#and their parents never say anything about it

[tbaluver]

HELLLOOOOOOO

I just read a book where the mcs husband freaks out over her water breaking and I was wondering, how would the lads acc react???? It’s ok if you dont want to write about it but i just wanna say that i REALLLLLYYYYY love the work you’re doing!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

"My Water Broke!"- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader summary: how they react when your water breaks and what they would do after a/n: HIHI again my angel !! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ PLS you're always so sweet omg thank you so much MWAH MWAH currently kicking my feet reading that, thank you for reading my works ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) i hope i did this justice and i hope this was alright ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

The snack in your hand falls to the ground, your appetite disappears when a sharp ache shoots through your lower abdomen. You gasp, clutching your stomach as water drops down your legs. Your eyes meet Xavier’s, your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and pain.

It took Xavier a moment to fully process the situation, panic quickly replacing his usual calm demeanor. He rushes beside you, his voice frantic as he asks a flurry of questions. “Are you okay? How much does it hurt? Can you stand? Can you walk?”

He helps you step carefully out of the small puddle that formed at your feet, his hand gently on your back and your arm as he tries to steady you. “It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here. ” He murmurs, hoping it would reassure you in some way.

He tries to remain as calm as he can but panic is surging through his body that he fails to hide it. He hates to see you in so much pain and the urgency to get you to the hospital only makes his worries worse. He quickly helps you to the transport to the hospital, his hand on you the entire time.

He thought maybe it would be best to teleport you there instantly but with you being so far along in your pregnancy, he isn’t sure how safe that would be. The last thing he wants is to take any chances with you or the baby.

When you both arrived at the hospital, Xavier remained beside you at all times until the pain started getting worse. He asked nurses, doctors, anyone who could help you for anything, anything at all, that might bring you some type of temporary relief to take the relentless pain away from you. His voice raised slightly as he spoke to anyone in the hospital, growing increasingly impatient when no one came in to help you even if it was just a minute.

When the nurses finally arrived a minute late, the tension in his head seemed to ease just a tad bit. “Is there anything else I can get/ do for you?” His hand found yours immediately, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. “I think our little prince is eager to come home.”

Zayne:

One thing about Zayne is that he’s always prepared. Always.

The second your water breaks, panic doesn’t register on his face, mostly concern. He stays calm as he gently places a hand on your back, guiding each step to the car. He reassures you the entire way there, urging you to take deep breaths with him as best as you can. The labor bag that had been waiting by the front door months in advance, was already slung over his shoulder, just like he planned. Not a minute to waste.

As soon as he starts the car, his hand finds yours immediately, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. He keeps his focus on the road but his attention never shifts away from you. 

While he effortlessly drives through the streets, he calls his parents to let them know that you’re both on your way. He listens to their excited congratulations on the other end and he can’t help but crack a smile knowing that you both will meet your little angel soon. The call ends after they mention that they will meet you both there soon.

The drive there felt like an eternity but Zayne remains calm, reminding you to breathe deeply, guiding you through each contraction with the same techniques he’s practiced with you countless times. “Deep breath in..now breathe out. That’s it, you’re doing well. We’re almost there.”

As soon as you pull into the hospital, the nurses are ready to escort you to your private labor room and tend to your needs the moment they see Zayne enter the building. The nurses are aware of his status in the hospital and the last thing they want to do is make a misstep to the chief’s surgeon’s wife during such a crucial time. 

“She might need an epidural or an IV pain relief if her contractions intensify” The nurses squeak, rethinking if they’re even doing their job right in front of such a high-ranking and respected figure in the hospital.

Zayne gives a brief nod. “I’ll notify you if she does,” He responds, before giving his full attention back to you. His hand immediately finds yours again, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “How are you feeling now, my love? Is there anything I can do for you?”

He listens to any issues you have, any fears, even the most irrational ones, with the utmost care. He reassures you over and over again, not minding every single one you tell him. “I’ll stay here with you the entire time. I won’t leave either of you.” He murmurs, his eyes locking with yours.

Rafayel:

may his lemurian ancestors save him.

The moment his eyes caught water drops dripping between your legs, his breath hitched. Time seemed to stop and the world around him was shrinking to nothing but the sound of his frantic heartbeat, the realization that it was finally happening. It was time.

His voice was a jumbled mess of panic as he stammered to ask if you were okay and he already knew you weren’t but his mind was racing a hundred miles a minute, frantic thoughts were colliding with each other. It was as if he was also going into labor as well.

He scrambled to help you up, trying to figure out where his keys were and his phone and the labor and delivery bag and- no. His brain finally caught up to him. You both decided that since your baby would have Lemurian blood so water birth was the best way to go.

With trembling hands, he guides you toward the bathroom. He would try to sound reassuring as possible but you can still hear the slight panic and worry in his voice as he urges you toward the large bathtub. He had planned this with you months ago, every detail and every thought, but now it felt like everything was happening too fast.

He settled you into the warm water, his heart pounding as he dialed his Aunt Talia’s number. The moment she picked up, she didn’t even need him to explain, his incoherent sentences made sense enough.

Once the call ended, Rafayel’s went to work to make sure you were comfortable and to make you feel more at ease. He fanned your face urgently, trying to cool the beads of sweat forming along your temple. His hands would later move to massage your hands, your feet, your thighs, anything to soothe you.

“Are you okay? How are the contractions? Does it hurt a lot?” His eyes were wide, filled with concern. He listened to any of your needs, reassuring you the best that he could. “Do you want me to talk to our little glubs? Maybe they’re being a little too rough in there.” He never fails to lighten the mood, your lips tugging into a small smile even at such a crucial time.

He moves behind you, adjusting your hair and wiping away any sweat. “You’re going to be a great mother y'know.” He murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hands drift down to rest on your swollen belly.

Sylus:

“Sy-!” You gasp, clutching your belly as the water trickles down your legs. Sylus is immediately by your side the moment his eyes notice the puddle forming at your feet.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his hand gently resting on your back to steady you. “Our little dove is ready to leave her nest?” A faint smile curves on his lips but the worry in his eyes is palpable as he quickly connects with Mephisto to contact the twins to prepare the car.

He helps guide you to the vehicle, supporting you as you slowly settle in. Once you were, his hands found yours again. “You’re doing great, just breathe with me.” He says softly. “Remember the breathing exercises we learned?” You huff in shallow breaths, sweat beading on your forehead. You nod rapidly, the pain tensing up with every contraction.

“Good, good just breathe with me,” Sylus encourages, letting you squeeze his hand tighter with each wave of pain. He remains unfazed no matter how tightly you wrapped your hands around his. He stays calm for you, even though his nerves try to threaten to unravel.

“You’re doing so well, just a little longer alright?” His fingers brush stray strands of hair from your face, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you..” He murmurs, one hand on your belly, hoping your little dove will make it easy for you in the end.

The moment you arrive at the hospital, you’re swiftly escorted to a private labor and delivery room that Sylus had personally arranged for you. He made sure you had the best doctors and the most experienced nurses at your beck and call. If any nurse fails to meet your needs, he’ll take note of it, but right now, none of that matters. What matters is you and your little one.

Throughout the entire process, he stays with you, only leaving your side momentarily to order the twins to get something for him. Sylus would be observant of your needs and respond accordingly, letting you squeeze tightly on his hand or letting him help adjust your position. 

He can't wait for his little dove to meet her mother. Although his gaze is filled with concern, there’s a flicker of adoration in his eyes. He knows the depth of your strength but witnessing how you’ve stayed resilient for your little daughter throughout the past nine months has made him rethink just how powerful you truly are. He knows deep down she would look up to you just from how strong you are.

Caleb:

You groaned, the pain surging through your body in waves. A whimper escapes your lips as your hands instinctively curl around your swollen belly. Caleb was at your side in an instant, his eyes catching the sight of the wet pool on the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he realized your water had broken.

He leaned beside you, his arms wrapping around you. “Hey...Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m right here. We’re gonna get you to the hospital alright, pipsqueak?”

His heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest. The drive to the hospital felt endless, each second felt like it stretched on for hours. Every time he stopped at a red light, he glanced over at you. “Breathe pipsqueak..You’re doing great. We’re almost there.” His brow furrowed in concern every time you gasped in pain and how your body tensed with contractions.

You squeezed his hand tighter with each wave of pain, your face contorting in agony and it made his heart absolutely ache. He wished with every fiber of his body that he could take away your pain and carry it for you. But all he could do for now was stay by your side. “Almost there..Just a little longer okay?” 

When you finally arrived at the hospital, Caleb was there beside you. The moment the nurse helped you settle into your private labor room, his emotions broke free. The reality of it all was too much to hold in.

As he sat beside you, tears welled up in his eyes, his voice shaky. “Thank you..thank you for giving me this,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your knuckles. He never thought this moment would come and to know that your little baby was on his way was making this dream of having a future with you turn into a reality.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya hehe MWAH <3

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love and DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg.2

[my-castles-crumbling]

skeptic - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 272

“I heard you’re going to Potter’s for the holidays,” Marlene McKinnon said to Regulus one day in mid-December, causing Regulus to give her a funny look. Sure, they had mutual friends, but they’d never had a one-on-one conversation before.

“Erm…yeah,” he shrugged, another swell of nerves flooding his system. He was trying not to have daily panic attacks about meeting James’s parents, but so far he was failing miserably.

McKinnon gave him a smile that seemed more like a smirk. “Good luck. You’re in for it.”

Regulus’s stomach dropped. “Sirius says they’re both amazing?” he said, tone coming out more like a question.

“Oh, they are. Which makes the fact that they’re both bloody hot ten times worse,” McKinnon chuckled. “Trust me. You lucked out with James. His gene pool is like a Greek God’s or something. Euphemia Potter is so fucking-”

“I mean, they’re his parents. How attractive can they be?” Regulus interrupted skeptically, eyebrows knitting together. McKinnon was a bit weird.

“Sure. Go into it unprepared. Your funeral,” McKinnon shrugged, still grinning.

But, a week later, as the train arrived on the platform and James excitedly led Regulus to two people who could only be his parents, Regulus had to physically bite his lip to stop himself from gasping as he took in Fleamont Potter’s appearance. His salt-and-pepper hair, his glasses that perched on his chiseled face, his piercing eyes and warm expression…the trimmed scruff that gave him a distinctly approachable but still authoritative feel….not to mention his outfit.

One thing was for sure: if James Potter aged to look anything like his dad, Regulus had lucked out, indeed.

[ladygelfling]

I saw @awardenandacrow do this so I thought why not?!

These answers are for my Rook, Tessora.

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite? No she doesn't. She did get a stuffed nug toy from Harding that lives on her side table.

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child? Plant - absolutely not, she does not have a green thumb at all. Pet - probably. Tess likes cats over dogs. A child - Tessora doesn't think she's very maternal despite her getting more and more maternal as their mission progresses. She ends up with several "adopted" kids. She has unresolved issues that make her feel that she wouldn't be a good mom.

Ask them to describe their love interest. "Emmrich is patient and kind. He is my calm in the storm. Also, have you seen him? He's tall and sexy and has the most amazing pair of hands. He's also the smartest person I know."

Do they look good in red? She likes to think so.

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about? How much as she had to drink? If she's had a few, Tess will go on about her ship and crew. She also knows a lot of facts about sea creatures so she may just start rattling those off.

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is? Emmrich - yes. Thomas Hawke - no.

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words. Badass. Sarcastic. Survivor. "Unserious. Crass. Reckless."

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them? Tess loves puzzles. More complex the better. She may still get frustrated but it only pushes her to solve it.

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)? I think so. Does talking to her ship and lovingly stroking its wood count?

What age do they most want to be right now? She lives in the now so her current age.

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save? For gold and glory, baby. Lord of FORTUNE. Tess would spend and spoil her friends. Emmrich, ever sensible, would try to get her to put some of it away.

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)? Tess doesn't mind romance in books. She learned to read with Isabela's smutty romance collection.

Name one thing their parents taught them. Considering she's an orphan. Not a damn thing.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any? If Isabela and Hawke taught her anything, it's that one should never feel guilty about pleasure.

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work? Meetings where nothing gets decided and it's just circular arguments. Usually having to do with politics or nobility.

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear? Whatever she wants which is pretty much what she does already.

Do they like children? Contrary to considering herself as not maternal, Tess does like kids. Her crewmate Domneth's kids call her Auntie Tess and she loves them. She sometimes can act like a kid herself (Rowan says it's to make up for her own horrible childhood), so she's been known to entertain the Lord of Fortune kids with pirate stories or sea shanties.

Kissing: tongue or no tongue? Whatever the situation calls for. She likes both with the right person.

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews? Tessora never had any formal schooling. At all. She's a learn on the fly or just wing it kind of gal.

What do they like that nobody else does? Cliff Diving

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw? If he became the complete opposite of who he is - controlling, violent, power hungry, unsafe. Basically, the qualities of her former master.

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to? Tessora melts everytime Emmrich calls her "darling" or "dearest". She loves it. She calls him "my love" sometimes.

Stability or novelty? Novelty

Honesty or charity? Honesty

Safety or possibility? Safety

Talent or effort? Effort

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)? Vengeance

Would they date a fixer-upper? Tessora would consider herself to be the fixer upper.

What recurring dreams do they have? Tess still has dreams about being trapped in the regret prison.

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven? Treasure hunt in the Necropolis. So much gold just sitting there.

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

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[hrrtshape]

　　the great hall dining guide : five stars or food poisoning? 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　back to the masterlist　

no hunger in hogwarts. the great hall is an empire of excess, a temple to the art of never saying no to seconds (or sevenths). the long house tables are stacked with plates that fill and refill as if controlled by some benevolent, slightly overbearing god-parent who cannot fathom the concept of "i'm full."

hi, i'm emma, i shifted to my marauders dr, i'm here to yap.

　❛❛ when to show up ?

breakfast :  starts at 7:00 am, but nobody with a sense of self-preservation gets there at the crack of dawn unless they have quidditch practice or are a first-year who still thinks hogwarts runs on a logical schedule. prime time is 7:30–8:30 am, when the food is still hot and everyone is too groggy to engage in unnecessary morning conversations. if you come after 9:00 am, expect half-warm toast and a few sad sausages.

lunch :  served from 12:30 pm to 1:30 pm. 12:30 is the best time if you want first dibs on everything, but the best people-watching happens closer to 1:00 pm when people start arguing over last-minute essay deadlines. if you’re running late and slide in at 1:25 pm, good luck – you’re getting whatever’s left.

dinner :  6:00 pm sharp, ends at 8:00 pm. 7:00 pm is the sweet spot – not too early that you look overeager, not too late that you get the rejected drumsticks and a dubious slice of treacle tart. sitting down at 7:45 pm means you're scavenging for whatever scraps are left like a victorian orphan.

