian. There, nestled between the looming bookshelves in a secluded corner, was his delicate frame, hunched and quivering.

“Rian?” You whispered.

He looked up, his eyes awash with despair, tears tracing clean lines down his cheeks. “Y/N,” he slurred, recognition flickering weakly behind the glassiness of his gaze.

“Rian.” You knelt beside him, suppressing the heat of rage bubbling within you at the sight. Fighting the instinct to lash out at the circumstances that had driven him to this state, you steadied your breath and reached out a tentative hand. He looked up at you, eyes glimmering with tears, a strained smile stretching across his lips. Instead of going for an embrace, you reached for his water bottle, which reeked of alcohol. You fought him, but eventually managed to wrestle it from his grasp and confiscate it.

“Sorry, Rian. I’m not giving this back to you.”

“But I’m done for the rest of the day. This is my precious springtime of youth. Let me live a little!”

“Look, drunkards are normal to encounter in the streets, but not on campus. You’re doing something so reckless, and in broad daylight, and you could still get expelled if anyone sees you. And if that happens, your grandparents are going to hit you so hard that you’ll spend your precious springtime of youth in a coma until the winter of your final years. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Rian remained silent. You were sure he was going to glare and curse you out, but then, he tilted his head until it rested on your shoulder. Voice quivering, he confessed, “My girlfriend broke up with me and I… I guess I… I mean I—”

“Rian,” you said, softly this time. “Come on. We both know a girl can’t affect you that much. What is this really about?”

“You’re right.” He lifted his head up and leaned against the wall instead. “It isn’t just the alcohol messing with my mind. It’s just that… That everyone… They all leave me,” he mumbled through a choked sob. “Everyone. My parents, Eve, my grandparents will follow soon, and how long until you’re gone too? How long until everyone thinks I’m a burden?” His voice cracked, and before you offered a comforting word, he burst into body-wracking sobs.

“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t ever leave you alone,” you assured, placing an arm around his shoulders. Tremors coursed through his body. Your phone buzzed insistently in your pocket, but you ignored it. Rian needed you more than you needed to appease anyone’s vanity or paranoia. Swallowing the bile of your own anxiety, you held him close. “You don’t have to believe me yet because I haven’t shown you, but I’ll keep proving it until you believe me. But for now,” you murmured, helping him to his feet, “let’s get you out of here. And how about some food? It’d do you good.”

Rian placed another hand on top of yours, though his eyes were still transfixed on the wall. Reluctantly, you pulled away, shaking off his grip in favor of unlocking your phone. Immediately, you saw that you had ten messages, split between your built-in app and Instagram account. Ignoring an incoming call and another text, you told Rian, “Forget about Eve, okay?”

“Eve? Who is that?” He laughed, shoulders shaking with each chuckle. The tears on his face hadn’t stopped pouring down. “Eve who? Like Christmas Eve? More like Christmas Evil. Fucking love that song. Thought Christmas albums were kitsch, but it slaps.”

“On second thought,” y ousighed, taking in his sorry condition, “how about I take you back to your dorm?” 

“Will you carry me?”

“Rian, no!” You were powerless as he trapped you in a hug. His arms draped over your shoulders, but his balance was compromised, and he loaded his body weight onto your back. He was hardly a few centimeters taller than you, but he went almost entirely slack, draping his frame atop yours. Struggling to remain upright, you sent a quick text to his roommate, attaching your location. He responded fairly fast, informing you that he was already near them and would be scarfing down his lunch to head over.

His head bobbed, his wavy hair brushing against his forehead. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just didn’t know what else to do. The world feels like it’s falling out from under me.”

“Come on, get up.” Standing, you slipped an arm under his, trying to coax him to his feet. “You can’t stay here like this, and we’re already a spectacle.”

Rian’s body felt limp, but he allowed himself to be partially lifted by your insistent pull. As he staggered to his feet, you glanced around, acutely aware of the curious glances from other students. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment—not for yourself, but for Rian.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always,” you said, ignoring your still-buzzing device. For now, your friend’s well-being was y our sole focus. “Let’s find somewhere quiet.”

Compliant now, you guided him outside. Embracing the sunlight, y you disregarded the stone pathway. You stepped onto the lush green yard and squinted, stumbling towards a bench secluded by a grove of whispering trees.

As you sat, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hesitated over the contact list. As much as you wanted to solve every problem yourself, this was beyond you. With a deep breath, you dialed Connor’s number.

“Hey, Conner. I’m on campus with Rian, and he’s—well, he’s plastered and not doing great. I can wait with him for a while, but I have somewhere to be. Can you come get him? Or I can meet you halfway.”

Your words were direct, bypassing the niceties that often cluttered conversations.

“What is that idiot up to now?” came his humorous response. “Of course. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, ending the call and slipping the phone back into your pocket. You turned to Rian and reassured, “Good news. Your roommate will be here shortly.”

He nodded, and you sat in silence, the hushed sounds of nature wrapping around you like a soft blanket. In the distance, the faint hum of traffic whispered.

But for now, in this secluded haven, time seemed to slow, allowing you to fulfill your role as comforter, as protector of your friend’s fragile spirit. As you waited for Connor's arrival, your mind couldn't help but wander to Cillian and the plans you had made. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside. Here, with Rian’s head resting on your shoulder, you found your purpose.

“I can’t believe you really risked it all.” You forked your fingers into his hair, smoothing out the knots. “All for some girl?”

You reached to grasp his hand. You offered no grand gestures, only the steady rhythm of your palm tracing small circles. Your words, when they came, were soft-spoken, weaving through the silence like threads of silk.

“Rian,” you murmured, “heartache, it seeps into us, but it doesn’t define us. You’re more than this pain, more than what you’ve lost. Your kindness,” you continued, feeling his fingers squeeze around yours, “it lights up rooms. Someone will see that and cherish you. This isn't the end. It’s just a really tough part of your life. It’ll get better, and if it doesn’t, I’ll hunt the bitch down and break her knees."

The silence lasted only a moment, then Rian burst into tears. Sighing, you kept stroking his hair, rubbing his back, and murmuring sweet cheer-me-ups.

Approaching from behind, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pinning you and Rian against the bench. Glancing up, you greeted Connor, who trapped you in his embrace until Rian’s tears finally ceased their stream, his body settling into quiet hiccups.

Pulling away, Connor regarded you with a thankful look. “Thanks for keeping him out of trouble. You can go. I’ll take care of him from here,” he urged, voice close to your ear. If it wasn’t for how Rian was trying to curl into a ball and pass out on the bench, you would have blushed.

“I cannot thank you enough. Really.”

“Anything for a friend,” he replied with his easy smile, but you were already rushing away.

“Really, I owe you one!” you called over your shoulder, your voice nearly lost amidst the chatter of students and rustling leaves.

“Then tutor me in biology!”

Shouting a reluctant agreement, you sped away, your mind whirling as fast as your legs. You wondered if it was right to leave Rian in the hands of someone else, but a person like him was suited for anyone. Well-liked by almost everyone, he was a sweet boy known for coming to class with a smile, and for not being very smart but still trying his best to contribute to class discussions.

He wasn’t alone, but Cillian? It pained you to see how he kept an arm’s distance from anyone he wasn’t already acquainted with. It was funny how in spite of witnessing Rian’s tears, your mind was still focused on that vain man. Perhaps it was because you knew that although his initial reactions were always overly-zealous, Rian would eventually stomach the heartache while Cillian could not. You had personally witnessed the depth of hurt that he could, or rather could not handle. His threshold for pain of any kind was rather shallow.

The incessant pinging of the phone in your bag only served to remind you who needed you more. Although you had been sitting with Rian and trying to coax him out of his depressed state for nearly half of an hour, the messages had never stopped pouring in. With a sigh, you realized you couldn't ignore him much longer.

You spotted him before he saw you, sitting outside a cafe, staring at his phone. His hair caught the light, a raven’s wing glinting with shades of indigo. As you approached, his head snapped up, eyes locking onto your with an intensity that made you falter.

“What took you so long?” He asked lips curved downwards. He ruffled his hair, an agitated sigh escaping his lungs. “I was waiting for you.”

You grappled with the familiar weight of guilt, the dreaded sensation of having let someone down. “Sorry. I’ll explain when we’re inside,” you said prompting, eager to escape the prying eyes of passersby.

“Lead the way,” Cillian said, stepping aside with a flourish that bordered on mockery. He followed you in silence, the tension unspoken but palpable, like the static charge before a storm.

As you passed through the doorway, the cafe enveloped them in warmth and the murmur of conversation. Cillian took the seat next to you, boxing you against the window. With his elbows resting on the table, your hands found refuge in the pockets of your ill-fitting cardigan, mind racing with ways to mend the rift, even as your heart whispered warnings you weren’t ready to heed.

Retrieving a menu tucked beneath the napkin dispenser, you fidgeted with the laminated edges, stealing glances at Cillian. His presence was like a cloud, darkening the cozy ambiance of the cafe. You cleared your throat, summoning the courage to bridge the chasm his displeasure had created.

“Cillian, about why I was late…” you began, “I’m really sorry. I was dealing with a crisis. Rian was out there day drinking. Poor boy’s upset and having a rough time.” You scooted your chair closer to him. He looked at your from the corner of his eye before moving to rest his arm on the back of your chair.

“Him again?” Cillian’s tone was sharp, slicing through your words. “The guy’s a walking disaster. I don’t see why you have to play the hero every time something hurts his little heart. Maybe it should just be carved out and given to someone who’ll take better care of it.”

You recoiled, the sting of his words biting. You searched his face for some sign of understanding but found none. His features were set in stone, handsome yet impassive, his eyes reflecting the screen glow from his phone rather than any warmth towards your predicament.