　❛❛ where to sit ?

slytherin table :  best for hushed scheming, power lunches, and exchanging contraband under the table. do not sit here if you can’t handle judgmental side-eyes while buttering your bread.

ravenclaw table :  ideal for finishing homework mid-meal. also where people pretend they’re above caring about gossip while actively eavesdropping on every conversation. the back half of the table is safer if you don’t want to hear someone dissecting 17th-century wandlore at 8 am.

gryffindor table :  loud. expect at least one person standing on the bench telling a story that is objectively not that funny. best if you enjoy chaotic meal settings or want to be involved in something ridiculous before you’ve even finished your juice.

hufflepuff table :  safest bet for a peaceful meal, but you will 100% be roped into sharing your food. the friendliest seating arrangement, but also the most likely to involve a group discussion about everyone’s day when you just wanted to eat in silence.

professor’s table :  do not sit here unless you have a death wish.

　❛❛ what to eat (and avoid) .

best breakfast items :  the porridge is solid (literally, if you come too late), but the best move is the warm croissants with honey. also, the lemon & apple pasties are basically a cheat code if you want to smuggle food out for later.

lunch must-haves :  steak and kidney pie is better than you’d expect. if there’s a soup option, proceed with caution, half the time it’s delicious, half the time it’s some medieval potion that smells like a transfiguration accident.

dinner essentials :  roast anything is good, but the yorkshire puddings are a religious experience. also, the treacle tart is worth elbowing someone for.

what to avoid :  the questionable fish dishes. boiled meant. you don’t know where that’s coming from, and you don’t want to. also, anything neon-colored. if it looks like it belongs in a potions class, it probably does.

　❛❛ general survival tips .

don’t drink the pumpkin juice if you’re not in the mood for it. it’s literally everywhere, and by week three, you will hate it.

bring your own condiments if you care about flavour. hogwarts food is good, but nobody in this castle has heard of seasoning unless it's one of those other-culture-nights.

do not, under any circumstances, take the last dinner roll unless you want to start an inter-house war.

sitting too close to the staff table means your meal comes with a free ethics lecture from mcgonagall. proceed with caution.

　　q & a .

　❛❛ what is breakfast like .

if you’ve never had breakfast in the great hall, you’ve never truly lived. that’s not hyperbole, that’s just the facts.

and the thing is,,,,,, it wasn’t just about the food. it was about the ritual. it was about getting there early, half-asleep and draped over the table, while the house elves sent up silver platters of steaming porridge and eggs and enough bacon to make even the most dedicated vegetarian question their life choices. it was about the lazy hum of morning gossip, about james and sirius trying to one-up each other with increasingly absurd breakfast combinations (once, i watched sirius put marmalade on a sausage. we don’t talk about it).

breakfast started early, before the sun had fully stretched its arms, and ended when the professors decided we were done loitering. if you weren’t there by the time mcgonagall sat down, you were basically on borrowed time.

　❛❛ what is lunch like .

lunch at hogwarts was less of a meal and more of a tactical battle. the great hall would be an absolute warzone of students rushing in from classes, half of them looking like they’d barely survived whatever horrors had just unfolded in transfiguration.

the food appeared at exactly midday, no earlier, no later. if you showed up late, you were fighting for scraps, and by scraps, i mean you’d be left with 99 choices for meals instead of 100. scarcity, i know.

lunch was also prime time for food theft. you could be having an entirely normal conversation and, in the blink of an eye, your pumpkin pasty would be gone. sirius was the undisputed king of this, the man had the reflexes of a thief in victorian london. i once watched him steal an entire shepherd’s pie from remus’s plate without breaking eye contact. it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

　❛❛ what is dinner like .

hogwarts dinners were the closest thing to divinity i’ve ever known. long wooden tables overflowing with everything you could possibly want: roast chicken, yorkshire pudding, steak, treacle tart so good it made you believe in love again. it was opulence, it was luxury, it was the kind of meal you dream about when you’re in some sad, muggle diner trying to convince yourself that soggy chips and watery gravy are ‘fine.’

　❛❛ special occasions .

feast days at hogwarts were another level. halloween, christmas, the end-of-year banquet, these were events. these were festivals of indulgence. the house elves pulled out all the stops: whole roast turkeys, mountains of roast potatoes, rivers of rich, golden gravy, cauldron cakes stacked like towers. desserts that defied logic and probably several laws of nature. on halloween, the hall was covered in floating pumpkins and eerie green light, and the food had a vaguely chaotic energy to match (one year, the treacle tarts actually screamed when you bit into them. highly unsettling, but still delicious).

christmas dinner was something else entirely. it was warm and glowing and endless. crackers snapped, jokes were told, and dumbledore drank enough mead to make even him slightly ridiculous. it was the kind of meal you thought about for the rest of your life. it was family, it was home.

　❛❛ what’s the deal with house-elves?

the hogwarts kitchen operates with the ruthless efficiency of a five-star hotel run by creatures legally bound to service.

a hundred or so house-elves live below the castle, working in near invisibility, preparing all meals and sending them up through enchanted pathways that deposit dishes straight onto the great hall tables. you cannot see the elves. you do not hear them. but you know they exist, like the wizarding world's most overworked stage crew.

you can also visit them in the kitchens. they're nice, say hi.

　❛❛ can you request food?

hogwarts was a lot of things, but it was not a restaurant. if you wanted something specific, you either made a pilgrimage to the kitchens and begged the house elves (a move so shameful it had to be done in absolute secrecy. or if you like....really, really, really charmed them) or you suffered in silence. sirius, of course, once tried to get the great hall to serve "a proper fry-up" at dinner, only to be met with silence and what i can only describe as deeply offended energy from the floating candles.

but somehow, it didn’t matter. because the food was already perfect. and now, i have to live knowing that no meal will ever come close to a great hall dinner. it’s fine. i’m fine. i’ll just sit here, eating my disappointing, mortal food, and pretend my soup isn’t deeply depressing.

　❛❛ what about drinks?

again, pumpkin juice. an obsession, a tyranny, a strange fixation. every meal, every table, a seemingly infinite supply. there is also water, milk (cold, in small glass jugs, looking like something out of a victorian schoolhouse), and for the older students at special occasions, a sweet, non-alcoholic mead that tastes like it wants to be alcoholic but isn’t. butterbeer, tragically, is an off-campus luxury.

　❛❛ is there a meal schedule? like certain things on certain days? or do they just pile every type of food on the table?

hogwarts operates on a structured but generous meal plan. weekday breakfasts, always got your staples. porridge, toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and the occasional wizarding oddity like blood pudding for the particularly cursed among us. but sundays are for extravagant brunch spreads. croissants. kippers. jams that taste like childhood summers. it’s as if the house-elves know that sunday means stress, existential whatever, dread, so they soften the blow with flaky pastry.

lunch is always dependable, usually soups and sandwiches or something hearty if you’ve got a double potions period ahead. dinner, though, is where the patterns emerge. mondays are classic british, shepherd’s pie, roast beef, yorkshire pudding. tuesdays are usually a little more continental, pastas, stews. fridays are always a feast, usually something big and festive. then you have the seasonal changes: october brings pumpkin-infused everything, winter means more roasts, few first weeks of summer term leans into fresher, lighter meals. but yes, the mainstay staples are always available. if you want treacle tart on a wednesday, it will be there.

　❛❛ there’s wizard candy and drinks, but is there any other food? i’m sure at some point wizards put magic in any food they could think of just to see what would happen.

oh, absolutely. you’re thinking like a true hogwarts student. you know someone, at some point, tried to put magic into a loaf of bread just to see if it would slice itself (it did, but then it also tried to slice other things). beyond the standard chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice, wizarding cuisine includes a fair bit of magically enhanced food. firewhisky actually warms your throat as it goes down. fizzing whizzbees lift you half an inch off the ground. there are soups that change flavour as you eat them, pies that hum lullabies if you’re up late studying. and don’t even get me started on the experimental drinks at the three broomsticks, someone once ordered a 'black hole brew' and forgot what year it was for a full hour. but the cuisine is basically muggle...just hexed.

　❛❛ do the meals cater to dietary restrictions?

100%. vegans, vegetarians, allergy-havers. you’re covered. a muggleborn slytherin from third year complained about the lack of plant-based options, and the next morning, an entire section of the breakfast table was dedicated to oat milk, tofu scramble, and wizarding equivalents of nutritional yeast. hogwarts may be stuck in some medieval ways, but food evolves.

　❛❛ what happens if you miss a meal?

if you’re lucky, a friend grabs you something before the food vanishes. if you’re unlucky, you’re breaking into the kitchens like a desperate raccoon. the house-elves don’t mind, though, if you’re polite, they’ll feed you like a long-lost child. if you’re rude, they’ll 'accidentally' give you a soup that turns your tongue blue for a week.

　❛❛ is there coffee?

yes, but it’s wizard coffee. stronger than espresso, borderline narcotic. one cup and you’re writing your entire transfiguration essay in ten minutes. two cups and you can see through time.

　❛❛ how do holiday feasts work?

absolute carnage. christmas and halloween feasts are legendary. enchanted decorations, endless courses, puddings that explode into confetti when you cut into them. the easter feast is basically a chocolate overdose. sometimes on valentine’s day the desserts start murmuring love poetry. dumbledore's delighted. everyone..... horrified.

　❛❛ is there a limit to how much you can eat?

only in the sense that your body is a fragile, mortal thing. the food itself is infinite. the house-elves could, in theory, keep producing it indefinitely. but, you know, you eat four servings of steak-and-kidney pie and you’re just going to be that person in the common room later.

　❛❛ do different houses have different food preferences?

subtly, yes. the great hall offers everything, but certain tables lean into certain dishes. gryffindors love big, hearty, comforting food. ravenclaws lean into the more intricate, delicate meals, think pastries and complex soups. slytherins have an eye for the finer things, often going for the more gourmet options. hufflepuffs love food that feels like a hug: freshly baked bread, warm pies, things that remind you of home.

　❛❛ are there midnight snacks?

not officially, but yes. common rooms have snack stashes. and if you’re clever (or just have the marauder’s map, wink wink), you can always sneak down to the kitchens. the house-elves will feed you, no questions asked. some students take it a step further and befriend the house-elves outright. those students never go hungry.

　❛❛ how does the food appear? is it just magic or is there a system?

magic, but with logistics. the food is prepared in the kitchens directly beneath the great hall, then it’s levitated up and appears on the tables at the precise moment it’s ready. no waiting, no serving, just instant gratification. it’s dangerously efficient.

　❛❛ how does hogwarts source its food? is it all local, or do they magically import things?

combination of both. they have magical greenhouses and farms for most fresh ingredients, but certain things, exotic spices, imported sweets, get brought in magically.

　❛❛ are there ever surprise meals? do the house elves ever just decide to switch things up randomly?

sometimes, if there’s an occasion or they just feel like it. but the menu is largely set because consistency is part of the magic.

　❛❛ are meals ever used as punishment? do detention students get different food or are they made to help the house elves prepare meals?

not officially, but some professors (like astronomy) have been known to send students to do menial kitchen work as a form of discipline. nothing cruel, just hours of potato peeling.

　❛❛ has there ever been a kitchen-related disaster? a spell gone wrong, a cauldron explosion, a food fight?

yes, frequently !!!! misfired enlarging spells, self-chopping vegetables getting too enthusiastic, enchanted ladles starting fights. house elves keep it under control, but it’s not unheard of for a whole batch of treacle tart to suddenly gain sentience and try to unionise.

[howlingmod]

SIT NEXT TO ME!

summary - how some of the survivors and killers show their love ... giggles

misc - low quality content im so tire .... but i must write .... it is demanded of me .....

Noob - Physical Touch

-Simple pleasure, simple guy, what can I say.

-It's not even something they're aware of half the time, a big part of what probably tipped you off to their feelings for you in the first place was their touchiness. While they're more physical with everyone, it definitely lingered with you more. They'd stick closer to you on excursions and, more often than not, would be brushing shoulders with you when working on generators.

-They just like being able to feel your presence, it's grounding to them in a big way. A lot of the time they'll have a hand on you just because it feels comforting, usually it's on your shoulder or they'll reach for your arm if you've got one free (they prefer holding onto your arm/hooking arms more than handholding to be honest ... it just feels so much more secure and special !!)

-Late at night they'll frequently fidget with your hands, looking at all the lines in your palms and the little cuts and marks that litter your skin. It puts them in a trance, you're just so gorgeous to them, in that human, real kinda way. It's hard for them to put into words ...

007n7 - Physical Touch

-Before .... everything, he's a lot more varied. If anything, he probably leaned more towards acts of service- he likes making your life easier, especially with you (presumably) helping him raise c00lkid. It's not easy being a parent, he knows how stressful it and daily living in general can be. He feels good if he can make your day a little less stressful.

-Now though, he really needs that grounding. There's just so much missing. He's not really on great terms with anyone here and he knows he deserves it. You're all he has left. You're the only shred of his perfect life left.

-It's the little things when you guys are around others, the way he sticks to your side, the times where he'll subtly reach for your hand and squeeze it in reassurance, where he'll hug you when you get back from an excursion and look you over. It's the little bits of vulnerability he can spare to show you he loves you.

-Other times, it's more desperate, tight clinging to your form when you lay together because everything's suddenly clamped down on him like a million weights. It's those times that feel most like a perverted version of the ways you used to lay together when things were better, less suffocating and mournful. Sometimes you still expect the door to your room to open and c00lkid to crawl under the sheets with you two. He never does.

Shedletsky - Quality Time

-Ohhh my god this guy does not shut up. He's always got some story to tell you about, some little anecdote that something you said or something that happened reminded him of. You never really know how accurate he's being to reality, you can make your guesses but he'll only ever smile and shrug if you ask for confirmation.

-It could come off as egotistical or annoying if it weren't fairly obvious it was his way of keeping morale up. What, you think he's making things up? Why, he'd never! You'll just have to argue with him about it if you care so much. It's just a way of keeping your mind on something other than your current situation, even if it means he has to be the butt of a joke more than a few times. Besides, he just thinks playfighting with you is fun sorryyyyy <//3

-That being said, he can be serious. What you two are going through isn't exactly easy, you can't always ignore it, you have to face it head on sometimes. If you wanna talk about how scared you feel not knowing what's going to happen, he'll listen and admit he's scared too. If you wanna talk about how hopeless everything feels, he'll admit he's felt the same way a few times before. He might not be as emotional but he's forthcoming with his experiences, the last thing he wants you to feel is alone, if he can make you feel heard and helped then he's happy to admit to every bad dream that's ever haunted him.

-It'll always end with some little glimmer of hope, no matter how vague. He can't afford to lose you to apathy, he'll spin as many tales and sneak as many wishes he has for the two of you into your conversations as it takes for you to keep going just a little longer. He doesn't know what the future looks like, but he wants you to be there with him to see it.

Dusekkar - Acts of Service

-While they're more than good with their words and freely give out their praise to you, they also worry about your physical well-being frequently. Even if you're in good standings, they'll be keeping an eye on you. It's just a habit they've picked up protecting the others that's amplified tenfold for you. Perhaps they're a little biased with their shields, but they couldn't bear to lose you.