“I couldn’t just leave him there,” you said, your own eyes darting away from his scrutiny to focus on a coffee stain on the table. “He needed a friend.”

“Seems like he wants to ask for more than that from you,” Cillian retorted, scrolling through his messages. “But clearly, you value your little charity missions with clingy bastards who’re only trying to get into your skirt more than the plans you’ve made with the friend who’s only trying to treat you to a snack while you study.” Huffing, he turned away. “What was he bothered by this time?”

“Rian isn’t like that,” you objected. “He was only acting out because his girlfriend broke up with him. Of course, he’d be upset. Most would.”

Cillian scoffed, earning a glare from you. Even though he had issues too, he didn't need to lash out and be rude to others. They were peers. They both knew what that sort of heartbreak was like. Cillian should’ve supported him instead of arguing over who had it worse.

Crossing his leg, he clicked his tongue. “You should have at least told me where you were. I was waiting for thirty minutes.”

Pushing your irritation aside, you inhaled. Friendships differed from person to person, so you had to understand why Cillian was feeling the way he did, and where that feeling was coming from. He had been there for you during your times of need, so you had to return the favor, no matter how late.

“I’ll tell you next time,” you mindlessly offered, eyes bright with a forced cheerfulness you hoped would placate him. “I know you said you want to go shopping soon, but let me do something for you. We can go anywhere. Your choice.”

“Anywhere?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching into something resembling amusement. It was a small victory, but it eased the knot in your chest.

“Anywhere. I promise. Just let me make it right.”

Make what right? You didn’t know how you’d wronged him, but you didn’t want to be the cause of his suffering.

“Promise, then. Promise to me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it properly,” he prodded, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“I swear to you, Cillian,” you said, the formal phrasing feeling strange on your tongue. “I’ll stop being a bad friend and make it up to you.”

“Good.” His tight-lipped frown dissolved into something warm and disarming, as if the past few minutes had never happened. “Shall we order, then? I’m starving.”

[unpopularwriter25]

Twilight Kisses

Summary: The reader finds herself swept away in a whirlwind of emotions when her longtime crush, the sweet and nerdy Charlie Walker, unexpectedly confesses his feelings for her during a study session.

Warnings: None.

Notes: I love this man. This is just something cute. I will do more horror stuff later.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow through the window of your bedroom. The room was cozy, filled with the familiar scent of your vanilla-scented candle and the soft hum of your favorite playlist playing in the background. You and Charlie Walker were sprawled out on your bed, textbooks and notes scattered around you. It was supposed to be a study session, but your mind kept wandering.

You glanced over at Charlie, who was furiously scribbling something in his notebook. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and a few strands of his messy, brown hair fell over his eyes. He looked up, catching you staring, and gave you a shy smile that made your heart flutter.

"Need any help?" he asked, his voice soft and a little hesitant.

You shook your head, feeling a bit flustered. "No, I'm good. Just...thinking."

Charlie nodded, returning his gaze to his notes. You tried to focus on the words in front of you, but your thoughts were racing. You'd always had a bit of a crush on Charlie. He was smart, sweet, and had this adorably awkward charm that you found irresistible. But you never thought he might feel the same way about you.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the occasional turn of a page and the distant chirping of birds outside. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice Charlie had stopped writing. He was looking at you, his blue eyes intense and filled with something you couldn't quite place.

"Y/N," he said quietly, almost like he was testing out your name on his lips.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his fingers nervously playing with the edge of his notebook. "Do you ever...I mean, have you ever thought about...someone...in a way that's...um, hard to ignore?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he talking about you? "Yeah, I guess so," you replied cautiously, trying to read his expression.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. "Like...someone you really like, but you're too scared to tell them?"

You nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

There was a heavy silence between you two, charged with unspoken emotions. Charlie shifted closer, his breath hitching slightly. "Y/N, I...I think about you. A lot."

Your eyes widened, and before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, you were too shocked to move, but then you melted into him, kissing him back with a fervor that surprised even you.

The kiss deepened, and Charlie's hand found its way to your cheek, cupping it gently. You felt like you were floating, the rest of the world fading away until it was just you and him. When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, and he was breathing a little heavier.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking a bit panicked. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't be," you interrupted, a smile spreading across your face. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a small laugh. "Really?"

"Really," you confirmed, leaning in to kiss him again.

[hwashua-luv]

A Spark in the Library

The library was quiet this evening as the clock crept to the closer toward the end. The air was heavy with the smell of old books and the whiff of coffee. You, hunched over a stack of textbooks in one of the dimly lit study carrels, were furiously scribbling your notes down in your notebook. Your eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall; you still had just enough time to finish this last problem before closing time.

You looked up at the soft shuffling noise, knowing it came from Kang Yeosang, your close friend since freshman year and your classmate. He was holding a couple of textbooks and a cup of coffee in hand. His usual casual smile had brightened his face as he spotted you.

"Hey," he said, setting things on the table beside you. "Mind if I join you?"

You smiled. "Not at all. Just trying to finish this up before the library closes."

Yeosang sat down beside you, flipping open his books. "Same here. I got a ton of reading to do for this upcoming exam."

As he got comfortable, something warmed up inside you. Yeosang had been your friend since freshman year in the university. You'd both bonded over shared interests in literature and coffee, and over time, your friendship grew into one of the key lifelines in your life. The thing was, though, that recently, you had been getting that different kind of warmth whenever you were around him—one that makes your heart race just a little bit faster than usual.

Hours slid by in easy silence, only occasionally broken by the soft murmur of conversation or the rustling of pages. It was peaceful, and you found yourself easily focused with Yeosang beside you. He would occasionally peer over your notes, making useful comments or small explanations when it seemed you were puzzled.

It was nearing midnight, and library staff started to chant the closing time. You and Yeosang gathered all your stuff and started packing things up. Slipping your backpack over one shoulder, you felt eyes on you, and you turned to find Yeosang's gaze; his smile tugged at his lips and gave your heart a happy little stutter.

"You wanna grab a late-night snack before heading home?" he asked, rising to his feet and stretching.

"Sure, that sounds great," you replied, feeling a flutter of excitement.

You two walked to a nearby 24-hour diner; the night air was cool against your skin. The streets were relatively clear, save for the odd passing car, and the hum of the city created a soothing background.

You slid into a booth inside the diner, and Yeosang sat across from you. The small table was fitted with a checkered tablecloth and a small, flickering candle. You both ordered coffee and a couple of sandwiches, and while waiting for your food, you talked about everything and nothing—university stress, upcoming exams, and your favorite TV shows.

As the conversation went on, you found yourself laughing more than you had in awhile. Yeosang was one of those people who could make anything seem lighter with his attitude, and he had this laugh that was infectious. It was during these kinds of moments that you realized just how much you actually enjoyed his company.

Your food finally arrived, and you continued chatting while eating. With the clock ticking closer to 2 a.m., you noticed that Yeosang was still looking at you for a bit longer than usual. You felt mixed emotions of anticipation and nervousness, like something big was to happen.

"You know," Yeosang said as he set his coffee cup down, "lately, I have been thinking a lot."

"What is it?" you asked, tilting forward a bit with your interest on high.

"About us," he said, his eyes locking with yours and became stern yet soft.

You felt your heart race. "What do you mean by 'us'?"

Yeosang took a deep breath. "I have been trying to figure out why I have been feeling so different about you lately. And I think I finally have. I don't just see you as a friend anymore. I. .. I care about you a lot more than that."

You stared back at him, and those mind gears were turning at full power. Had he just implied what you thought he did? The air felt so dense between them with all that was said and specially with all that was unsaid.

"I care about you too, Yeosang," you answered yourself, barely above a whisper.

He reached across the table and took your hand firmly, but gently. You felt a shiver down your spine. "I've been wanting to tell you for a while now. I was just scared, I suppose, of blowing it."His hand was warm around yours, and his eyes locked into yours, the vulnerability there plain. It was terrifying; it was exhilarating—to know that all those emotions you'd been wrestling with were mutual.

You found yourself leaning in, helpless against the pull. Yeosang's eyes met yours, and time felt frozen. The diner's hum faded into the background; all that remained was the air between you.It was soft and tentative when your lips finally met. Yeosang's kiss was soft, as if he had been trying to put into it all the emotions that he kept inside. At this, your heart swells, and you match his tenderness, savoring the sweetness of the moment.

Breaking apart, both of you are gasping. Your foreheads lean against each other as Yeosang's eyes shine with relief and happiness.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he confessed, his voice trembling a little.

You smiled, feeling complete in a way you hadn't known you weren't until now. "I'm glad you did."

As you both settled back into your seats, hand in hand, the whole world outside seemed a little brighter. It was all worth it—the library, the late-night study sessions, the hassle of university life. You both knew then that this was the start of something beautiful.

The night washed on in fits of laughter and conversation, but now it had a new, exciting undercurrent. That diner and its flickering candle and booth had turned into the setting for a new chapter in your lives, one where the lines between friendship and love blurred beautifully.As you walked back to campus with Yeosang, you knew in your heart that whatever this future held, you would face it together.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Word count: 1043

Author's note: This is my first time publishing my work so please let me know if I have spelling or grammar mistakes. The same book has been posted on Quotev and Wattpad (hwashua-luv). Each oneshot will be posted on Instagram (hwashua._.luv1708). Requests are also open <3

All rights reserved. © 2024 hwashua-luv

All works written by me do not copy, translate or repost my works without my given consent.