-They'll make your life easier in any way that they can, they know that the stress of everything can add up and they want you to stay strong despite it. They can't stand idly by and let you fall to the wayside, rotting in fear and pain. How could they ever truly protect you if they allowed for you to crumble right in their arms?

-It's little things- letting you sleep in longer, making sure you get a little extra food even if it means sacrificing some of their portion, hovering around you whenever you head out on an excursion. You're their world, their muse, their heart- they'll make sure you know how important you are to them and how deeply they care for your health in every way they can, it's what you deserve.

John Doe - Acts of Service(?)

-John's a weird one. He only has so much he can do for you without risking hurting you. If he sticks around you too often that could alert the other survivors and cause them to attack you. He can take bullets, you can't. Additionally, he has to be careful, that corrupted arm of his isn't exactly gentle. He knows fully that he could crush you, kill you in the blink of an eye if he isn't careful. So, he has to settle for little gestures.

-He'll leave you alone when he hunts. He'll heard you in the direction of generators, supplies, warm corners free from the chilling wind. If everyone else dies he'll walk you back home, paint you with their blood to make sure it doesn't look suspicious. He'll watch from afar till you disappear into the closed doors of your 'base.' Even then, you suspect he doesn't leave until later, hovering around as a spare set of eyes and ears on you.

-Even then, he's selfish, takes gambles when he hangs around you for just a little while longer. He'll contort, physically pulling the shoulder of his monstrous arm as far back as he can to avoid the chances of even brushing it against you when he reaches for you with the other. He'll keep it restrained, muscles pulled taut just to keep you to his side in a rare moment of peace. He's a man of few words, you can only imagine what his vocal chords have been turned into, but if you push your head close enough to his chest you just might hear him breathe out an "I love you" in between the pained labor of his lungs.

1x4 - Gift giving

-Likewise, he also can't stick around for very long. That doesn't mean he won't make a lasting mark on you. He's more risky, he knows that if the others found out and tried anything he could paint the walls red with them all before they could even lay a finger on you. He thinks he could take care of you far better than they could, provide a better home, protect you better than they could ever try to. More than once he's thought about faking your death, making a bloody scene for the others to find so he can take you from them. They're only a burden on you, a risk you (for whatever reason) worry yourself with.

-He won't force you, he's some humanity left, but that doesn't mean he won't show them up (to him, at least). He'll present you with enough jewels and gold to make an officiant pale with the dried gums of blood in between the joints, kick supplies in your direction and rip them from the hands of fallen survivors to give to you, he's offered up fingers, bones and heads as a show of his prowess and only grumbles when you turn them down.

-He'll never understand why you bother yourself in the ways you do, taking others under your wing when they can't do anything but leech off of you in return, so he'll have to make up for their inabilities instead. Where they can only take, he'll give you more than you could've ever dreamed for. It's his way of displaying how special you are to him, the pride he takes in you just as you do him. Consider himself a dragon and you the lucky singular he allows into his hoard.

+ (PLATONIC/FAMILIAL) C00lkid - N/A

-Well ... c00lkids always really liked spending time with you and dad! Dad always had cool stories about all the stuff he got up to when he was younger and you always had fun games to play with him and dad. Sometimes you'd draw with him and happily hang up his art to admire everytime you went through the kitchen before work and then he'd spend the whole day drawing more and more for you to look at, making up stories (that usually involved dracobloxxers) and worlds to tell you all about during dinner.

-Other times you guys would play tag! Usually it didn't last very long, at some point you'd get tired and have to sit down for a while and do something else with him (SAD!) but you'd been running a lot more recently! He hadn't been able to tag you in a whiiile, but he knows he will eventually! You've just been giving him another challenge to overcome like you always did, ducking around corners and over ledges. It's hard, he's scraped his knees pretty bad a few times and run into the walls more than he can count, but he always gets back up!

-It's a little weird to him though. He's never really played with anyone other than you and dad. He doesn't really know why those other people are there. You won't tell him. You never stop running. (He misses when you'd get tired, when you'd stop and hold him while you watched a movie together instead.) (He misses you and dad talking to eachother, telling him stories and dancing with him in the kitchen.) (Did he do something wrong? Are you mad at him? Why won't either of you just TALK to him!-) (If he stops chasing you, won't you be sad? Would he be disappointing you?)

-Sometimes he suddenly gets very sad. Sometimes you stand still and look at him from afar and you don't smile at him. Just stare and have this weird, long-gone look he's never seen before. He thinks about walking up to you, asking what's wrong, if you and dad hate him, why you always run but he knows you'll just run again. Instead he just chases after everyone else and wishes dad would order pizza again and you would put band-aids over the cuts on his knees from falling and the pricks of branches on his arms.

[celuere]

modern au where you and arlecchino are divorced with children yet she can’t stop making cheeky remarks whenever it’s handover and lwnrklwlelwm

when you are both cleaning up the house after one of your little‘s birthdays, the kids already sound asleep while the both of you gather up the confetti from the floor. you don’t miss the way her eyes dart over to you every now and then and you know there is something on her mind.

arlecchino on the other side is literally clawing into her pants. watching you on all fours, the way you purposely stick your ass out when you bend underneath the table to grab after a lost sock. she knows what you‘re doing. what games you are playing. but she keeps her hands to herself. if you truly long for her touch, you knew exactly what to say and do to her. the shared children didn’t come from nowhere after all, right?

i think the worst part would be parent evenings in the school/kindergarten when she picks you up in her car, dressed in a nice shirt and some fitted pants. the sleeves rolled up to expose enough of her tattooed forearms, multiple rings adorning her inked fingers as she watches you get into the passenger seat and she has to put both hands onto the steering wheel in order to not reach over and rest her hand on your thigh. the ride would be quiet, yet not awkward. she‘d ask a few questions if you have been well these last few days, how the kids are doing (they’re tormenting their babysitter aka uncle childe for the duration of this evening), just a bit of smalltalk, maybe a few jokes here and there. when you happen to stop by a traffic light for a bit longer she anticipated she‘ll say it.

„you look dashing tonight.“

crimson eyes never leaving the road before her but you knew she meant it. and it made your heart race with an unfulfilled desire. you only manage a soft smile back. when arriving at the facility, she‘d tell you to stay inside as she gets out of the car and walks to your side before opening the door for you. she has always been a gentleman. a divorce wouldn’t change anything. about that. you are still the mother of her children. and the love of her life

and my GOD when she refers to you as her wife during the conversation with the teacher. not ex wife. wife. her wife. completely unprovoked too. you don’t know if she just wants to keep up a good image for your kids or genuinely didn’t notice but it made your stomach flare up with tons of butterflies nonetheless.

so when she presses you against her vehicle on the dark parking lot, hands roaming and grabbing onto every curve on your body- you just give in. letting her tongue explore your mouth as she cups your ass in her palms, dragging a low moan from you. you don’t comment on the bulge pressing against you. (you would if you were up for yet another goblin running around the house)

you never talk about moments like these. it happens and then it is off the table. she fixes your hair and clothes before opening the door for the passenger seat once again and on your way home you‘d have to fight the ache between your legs.

you don’t miss how she tries to cover up what’s happening between her legs right now. maybe another time.

[woniedarlin]

The Price of Perfection

pairing: Academic Rival! Jake x fem! reader

synopsis: You are always first. The one everyone expects to win. Confident, prideful, and untouchable. People admire you, envy you, resent you. But it doesn’t matter because in the end, you always prove them right. Then you go home. And first place isn’t enough. Second is unacceptable. Third is a disgrace. Anything less is failure. But then there’s Jake. Jake, who wins because he loves to. Jake, who has everything you don’t.

And the moment he looked past the perfect image you built, everything began to change.

warnings: This story contains themes of parental neglect, emotional abuse, academic pressure, and self-doubt. It covers on inadequacy, angst, and emotional breakdowns, but also slow-burn romance and comfort. Read at your own risk.

author's note: This story is deeply personal to me. It’s the first time I’ve poured so much emotion into something. If you relate to any part of this, please remember: you are enough. Always. Thank you for reading.

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

The cameras flashed. The medal's weight around your neck was heavier than it should’ve been. Gold, cold, undeserved. Applauses were loud.

You smiled. Of course you did. It was the expression expected of a champion. Graceful, composed, proud. You had practiced it enough times in the mirror, so much so that it no longer hesitated. You let the corners of your lips go upward just right, enough to appear humble but not so much that you seemed arrogant. Enough to sell the illusion that this victory was yours to enjoy.

Your parents stood at the front of the crowd. Their hands clapped the loudest, and their smiles stretched the widest. They shook hands, nodded in gratitude, and took every compliment thrown their way as if they were the ones who had spent sleepless nights preparing. As if they were the ones who had earned this. “We’re so proud,” they had said when your name was announced. “You did it.”

Did what, exactly?

You stood there as the flashes went off, the cheers rang in your ears, and your parents continued to receive congratulations on your behalf. You stood there and dared to look down.

Second place was crying.

Not just the silent kind, not the polite, quiet tears of someone accepting defeat, but the kind that came from deep inside, that cracked a person open. Their shoulders trembled as they looked down at their silver medal, fingers curling around it so tightly you thought it might shatter.

And then there were the others. The ones who had fought, who had given everything, who had wanted this much more than you ever did. Some stood stiffly, disappointment carved into their faces, blinking back the loss with forced indifference. Others stared blankly at the floor, avoiding your gaze because looking at you only deepened the wound.

It didn’t feel good.

It never did.

Taking something that wasn’t yours to take, crushing someone’s dreams just because you could. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel right.

And maybe it wouldn’t have felt so hollow if this had been your dream. If you had wanted this as badly as they did. If you had fought, struggled, and clawed your way to the top because it was something you couldn’t live without. But that wasn’t the case.

You had never wanted this.

But you won anyway.

And that was the worst part of it all.

🪢

The hallway was full of students moving in clusters. Conversations were overlapping, and lockers were slamming shut. Same faces, same voices, same excitement over things that would be forgotten by next week. You walked through the center of it all, and people noticed you without needing to say anything. Whispers followed you, talking about your latest win and how easily you had secured another first-place title. People admired you, but bitterness and jealousy were hidden behind their forced smiles.

“Look who’s finally back from their throne,” a familiar voice called out, loud enough to turn a few heads. A heavy arm slung over your shoulder before you could react. It was Seojin, one of your so-called friends, though that word had lost its meaning a long time ago. He grinned down at you, his smile wide. There was something in his face that made it clear he wasn’t celebrating you.

You scoffed, shrugging his arm off easily, adjusting your bag strap as his touch had thrown off your balance. “What, miss me already?” Your voice was light enough to remind him where you stood in this hierarchy. “You should get used to it. Winners are always busy.”

Laughter spread through the group gathered around you. A few people exchanged glances, nodding as if they agreed with each other, truly believing you were unstoppable. Seojin laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Busy collecting more trophies, huh? I have to say, it must be tiring being the best at everything.”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t know. It comes naturally.”

Immediately, the group reacted with a chorus of “oohs” and chuckles. Another voice joined in. “You looked like you belonged on that stage. I mean, holding that trophy, you seemed made for it.” Jihoon added.

For just a moment, your smile faded a little.

“Made for it.”

Those words should have felt like a compliment but instead felt like a reminder. A cage.

But you couldn’t let them see that. So, you laughed easily, like every other lie. “Of course I did,” you said, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “I make everything look good.”

More laughter followed. More voices joined in. More noise.

You kept up this act because it felt natural now. This confident version of yourself, who never had doubts. This group, these people, this constant game of who could seem the most untouchable. It was tiring.

And none of them were even your friends.

They were here because your name meant something. Because standing next to you made them look better. Because being associated with a winner was better than being another nameless face in the crowd.

Some people called you cocky.

Maybe they were right.

Or maybe you just played the part because it was the only thing you knew how to do.

The moment you stepped into the next hallway, the energy shifted. The laughter, the background noise of your so-called friends. It all faded into something heavier. Because there he was.

Sim Jaeyun, or Jake as most would call, was the person who never treated you like a high-status figure. He didn’t feel any pressure from your name. He was a real threat and didn’t even have to try. While you acted like a confident champion, enjoying victories you didn’t care about, Jake was different. He truly wanted this, and that made things more complicated for you.

Unlike you, he was genuinely passionate. He stayed up late studying, not to keep up his image, but because he loved learning. He was brilliant but never showed off. He made people feel comfortable around him. Your presence was sharp and demanding, while he was warm and easygoing. Your so-called friends stuck to you for your status. In contrast, Jake’s friends liked him for who he was, not his achievements. His parents didn’t take credit for his success. They supported him and celebrated his efforts, not just the results.

You had everything. Yet somehow, he had everything you wanted.

And maybe that was why you hated him.

Or maybe you didn’t.

Maybe you didn’t know what to do with him.

Jake looked up as you walked toward him. His face was hard to read. You both seemed very different. You wore an arrogant smirk, surrounded by people who only stuck around when you won. He stood there relaxed, with his friends laughing at a joke you hadn’t heard.

But you needed to keep up your image.

“You seem pretty relaxed for someone who lost yesterday.” You said.

Jake paused his conversation and looked at you, his friends noticing you too. He met your gaze, and his smile was small and genuine momentarily, not bitter or angry. It made you feel like entering a game without knowing the rules. “And you,” he replied, “look a bit worried for someone who won.”

For a moment, your confidence almost falters. Almost. But you quickly kept your expression smooth. “Worried? Not at all. I barely broke a sweat.” You let out a short laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, you put up a good fight. I almost thought you had a shot.”

Jake kept looking at you. He didn’t react the way others usually did. Instead, he took his time before responding. “Almost, huh?” He spoke as he was contemplating your words. He studied you, and for once, you felt like the one being examined. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms, shifting your weight to show confidence. “Go ahead. We both know how this usually turns out.”

His lips turned into a slight grin, neither a smirk nor a laugh. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a challenge or bragging. It was just a simple statement from someone who seemed to believe that the future was unpredictable. For some reason, that feeling shook you more than anything.

People like you were not supposed to hesitate. People like you were not supposed to let doubt creep in.

But Jake Sim had a way of making you feel uncertain.

You weren’t even sure if he noticed.

🪢

The moment you stepped outside the school gates, you were still the person everyone expected.

You smiled, laughed, and stood tall.

Your so-called friends hung around you, stretching out their goodbyes. They gave half-hearted compliments and exaggerated praise about your latest win. You nodded along, pretending their words mattered. You let them talk, enjoying the moment before you walked away, climbed into the waiting car, and left them behind for the day.

As soon as the car door shut, the act ended.

The silence weighed heavily. The outside noise turned into a dull hum and was muffled by the thick glass. Your confident expression finally dropped. There would be no more forced smiles or sharp comments.

Just quiet.

Your older brother, Jay, was already in the backseat, sitting comfortably with his long legs stretched out. He looked calm, as usual. When you settled beside him, he glanced up from his phone and met your eyes. “Hey,” he said, relaxed.

You hummed back, leaning against the seat and feeling your exhaustion set in.