[askthestans]

Hello Pines brothers. I come to you about an old question: about being a father and guardian. Stanley, know that you would be a wonderful father and a wonderful parent. Of course, you are not perfect in many ways, but you know the basic things about forgetting about someone: feeding, washing, proper sleep and safety. Unlike your brother, who can't even take care of himself, let alone anyone else. Stanley, have you ever considered adopting a newborn baby in the past?

Stanley: Well, Lu (can I call ya that for short?), you're right. I may not be a dad, but I'm somethin' even better: a Grunkle. See, people think parents are the most important people in a kid's life. And they are, don't get me wrong! But a Grunkle (or Graunty, for that matter) is so important, too. We're like backup parents or grandparents, minus dumb rules like goin' to bed at a reasonable time or limits on sugar intake, with added fun and law-breaking!

And you're 100% right: Ford can't take care of himself. Why do ya think I know about parenting so well? I had to look after this nerdy runt for years of my life! When we were kids, guess who had to protect ‘im from bullies and brush the sand outta his hair? Me. When we were teens, who had to make sure his late night science fair project candy stash was stocked and that he got enough sleep? This guy, that's who.

Never mind the thirty years I spent gettin' him back from sci-fi sideburn land. Oh, he whined about *raises voice an octave* "openin' that portal was too dangerous, Stan!" and "ya almost tore apart the fabric of reality!", but without me, Ford'd still be sleepin' in some slimy alien's armpit and chewin' on chicken-flavored tentacle strips for dinner.

If I thought workin' on fixin' the portal was hard, I was not prepared for takin' care of this guy after he got back. Oof, I'd take the task of carin' for Little Dork Ford or readin' theoretical physics textbooks over...

*He gestures over at Ford, who's working at the desk in his lab.* Ugh, whatever this wrinkly, musty, grumpy old creature is. It's Little Dork Ford, but now it sheds everywhere, has an ego, and it gets into even more trouble somehow.

Stanford: *Is currently busy at his desk, scribbling away at some experiment notes.* You do know that I can hear you insulting me, Stan?

Stanley: See? Ego taller than the Empire State Building, all to cover up insecurity as deep as... hey, Ford? What’s the world’s deepest ocean trench you told me those underwater aliens or whatever hide in?

Stanford: The Mariana Trench.

Stanley: Yeah, that place! Thanks, Sixer-

Stanford: *Reaches into sliding shelf behind his desk, pulls out The Norton Anthology of Shakespeare, Third Edition. He turns around without a word, narrows his eyes, and holds it up so Stan can see what it is. There are little post-it markers sticking up in neon colors from the pages, each marked similarly to “Quotes to Share with Stan #33″ His expression turns into a wicked, depraved smile.*

Stanley: *Backs away and starts sweating.* ANYWAYS, let’s take this conversation upstairs! AS FAR AWAY FROM FORD AS POSSIBLE!

*Stan drops a smoke bomb, rips the laptop they use to answer AsktheStans questions off its charger, and runs into the elevator of Ford’s lab.*

*The elevator, being old and rickety as it is, takes a long time to close the doors and start lifting. Stan holds the laptop with one hand and furiously, desperately smashes the up arrow button with the other, swearing profusely at how slow it is.*

*Meanwhile, a figure with six fingers looms in the dissipating smoke just outside the doors, outlined in the occasional neon blue flash of machinery he walks past, pacing closer, a book opened in his hands like a preacher about to read scripture at a demon.*

Stanley: Not again! *Screams and cowers as Ford nears and the doors are still closing, slowly, slowly...*

Stanford: “Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation’s terror and their bloody-”

*The doors close just before Ford can reach them.*

Stanley: *Lets out a sigh of relief and wipes his brow.* Whew! That was close. Hopefully he’ll calm down before this old elevator gets back down and up again. Heh, I have a good hidin’ spot just in case, though. I made sure to find one after last week’s event where I interrupted his dumb ‘married to science’ joke.

*Stan keeps talking as the elevator creaks upwards.* Sorry, your question... uh... adoptin’ a newborn baby. Hm...

Come to think of it, I actually did try to adopt a newborn once! It was a few years after I got established here at the Shack, had some extra money, was feelin’ a little lonely, wanted someone to teach all my good moral lessons and tell stories of the good ol’ heist days to...

So I went to the nearest adoption agency and asked about it. I even had a name picked out: Stanford Sherman Pines! I thought, just wait ‘til I get Ford back, and he sees this cute kiddo that’s named after him. Heh, just picture his face-

*The elevator doors open to the stairwell just down from the Gift Shop. Ford is waiting just outside. The book is still open in his hands. His eyes are unblinking.*

Stanford: “The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death-”

Stanley: *Rips Ford’s glasses off, digs into his own pocket, and throws awfully convenient salt into Ford’s eyes. Stan politely tucks the glasses back into Ford’s coat pocket with a little tap, then slams the down arrow elevator button this time.*

*By the time Ford gets back up from hunching over in pain, the doors close in his face again. Stan starts talking again.*

L-long story short, they saw my criminal history, and said no. I told ‘em they were makin’ a mistake! I, Stanley - er, well, I was pretendin’ to be Stanford at the time - Pines, would make a great dad! I mean, look at how well I took care of Dips and Mabes over last summer! They only went to jail once. And I even made ‘em Stancakes a few times!

But oh well. A few years later, Soos showed up at my door and got hired. I mean, he’s not my son, just my favorite employee, but he’s as close to a kid as I could ask for. With him, the little Pines twins, and Ford, I got all the kids I need! Seriously, ya might think I’m a big kid myself, and you’re right, but compared to those four, I feel like a mother hen.

Just doin’ the laundry around here is like a constant cycle of scrubbin’ food stains and science experiment chemicals. And who do you think all these dorks come to when they need a shoulder to cry on?

*The elevator door opens up to Ford’s lab again.*

*Stan winces, then when nothing happens, he peers out. Ford is nowhere to be seen. Stan lets out another sigh of relief, then starts walking out of the elevator. The laptop is still in his hands, the camera showing the empty elevator behind him.*

Looks like Ford finally gave up! Heh, salt! Didn’t think that would work, but it just goes to show ya, when in doubt, and when your twin brother who spent thirty years survivin’ in a hellish slew of dimensions comes after you for tellin’ the truth about his awful insecurity issues...

*Unbeknownst to Stan, behind him on the camera, a figure pops down from the service access hatch in the elevator roof, landing as silently as a ninja, rising from the still dissipating smoke as a shadow, the only light on the figure being glasses agleam with blue glow.*

Salt will do the trick! Yep, that’s all it took. I’m sure he’ll get me back for it later, but ya never know! Think he’ll forgive me? Hah! Of course he’ll forgive me! He’s my twin brother. Deep down he loves me, ya know?

*The figure comes up right behind Stan into the light, quiet as a ghost. It’s Ford, eyes puffy and red, tears streaming down his face, salt glistening in his eyelashes, but he’s still expressionless and unblinking.*

*Ford’’s pain is indeed great, but the stinging salt of betrayal can always be soothed by the sweet taste of revenge.*

Stanley: Ah! I’m sure he’ll forgive me. And if the salt doesn’t work and he’s still mad, I can always fall back on old reliable, right? *Stan makes a motion, as if kneeing someone in the crotch.* I did that once before, and he deserved every moment of-

Stanford: Care to let me finish?

*The laptop’s camera turns into a blur of machines and shadows and the sound of screaming. The laptop is set back down on the table and left streaming. Ford walks past slowly, book raised, reciting line after line of Shakespeare, screen glitching until all movement stops.*

*An hour passes. Eventually, Ford comes back and sees the laptop is still on. He leans down to speak, smiling innocently.*

Stanford: Oh! I forgot about the laptop. Apologies, internet stranger! My brother and I just had a casual argument, is all. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him. He’ll be fine.

*A scream erupts from somewhere further back in Ford’s lab. Ford turns around, eyebrows furrowed in irritation.*

Stanley, if you wanted to avoid getting locked in a room with a barghest, you should have thought about that before you sassed me and threw salt into my eyes!

*Chuckles and speaks to the camera with his mouth behind his hand.* Actually, the barghest is a pretty friendly creature. Demonic looking thing, but give it a nice belly rub or a bone, and it’ll be wagging its tail in no time. But Stan doesn’t need to know that.

Now, if he’d interrupted my marriage to science speech again, well... let’s just say I would have locked him in a pitch black room with a far worse creature.

*Shrugs.*

I’ll just leave this on for you all to listen to the sweet symphony of justice. Also because I need someone to bounce some ideas off of. What do you say? Want to help Dr. Pines - world-renowned supernatural expert - plan a new DD&MD campaign?

*Another scream. Demonic howling and the sound of rattling chains ensue.*

*Ford laughs, brings the laptop with him, then sits back at his desk, humming Dead or Alive’s ‘You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)’ as he scribbles away, occasionally asking the viewer their opinions on what monsters to use in said campaign.*

[cherrybomb1985]

TAKE A BREAK~a Hamilton fic

WARNING: This is a Hamilton tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, please kindly scroll by!

A/N: Also, my OC Jules is in this fic as well as Alexander’s daughter too :) enjoy!!! 😊

Alexander Hamilton sat at his desk, hunched over a pile of papers. His quill scratched furiously against the parchment as he scribbled notes, calculations, and plans. The room was filled with the sound of his writing and the occasional frustrated sigh.

"Papa!" came a bright, cheerful voice from the doorway.

Hamilton barely glanced up. "Not now, Jules," he muttered, not even noticing the slight pout on his daughter's face.

Jules, her long hair bouncing as she walked, came up to the desk, her eyes full of hope. "But Papa, you promised we'd play today. You said after breakfast!"