“How was school?” Jay asked. He asked because he always wanted to hear it from you, even if he knew the answer.

“It was alright,” you replied. It was the most straightforward answer.

Jay didn’t respond right away. He studied you momentarily, his fingers tapping his phone, deciding whether to call you out on your lie. In the end, he didn’t press you. He never did.

The car started moving away from the school, and with it, the image you had kept up faded. You watched the students outside continue their laughter and conversations. What felt suffocating just moments ago now seemed far away.

No one at school knew this version of you.

You didn’t speak unless someone spoke to you. You didn’t fill silences with witty remarks or smug comments. You didn’t carry the weight of expectations. You didn’t feel like you were performing.

At school, you were never quiet. You were always loud and talking, making sure everyone noticed you. Being quiet meant giving others space to think and see through you.

But in the car, you didn’t have to fill the silence.

In the car, you could just be you.

So, you let the quiet settle. You relaxed your shoulders. You stared out the window, watching the city blur, knowing you could just be yourself for the next twenty minutes.

Jay didn’t say anything else. He lets you sit in silence and take it in. And that was enough.

🪢

The moment you stepped into the house, you already knew something was wrong. The air was too tense. Too quiet. You barely had time to take off your shoes before your mother called your name. You could tell something was wrong. You always knew when it was.

Your father was already in the living room, which made it clear there would be no discussion. Your mother stood next to him, looking exhausted and grim. “You didn’t sign up,” she said. It wasn't a question or an accusation. Just a fact. They already knew the answer before you walked in.

Your stomach dropped. Of course.

You had tried not to mention the competition and hoped they wouldn't notice when the deadline passed. You thought, maybe for once, they would let it go.

But they didn’t.

“You didn’t even try,” your father said sharply with his piercing gaze. “We had to call them ourselves. We begged them to let you in after registration closed.”

Begged.

That word felt heavy and suffocating. Your well-respected parents had to use their influence and name because you didn't do what was expected. Your mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you know how embarrassing that was? Do you even care?”

“I just won a championship,” you replied. You didn't raise it or show your fatigue, but it was hard not to let it show. “Why does it matter if I skip this one?”

Your father shook his head in disbelief. “Why does it matter?” he repeated, astonished that you would even ask. “Do you think success ends with one win? That one victory is enough?”

Your mother stepped forward, her face showing disappointment and frustration. “Do you realize how many doors this could open for you? How many people would do anything for a chance like this?”

You knew because you had seen those students who wanted it badly. They cried when they lost and studied late into the night, chasing something that was handed to you.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re competing,” your father said firmly. “End of discussion.”

There it was. They made the decision for you, as usual.

Your mother sighed and rubbed her temples. “We already submitted your name. The least you can do is show some gratitude.”

Gratitude.

You swallowed the bitterness rising in your throat.

There was nothing left to say.

So, you nodded. You nodded because it was easier than fighting. Because no matter what you wanted, it never really mattered.

Because, at the end of the day, this was the life you had been given.

And no matter how much you wanted to, you could never escape it.

“I’m sorry,” you said with the words barely escaping past the tightness in your throat.

Your father scoffed, turning away because your apology wasn’t worth acknowledging. Your mother sighed before walking past you, her hand lightly brushing against your shoulder, not as a sign of comfort but as if she were dismissing you.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Because in this house, your choices didn’t matter.

Only the results did.

🪢

Everything in the dining room was arranged perfectly. The food was carefully portioned. It looked beautiful, but it tasted like nothing to you. You sat still, your back straight, moving your fork absently, pushing the food around rather than eating it. The conversation between your parents was casual, even. But you knew where this was going before they even said it.

Then, there it was.

“Jake placed first in the regional math competition,” your father said as he cut into his steak. “I spoke to his father earlier today. Apparently, he not only won, but he beat last year’s champion by a huge margin.”

The muscles in your jaw tightened. You knew better than to look up.

Your mother hummed, sipping her wine before delicately setting the glass down. “I’m not surprised,” she said, dabbing with a napkin at the corner of her lips. “Jake’s always been a hardworking boy. So polite, too. His mother told me he spends extra hours studying every night without being told. He even tutors younger students in his free time.” She sighed, shaking her head, almost wistful.

“You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You knew it was coming.

That didn’t make it any easier to hear.

Your grip on your fork tightened, your fingers pressing into the cool metal. You didn’t lift your head. Didn’t argue. Didn’t say anything at all.

Your father continued, “Jake doesn’t have everything handed to him,” he said, placing his knife down with a soft clink. “And yet, he’s still doing better than you.”

The words sat heavy in the air, heavier than the food sitting untouched on your plate. Jay, who had been quiet up until now, let out a sharp exhale. He placed his utensils down with more force than necessary, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. “You’re acting like she’s not already winning every other competition,” He spoke calmly, but you could hear a tension in his voice that only you noticed. “Maybe, instead of comparing her to someone else, you should acknowledge what she had done. Instead of acting like it’s never enough.”

Your mother shook her head, seeing what he said was unreasonable. “That’s not the point, Jay,” she said sharply.

“Then what is the point?” Jay shot back. He looked directly at them. “That no matter how much she achieves, it’s still not enough for you?”

Your father turned to him. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said as if that was the end of it. As if that was all that needed to be said.

And just like that, the discussion was over.

There was no room for argument. There is no room for anything.

Your parents continued eating, their conversation turning to something lighter, meaningless, as if the weight of their words hadn’t just settled in your chest like a stone. It was as if they hadn’t reminded you once again that you were still not enough. You forced yourself to take a bite, chewing slowly, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

Jay glanced at you from across the table, his expression softer now, but he didn’t say anything else.

Because he knew, just as you did, that there was nothing left to say.

🪢

Jake didn’t think about you much. Not in the way others did.

To everyone else, you were a name that carried weight, a student who stood at the top without fail. People whispered about you in the halls. Some with admiration, some with jealousy. You had everything. The grades, the reputation, the influence. And you knew it. You walked through the school like it belonged to you, like everyone else was just a step below, trying to catch up.

Jake never had to catch up.

He had always been fine where he was. He worked hard, he did well, and that was enough. He didn’t need to stand on a podium to prove anything. His parents were proud whether he won or not. His friends didn’t care if he was in first place or fifth. His achievements were his, not something for others to measure their worth against.

That was the difference between you and him.

You acted like everything was a competition. Every test, every ranking, every moment you could use to remind people where you stood. It was almost entertaining sometimes. The way you smirked when your name was called first, the way you barely spared a glance at the people below you.

People always assumed the two of you were enemies. The belief that academic rivals are destined to despise each other. But Jake never really hated you.

He didn’t respect you either.

Because arrogance didn’t impress him.

So, when he passed by you in the hallway, watching as you threw an arm around your so-called friends, laughing too loudly, standing too tall. He didn’t feel envy. He didn’t feel admiration.

He just felt nothing.

And if you ever turned your gaze his way, lips twisting into that confident smirk, daring him to try and take your place at the top. He only ever smiled back, easy, unbothered.

Because, unlike you, he had nothing to prove.

🪢

The room was silent except for the clicking of keyboards and the scratch of pens against paper. The weight of expectation pressing down on your shoulders. Your fingers flew across the page, solving, calculating, writing. Each answer had to be perfect. Each step is precise.

You couldn’t afford to be slow.

You glanced at the timer. Two minutes left.

Your heartbeat pounded fast. Your breathing was shallow. You could hear the clock ticking. It's louder than it should be. Your grip on the pen tightened until your knuckles turned white.

One last question.

Your eyes looked at the numbers on the screen. You ran through the calculations in your head, fingers trembling as you wrote them down on the paper.

Something didn’t feel right.

You double-checked. No, no, no. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be. You rewrote the equation, erasing and correcting. The answer wouldn’t come out right. The numbers blurred together, your mind racing faster than you could keep up.

Your hands were sweating.

One minute.

You swallowed hard. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t-

Your hand slipped. The pen streaked across the page, ink smudging. You cursed under your breath, hastily fixing the mess, but-

Thirty seconds.

Shit

Shit

Shit

Your breath hitched. You were running out of time. You forced yourself to write down the answer, even if you weren’t sure. You couldn’t leave it blank. You couldn’t-

Five seconds.

Your eyes darted to the scoreboard.

Jake’s score was higher.

Your stomach dropped.

No.

The timer beeped.

The competition was over.

Jake had won.

🪢

This is what it feels like.

To be second.

The cameras flashed, but they weren’t for you this time. Your lips twitched, struggling to form the familiar, practiced smile. It was supposed to be easy. You had done it a thousand times before, in every victory and moment you stood at the top.

But this time, you couldn’t.

You stood there, trophy in hand, a step lower than ever. A step below Jake.

Jake, who stood on the podium above you, smiling. Genuine, effortless, like he belonged there. His name was called, his score announced, and the crowd cheered. His parents were among them, their voices the loudest, their pride so clear. His friends clapped, laughing, celebrating with him.

You swallowed hard.

Your eyes looked to where your parents sat.

They weren’t clapping.

They weren’t smiling.

They weren’t doing anything.

Their faces were blank, unreadable, but that only made it worse. It would have been easier if they were angry, if they scolded you, demanded answers, questioned why you weren’t standing where you were supposed to be.

But they didn’t.

They just watched.

And somehow, that silence crushed you more than any words ever could.

You turned back to Jake, forcing yourself to look. He was still smiling, still happy, still surrounded by people who were happy for him.

You had never been jealous of him before.

But now?

Now, you wished you knew what it felt like to win and actually deserve it.

🪢

The medal was cold against his skin. But his heart was warm.

Warm from the embrace of his parents, their arms wrapped tightly around him, their voices with nothing but pride. Warm from his mother’s teary smile as she cupped his face, whispering you did so well. Warm from his father’s hearty laughter, the way he clapped him on the back and said, we knew you could do it, son.

Warm from the cheers of his friends, their voices overlapping, already talking about celebrating, about how Jake had earned this.

It felt good.

Not just winning. But knowing, truly knowing, that he deserved this moment. That the people around him were happy for him, not because of what he had achieved, but because it was him. “Excuse me for a second,” Jake murmured, offering them a smile before stepping away. The main hall was busy with flashing cameras and loud applause. He just needed a breather, a moment to let it all sink in.

But as he walked toward the quieter side of the building, his steps slowed.

He saw you.

And it wasn’t at all how he expected.

Your father stood in front of you, voice low but strict. Your mother was beside him, her arms crossed, her words quieter but no less cruel.

You didn’t look at them.

Your head was bowed, your hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles had turned white.

Jake stopped in his tracks.

For as long as he had known you, you had never looked like this before.

You, who always carried yourself with that arrogant smirk. You, who always made everything a competition, never settling for anything less than first. You, who always acted like winning was your right.

Now, you looked-

No. You didn’t look like anything at all.

Your face was blank. Your shoulders stiff. Like you had frozen in place, unable to move, unable to fight back.

And then-

Your father exhaled. “Embarrassing.” His voice was something worse than anger. More like disgust. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for us?”

“Second place?” Your mother scoffed. “Do you think that’s acceptable? After everything we did for you?”

Jake clenched his jaw.

It was the way they spoke. Like you had failed them. Like coming in second was the same as losing entirely. Like you were nothing more than a disappointment.

And then it happened.

Your father reached forward, fingers gripping the silver medal around your neck. Without hesitation, without a second thought-

He ripped it off.

The thin ribbon snapped. The medal clinked against his wedding ring, slipping from his fingers-

Into the trash.

Jake felt sick to his stomach

You didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t even look at it.

Like it wasn’t even there.

Like it never mattered.

Your parents didn’t wait for you. They turned, walking away, their faces unreadable, like this was routine. Like they had done this before.

And you-

You followed.

Quiet. Expressionless.

Like you weren’t even there.

Jake couldn’t move.

His hands tightened into fists. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

Was this… normal for you?

Had this been happening every time you lost?

No. Jake knew you. He knew your pride, your arrogance, the way you carried yourself with confidence.

But was it ever real?

Jake had never questioned what was behind your smirks, your constant need to be first.

Not until now.

🪢

Your bedroom was dark. You sat at the edge of your bed, staring at nothing.

You should be crying.

Shouldn’t you?

But you felt nothing.

Not anger. Not sadness. Not even disappointment.

Just… numbness.

Jay knelt in front of you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His warmth covered your skin, but it didn’t reach the coldness inside. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, like he always did when things felt too heavy, when you came home and locked yourself away, and when the weight of expectations became too much to carry alone.

His embrace was the only thing tethering you to reality.

And it hurt.

Because Jay was all you had.

The only person who saw you for more than just a name. The only person who didn’t care if you were first or second or last.

The only person who stayed.

“…I’m proud of you,” Jay whispered. His voice was calm, but there was something fragile in the way he held you. He was afraid you’d shatter. “No matter what, I always am.”

Your hands clenched the fabric of his sweater, but you still didn’t speak.

Because what was there to say?

That you never wanted any of this?

That winning had never been your dream?

That you were tired. So, so tired of being the person everyone expected you to be?

That when your father threw your medal away, he wasn’t just throwing away an award. He was throwing away you.

Jay pulled back slightly,

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “Please.”

You knew you wouldn’t.

Because even with your eyes closed, the weight of it all would still be there.

Pressing. Crushing.

Never letting go.

🪢

You had been walking through life on autopilot for as long as you could remember.

Winning, smiling, shaking hands, collecting medals like they meant something. Like they made you something. It was a routine now. Just another thing you did because it was expected. Because that was who you were supposed to be. And yet, standing at the podium while staring at Jake Sim of all people, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Exposed.

You weren’t sure why you were still here. The hallway was empty. The competition had ended yesterday. The results had already been burned into everyone’s minds.

Jake won. You didn’t.

Simple as that.

But it wasn’t simple. Not when you could still hear the sound of your father’s voice slicing through your ribs, carving up whatever was left of you. Not when you could still see the silver medal at the bottom of that trash can.

Jake’s voice cut through the silence.

“You don’t look happy.”

Oh, he’s here too.

You scoffed. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought winning was everything to you.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “Yeah, well. First time for everything.”

“You don’t seem that upset about losing.”

That made you look at him. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t smug. He was just… watching. Like he had been watching all night.

“What are you getting at, Sim?”

Jake looked at you. “I saw what happened.”

The world around you blurred.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

“Outside. After the competition.” He tilted his head. “I saw your father.”

“I saw him throw your medal away.”

You wanted to laugh. To brush it off. To say so what? But the words wouldn’t come.

He continued. “That wasn’t the first time, was it?”

You swallowed, “Mind your own business, Jake.”

He didn’t back down. “I see you now.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “And what exactly do you think you saw?”

“Someone who’s exhausted.”

A slow, bitter smile appeared on your lips. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s been forced to win their whole life. And I know what it looks like when they finally realize they don’t want to anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, before you could stop yourself, before you could shove the words back down. Your voice slipped out, quieter than you intended.

“What would you have done?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You clenched your jaw. “If you were me. If you had my parents, my life, my expectations. What would you have done?”

His expression changed. Softer. Almost… sad.

“I don’t know.”

You huffed out a bitter laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Jake didn’t argue. He just watched you like he was waiting for you to say something real.

But you didn’t.

Because you didn’t know how.

So instead, you did what you always did.

You turned and walked away.

🪢

The sun was beginning to set. Jay had just stepped out of a convenience store, a cold soda in hand, when he heard someone call his name.

“Jay?”

He turned, barely catching a glimpse before an arm wrapped around his shoulder in a quick bro hug. “Jake, man!” Jay grinned, giving him a solid pat on the back before stepping away. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jake smirked. “Yeah, I was just passing by. You headed somewhere?”

“Nah, just grabbing something to drink before going home.”

Jake glanced at the can in Jay’s hand and grinned. “Still hooked on soda, huh?”

“Still better than your overpriced coffee addiction,” Jay shot back.

Jake let out a laugh. “Fair.”

They found a bench nearby and sat down, cracking open their drinks. “Man, feels like forever since we just sat down like this,” Jay said, taking a sip. “Like when we were younger. Back when drinking soda made us feel cool.”

“Still does,” Jake replied, and they both chuckled.

The conversation was easy. They talked about random things. Old friends, stupid childhood memories, how fast time was passing. But then Jake’s playful energy in his eyes dimmed just slightly.

“Jay… can I ask you something?”

Jay raised a brow. “Since when do you ask permission?”

Jake didn’t laugh this time. His fingers tapped against his can. “It’s about your sister.”

Jay’s smile faded.

“What about her?”

Jake hesitated, just for a second, but long enough for Jay to notice.

“I saw…” Jake paused. “Never mind.”

But Jay already knew.

The way Jake wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jay set his drink down, voice calm but firm.

“What did you see, Jake?”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He looked like he was deciding whether to speak at all. Jay didn’t rush him. Finally, Jake continued. “After the competition… I saw her with your parents.”

Jay didn’t react, not outwardly. He just kept his gaze on Jake. Jake hesitated, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I—I heard what they said. What they did.” He clenched his jaw. “Jay, they threw away her silver medal.”

Jay’s expression didn’t change. He simply took another sip of his drink,

“Is that all?”

Jake frowned. “Jay-”

“No, really,” Jay cut in. “Is that all you saw?”

Jake stared at him confused. “What do you mean?”

Jay scoffed, shaking his head. “If you think that’s bad, then you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Jake felt something cold settle in his stomach. He had always known Jay’s family was strict, but this… this was something else.

“How long has it been like that?” Jake asked quietly.

Jay leaned back against the bench. “Since forever.”

Jake’s grip tightened on his soda can. “Why don’t she say anything?”

“Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Jake hated how casually Jay said it, like it was just a fact of life. Like it wasn’t something that should make someone furious. “I don’t get it,” Jake admitted. “Why did she still… play along? Why act like everything is fine?”

Jay finally looked at him tiredly. “Because that’s the only choice she have.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that. For the first time, he regretted knowing. Because now, he couldn’t unsee it. He couldn’t forget the way you had stood there silently and not moving, as your father discarded your achievement like it was nothing. He couldn’t forget how you had walked away, your shoulders heavy, your head bowed. Not out of shame, but out of exhaustion.

He had always thought of you as arrogant, competitive, impossible to break.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“You know, she’s always been quiet,” Jay said suddenly.

Jake looked at him confused. “Quiet?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah. Like, really quiet. Always has been. Since we were kids.”

Jake frowned, trying to piece that together with the girl he knew. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

Jay chuckled. “Yeah, well, that’s because you don’t know her like I do. People think she’s all confidence and competition, but that’s just what she lets them see. You strip all that away? She barely says a word.”

Jake stayed silent, letting that sink in.

“She was always the quietest one in the room,” Jay continued. “Never talked much, never caused trouble. Just did whatever was expected of her. I think people used to forget she was even there sometimes.”

Jake found that hard to believe. “So why the change?”

Jay shrugged. “Didn’t change. Not really. She still doesn’t talk much when she doesn’t have to. Just learned how to play the part when she needs to.”

Jake tilted his head, thinking back to all the times he had seen you surrounded by people, laughing, teasing, always in control of a conversation. And yet, he couldn’t remember a single time you had actually talked about yourself.

“So all that confidence-“

“Not her,” Jay cut in. “But, she’s still quick-witted, still kinda funny when she wants to be. But when she’s not ‘performing’ for people? She’s quiet. Always has been.”

Jay stretched his legs out. “You know, you should at least try to be friends with her.”

Jake raised a brow. “Friends?” He let out a small laugh. “Pretty sure she’d rather choke than let that happen.”

Jay smirked. “Yeah, she’s dramatic like that. But she’s actually really funny when you get to know her.”

Jake gave him a confused look. “Funny?”

Jay nodded. “Like, in a really deadpan way. She doesn’t even try, but it makes it worse because she says stuff so seriously. And she’s good at keeping a straight face too, so people never know if she’s joking or not.”

Jake thought about it. He had seen glimpses of that before, the way you could make a single remark and have people either dying of laughter or questioning their entire existence. But he had always assumed you did it on purpose, as part of the persona you carried.

“You’re telling me that under all that arrogance, she’s just… quiet and funny?”

Jay grinned. “Yep. Oh, and she also eats weirdly. She cuts everything so neatly.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jay chuckled. “It’s weird. She won’t just bite into a burger. She’ll actually cut it first. Like, who does that?”

Jake laughed.

Jay continued. “But seriously. She’s not as impossible as you think. Just… don’t be an idiot about it.”

Jake stayed quiet. He didn’t know why, but the idea of getting to know you, really know you, stuck with him longer than it should have.

🪢

The wind was pushing against you like it wanted to knock you over. You welcomed it. The cold, the force of it, it was the only thing that felt real right now.

Footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“You always come up here when you’re pissed off,” Jake said.

You exhaled through your nose. “And yet you always follow me. Should I start calling you my shadow? ”

“If it gets you actually to talk, sure.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Jake didn’t say anything. He just walked forward, stopping beside you, mirroring your posture as he leaned against the railing. For a while, neither of you spoke. “You lost back there,” he said finally. Not taunting, not victorious. Just a fact.

You closed your eyes briefly before reopening them. “Yeah. I did.”

A pause. Then, softly, “And? ”

You swallowed. “And… it’s funny.” Your voice was quieter than you intended. “Because I didn’t even want to win.”

Jake turned his head toward you, but you fixed your gaze on the skyline. You couldn’t look at him. Not now. “Then what do you want? ” His voice was gentle.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

What did you want?

The question pressed against you. You’d spent your whole life running, fighting, and competing. Chasing after a finish line someone else had drawn for you. You were always trying to get ahead and be the best. Not because you wanted it but because you were expected to. So then… what was left when all of that was stripped away?

Jake was still watching you, waiting. But you had no answer.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, his voice was quiet. Almost… sad.

“You know, for all the years I’ve known you… I don’t think I’ve ever really known you at all.”

Your throat tightened. You finally turned to look at him.

“Let me help you figure it out,” he said.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to let someone try.

The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“How?”

It wasn’t arrogant. It wasn’t with the usual sharpness you carried. It was… quiet. Uncertain. Real.

Jake was caught off guard. Maybe he had expected you to scoff, to push him away like you always did. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You were tired.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw as if thinking. “We start small,” he said finally. “We talk. We stop pretending to know everything about each other when we don’t.”

Your fingers loosened around the railing. “And then? ”

“And then we figure it out.”

You stared down at your hands. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not.” Jake studied you. “But it doesn’t have to be impossible either.”

You swallowed. “Why do you even care? ”

He was silent for a long time, long enough that you almost regretted asking. But when he spoke, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it.

“Because I saw you that day,” he said. “With your parents. I saw the way they looked at you. The way they spoke to you. And I realized… you’ve never had someone who listens to what you want, have you? ”

No. You hadn’t.

You didn’t even know what you would say if someone ever asked.

You turned away from him, your grip tightening against the railing again. “I don’t need your pity, Jake,” you murmured, but even you didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s not pity,” he said. “It’s just the truth.”

The truth.

You let out a bitter laugh. “You act like it’s that easy. Like suddenly, because you noticed, something will change. It won’t.” You inhaled sharply. “My parents won’t. I won’t.”

“Then let’s stop talking about them,” Jake said. “Just for a second. Forget them. Forget all of it. Just tell me. What do you want? ”

There it was again. That question.

“I…” Your fingers trembled. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” His voice was steady. “Then we start there.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time, you didn’t see Jake as your rival. You didn’t see the boy who beat you, who had everything you didn’t. He was just looking at you.

And for once, that was enough.

🪢

The crisp rustle of paper snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Here you go,” your professor said and slid a registration form onto your desk with a smile. “I assumed you’d be competing again this year. You wouldn’t want to waste your momentum, right? ”

You stared at it. The words are printed at the top. Bold, formal, suffocating. It felt heavier than it should.

“Right,” you muttered and forced a smile as you picked it up.

Of course. Of course, they’d assume. Because that was who you were. The star student, the prodigy, the competitor. Even if you hadn’t breathed a word about joining, people just knew. Your parents must have already whispered it to the right ears. You walked out of the classroom, staring at the form in your hands. It felt like holding a contract with no escape clause.

And then, before you could process it, the paper was gone.

“What’s this? ”

Your head snapped up. Jake. Standing in front of you, turning the paper over in his hands.

“Give it back,” you muttered, reaching for it, but he took a step back.

“Are you actually signing up for this? ” His tone wasn’t mocking, but something about it irritated you.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” you said flatly. “They expect me to.”

Jake’s face didn’t change. “And do you want to? ”

You scoffed. “Why do you always ask me that? ”

“Because you never answer,” he said.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“It should.”

He was so sure. So convinced. You almost envied him for it.

“Then tell me, Jake,” you said. “If I say no, if I throw this form away and never look back. Then what? ”

Jake didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll be right there with you.”

“What-”

“If you don’t sign up, I won’t either,” he said. “If you want to walk away, then let’s walk away. Together.”

Is he being serious right now?

“Why? ” you whispered.

“Because I told you. I want to know you. The real you. And if that means letting go of some dumb competition, then so be it.”

You had never felt so seen in your entire life.

🪢

The aluminum can was cold in your hands. You stared at it, confused, before glancing at Jake.

“…Why? ” you asked as your brows furrowed.

Jake only shrugged. Popping open his own can with a hiss. “You looked like you needed one,” he said simply and brought the soda to his lips.

You eyed him for a moment longer before taking a small sip. The carbonation fizzed against your tongue. It gave you something to focus on. Something other than the boy sitting beside you. Jake leaned back against the bench, his arm resting casually along the backrest. “Jay was right,” he said. “You really are quiet.”

You paused mid-sip. Lowering it just enough to glance at him.

“Huh? ” You weren’t sure what he meant by that.

Jake didn’t look at you right away. Giving you space to process his words. “I mean… when you’re not performing. When you’re not playing the role everyone expects. When you’re not competing or surrounded by people who only care about your name.” He finally turned to you and smiled. “You don’t say much at all.”

You pressed your thumb against the can’s surface. “And that’s a problem? ” Your tone was neutral.

Jake shook his head. “Not at all,” he said steadily. “Just… different.” He took another sip of his drink before adding, “I think I like this version of you more.”

That was strange. You weren’t used to being seen like this. To someone noticing the parts of you that existed outside of competition, outside of expectations. You didn’t know how to respond. So, you didn’t. Instead, you took another sip of your soda, letting the taste of artificial sweetness and carbonation sit heavily.

“I’m jealous of you.”

The words left your mouth before you had the chance to second-guess them. They weren’t said with bitterness or anger. Just exhaustion. A quiet sort of truth. Jake didn’t react at first. He was processing your words. “Jealous? Of me? ” His voice held genuine surprise.

You let out a breath while your shoulders sagged. “Yeah.” You turned the can in your hands again, staring at the condensation gathering on the surface. “You have everything I don’t. A supportive family. Friends who actually care. You don’t have to prove yourself every second just to be worth something.”

Jake stayed quiet, listening. He always listened.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me,” you continued, voice quieter now, but no less raw. “To have people around you, but still feel alone. To have a name everyone respects but never be sure if anyone actually likes you. To constantly win, but never feel like you’re allowed to lose.” You let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “And the worst part? I don’t even want to win.”

Jake’s face was showing understanding. Or pity. You weren’t sure which one was worse.

“Then why do you? ” His voice was gentle.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

Because you didn’t have an answer. Or maybe you did, but you weren’t ready to say it out loud.

Jake leaned forward slightly. “I don’t know how you feel,” he admitted. “I won’t pretend I do. But… you don’t have to be alone in it.”

You scoffed. “And what? You’re going to save me? ”

“No,” Jake said simply. “But I can listen. If you let me.”

You had spent so long keeping these thoughts buried. Locked behind walls built too high for anyone to climb. But somehow, he had found his way through.

“Jay is the only thing I have,” you admitted.

Jake stilled beside you. “What do you mean? ” he asked, though you could tell he already had an idea.

“He’s the only one who really knows me. Who doesn’t care about the name, the rankings, the medals. If he wasn’t there…” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “I think I’d have nothing.”

Jake didn’t speak right away. His eyes on you. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know that’s not true, right? ”

You laughed bitterly. “It is.” You gestured vaguely. The proof was all around you. “Everyone else only sticks around because of the reputation. Because it benefits them. I see it. I know it. And my parents-” You stopped yourself. “They only care about the success, not the person behind it.”

Jake was quiet for a moment. “That’s not how it should be.”

“Yeah, well.” You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Not all of us get to have what you have, Jake.”

Jake frowned. “And what do you think I have? ”

“Everything.” The word was heavier than you expected. “You have people who support you. People who love you. Who don’t just see you as a title or an achievement. You don’t have to fight for their approval, because you already have it.”

Jake held your gaze. Then, slowly, he set his can down beside him and leaned back on his hands. “I don’t think that means I have everything,” he murmured. “Not if it means you have nothing.” Then, he stretched beside you. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day where you admitted you were jealous of me.”

You shoved his arm lightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll just make sure to remind you every chance I get.” He grinned. “‘Jake, you have everything,’” he mimicked in a terrible impression of your voice. “‘Jake, you’re so humble, so talented, so-’”

You shoved him harder this time. “I take it back. I’m not jealous of you. I pity you.”

Jake only laughed, catching himself before he could tip over. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips turned upwards despite yourself.

“So,” Jake finally said while tapping his fingers against his knee. “Since we’re being honest today. What do you actually like? You know, aside from crushing your opponents in competitions.”

You raised a brow. “Who says I like that? ”

“You sure act like it.”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated. “I guess… I never really thought about it. I’ve just been doing what’s expected of me.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully. “Well, maybe it’s time you start.”

You glanced at him. It was unsettling how easily he could be both annoying and unexpectedly kind in the same breath. “And how exactly do I do that? ” you asked.