Hamilton paused for a moment, as if trying to remember his own promise. "I did?" he asked absently, already turning his attention back to the paper in front of him. "I'm sorry, darling, but this work is very important. Perhaps later."

Jules' face fell. She stood there, trying to muster a response, but before she could, Eliza entered the room. She had been watching the scene unfold from the hallway and knew it was time to intervene.

"Alexander," Eliza said gently, her voice firm yet caring. "You've been at this desk all morning. Jules has been waiting patiently for you."

Hamilton looked up, finally meeting his wife's eyes. "I know, Eliza, but these papers—"

"These papers will still be here in an hour," Eliza cut him off. She walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch soft but insistent. "Your daughter, however, is here now. And she won't be little forever."

Hamilton glanced between his wife and his daughter, who was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He sighed, realizing he was outnumbered. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, setting his quill down with a reluctant smile. "What do you want to play, Jules?"

Jules' face lit up instantly. "Hide and seek! You be the seeker!"

Hamilton chuckled, standing up and stretching. "Alright, hide and seek it is. But I'll warn you—I'm quite good at this game."

"We'll see about that!" Jules giggled and dashed off, leaving Hamilton and Eliza alone for a moment.

"Thank you," Eliza whispered, standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "She just wants to spend time with you."

Hamilton nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for getting so absorbed in his work. "I know. I'll make it up to her."

Eliza smiled, but there was a playful glint in her eye. "Oh, and one more thing," she added, her tone mischievous.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Without warning, Eliza reached out and poked him in the side, where she knew he was ticklish. Hamilton yelped and jumped back, a grin breaking out on his face.

"What are you—" he started, but Eliza poked him again, this time both hands going to his ribs. Hamilton laughed, trying to twist away.

Jules, hearing the commotion, ran back into the room, her eyes wide with delight. "Tickle fight!" she squealed, jumping in to join her mother.

"No, no, no, wait—" Hamilton protested, but it was too late. Eliza and Jules were on him, their fingers dancing across his sides, his ribs, and his stomach. Hamilton's laughter filled the room, rich and uncontrollable.

“WAIT—WAHHAHAHAIT NOHOHOHO!” He gasped as he was attacked by his own wife and daughter. “THIHIHIS IHIHIHISNT FAHAHAHAIR!” He kicked his legs as they both expertly tickled him, Jules enjoying his reactions the most. She giggled as she tickled his stomach and sides. “Daddy’s ticklish!” She giggled. “Yes, he is!” Eliza smiled. “Have you tried his feet yet? He’s especially ticklish there,” Eliza whispered to Jules, making her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“WAHAHAHAIT NO—NO JULES DONT—!” He burst out into hysterical laughter when she tickled his feet, as Philip entered the room. “Hey, what’s going on?” Philip asked, grinning as he took in the scene of his father laughing and squirming under the ticklish onslaught.

Jules paused just long enough to glance at her brother, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “We’re having a tickle fight, and Papa’s losing! Wanna help us?”

Philip’s grin widened. “Absolutely!” He bounded over to join the fray, his fingers already wiggling in anticipation.

“Philip, no—” Hamilton managed to say before his words dissolved into more laughter. Now surrounded on three sides, he had no escape. Eliza, Jules, and Philip teamed up, their fingers finding every ticklish spot they knew. “PHIHIHILIP NOHOHOHOT FAHAHAHAIR!” Alexander whined as his son attacked his neck and underarms.

“Why not?” Philip teased, his fingers mercilessly tickling his father's neck and underarms. “All’s fair in a tickle fight, right?”

“NOHOHOHO!” Alexander cried out, laughter pouring out of him uncontrollably. “YOHOHOU’RE AHAHALL GANGING UP OHOHON MEHEHE!”

“That’s the point, Papa!” Jules giggled, continuing her assault on his ribs. “Besides, you’re always working too hard. We have to get your attention somehow!”

Eliza smirked, giving Hamilton a break just long enough to lean down and whisper in his ear, “Maybe if you took more breaks, we wouldn’t have to resort to drastic measures.”

“THIHIHIS ISN’T DRAHASTIC?” Hamilton managed to gasp out between peals of laughter. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his body twisted as he tried in vain to escape the ticklish attacks.

“Not drastic enough!” Philip declared, poking Hamilton’s side in a particularly ticklish spot.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!” Hamilton laughed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “MERCY! I GIHIHIVE UP!”

Eliza, Jules, and Philip finally stepped back, their laughter filling the room as they watched Hamilton slump back in his chair, breathless and grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes!” Jules cheered, raising her hands triumphantly.

“We make a pretty good team,” Philip added, ruffling his sister’s hair.

Hamilton, still catching his breath, shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re all a bunch of little brats, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Eliza said, a playful glint in her eyes, “but we’re your little brats, and you love us.”

Hamilton nodded, reaching out to pull them all into a hug. “I do. I love you all so much.”

Jules snuggled into her father’s side, a content smile on her face. “And we love you too, Papa. Just don’t forget to play with us sometimes, okay?”

“Deal,” Hamilton agreed, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll remember. After all, I don’t want to be on the losing side of a tickle fight again anytime soon!”

Eliza wrapped her arms around both of them, feeling the warmth of their little family. "I love you too, Alexander. Now, how about that game of hide and seek?"

Hamilton nodded, the weight of his work forgotten as he laughed with his wife and daughter, ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of family time.

[ponyosmom35]

Trapped

bittersweet chapter thirty four

steve harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Robin, Indie, Steve, and Erica get trapped in a secret russian elevator.

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

In the dim light of the Scoops Ahoy, under the quirky nautical decor and amidst the scent of sweet ice cream, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Indie Holland, and Dustin Henderson gathered around the counter with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Their recent discovery of a mysterious Russian transmission had led them to believe something sinister was unfolding right beneath the Starcourt Mall.

As the mall buzzed with the usual flurry of shoppers, Dustin replayed the cryptic Russian message for what felt like the hundredth time. "It has to be from here, it just has to be," he insisted, pointing to the background noise in the recording that matched the mall's ambient sounds.

Robin, with her quick wit and sharper linguistic skills, was deep into decoding the phrases, scribbling notes furiously. "It's definitely military code, or I'm an idiot," she mused aloud, not looking up from her papers.

Steve, leaning against the counter next to Indie, watched her reactions closely. He noticed her occasional frowns and knew she felt somewhat left out after his time spent bonding with Robin over their covert operation. Trying to bridge the gap, he said, "Hey, Indie, you've got a sharp eye for details. What do you make of the background tune in the message?"

Indie, feeling somewhat reassured, leaned in to listen again. "It's eerie," she admitted, "like it's meant to be heard over and over."

After work, fueled by their findings and laden with anticipation, the group, along with Dustin, decided to investigate the mall's loading bays under the guise of night. The evening rain provided a cover of sound as they crept across the rooftop near the loading bays, their hearts pounding with every step.

Peering over the edge, they spotted several guards, armed heavily and scanning the area meticulously. "Wow, look at that..." Dustin whispered, handing Steve the binoculars.

Steve took them, adjusting the focus. "They're not messing around, are they?" he muttered, observing the military precision with which the guards moved. As he handed the binoculars back to Dustin, his hand accidentally brushed Indie's. Their eyes met, and a silent acknowledgment passed between them. Suddenly aware of the contact, Steve quickly withdrew his hand, and the moment was broken.

The tension and adrenaline were too high to dwell on personal feelings. "We need to get out of here," Steve decided, and without another word, they hurried back into the mall, blending into the dwindling crowd of shoppers.

Later that night, while manning the counter at Scoops Ahoy, Steve tried to lighten the mood. "You know, I could probably take out one of those massive Russian guards," he boasted, half-joking.

Indie rolled her eyes, chuckling despite the tension. "Sure, Steve, and I'm the Queen of Hawkins," she teased, then grew serious. "But really, we should check out that lead Robin found about the air ducts near the storage room."

Leaving the boys to their devices, Indie and Robin ventured out to gather more information. They returned to find the boys animatedly discussing their next move. Robin had figured out a potential entry point into the storage area through the air ducts. "It's a long shot, but it's the best we've got," she explained, laying out the blueprints she had managed to acquire.

The plan was daring: Erica, being the smallest, would crawl through the ducts and unlock the door from the inside. They positioned themselves strategically, waiting for the signal.

As the doors open Erica stands with her hand on her hip "free ice cream for life!"

They found themselves surrounded by boxes for the chinese food place in the foodcourt. Steve rips the box open and they are peer inside to see what it was. Indie frowns and looks up at Steve, it was a locked case.

"Thats definitely not chinese food" he says 

Steve pried open to reveal canisters of a strange green liquid and held it up for them all to observe. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. 

"What the hell?" he asks 

Before they could investigate further, the room began to shudder.

"Is it just me, or did the room move?" Dustin asks 

"Booby traps" Erica whispers 

"Lets just grab that and go" Robin says snatching the vile out of steve's hand and placing it in ericas backpack. Dustin presses the buttons and turns around in a panic

"Which one do I press Erica?" he asks

"Just press the damn button nerd!"

"I'm pressing the button okay?" Dustin exclaims 

"Press open door!" 

"I'm trying!" 

Steve walks over and pushes Dustin out of the way, both of them arguing as Robin and Indie yell at them to get the door open, panic begins to set in. 

"Shit! Hold on!" Steve yelled, grabbing Indie and pulling her close as the elevator plummeted. When it finally jerked to a stop, they were thrown forward. Indie hit her head against the side, a sharp pain radiating through her skull.