Jake shrugged. “Figure it out. Try something new. Do something for yourself instead of everyone else.” He paused, then smirked. “Like, I don’t know. Maybe getting ice cream with your ‘rival’ after school?”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

“Call it what you want.” He stood up and stretched. “But I’m getting ice cream either way, and I won’t stop bragging about it if I go alone.”

🪢

After classes, you two went to a nearby ice cream shop. The ice cream was cold against your tongue. You sat across from Jake at a small outdoor table, absentmindedly tapping your spoon against the cup. “You know,” you started with your voice flat, “this is the first time I’ve eaten ice cream without the crushing weight of expectations looming over me.”

Jake snorted. “Wow, what a tragic backstory.”

“It is,” you deadpanned. “Every bite before this was accompanied by the echo of my parents’ disappointment.”

He stared at you for a second before bursting into laughter. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Am I? ” you asked, still completely serious. “I think it adds depth to my character.”

Jake shook his head, taking another bite of his own ice cream. “Jay was right. You really are funny in the weirdest way possible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, still expressionless.

“It wasn’t meant to be one.”

“Too late.”

Jake just chuckled, shaking his head. The conversation carried on like that. Quick exchanges, half-serious jokes, and you, testing the waters of what it felt like to simply be. No competitions, no expectations, just sitting here, eating ice cream with the one person you never expected to share something so normal with. And when you looked at Jake, mid-bite, you realized something else…

Maybe this was what it felt like to have a friend.

🪢

For the next few months, something unexpected happened.

At first, it was a small change. Jake started waiting for you after class. The two of you walking together, sometimes in silence, sometimes bickering over the smallest things. He would flick your forehead whenever you made a dry joke, and you would roll your eyes when he got too philosophical about life. Then, there were the study sessions, the shared lunches, and the exchanged texts that started out about assignments but eventually turned into things that had nothing to do with school.

Somewhere along the way, “rival” wasn’t the right word.

You still competed, of course. Old habits were hard to break. But there was a difference now. When you turned in your test papers, you didn’t feel like you had to prove something to him. When you saw his name next to yours on the scoreboard, it didn’t feel like an attack on your worth. Jake had a way of existing so effortlessly, like he belonged wherever he stood, like he had nothing to prove. And for some reason, being around him made you feel like you didn’t have to prove anything either. One afternoon, as the two of you sat on the school rooftop. “I think I’m forgetting how to be competitive.”

Jake looked at you. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. ‘’It’s not.”

🪢

The moment the results were announced, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Third place.

For a second, the world seemed to slow. The crowd cheered, cameras flashed, and the weight of all the past competitions pressed against your chest. But instead of disappointment. There was…

Relief.

You turned your head and saw Jake standing on the highest podium. He was smiling, beaming, and when his eyes met yours, his expression softened. He wasn’t just happy for himself. He was proud of you. And strangely, you felt proud too. The old you would’ve hated this. Would’ve obsessed over the what-ifs, convinced yourself that third place meant failure. But now, standing there, you just smiled. Genuinely smiled.

Jake stepped down from his podium before the ceremony was even over, ignoring the announcer’s call. In a second, he was in front of you, eyes searching, until you opened your arms. And then, he pulled you into a hug. It wasn’t brief or hesitant. It wasn’t a victory embrace, not in the way you used to think about winning. It was steady, warm, something unspoken but understood.

“You did amazing,” he murmured.

You let out a small laugh. “You did better.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point” he squeezed your shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

You swallowed. For once, you didn’t brush it off. You didn’t argue.

You let yourself believe it.

🪢

The moment you stepped out, the harsh light from the parking lot made the situation feel colder than it already was. Your parents were already waiting for you by the car. Their faces were tense. They didn’t even look at each other before they started in on you.

Your father’s voice was low. “You’ve failed again.” His words hung in the air. “How many times do we have to do this? We put you in the best position possible. I thought you’d learned something after last time, but all you’ve proven is that you can’t handle the pressure.”

You stayed quiet, your hands at your sides, unwilling to look up. There was nothing you could say that would make them understand. Not now. Not ever.

Your mother spoke, her voice a little softer but still sharp. “We give you everything, every advantage, and you still can’t manage to bring home the result we expect. You got third place. Third. Why? Because you didn’t care enough. Because you were distracted. Because you-” She stopped herself.

You wanted to say something, anything, to defend yourself. But you knew it wouldn’t matter. Your words would fall on deaf ears. No matter what you said, it would never be enough.

“I thought you’d work harder. But it’s clear now. You don’t care about winning. You never have,” your father added with his voice cold now. Then, there was silence, and it was unbearable. You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes. You fought them back. You had to. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. And just as you thought you might snap, you heard a voice from behind you. Calm. Steady. Unshakable.

“That’s enough.”

Jake.

You didn’t turn to look at him, but his presence was like a wall between you and your parents now. He stepped forward, his shoulders straight, eyes hard as he looked at your father. “With all due respect, sir, that’s not fair.” Jake’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “She tried. You can’t pretend that she didn’t. I’ve seen her work. I’ve seen how much she puts into this. You can’t just tear her down like that because she didn’t win. That’s not how this works.”

Your father’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to being challenged. Not by anyone. Certainly not by someone like Jake. Your mother, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes. “You’re out of line. This is a family matter, Jake. You don’t know what we’ve sacrificed to give her everything she needs to succeed.”

Jake’s eyes softened, but there was still a firmness to it. “I’m not saying you didn’t sacrifice. But you’re hurting her. You’re not giving her a chance to breathe. To be more than just the next win on your list of expectations. She’s not a machine.”

You could feel your heart racing now. This wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want Jake to defend you like this, not like this. You didn’t want to be the center of their conflict. But you also couldn’t help the way his words felt so protective and heartwarming. Your father’s voice cracked this time. “You have no idea what it’s like to be responsible for someone like her. You think this is easy for us? ”

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m sure it’s not easy. But that doesn’t mean you can break her every time she doesn’t meet your expectations. She’s already carrying a burden you don’t understand.”

There was a long silence. Your parents, caught in their own frustrations, didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw your father this quiet. This is uncertain. And yet, it didn’t make you feel better. It made the pain worse, somehow.

“Go to the car.” Your father looked at you.

You didn’t move. Not immediately. You couldn’t. Your feet felt rooted to the ground. Your mother’s voice broke through the fog. “Come on, let’s go.” There was no warmth in her voice. No understanding. Just a demand, as though you were nothing more than a tool they could use to achieve their own goals.

Still, you didn’t move. But then, your father’s gaze hardened, and with a final glance at you, he turned away and started toward the car. Your mother followed without a word. They got into the car and drove off, leaving you standing there, frozen, isolated. Abandoned in the worst way possible.

The car was long gone, and the sounds of your parents’ angry voices were still in your mind. You were left in the cold, standing at the edge of the competition venue, a place that was supposed to celebrate achievement, yet all you felt was an unbearable emptiness. You didn’t know how long you stood there, paralyzed by the weight of it all, until you felt a presence behind you.

Without saying a word, Jake came up behind you and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a way that was protective and almost desperate. For a moment, you stayed completely still, not knowing how to react. You tried to suppress the tears that threatened to break through, but the more you tried to stop them, the more they came. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to fall apart like this, but the pain, the frustration. It was all too much.

Jake didn’t say anything at first. He just held you. Your body shaking against him. His hand ran through your hair gently. After a long silence, his voice broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

You froze. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t expect it, not like this, not in this moment of raw vulnerability. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was cry harder, the pain in your chest intensifying with every breath you took. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t need to explain. His arms around you were all the explanation you needed.

And then, in the most fragile, broken voice, you managed to choke out, “I love you too, Jake.”

Your voice cracked as the words left your mouth, the reality of it all hitting you harder than anything else. It wasn’t just the weight of your parents’ disappointment. It wasn’t just the competition. It was everything. The years of trying to prove yourself, the years of hiding your pain, of pretending you were okay. But in that moment, with Jake holding you, all the walls you’d built around yourself crumbled.

You didn’t know how to explain it. You didn’t even know what it all meant. But you knew that in this moment, you weren’t alone.

🪢

It was late in the evening. The sun had long since set. You and Jake were at the same spot, the one you’d found yourselves in countless times before. It had become a place of understanding, where the noise of the world couldn’t reach you, where nothing else mattered except the moment you were sharing. Jake leaned against the railing, one arm crossed. You sat next to him, just a little distance apart, but the space felt non-existent.

It had been a few weeks since everything had changed between you two. Since the “I love you’s.”

“You know,” Jake said, breaking the silence, “I never really thought about how much I’d come to care about you. I think I spent so much time trying to figure you out that I missed how much I wanted to just… be with you.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The honesty in his voice hit you harder than you expected, and for a brief moment, you felt exposed. “I never really let anyone get close,” you admitted quietly. “But… with you, I don’t know. It just feels like it’s easier.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything with me,” he continued. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be anything you’re not. I only want to be here for you.”

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. Without thinking, you leaned in, the distance between you two shrinking with every heartbeat. And then, without a word, Jake mirrored your movement, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he closed the space.

When his lips met yours, it was like everything had clicked into place. It wasn’t forceful, nor was it with frantic energy. It was gentle, careful. You pulled back slowly. Jake’s smile was soft, and when he opened his eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he said quietly.

And when you smiled back at him, it was different. It wasn’t the kind of smile you gave anyone else. It was for him. For everything you were beginning to understand about him, and about yourself, too.

🪢

You don’t know why you agreed to meet them. Maybe some part of you still wants to believe they’ll listen this time. That they’ll understand. You sit across from them at the dining table in your family’s home. Your father is the first to speak. “Are you done being distracted? ” His voice is calm but sharp. “We gave you time to sulk after your loss. Now it’s time to get serious again.”

Your mother looked at you with disappointment. “Do you know how humiliating it was for us to see you standing there in third place? After everything we’ve done for you? ”

You don’t flinch. Not this time. “I was proud.” Your voice is steady. “For the first time, I was actually proud of myself.”

Your father scoffs. “Proud of what? Settling for less? ”

“Proud that I didn’t hate myself.” The words come out before you can stop them. And for the first time, silence fills the room.

Your mother’s expression tightens. “Where is all of this coming from? Since when did you start talking like this? ”

You grip your hands under the table. “Since I realized I could breathe without trying to be perfect. Since I stopped believing that my worth was tied to a trophy. Since Jake.” But you don’t say any of that out loud. Instead, you swallow and meet their gaze. “I’m not going to keep chasing something that makes me miserable just because it makes you proud.”

Your father’s hand slams against the table, making the dishes rattle. “You think you know better than us? You think you can just throw away everything we built for you? ”

“You built it for yourselves. Not for me.”

Your mother shook her head. “Ungrateful. We gave you everything. And this is how you repay us? ”

Then your father delivers the final blow.

“You’re making a mistake.” His voice, ice. “And when you fail, don’t expect us to be there.”

Something inside you cracks. Maybe it had already been breaking for years. You stand up. Your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

And with that, you turn and walk away.

🪢

The months pass, and so do the expectations that once weighed you down. You’re still you. Still sharp, still competitive when it matters, but you’re no longer fighting a battle just to prove something. There’s no more need to mask everything behind arrogance. No more need to win just to feel like you deserve to exist. People notice the change. You’re quieter now, but not in the way that feels like suffocation. You’re reserved, but not closed off. And most importantly, you’re kinder. Not just to others, but to yourself. Jay is the first to point it out one day, laughing as he nudges you. “You used to act like you had to be the smartest person in every room. Now you actually let people speak.”

You roll your eyes. “I never did that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.” He grins. “But look at you now. I’m proud of you, you know? ”

You pause at that. It’s not something you hear often. But from Jay, it’s real.

You shrug. “Took me long enough.”

And then there’s Jake.

He’s always there, not in a way that feels like an obligation, but in a way that feels natural. Like you were always meant to meet him at the finish line, no matter where it was. You sit beside him on the rooftop as always. After a moment, he glances at you, eyes warm. “So, do you regret it? ”

You tilt your head. “Regret what? ”

“Letting go.”

You don’t answer right away. You think about everything you lost. The approval you once desperately sought. The expectations you’ll never meet. The people you had to walk away from.

But then you think about everything you gained.

You think about Jay’s laughter, about the way he never left your side. You think about Jake, about the way he looks at you as someone he chose to stay with.

For the first time, your answer is certain.

“No,” you say. “Not even for a second.”

Jake smiles. And when he reaches for your hand, you don’t hesitate before taking it.

Because for the first time in your life, you don’t need to win. You don’t need to be the best.

You just need to be here.

Extra Scene:

You and Jake sat on his bed, legs stretched out, backs resting against the headboard. “No, seriously,” Jake said, chuckling as he shook his head. “You were the most terrifying person I’d ever competed against.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You make it sound like I was some villain.”

Jake laughed and looked at you for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. You knew what he was thinking. A comfortable silence passed between you before he suddenly reached over to his nightstand, pulling open the drawer. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then his fingers brushing over something inside before carefully pulling it out. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was the silver medal.

The same one your father had ripped from your neck that night after the competition, thrown carelessly into the trash.

But here it was, resting in Jake’s hands.

The thin ribbon that had once been torn off had been stitched back on. Messily, but carefully. The fabric wasn’t perfect, the stitches uneven, but it was there.

Whole again.

“You…” You swallowed as your eyes looked up to his. “You took it?”

Jake exhaled a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I saw it in the trash that night. Just sitting there, like it didn’t mean anything.” He paused, turning the medal between his fingers. “But it did mean something. Maybe not to them, but to you. So, I took it.”

You reached out, your fingers brushed over the uneven stitches.

“You fixed it,” you whispered.

Jake smiled. “It was never broken,” he murmured. “It was just… waiting for the right person to hold onto it.”

You looked at him then, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

Being around him felt like peace.

[mentallyadinonugget]

✮soulmate!ellie x soulmate!reader

tags: sfw, some fluff, vvv vague loser ellie, slightly deranged/feral reader, & soulmate au obvs.

word count: 2.3k

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Growing up, you never quite grasped why people believed that having your soulmate's very first words permanently etched into your skin was so undeniably romantic and a true blessing. Perhaps it offered them hope that there’s someone destined to love them, their other half. Meanwhile, most of the folks you encountered had the sweetest meet-cutes and even more charming phrases like, “I’m sorry to say, but you have the most beautiful eyes ever” or “Hi, I saw you from afar and simply couldn’t resist introducing myself.” Your parents, on the other hand, had the most cringe-worthy first interaction imaginable, and heaven forbid you ever bring it up; it only inflates their already inflated egos. Maybe you were just a tad jealous.

Even the more common lines felt agreeable to you, like “Hi, what’s your name?” or “And that’ll be $9.99, tax included.” You knew it would’ve been confusing to receive something like that, but God knows you’d prefer it over what your “soulmate” actually said to you. You scoffed every time you glanced at your right arm, a constant reminder of how the person who’s supposed to love you eternally uttered, “Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?” Ah yes, folks, that’s the love of your life right there.