"Is everyone okay?" Robin asks 

"Yeah I'm great now that we know russians can't design elevators!" Steve yells as he looks around at the group. Indie remains on the ground holding her hand to her head as he notices. His gaze focuses in on her, before he could ask if she was okay blood trickled down her forehead, his heart stops as he moves forward and sits on the fround in front of her and grabs her shoulders. 

"Indie, you're bleeding!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with worry.

"I'm fine, Steve, it's not that bad" Indie insisted, trying to reassure him despite her dizziness.

"Let me see it" he tries 

"I'm good! Don't worry about me, we have to get out of here" she says brushing him off and standing to her feet, she moves over to the door and looks at the buttons. Steve follows suit and continues to slam them.

"I think we've established those buttons don't work!" Robin says 

"They're buttons they have to do something!" Steve screams

"Steven we don't have a keycard to open the door!" Indie snaps 

"What?" he asks 

"Its an electronic lock, we need a keycard to open it" Robin explains 

"Meaning we're stuck in here" Dustin says

Indie crosses her arms and takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. 

"Just so you nerds are aware I'm supposed to be spending the night at tina's, and tiny always covers for me and if i'm not home for uncle jack's party and my mom finds out you four are responsible she's gonna hunt you down one by one and slit you throats" Erica yells

"I don't care about Tina or uncle jack's party!" Steve yells, slamming his hands on the boxes in front of him "your moms not gonna be able to find us if we're dead in a russian elevator!"

"What if we climbed out" Dustin points to the ceiling where there was a latch. 

Steve and Dustin get on the top of the elevator and look up, only to see that they were hundreds of feet below the surface and nowhere near any other floor. 

Dustin tried to contact anyone on his walkie, but the signal was dead. As the hours passed, they talked, trying to piece together what the Russians might be doing with the mysterious substances and how it related to the Upside Down.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Indie leaned against Steve, her head resting on his shoulder as she fell asleep. Steve looked down at her, a mix of affection and concern in his eyes. He wanted to protect her, to tell her everything he felt, but fear held him back.

Unable to sleep, Steve gently move's Indie's head off of his shoulder and gets up, climbing to the top of the elevator where Dustin reamined. 

"You need to chill you're gonna drain the battery on that thing"

"The mall just opened so someone could be in range"

"And you think that some mall cop is gonna come down here and save us?" Steve questions 

"Why are you such a cranky pants after getting to spend the whole night with Indie?" Dustin whispers 

"Shh" steve snaps "jesus christ will you just give this up already?"

"I heard you talking all night"

"We were trying to figure out how to open the door" Steve rolls his eyes "and after being exactly nowhere after eight hours is the reason why I'm feeling just a tad cranky"

Indie woke up from her incredibly short nap when she heard banging. Her eyes snap open and she notices Erica banging the green vile against the metal box. Her eyes widen and she jumps up, grabbing it out of her hands. 

"You need to be careful!" Indie says 

"We don't know what that is" Robin exclaims 

"It could be useful"

"Useful how?" 

"We could survive down here a long time without food but without water we will die"

"I hate to break it to you but this is not water" Robin deadpans

"No but its a liquid and if it comes down to me drinking that shit or dying of thirst I drink"

All the sudden Indie whips around, hearing something outside the door. She and Robin share a look before placing her ears against it. 

"We've got company!" she yells to Steve and Dustin.

They all hide on the roof of the elevator waiting for the soldiers to leave. As soon as they walk out of the elevator they all climb down and Steve jumps forward, sticking the vile under the door to hold it open. They all slip underneath it narrowly missing being crushed by the door. As Steve slips through the vile breaks and the green substance spills on the floor, instantly burning it and sinking through the ground. 

"You still wanna drink that?" Indie asks Erica

"Holy mother of god" Dustin says 

"Jesus christ" Indie exclaims, staring at the neverending hallway they'd found themselves in. 

"Well, I hope you guys are in good shape" Steve says patting Dustin's stomach "looking at you roast beef" 

"Why me?" Dustin asks looking up at Indie. She just wraps her arm around his shoulder and follows Steve as he leads them through the hall. 

As they walk for what feels like hours Dustin rambles "if you look at the engineering alone, this is impressive"

"It's not safe, there's no stairs no fire exit just an elevator that drops you half way to hell" Steve responds 

"They're communists you don't pay people and they cut corners" Erica says, earning a look of surprise from Indie.

"To be fair to our russian comrades I don't think this tunnel was designed for walking" Robin states "they developed a perfect way to transport that cargo"

"It all comes in the mall like any old delivery" Indie starts 

"Then they load up those trucks and nobodys the wiser" Robin finishes 

"Do you think they built this whole mall just to transport the poison?" Steve asks 

"I very seriously doubt its just for the poison," Dustin adds "it's gotta be much more valuable like promethium or something"

"What the hell is promethium?" Steve asks 

"It's what Victor Stone's dad used to make cyborg's bionic and cybernetic components" Robin responds 

"Whatever all I'm saying is that it's probably being used to make something" Dustin finishes 

"Or power something" Indie says "like a nuclear weapon"

"Totally" Robin responds 

"And we're walking towards a nuclear weapon? Thats great" Steve murmers

"But if they're trying to build something, why here? Hawkins of all places?" Robin asks "at the very best we're a toilet stop on the way to disneyland but maybe thats the point" 

Robin continues to ramble as Dustin, Steve, and Indie share knowing looks with one another, slowing down to walk behind them. 

"Do you think the Russians know?" Steve asks 

"About the upside down?" she asks "they could, what are the odds" 

"So it's connected" Steve confirms

Indie shakes her head as a chill runs through her body, there was no way it wasn't all connected back to the upside down. And now here they were again smack in the middle of a situation that was most certainly going to bring their deaths. 

"How?" Steve asks 

"I don't know but its possible" Dustin says 

"I'm sorry is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Robin asks as her and Erica turn around. 

Before they could respond they heard voices—Russian, unmistakable coming through Dustin's walki in Erica's bag. They yank it out and listen closely. 

"It's the code" Robin says 

"wherever the broadcast is coming from-" Dustin starts 

"It's close" Robin finishes "And if there's one thing we know about that signal-" 

"It could reach the surface" Indie states with wide eyes

They continue to walk for several more minutes before two soldiers in a golfcart drive by. They are quick to Duck behind a column and hide from being seen. Steve sticks his head out and observes the area to ensure that they weren't gonna get caught. 

"Okay clear come on lets go" he says leading them forward. 

"That was too close" Indie says following after him

"Relax nobody saw us..." Steve trails off as they come around the corner and see tons of scientists and soldiers walking around, with massive rifles in their hands. Steve curses and pulls them all behind a stack of boxes and she looks back and holds Erica close. 

"I saw it!" Erica whisper yells "first floor northwest"

"Saw what?" Steve asks 

"The comms room!" 

"You saw the comms room? Are you sure?" Steve asks 

"The door was open and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there" she defends 

"That could be a hundred different things" Dustin responds 

"I'll take those odds" Robin says

In that moment Indie is acutely aware of how close Steve and Robin are, every bone in her body felt sick at the sight. She averts her eyes and tries to keep her mind on the situation at hand. Now was not the time for jealousy over a boy who didn't share feelings for her. 

"All right we're gonna move fast and stay low" Steve instructs 

Making a snap decision, they snuck into the nearby comms room. A soldier spotted them, but before he could react, Robin intervened, speaking fluent Russian. Steve screams and sprints forward, shoving the man into the desk. He's quickly shoved across the room and pushed into a desk. The solider tries to grab him and he elbows him in the stomach before slamming a phone into his head and knocking him out cold. The rest of the group stood deadly still and stared at Steve in shock. 

Indie, despite the pain in her head, is the first to break the silence as she smiled at Steve. "Looks like you finally won," she whispered, patting his back.

They didn't have time to celebrate as Robin runs into the room "guys there's something up there!"

They all hurry up the steps and look into the room with a massive machine shooting a beam of energy into the wall trying to open a gate to the upside down. 

"Holy shit" Steve curses in horror, they were right it had been connected all along. 

"Its the gate" Indie gasps 

Steve quickly ushers them down the steps, knowing that they needed to get as far away from this location as possible. 

"I don't understand you've seen this before?" Robin asks 

"Not exactly" Steve responds 

"All you need to know is that it's bad, really really bad" Indie states 

"Like end of the human race bad" Dustin adds

"And you all know about this how?" Robin asks 

"Steve where's your Russian friend?" Erica asks, causing them all to turn and look around, realizing that the solider was gone. 

Alarms blared and they look out the window to see the solider leading a group of more towards them. Steve ushers them all back up the steps and they run quickly. They enter the room with all the scientists and curse as they all turn and stare at the kids in shock. They quickly move out of the office and down several flights of steps, shoivng past scientists. They make it to the edge of the platform where the beam is being shot into the upside down and Dustin freaks out, screaming as he panics. 

"Move!" Indie snaps, grabbing his shirt and leading him down the steps as Steve runs straight through soliders and knocks them to the ground. Several more run up on them and Steve throws barrels towards them. 

"Go go go!" he beckons 

Indie spots a door and yanks it open and ushers everyone inside before she and steve shove it closed. They're quickly surrounded by soldiers who pound merclessly on the door. She looks up at Robin, Erica, and Dustin and shakes her head. 

"Come on let's go!" Robin exclaims 

"Go get some help!" Steve yells

"No not without you!" Dustin pleads 

"Just go!" Indie snaps "keep them safe Robin!"

[bunnyreaper]

omg i actually thought reader would make a good kitty that almost purrs when johnny rubs behind her ears and he makes her kitten lick his cock like she's been talking about, entertaining him under the desk while he does paperwork. although i feel like he'd be super needy as well above all he's a man of great self control so he'd be able to control himself (after sleeping w her a few times) to just let her lick happily away at his cock, his hand occasionally reaching to play w her ears and feel her lean further into his touch and sigh like a happy cat

furiously scribbling notes YES yes and yes ten times over???

this behaviour is all very crucial and regardless of the pet type just needs to happen !!