Whenever someone would mention their insipid, showy, dense soulmate’s first words like “You smell like tulips” or “Mister, wait, you forgot your wallet,” you couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy. But could anyone really blame you? People often tried to convince you that maybe it would be funny when you finally met or something vaguely similar, but you always silenced them with a glare, not wanting to hear another word about it.

Today was probably the worst day of your life. You got into a huge fight with your parents about something so silly that you couldn't help but laugh right now. You dropped some good manchow soup on your white T-shirt while getting up to get your plate to the dining table. You weren't sure what you were angrier about, your T-shirt or your soup. Just as you thought things couldn't get worse, your teacher sent a text in the group chat assigning all students extra work so late at night, ruining all the plans you had for the weekend. You couldn't pinpoint what pushed you over the edge or the reason why you were sneaking out to get fried shrimp at 4 in the morning. It was just one of those days.

You were out in your Hello Kitty pajamas and even comfier sweatshirt with your headphones in. You mumbled to yourself, "I would rather lick my tongue with a cheese grater than have someone I know from school see me like this." You texted your best friend, "Should I get the sweet chili or BBQ sauce?" But before you could get a reply back, you were tackled to the ground by someone on possibly a skateboard. Your palms and knees were scraped and bloodied. RIP Hello Kitty pajamas.

You got up to see this pale girl with short brown hair, a baggy T-shirt, and shorts. Her nose was bleeding slightly. Honestly, you would have found her quite attractive under any different circumstances, but right now you couldn't give less of a fuck about what she looked like or what she was wearing. You were having the shittiest day in the history of shitty days, and now your Hello Kitty trousers were ripped and you were covered in blood. Your sweet dreams of getting fried shrimp were shattered. So before you could even think about something reasonable, some vile words left your mouth. To your surprise, she didn't hold back either.

"Can't you see where you're going, you bumbling shit muffin?" you shrieked.

"Are you actually deaf, or is your head just wayyyy too up your ass all the time to hear anything?" she yelled with the biggest sneer on her face, getting way closer to your face than you'd like her to be. You could now clearly see the freckles on her face, her bloodied button nose, her green eyes, and the way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Maybe you would like that, tbh.

It took you a minute to realize what just happened.

oh

Oh.

What the fuck

What the absolute fucking fuck, this can't be happening. Not when I look like this, at least you thought, and by the looks of the girl's expression, you were so sure that she was thinking the same thing. Her features softened slightly, and she let out a small chuckle, faintly blowing air in your face. “Oh my god, it’s you,” she exclaimed, her smile getting bigger. But once again, you couldn’t register what you were about to say and started screaming, “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” as you lunged at her, trying to punch her. She caught you with such ease you would’ve considered it hot if you weren’t so angry at the moment. “I’M THE ASSHOLE??? When YOU’RE the one who called me a shit muffin?” She barked a laugh. “Do you know that all my friends call me shit muffin now? I guess I do have to give you points for creativity.” She amused, and guilt took over you. All your anger vanished. “I’m sorry, I guess,” you murmured, avoiding eye contact. Before you could react, she grabbed your chin and enforced you to look at her. “What was that?” She leaned in, cupping her ear, pretending to hear you better, smirking a bit. “Oh, eat cock,” you rolled your eyes and pushed her away. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t swing that way.” She beamed. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she grinned ear to ear. “Why? I let down your expectations?” You half joked now that you finally started to believe that this was indeed happening. God, you were so nervous. What if she thought you were ugly, like a troll, or you frightened her by trying to knock her teeth in? God, how could I be so fucking stop, you introspected.

“W-what? NO, absolutely not. You’re beautiful,” she went on apprehensively, her cheeks quickly reddening as she said it.

“Please forget that I’m not this much of a loser on a daily basis,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands and sitting down on the sidewalk. You couldn’t help but giggle. God, she was cute. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were hot before I punched you,” you said. “TRIED to punch me. I dodged that actually,” she boasted, wiping fake dust off her shoulders. This time you actually laughed. “Oh my god, you’re so lame,” you exclaimed. “NO I’M NOT,” she put up a performance which made you laugh even harder. You didn’t get it, but the girl was staring at you with the biggest smile on her face. “I’m Ellie, by the way, Ellie Williams,” she put her hand out for you. “(y/n)(y/ln),” you replied while shaking it. You got up and pulled her with you, both of you walking for no reason. It was quite peaceful, honestly.

“Well, miss y/l/n, what are you doing here at 4 am? Early morning run?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, as if,” you scoffed and started telling her about your appalling day, and to your entertainment, she made stupid expressions, exaggerating her emotions on everything you said, putting a fake sword through her heart when you told her about how she’s the reason you don’t have your delicious fried shrimp with you right now. And in return, Ellie told you about how much she likes skateboarding, and she was trying to learn this new trick but kept making a lot of noise, so her old man Joel told her to take it outside. She told you how cool the trick is and even attempted to show it to you, failing miserably and making you laugh once again. You then noticed the blood on her face was beginning to dry up, so you asked her to come with you to some public bathroom.

You took out your pocket hanky and began to wet it, putting it on her face, cleaning all traces of blood, while she continued to yap about her other interests, which included dinosaurs and space, and it weirdly didn’t surprise you. You cleaned yourself up too and came out.

“I’m truly sorry for ruining your super awesome pajamas,” she forged an apology, her smile unwavering. “I’m sorry for almost breaking your nose; there’s nothing I can do about that.” You bowed to her, mirroring the energy she had given you, though deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt.

“Well, there is something you can do about it,” she said slyly. “And that is?” You raised an eyebrow. “Your number, maybe? And a date, but only if you want to, of course! You totally don’t have to hang out with me just because we’re soulmates. I mean, who even believes in that anymore? You probably don’t want to; we just met, so it’s reasonable. I could be a serial killer for gods sake.” She laughed nervously, glancing down as she played with her fingers anxiously. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you, Ellie,” you interjected, stopping her from rambling further.

“Oh, thank fuck” she exclaimed, relief washing over her as she pumped her fist in victory. “Ellie, what the hell? Just give me your phone, and I’ll type my number in for you.” You chuckled at her excitement. “So, where are we going?” you asked Ellie.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that; I know exactly what you’d love,” she smirked to herself. “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. But right now, I have to leave and get back home before my parents figure out I snuck out, okay?” you said, glancing at the time.

“What? No goodbye kiss?” Ellie teased, and before she could make another witty comment, you kissed her cheek and dashed away. “You better make it worth my while, Williams!” you called back as you fled.

As you neared home, a funny feeling crept in—maybe this soulmate business wouldn’t be as awful as you had imagined. Meanwhile, Ellie stood there in shock, her hand caressing her cheek where your lips had just lingered. She was utterly confused, yet her radiant smile remained unyielding.

Ellie Williams was utterly, truly, and tremendously fucked up over you, but luckily, so were you. _____________________________________________

Hi pretty ppl! this was my first ellie fic and I know this is a bit too long but I was having so much fun writing it I couldn’t stop im sorry okay 😞 if yall like it ill make a part two I just know

once again constructive criticism is more than appreciated but if you want to be mean do not interact with this at all

[eldritchmochi]

listen, my boyfriend is a good handful of years younger than me, with parents more than a decade older than mine. this man has been scammed or nearly scammed several times in the 3ish years ive known him, despite being college educated and a generally pretty cautious person

and it all boils down to the fact that he was never taught what to look for in online scams. its the same for the elderly. theres a sweet spot of (generally) younger gen xers and older millennials that overlap with tech nerds of the 90s and 00s who are good at spotting internet scams, because we know *specifically* what to look for. i learned it from my gen x computer autism father in the mid 90s when i was a wee smeet so had a general awareness of Internet Scams, and i also worked in industries where i was taught *specifically* about internet scams and how to spot them

https://servicehub.ucdavis.edu/servicehub?id=ucd_kb_article&sysparm_article=KB0008380&spa=1&sys_id=fb0c68ae1b8fc1904827cb35604bcb2b

https://consumer.ftc.gov/articles/how-recognize-and-avoid-phishing-scams

first thing i look at when i get a sus email is the email address. if its ostensibly for a business, the @ for the email should be that business with few exceptions. it should also be correctly spelled with the correct dot com (or dot org or dot edu etc etc) that is associated with the website. additionally, when you are getting email from a business as a consumer, you are rarely going to get something from a Specific Person; cs emails go into a pool and whoever in the team grabs them will respond, but the email you get it from will be routed thru a common email

(exceptions would be like, small indie artists run by a single person. they may have a custom domain email or they may work out of a dedicated gmail or whatever. generally, you would know this artist and expect contact from them)

other things are like, blackmail schemes. i worked cs/billing for a porn company so i was taught about this specifically but there is a scam that goes around saying that they have hacked your computer and have video of you fapping to "nasty shit"; if you get that or anything like that, its a scam and they do NOT have any dirt on you

you can tell because they are very vague. they may discuss sending "evidence" to your employer, but dont say what specifically "it" is they have dirt on, nor mention do they mention your employer by name, stuff like that. not saying there arent any assholes out there who do capture sensitive personal stuff to use as blackmail, but if they do, they generally show you exactly what dirt they have because then they know if you actually mind that getting leaked. if they insinuate but dont state? almost certainly fake

https://consumer.ftc.gov/consumer-alerts/2020/04/scam-emails-demand-bitcoin-threaten-blackmail

i found all these links I include via searching "how to spot x email scam", with the relevant type, and scrolled down to .gov and .edu results. learning to research and critically examine things on the internet is THE biggest skill you can learn, at any age

and if you get hit with a scam like this, its not because *you* failed, its because you were failed by a society that should do better

😭

[sweetdispatch]

First impression - C. Bedard

Next door hearts pairing: Connor Bedard x Hughes!reader summary: You invited Connor to spend the weekend with you and your brothers were watching his every move to make sure he's the right guy for you warning: none note: ahh so sorry my love @toasttt11 for the wait☹️but i hope you like it!!!!

After the conversation with your brothers who begged you to invite Connor, you were thinking about it. As much as you wanted to see him, you didn’t want to take him away from his family. All season he barely saw them and you really wanted him to spend the time with them. You didn’t want to sound selfish and ask him to come. Later that day, you called him and he could tell that your mind was somewhere else.

“What’s going on in your pretty head?” Connor asked you.

“It’s just my brothers” You sighed. 

“Talk to me, maybe I can help you” Connor proposed. 

“It’s just… they asked me to invite you here and as much as I want you here I don’t want to take your time. I want you to spend the time with your family” You admitted.

“I would love to come. It’s been a month since we saw each other and I miss you. It would be my pleasure to see you and meet your family” Connor told you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to force you” 

“I’m sure but if you don’t want me there, I understand” 

“Oh I want you here, trust me” You told him with a smile. 

“Then I guess we’ll see each other soon” Connor told you and changed the topic to tell you about the day he spent with his friends. 

You made plans with Connor and next week he was coming to see you. You told your family about it and they all were excited to meet him. Although you were scared of this because you know your brothers and you knew that they’ll be investigating Connor’ every move. You tried to think a lot about it and just enjoy the fact that you’ll see your boyfriend. 

The day has arrived. You went to pick up Connor from the airport. All your worries about this weekend disappeared when you spotted him. You ran into his arms and felt safe like never before when he hugged you. You stood there for a moment until you pulled away and kissed his lips. 

“I missed you” You told him. 

“I missed you too. I’m so happy to see you again” Connor said and grabbed your hand. 

Whole way back to your home you two were catching up with the last month. It was so fresh to have Connor by your side again. When you parked the car in the driveway, you felt the need to warn him about your brothers. You didn’t want to be surprised by their reaction and behaviour. 

“Before we go there I need to tell you about my brothers. They’re super protective and I’m pretty sure they’ll be watching you very closely but don’t be scared, they’re harmless or at least I think. They might ask you a hundred questions…” Before you could continue, Connor interrupted you. 

“Don’t worry it’s gonna be alright” Connor squeezed your hand. 

You two left the car and wished to have Connor’ excitement. You were nervous about this because you simply didn’t trust your brothers. You were sure they were gonna do or say something stupid and this might affect your relationship. Connor opened the door for you and you entered. In the speed of light your brothers appeared. 

Thankfully you could avoid the awkward meeting since your brothers knew Connor and Connor knew them but they were looking very closely between you and Connor. They didn't say a word except for hey and you were happy that for now, they left you two alone. You grabbed his hand and took him to your room.

For the rest of the day, you were laying in your bed with Connor talking about plans for the next few days. No one was bothering you and you were living in your own bubble until Luke told you that the dinner was ready. You took a deep breath and with Connor you went downstairs. The show is about to start, you thought to yourself. 

The dinner went smoothly. Your parents were talking with Connor about his life but your brothers didn’t say anything. They were looking at you and Connor and how you two were acting with each other. You knew that they were judging him and how he’s behaving with you. You barely ate anything from the nerves and Connor noticed this. He whispered into your ear that you need to eat or you’re gonna be dizzy like he was the other day in Chicago and you giggled. 

With that, your nerves disappeared. Your head started replaying the moment when it was just you and him in Chicago and you were eating dinner in front of tv but Connor got so caught up in telling you a story about what happened on a roadie that when he stood up, he was dizzy. It was a cute situation and it helped you to calm down. Your brothers noticed that after he said something to you, you started eating and they smiled a little bit that he has a positive impact on you. 

The next day, you two were laying in the garden. Connor was laying on his back and you were on top of him. His arms were placed on your back. It wasn’t much talking between you two. Just enjoying the time you have together. You two understood each other without words. Jack saw you two and wanted to interrupt whatever you were doing when he saw Connor’ hands on you but stopped when he noticed the smile that was on your lips. Jack knew you and knew that it was a genuine smile. He smiled to himself, seeing you happy. 

After dinner, you and Connor went to the living room to watch a movie with Luke. You and Connor sat on the couch meanwhile Luke took the armchair. You cuddled into Connor and Luke was lurking on you two from time to time. In the middle of the movie, he saw that Connor fell asleep and his head was laying on your thighs. You were looking at his sleeping figure while running your hand through his hair. Luke was delighted to see you this happy with Connor and knew that you don’t care about the movie anymore. The only thing you cared about was the boy sleeping on your legs. 

Late evening you were craving something sweet but you were too lazy to go downstairs for ice cream. That’s why Connor decided to go and grab them for you. When he was in the kitchen, Quinn appeared next to him. He spotted that Connor is making your favorite ice dessert. This melted his heart that he knew you that well. 

“You're a good guy Connor” Quinn suddenly said. “My sister is really happy with you”

“Thanks. I want to be the best guy for her. She deserves it” Connor smiled shyly. 

“You know, when she told us that she’s dating a hockey player we weren’t the happiest. We wanted to meet you and see if you’re good for her. This might sound weird but me, Jack and Luke had been watching you two and I don’t think I ever saw her this happy” Quinn admitted.

“I get it, she’s your younger sister and you are protective over her and I don’t blame you but I really like her and I care about her deeply. I want to be the reason she’s smiling every day” Connor told him.