[justahopelessaromantic]

The punks are writing love songs (Oh-oh)

Fandom: South Park Ships: Style, Stendy, Tolkien/Nichole, and Bendy Disclaimer: The author of this work does not condone/endorse the messages, themes, and concepts presented by South Park. Considering how said work is melodramatic gay fanfiction written in theatrical script format of all things, I'm sure this seems reasonable to assume. However, it’s astonishing how many times I've stumbled upon people in this fandom who are wholehearted believers of almost everything the show says, and, quite frankly, I would rather evaporate from this plane of existence than potentially be presumed as a bigot or, god forbid, a centrist. Summary: "Abbreviate the longish names / You can bet that hearts will beat (Ooh-ooh) / The sort-of clever and nostalgic ones / Will sing their poems at breakneck speed" (Or:) It's a common writing practice among the pretentious and the soulful to put a little piece of themselves into their work, like a prize or easter egg of sorts for the listener to find. No one gave Nichole the memo.

SETTING:

The edge of a school cafeteria. Two wide exit doors are implied by characters walking off stage. Three standard lunch tables are scattered about the right side of the stage. Two or three teens, at least one of them eating something visually dull and unappetizing off of a lunch tray, sit at various tables, implying lunch is almost over and students have begun to leave in preparation for class. The tables look improperly washed, and there’s litter and a touch of graffiti scattered around the place. Optionally, a wilting potted plant can hang in the corner and/or posters, either inspirational or about school info., can be plastered haphazardly over some of the wall’s damages.

STAN is sitting at the table closest to down right, one chair away from the very edge. He’s clearly frustrated, yet incredibly focused, to the point where it looks like he’s at least partially unaware of his surroundings. He constantly switches from scribbling on a notepad, furiously erasing, and fiddling with the acoustic guitar hanging off his shoulder. NICHOLE emerges from stage left, briskly walking to the exit before stopping in her tracks. TOLKIEN sits at the opposite end of the table, patiently taking notes on his laptop from a textbook.

NICHOLE

(Whipping back around to take up the chair next to him, throwing her backpack on the floor.)

Oh, hey, Stan! So you’re still working on that song, right? About the guy and his girlfriend and the freaking out over,

(Taking an audibly sharp breath before taking on the stereotypical performing voice of a Shakespearean actor, gingerly placing a hand over her heart)

“The divine horror of impending familiarity found deep within the labors of a dear lover”,

(Teasingly)

As you so pretentiously named it?

TOLKIEN

(Looking up at the sound of her voice before smiling like he knows exactly what's about to happen, slowly closing his laptop, and pushing it to the side so he can rest his head on hand to watch them)

STAN

(Jerking up at the sound of her voice, decently surprised by her sudden and energetic involvement, before adjusting and gradually responding with a calm and friendly demeanor)

…I mean…as humiliating as it may be to admit, I write, like…a lot of those. You’re gonna wanna be a tad more specific.

NICHOLE

(Acting playfully exasperated before breaking out into a smile and lazily pointing a finger in Tolkien’s direction)

Oh, I know. You're more of a romantic than this dill weed.

TOLKIEN

(Fondly)

Takes one to know one.

NICHOLE

(Scoffing bashfully and waving her wrist)

Shut up.

STAN

(Clumsy jerking away as she grabs his notebook from underneath him, shooting Tolkien a comically exaggerated stupefied look)

TOLKIEN

(Casually shrugging his hands up while smirking)

NICHOLE

(Stealing the pen from Stan, startling him again, and jotting stuff down, occasionally glancing back up to check if he’s paying attention and emphasizing with her hands)

Ah, here we go! Okay-

(Getting distracted)

It’s turning out lovely, by the way. I mean it’s probably gonna be up there with “Dropping Like Fireflies” and “My Favorite Boy, My Dearest Wildfire”. I guess it's fitting, though, since the first one’s about the death of your dreams, and the second one’s about unjust yearning that everyone figures is getting kinda old, and they’re both really about outgrowing opportunity that sort’ve, may or may not have been real in the first place, and so is this, but…I mean…I hope you don’t take this as critique. Just, like…an idea or something.

STAN

(Speaking drastically slower than her and grinning with amusement)

Considering I only scribble this shit on McDonald’s napkins for geniuses like you to pick apart later, I would be delighted to hear it.

NICHOLE

(Sighing in slight relief)

Oh! Great. Okay, so-

(Stealing the pen from Stan, startling him again, and jotting stuff down, occasionally glancing back up to check if he’s paying attention and emphasizing with her hands)

Imagine you’re the guy, right? 

STAN

(Playfully saluting with two fingers)

Can do, teach!

NICHOLE

(Lightly giggling)

And you're at her doorstep, picking her up for your date, and you notice how she’s only wearing a super casual dress, like one you don’t have to zip up or anything, you just throw it over your head and you're good? But usually, she dresses up for this kinda thing, with, like, a buncha layers. Like, like one of the characters from a Disney sitcom from the 2000s, yaknow what I mean?

STAN

(Nodding ridiculously intently, like he completely understands what she means. He does not)

NICHOLE

(Smiling brightly before cheerily going back to it)

Right! So she’s dressing weird, and she keeps messing with her hair, even though she never does that, ‘cause it takes her forever to do, and she hates messing it up. And then she calls you babe, instead of babydoll, which she never does. And then- And she’s not looking at you when she says this! She’s looking out at the distance, like, wistfully and forlorn!

STAN

(Jumping in with overzealous intrigue after Nichole realizes how pretentious those words might sound and how into it she’s been getting and freezes up)

Yeah, okay, I’m following ya!

NICHOLE

(Seeming pleasantly surprised, yet still visibly toning herself down)

Oh! But, ah, anyway. So then she starts complaining about how she had to leave some big sleepover early for this damn date, and that she and what’s-her-name planned it for weeks. Even though you always have date night around this time of the month and she scheduled it today anyway, which sets off alarm bells in your head, but whatever, right? You're probably just being paranoid again, and that’s what she’s gonna diagnose you with, ‘cause she’s a total, sort’ve…

(Gesturing unintelligibly and then later trying to catch her breath)

…armchair therapist anyway, and you’ve done that with your best friend too, so why even bother bringing it up? But then she goes into, like…crazy detail. Suspicious, crazy detail. 

STAN

(Immediately sliding forward, leaning in closer to her in fascination while his fist holds his chin up and covering his mouth)

NICHOLE

(Getting visibly caught up in the romance by the end)

All of a sudden, she starts goin’ on and on about how she always makes banana pancakes and scrambled eggs in the morning before her dearest friend wakes up, ‘cause those are her favorite, and she always sleeps in too late, and what’s cooler than-

STAN

(Slowly growing more fidgety and visibly flustered as Nichole passionately and tenderly paints the picture)

NICHOLE

-watching your absolute bestie trail after the smell of their favorite breakfast into the kitchen, hair a mess, curls all over the place, and her eyes are all droopy n’ peaceful, and she’s giving you the cutest, tight-lipped smile you’ve ever seen as a neat little thank you? When it just makes you wanna…

(Waves hands around aimlessly until pausing, turning her head to look Stan in the eyes, and viciously squashing his now boiling red cheeks in between her hands)

Hmph…You know?

Stan desperately tries to save face. And fails. Miserably.

STAN

(Sounding squished due to the hands on his face)

May- uh…Maybe your brill- uh, lovely way with…wor-

TOLKIEN

(Cutting Stan off before nodding in Nichole’s direction, sounding absolutely enamored and brimming with wonder by the end of his slightly animated story)

Absolutely nothing. Not even that.

(Leaning over the table, arm and hands soon sliding all around, showing clear engagement with the conversation)

Me and Nicky woke Clyde up with crepes one time. He screamed “Holy shit, rich people pancakes!” so loud, the neighbors definitely heard it, shoveled them into his stupid puffy cheeks like a freakin’ chipmunk, and gave us “syrup kisses”–and yes, he did call them that–before accidentally hitting me with his backpack and making a mad dash for my car. All while never actually saying the words “Thank you”.

(Looking up to meet Stan’s eyes, trying to convince with his tone)

I…don’t think a nicer display of friendship exists, Stan. I don’t think this world is good enough to handle it.

NICHOLE

(Stopping herself before she gets caught up in reminiscing)

Oh, yeah! That was- Oh! No, no, no, wait, okay, wait. Okay, so the girlfriend tells you all that, right?

STAN

(Slowly, clearly dazed from the overload of information from both sides)

…Uh, y-yeah, right, I- I gotcha…

NICHOLE

(Gradually starting to emphasize her words more heavily)

And then she mentions how they both help with cleanup, ‘cause it's actually fun at their house. there. Plus, she wants to make a good impression on her mom, and thank her for having her over, yadda, yadda, yadda. You know the drill. And then they get started on homework, even though it's a Saturday. And, sure, your girlfriend’s a total freak who fucking loves school and stuff, but who the hell actually does homework on a Saturday, unless…

(Gestures to him, like he’s supposed to fill in the blank, and dramatically explains the rest when he stays quiet like nothing happened)

She’s with someone whose company makes Calculus and scrubbing syrup off dirty dishes worth it. And that’s how your character realizes what’s going on, ‘cause he’s totally been there and all that good stuff.

STAN

(Confused)

…He…He has?

NICHOLE

(Intensely, voice lowered)

But here’s the thing.

(Points to Stan and then herself)

You and I know that, ‘cause we know what the song’s about, ‘cause we’re co-writing it.

STAN

(Quietly confused)

We are?

TOLKIEN

(Casually typing up notes again and speaking with certainty)

Yup.

NICHOLE

(Ignoring him before gesturing to the audience watching this play)

But they know that, because I just gave them a buncha context clues to sift through. I didn’t have to turn around, break the fourth wall, and go:

(Shuffling her body over to face the audience)

“Hey, the grand twist in my friend’s song is that his girlfriend is falling for someone else, and he totally should be freaking out, ‘cause he knows exactly where this is headed:”

STAN

(Voice filling with terror)

I should?

NICHOLE

“The corner of nowhere and angstville!”

STAN

(Pauses for a beat before audibly squeaking)

NICHOLE

(Turning back to Stan and pointing her finger at the audience, speaking like she’s proud of herself)

They figured it out all on their own.

STAN

(Pitch shifting in mortification)

They did?

TOLKIEN

(Leaning in towards Stan and Nichole)

Also, follow-up question: Who is “they”? You're pointing to a brick wall, babe.

NICHOLE

(Dismissively)

Don’t worry about it.

TOLKIEN

I mean, I will anyway, but okay.

NICHOLE

(Joyfully and dramatically picks up the songbook, shuts it, and pushes it into Stan’s hands, placing her hand on the cover in triumphant confidence)

So, you don’t have to keep all those extra lines where you go,

(Recounting song lyrics in the style of dramatic poetry)

“Should I be taken’ notes? Will this be on her heart’s homeroom quiz?” and “Have I been down this sorry road before? Is it my time to send her on her way, without me?”. The crowd’ll get the point just fine!

STAN

(Awkwardly laughing to cover up his latent fear)

…I mean…bold of you to assume I play in front of crowds…or that I still want them to “get it” after…this…Or that anyone in this town will be “fine” about any of this…But, uh…

(Placing a hand on her shoulder while genuinely trying to sound thankful, but falling flat due to shock)

…Thanks?

NICHOLE

(Starts shying away, awkwardly swinging her backpack back over her shoulders and standing up)

I mean, I was just thinking about that, and I thought it could, um…help! Maybe. But, yeah, so I’d better head to class, so, uh, yeah good- uh, goodbye!

(Shortly waving before speeding away while staring down at the floor, mortified)

STAN

(Staring at her walk off, then slowly raising his hand to wave back, pale and dazed, before turning to look out at the audience)

Dude…Your girlfriend is insane…Or got the gift of prophecy from Apollo.

(Pauses for a beat)

Or some wisdom shit from Athena.

TOLKIEN

(Nonchalantly with a proud smile on his face, yet still showing pity/concern for Stan)

And yours is in the same boat as you, bud. So…good luck, and ah…

(Getting up, patting him on the shoulder, and walking off)

Save a writer’s credit for my girl on your big album debut, okay? I’m buying every CD!

END OF PLAY.

[delivish]

Butters Stotch wants to fight you!

posting a longer snippet of this scott malkinson x butters stotch fic i was working on. i loved the idea, and i'm definitely plan to revisit this, but i'm so busy lately and have so many neglected wips that i'm just not sure when @_@;

enjoy a little teaser malkinstotch!!

Scott Malkinson is leaning over his worksheet, arm thrown protectively across the page to guard against would-be copiers, and he’s chewing on the end of his pencil as he puzzles out how to solve for y in problem ten when someone tosses a scrap of paper on his desk. 

Scott doesn’t see who did it — when he looks up, everyone is focused on their own work, seemingly. The classroom is quiet save for the shuffle of paper and the occasional panicked scratching sound of an eraser. Scott glanced down at the note; it had clearly been torn from someone’s notebook, tightly folded, and his name had been written on one side. He didn’t recognize the handwriting. 

Scott sighed, carefully unfolding the note. His eyes bulged as he read the message: 

BUTTERS STOTCH WANTS TO FIGHT YOU!!

 The sentence had been underlined several times, and someone had drawn little frowny faces all around, their brows in the shape of capital V’s over their beady eyes.  

Butters…wanted to fight him? Why?

Scott crumpled the note, peeking in Butters’ direction. Scott…generally tried to avoid doing that. Looking at Butters always made him feel like his blood sugar was running low: sweating, shaking, lightheaded, his heart beating too fast. Butters was similarly bent over his worksheet, his brow furrowed in concentration. He began nibbling on his bottom lip as Scott watched, and the sight of Butters’ neat, even white teeth sinking into his own flesh made something lurch in Scott’s belly, not entirely unpleasantly. Scott shoved the note in his jacket pocket and turned back to his worksheet, scribbling furiously, hardly aware of what he was working on anymore. 

This has to be a joke.

He kept stealing glances at Butters, terrified at the prospect of catching his eye and thrilled by the possibility all at once. Butters paid him absolutely no mind, but that was hardly a surprise — no one ever did. By the time class was over, Scott had forgotten all about that note.  

Scott gathered his things, tucking his books under his arm, and darted for the door. They had a fifteen-minute recess before the next class, and he really needed to pee. He was halfway out the door when he felt someone trip him; Scott stumbled, squeaking, and managed to catch himself before he fell flat on his face. His books aren’t so lucky; they go flying out from under his arm, scattering every which way. A chorus of giggles burbled up around him. Scott sighed, more resigned than annoyed. He had always been a target for bullies; he wished he could say this wasn’t routine. 

When he looked, there was Butters, a pointed smirk scrawled across his handsome face. 

“You better watch out, you —” Butters paused, clearly racking his brain for a suitably scathing insult. “...Diabetic bozo!”

Scott gawped at him. 

“Jesus, Butters. What the hell,” Eric said. He had slung his backpack over his shoulder on his way to their next class, but he paused now, looking vaguely impressed. “I mean, I wholeheartedly agree; please continue. But damn.” 

“B-Butters,” Scott stammered, more confused than anything. “Why would you do that? That wasn’t very cool.” 

“That wasn’t very cool,” Butters parrots mockingly; his voice is several octaves higher, and Scott realizes he’s trying to mimic his lisp, which makes for an interesting auditory experience overlaid with Butters’ usual syrupy Southern accent. Butters snorted. “Whatever, like you would know what’s cool.” 

All Scott can do is stare, hurt and puzzled. But as Butters is turning away, he suddenly winks at him, sly, playful, conspiratory, like this is a joke that they’re both in on. Butters’ baby-blue eyes are big and bright, the corner of his lip is twitching like he’s trying not to smile, and when Butters winks at him, Scott’s brain briefly short-circuits. Scott felt his neck go warm, and his heavily freckled cheeks turned pink. 

Butters walks away before he can respond — thankfully. Someone brushed up against him, and when Scott turned to look, there was Bebe, his scattered books in hand. 

“Butters is such a fucking tool,” she said, scowling in Butters’ direction. “Don’t let him give you a hard time, Scott.” 

Really? Scott had always thought Butters was nice; at least, Butters had always been nice to him. Butters had a reputation for getting on people’s nerves, but he was tall and kind and sweet and cute and earnest and really, really goddamn cute…

Scott flushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, humbly taking his books from Bebe before ducking his head and flying out the door. 

xx.XX.xx

After the break was physical education. Scott dressed in his shirt and gym shorts and skipped energetically out to the field. 

He’d always liked P.E. Most of the kids he went to school with thought physical education was just a gimme class — and, to be fair, they were right — but Scott welcomed the opportunity to get out and exercise, even if he got tired pretty easily and was almost always picked last for everything. His mother hated that he was still taking P.E., even though, according to her, he had a serious medical condition and should have been excused. Scott didn’t see what the big deal was. His mother worried about him getting hurt, and maybe that was fair; any injuries he got always took him twice as long to heal on account of his being diabetic. 

But then again, his mother had spent his entire life worrying about him getting hurt, often and loudly, much to the chagrin of his childhood Pediatricians. If wiping his ass had the potential to hurt him, Scott was halfway convinced his mother would be doing it for him. He loved her, but her concern for him sometimes felt like a watery grave slowly being filled one cup at a time. Not enough to kill you outright, but you’d eventually drown in it all the same. 

It was raining out, so they were inside today. Scott could see Butters standing on the other side of the basketball court. Butters turned his head to one side as Scott looked, presumably to catch Clyde Donovan’s latest lame joke, and laughed. Scott watched Butters’ eyes go soft at the corners, big and bluey-green, watched the magical way they seemed to shift more green than blue and vice versa whenever the light hit them just right; whenever Butters laughed, it was like Scott was pressing into an old bruise, the way it hurt and felt kind’ve good all at once. Butters was like a controversial flavor of pie — banana cream, maybe — in that not everyone liked him, but it was okay because he was still sweet. Did…did Butters still want to fight him? What was that all about?

[parisianpicnic]

Paris is but a dream.

It’s been 8 years since I was wandering through the streets of Paris, wide-eyed, awestruck that I’d made it. I sat up along the wall of Pont Neuf, my feet resting on the stone seat below as I traced the declaration of love that had been etched into it. It was yet another point in time that I caught myself saying, just remember this moment, because one day, this will feel like a dream.

Mornings in Paris were whimsical, although I have to admit, I experienced way fewer of them than I should’ve. It’s a real diabolical challenge getting me out of bed at the best of times, and that was true even in the most gorgeous city in the world. I could, however, occasionally be coaxed out of bed in the early hours of the morning by the very thing that was causing my downfall (aka undiagnosed coeliac disease): two freshly made pain au chocolat from the local bakery. I’d slip on my jeans and some ballet flats in between yawns, and as I made my way out of my apartment resisting the serious urge to go back to bed... it would take just one look down the street to know that this was not a moment to be missed. The sun would peak over the city in splashes of gold, the leaves in the grand parks gently whispering as they awaited the day’s visitors. If that wasn’t enough, then all it should take was a whiff from the local bakery. Nothing, and I mean nothing beats freshly made Parisian pastries (I’ve already cleaned my teeth for the evening, but I can seriously feel my mouth watering at the thought). The city was a stage that I had for myself, and it was in these glorious, wonder-filled moments that I told myself that I should do this every day. Of course, I didn’t (mornings were a diabolical challenge, remember?). I remember shifting the Stabilise gravel in the Tuileries with my feet early one morning and it being the only sound against the trickles of the fountain, broken up by bites of flaky pastry. The sunshine tried its best to gently lift up my heavy, sleepy eyes. I was tired. But I had that same voice in my head. Take it all in, because one day, this will feel like a dream.

So, was it? Because I sort of, in a way, feel like it never happened. Mornings now, well... they look a little bit less glamorous. I’ve swapped out jeans with ballet flats, a Louis Vuitton handbag, and strolls down cobblestoned streets with flecks of pastry around my mouth from those decadent chocolate croissants for a 5:30am alarm, medical scrubs, hastily made coffee, and gluten-free cereal and yoghurt thrown into a red Tupperware container. I love and loathe red traffic lights on my commute into the hospital. Love because I have a few moments to woof down a few scoops of my cereal (if I waited for a break, it would either turn soggy, or I wouldn’t get to eat it at all). Loathe because I’m often running late. The buildings have a grungy feel to them, a character of sorts, but couldn’t be further from Haussmann’s uniformed visions. I miss getting lost in the architecture and history on the way to my destination. Miss wondering what happened here.

No more boulevards, daily specials scribbled on chalkboards, charming mouldings on the ceiling, or chandeliers in waiting rooms. No more stopping to take photos to remind myself of this moment later, in case I forgot. Life at the moment is instead played out in front of a series of rotating walls—those of the emergency department, my office at home, or the university library. In two and a half years, I will (terrifyingly) officially be a doctor.  I furiously scribble down every offhand comment casually made by the registrar or consultant that bridges a gap in my knowledge (of which there are many). Often it’s in totally illegible handwriting that not even I can read (and I wrote the note!) so not only am I contributing to the stereotype, I’m also not even doing something useful with it. I only apply makeup to my eyes now, because my days are spent in N95 masks, although, this has its perks. Admittedly, only needing to do makeup for the top part of my face has saved me a lot of time, and money that would’ve been otherwise spent at MECCA (the Australian equivalent of Sephora, aka my happy place). I couldn’t stay in Paris being an au pair forever, but life now couldn’t feel further from what it used to be.

I won’t lie... my life in Paris feels like it was a dream. All those years ago, I was, let’s face it, totally clueless about what I wanted to do in life. I’d bled my bank account dry (but in Paris! How artsy!), was soul-crushingly heartbroken over the guy who I thought was going to be the great love of my life (but in Paris! How twisted and romantic!), and was living in a shoebox apartment sleeping on a foldout bed (but who cares, it’s in Paris!). No matter what was thrown my way, it didn’t matter because, it could always be justified by but I’m living in Paris! I adored the family I was an au pair for, had wonderful friends that I could count on at any time of day or night, and it was all set in the backdrop of dreams. Now, I’m a broke full-time med student still bruised from a recent devastating breakup. But none of it is in Paris. Same sh**, different city, hey? At least the bed situation has improved (I’m writing this nestled under my blankets). I guess this time I have the extra wildcard of an ongoing pandemic. No wonder Paris feels like it was a dream. It was gloriously, wildly carefree.

I love medicine, and I love how enriching it is and how there is always more to learn, and how I’m doing something to give back to my community. I know I’ll feel fulfilled, no matter the city or the stage. But some days as I’m driving into the hospital, I find myself wondering what’ll happen if I just turn right instead of left, and follow the exit signs towards the airport. I’d jump on a plane or into a time machine and go back to my old life in Paris... maybe it was all just a dream.

[idoltknowwhatthisisiwannadie]

I Didn't Hypothesize I'd Fall in Love

Part 1 ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

[Opening scene: Stari, a quirky male evolutionary psychobiology student, is sitting in a lecture hall, furiously scribbling notes as his professor drones on about evolutionary theories. Stari, with his unkempt hair and thick-framed glasses, seems absorbed in the lecture, but also distracted, as he keeps stealing glances at Nep, a Neo-Piagetian cognitive psychiatrist sitting a few rows ahead of him. Nep, with her stylish yet intellectual appearance, is diligently taking notes as well, occasionally adjusting her glasses and nodding in agreement.]

Professor: And that's why the concept of mate selection is crucial in understanding human behavior in the context of evolution.

[Stari raises his hand, eager to engage in the discussion.]

Stari: But what about cultural and social factors that influence mate selection? Isn't it too reductionist to solely rely on evolutionary theories?

[The professor nods, appreciating Stari's input.]

Professor: You're right, Stari. Evolutionary theories are just one piece of the puzzle. It's important to consider multiple perspectives in understanding human behavior.

[As the lecture ends, Stari gathers his courage and approaches Nep, who is packing up her bag.]

Stari: Hi, I'm Stari. I couldn't help but notice your notes on Adorno and your love for Cronenberg movies. I'm a fan too!

[Nep looks up, intrigued by Stari's comment.]Nep: Really? That's impressive. Not many people appreciate the intersection of psychology and philosophy in art. I'm Nep.

[Stari and Nep strike up a conversation about their shared interests, and soon find themselves spending more time together outside of class. They bond over their intellectual debates, their love for obscure movies, and their fascination with the complexities of the human mind. Stari finds himself drawn to Nep's intelligence, wit, and unique perspective on the world.]

[As their relationship deepens, Stari starts experiencing emotions he has never felt before. He realizes that he's falling in love with Nep, but his scientific mindset clashes with his newfound emotions. He struggles to reconcile his rationality with his feelings, and often finds himself conflicted.]

[One day, Stari takes Nep on a date to a Cronenberg movie marathon, hoping to impress her with his vast knowledge of the director's work. But during the movie, Stari's mind is consumed by his internal struggle, and he becomes distant and preoccupied.]

Nep: Stari, what's wrong?

[Stari takes a deep breath and looks into Nep's eyes, feeling vulnerable.]

Stari: Nep, I think I'm falling in love with you, but I also believe that science is the only truth in this world. I can't reconcile my feelings with my rationality. I'm sorry, but I can't continue this relationship.

[Nep is taken aback, hurt by Stari's words.]

Nep: Stari, love is not just a matter of science. It's a complex emotion that defies logic. You can't reduce it to mere data and equations.

[Stari looks torn, but he remains resolute in his belief.]

Stari: I understand, but I can't change my perspective. I'm sorry, Nep.

[Nep nods sadly, and with a heavy heart, she walks away.]

[The following days are tough for Stari. He realizes that he misses Nep deeply, and his scientific theories seem empty without her by his side. He becomes increasingly withdrawn, struggling to focus on his studies as his heart aches.]

Part 2 ♡ ꒰ ◞ ◟ ꒱⌒)ᦱ

[In a moment of realization, Stari comes to understand that love is not something that can be easily explained by science. Itis a complex and multi-dimensional emotion that cannot be reduced to rationality alone. He remembers the moments he shared with Nep, the way she made him feel alive and challenged his beliefs, and he realizes that he has been denying himself the possibility of experiencing unconditional love.

Determined to make things right, Stari musters up the courage to confront Nep. He finds her in the library, lost in a book on cognitive psychology.

Stari: Nep, I'm sorry. I've been a fool. I've come to realize that love cannot be confined to scientific theories. It's something more profound and inexplicable.

Nep looks up, surprised to see Stari. Her guard is up, but she listens intently to what he has to say.

Stari: I've missed you, Nep. I miss the way we debated about theories, watched movies together, and laughed over our shared love for Adorno. I've never felt this way before, and I don't want to lose you because of my narrow-mindedness.

Nep remains silent, her expression guarded. She doesn't respond immediately, taking her time to process Stari's words.

Nep: Stari, I appreciate your honesty, but I can't be with someone who sees love as something that can be explained solely by science. Love is an emotion that transcends rationality, and it requires vulnerability, trust, and acceptance.

Stari: I understand. But Nep, I am willing to open my heart and embrace the uncertainty of love. I'm willing to let go of my rigid beliefs and be vulnerable with you. Please, give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me.

Nep looks into Stari's eyes and sees the sincerity in his words. Her heart softens, and she realizes that Stari's journey has led him to a deeper understanding of love.

Nep: Okay, Stari. I'll give us a chance. But know that love cannot be confined to scientific explanations. It's a journey of emotions, complexities, and uncertainties.

Stari smiles, feeling a weight lifted off his chest. He reaches out and takes Nep's hand, and she doesn't pull away.

Stari: I understand, Nep. And I'm willing to take that journey with you, without trying to explain everything through science.

[The movie ends with Stari and Nep walking out of the library hand in hand, ready to embrace the uncertainties of love together. As they walk away, the screen fades to black, leaving their future open to possibilities.]

[Epilogue: A montage of Stari and Nep's relationship unfolds, showing their shared love for movies, their debates on philosophy and psychology, and their growing intimacy. They face challenges and uncertainties, but their love blossoms in the midst of it all. The final scene shows Stari and Nep sitting on a hill, watching the sunset, with a sense of contentment and happiness on their faces, as they affirm that love cannot be solely explained by science, but is a beautiful mystery that can only be felt.]