“You better be or we’re gonna have a problem” Quinn joked. “Now go to her before she’ll be mad that her ice cream are melted” 

Connor walked into the bedroom and handed you a bowl. You kissed his cheek and grabbed a spoon to eat them. He looked at you and smiled widely. He was happy to have you. 

“I think your brothers accepted me” Connor said out of nowhere. You stopped eating and looked at him. 

“What do you mean?” You asked him confused. 

“I was talking with Quinn in the kitchen and he said that he never saw you this happy like you’re with me” You blushed at his words. 

“He wasn’t lying. I’m the happiest person when you’re by my side” You confessed. 

“And I’m the happiest person to have you in my life” Connor kissed your forehead. 

You were thankful that your brothers accepted Connor. This meeting was scary for you but turns out to be the best decision. Smile couldn’t disappear from your face when Quinn gave Connor a blessing from their side and doesn’t make problems over the fact that you’re dating a hockey player. You knew that from now on you don’t have to hide anything from your brothers and can proudly talk about your boyfriend to them. 

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

“We are going to get in so much shit for this,” Chris rambles, “if we get fucking caught with this-”

“Chris, stop okay,” Eddie tries again. She’s been working herself up with the same shit for twenty minutes.

“We decided to do this babe,” Robin reminds her.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” Chrissy practically wails, “he saved our asses, it just seemed fair!”

“Our asses were in trouble in the first place because of him,” Eddie mumbles under his breath.

Robin Elbows him, “shut up, he said he didn’t know and I believe him. I told you, he’s a good soul.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes at her, “we’re not going to get caught,” Eddie says again, full of confidence. And he is, like, reasonably sure this is going to work. Steve’s buried in the middle of a crate full of spare parts, some of them engine parts so are pretty resistive to the scanner. Steve’s running on bare minimum power output. He’s basically nothing. Eddie’s scanned the crate from every angle at about two feet range; the port security are not going to pick up on him.

They’re just sneaking an unregistered, Mars built synth through customs, that’s all. Nothing exciting. Just a synth that One built with his bare hands. One who single handed caused a Synth uprising and murdered every single man, woman, and child on Mars and proceeded to build his own empire in the rubble.

Absolutely nothing to see here.

Eddie holds his fucking breath.

The coms button lights up, Chrissy instantly flicks it, and the most bored sounding voice in the universe asks Eddie if he has anything to declare.

“No, nothing.”

“Please check the list of prohibited materials. You must declare anything radioactive.”

“No,” Eddie says again, “nothing.”

“Docking gate four, please align with the scanner and hold position when indicated to do so.”

The line goes dead, Chrissy maneuvers the ship carefully, and Eddie is certain all of them are holding their breath. They’ve done this what feels like hundreds of times. Eddie is absolutely sure it has never, ever taken this long. The longer it goes on, the twitchier the girls get.

The coms light flashes, and the girls both turn to Eddie wide eyed. Eddie can’t blame them; he’s pretty sure he’s still holding his breath when he flicks the toggle, “please proceed to the gate,” Eddie flicks the switch back, exhaling and flopping down in his seat, the girls both let out breathy cheers and fall into each other.

“Oh fuck me that was terrible,” Eddie gets up to go and retrieve Steve out of the parts bin.

Eddie watches Steve carefully. He’s not doing anything, just standing in the sunlight. Head tilted back, like he can actually feel it on his skin. Sometimes he blinks his eyes open, looking down at his own hand, turning it in the light.

Chrissy appears next to Eddie, holding a bag out to him; sugary baked goodness, “oh that’s the good stuff,” Eddie thanks her, sugar powder smeared on her face.

“I fucking missed this,” She agrees.

Robin appears next, coffee for the three of them. Real, actual coffee. This is the closest Eddie ever gets to a religious experience.

“Okay, me and Chris really need to do the rounds,” Eddie nods, waves them off since his mouth is full, there’s several minutes of awkward hugs as everyone negotiates coffee cups and precious pastries.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks them, frowning. He looks so human, Eddie thinks to himself. They’re definitely going to be able to pass him off as human but...he doesn’t have any ID. Nothing. Steve doesn’t exist, which, considering they’re only planning to be home a week or so, shouldn’t cause too much of an issue.

Until they have to smuggle him right back out again.

Eddie hopes.

“We’ve been off world for like, months, we both need to go visit with our parents.” Chrissy says it off hand, “see you later, Steve. Bye Eddie.”

The girls are oblivious as they leave, picking their way along the busy street, bulging backpacks hoisted up high.

Eddie sees it though. It was fast, the change in Steve’s eyes. They’re normal again now, blink and you miss it kind of thing, but Eddie has no doubt something just happened.

“Steve? What was that?”

“Another file...presented itself.”

“A memory?” Eddie presses gently, standing closer together so they can speak quietly. There are plenty of people around them, everyone chattering and going on about their day; no ones paying attention to them. “What was it?”

“Children...there were children, they were...very important to me. Like I was their parent, somehow. I was...very protective of them,” Steve looks around, frowning. “I need to find them.”

Steve actually turns, like he’s going somewhere, “woah woah there,” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, and Steve does stop. Eddie is under no illusion that Steve stopped because he wanted to. There’s no way Eddie could stop Steve; Steve could rip Eddie in half, like a wet sheet of paper. His hand is human warm in Eddie's. “Lets go to my place okay...we can talk about it and try to figure something out, we can’t just...go off. Do you even know where you would be going?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“I...holy fuck. I wasn’t actually expecting an answer.”

Steve frowns, his lips pursed in a sweet, confused little curve, “neither was I, until I said it.”

“Shit...Steve. Come on.”

This is not normal for a Synth. Not any kind of Synth. This is just...Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about Steve’s weirdness, it doesn’t matter really, just how weird it is...Eddie’s got to get to the bottom of Steve’s memory errors, he figures the answers have to be there somewhere.

Eddie’s working in a bit of a make shift situation here. The ships in dry dock to be unloaded, refueled and have some minor repairs. Including the airlock which Eddie is praying no one asks any probing questions about.

“Okay, come and sit here,” it’s Eddie’s bed in his pokey apartment, and he has all the tools he could scrape together set out on a towel, but he thinks he has enough here to at least have a look. Now that Steve is willingly accessing the files, Eddie might be able to do a scan, at least.

Steve sits. Eddie goes to find one of the latches on Steve’s scalp, but stops himself, pulling back. It feels...invasive. Suddenly. Now that Steve is alive and awake in a way Eddie’s never come across with a Synth before. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Steve tells him, “I don’t mind.”

“Okay…” Eddie goes back to it, noticing for the first time that Steve’s hair is ridiculously soft. Eddie cards his fingers through it, finding the little edge, and using his magnet to unhitch the plate, “pretty sure it’s this one.”

Steve hums in agreement, sitting still as Eddie leans over him, Eddie works for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the readouts on his visor; everything stays green and holding.

“Okay, lets look,” the handheld reader loads slowly; unsurprising really, when Eddie clocks how much data there is, “Christ,” he breathes, “these files are fucking massive. No wonder you’re having a problem processing them.”

“They do seem to affect other systems.”

Eddie hums, “this is mad...I don’t even recognize the format.” This is...Eddie lets it load, finally, looking at the file data, frowning, “this...this cannot be right. I need to send this to the girls.”

It takes a long few minutes, Eddie letting another file scan through while he’s waiting; this ones even bigger, which is just, insane.

Eddie’s communicator starts beeping in his pocket; he doesn’t bother plugging it in, just brings it up close enough to his ear that he can hear, “Eddie, where did you get this?”

“It’s from Steve,” Eddie tells her. He watches as the next one completes; it’s much the same, just even more complex.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Chris. I am absolutely fucking certain,” considering Eddie literally has it in the palm of his hand, “I just watched the file transfer myself. One hundred percent.”

Eddie doesn’t even blame Chrissy for questioning it, Eddie would have done the same.

“Eddie, those are brainwaves. This is a memory. Like a human memory.”

Eddie looks down, but Steve is already blinking back up at him. Steve does not look even one bit surprised.

“Chris, you and Robs want to go on a road trip?”

The facility is abandoned. Long abandoned. The doors are smashed in, the walls are bare, and every single thing has been stripped out of here. There’s just dust and trash in the corners of every dark room. Broken office chairs. Designs spray painted by vandals. Stripped wiring hanging forlornly from ceilings where the tiles have either been smashed or just fallen in on their own.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, creeping along behind him. There’s no one here, there hasn’t been for a long time, but the place feels haunted.

“We need to go down.”

“Down?”

“This isn’t it; there’s...something more.”

“Right,” Chrissy says confidently, even though she looks fucking terrified, “down it is.”

“I brought torches,” Robin offers.

Steve leads them past a bank of elevators; no power anyway. There’s a panel that Steve unceremoniously rips off the wall; Eddie couldn’t even see it until Steve did it, the camouflage was so good. Next goes the security pad; with no power, Steve just calmly rips the unit right out of the wall. The door next to it, he has to force.

It screeches and creeks, groaning loud enough that Eddie wants to cover his ears. It doesn’t want to go, but the metal itself eventually buckles under the force of Steve.

The stairwell is as dark and empty as everywhere else.

They creep down, torch beams flickering, only the soft sound of their feet on the steps.

It feels like they go down forever.

When Steve opens the door at the bottom, a soft light fills the space. It’s not bright; much closer to emergency lighting. There’s strips of it, either side of the hall.

Every room looks like a torture chamber to Eddie, despite the stripe of cheerfully flaking rainbow paint that decorates the hallway.

Things that look like dentist chairs with horrible, probing machinery hanging over it. Rooms with huge devices in that Eddie can’t even guess the purpose of, “Steve, what the fuck is this?” Chrissy whispers.

Steve pushes open a double door, and everyone freezes at the sight that greets them.

Eddie, for a brief second, thinks they’re human kids. They aren’t, even in the poor light he can see that their insides are machine; not human. The smears of colored Synth liquids are no less gruesome looking for it though.

In the doorway, Steve falls to his knees.

Steve was almost impossible to move; he weighs a fucking tonne. Between the three of them they manage to slide him out of the way of the door, far enough that they swing shut at least and they don’t have to stand there, looking at the ruins of whatever the hell this is.

“They made Synth kids,” Chrissy looks green, like she’s gonna’ throw chunks at any moment. Robin is sheet white, even in the shitty lighting, “what’s wrong with Steve?”

He kneels, frozen, his eyes white again.

“I think he’s processing memories,” Eddie hazards a guess. “We...need to wait it out, I think.”

“Jesus,” Chrissy’s teeth are chattering, her voice shaky, “couldn’t he have done this somewhere else?”

“Not sure he’s exactly controlling it babe,” Robin tells her, eyes wide enough Eddie can see the whites; Eddie’s pretty sure he probably looks the same.

“Kids,” Chrissy breathes again, “sick fucks.”

When Steve drags in a deep breath, they all jump, “Jesus Fucking fuck,” Robin hisses, Chrissy taking two big steps back away from him in surprise.

Steve’s...breathing. Loud and panicked which is just. He doesn’t even have fucking lungs, “Steve,” Eddie kneels in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, “Steve, you’re fine. Steve.”

Steve grips Eddie’s shoulders; not hard though, like he still knows Eddie’s just a breakable human. Eventually, he calms, seeming to slowly realize he doesn’t need to breathe, so it stops again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, sorry,” Steve gets up, fluid and sure on his feet again, he easily pulls Eddie up with him.

“What did you see?”

Steve looks around, “not here,” he says.

“I fully fucking second that,” Chrissy adds, vehemently.

“Yeah, lets get the fuck out of here.”

But Steve hesitates. And then he goes back into the room of horrors.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses.

“Where the fuck is he going? I don’t want to go back in there-” but the doors swing open again, Steve back already, he’s carrying another synth in his arms; this one doesn’t seem injured that Eddie can see.

She’s wearing white, her hair clipped short. She’s stiff in Eddie’s arms, the unnatural stillness of a deactivated Synth.

“Steve? Who is that?”

“This is Eleven. She’s coming with us.”

“Eleven as in the number that’s ten along from One?” Robin asks, panicked.

“Oh fuck me, this is such a bad idea,” Chrissy whispers, as she follows along.

“Steve,” Robins hisses, “Eleven is like, ten numbers up from One. Is it that kind of Eleven?”

“Eleven is nothing like Henry.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Robin mutters.

“Ah fuck me, we’ve got to go back up all those stairs.”

Eddie just follows along quietly at the back, listening to the girls bitching, feeling like the ghosts of this place are trying to follow them out.

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about it before, but now...now it feels kind of odd. A little disrespectful maybe. Synths are artificial, they’re not people, they’re not even alive, so before meeting Steve, Eddie wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Now, having a synth in the back of their transport, just laid out with a blanket thrown on top, feels kind of weird. Feels a little disrespectful.

They’re nearly an hour outside of Hawkins before the girls chatter starts up again, like they’re just now far enough away from that place that it’s okay again.

Naturally they’re full of questions, and Eddie listens carefully as he drives, “I think I remember a lot more now,” Steve is telling the girls.

“Yeah, like what?”

Steve frowns, Eddie watching him in the rear-view mirror. Next to him, Chrissy is twisted fully in her seat so she can see Steve, “I think I’m from Hawkins. I think I was made there. Henry...lied to me. He just overwrote my memories to try and...make me be on his side. I think Henry stole me from there.”

“You think he caused the errors?” Eddie asks, and Steve frowns, shaking his head.

“Henry was there? One?” Robin pipes up, “oh my God,” she breathes, and it feels like they all realize it at the same time, “One was built there too, right?”

“He wasn’t an anomaly, was he?” Chrissy follows the thought to it’s obvious conclusion, “that’s what they were trying to do there, isn’t it? True sentience.”

Steve nods.

“So...Mars? That was...actually someone's fault. Like One wasn’t just an accident, they built him that way and then…”

“They thought they had him under control. They thought he was...compliant, like me. Like the others. That’s why Henry killed them, he knew the kids might be able to stop him, one day. He waited until I was in maintenance. He must have waited and waited for me to be shut down before he did anything, physically I was the only one there who could have saved the kids.”

Robin reaches across the seat, squeezing Steve's hand. “it’s not your fault babe, okay? If you were being, fixed up or whatever, you couldn’t have known what he was going to do, right?”

“Why the fuck did they build them as kids? That’s just…” Chrissy doesn’t have the words.

“Messed up?” Robin supplies.

Steve frowns, “they were being transferred to new bodies as they grew up, they...had minds like mine. Memories. They were trying to make...people.” Steve shakes his head, “I’m not sure.”

“So why aren’t you a little kid?”

“I was built as an adult, like Henry. The kids memories are their own, just like with a human. They thought that would work better than what they did with me and Henry, but it would take longer; the kids had to grow. My memories are…” Steve frowns, again, twitching, eyes flashing briefly white before he blinks back to alertness, “from a person?”

“Holy shit,” and that revelation kills the conversation for quite a while as they all process everything. Mars was...well. Whoever was building these Synths, the government? The military? Both? Whoever the fuck it was, it’s their fault that One happened. Not the random programming glitch that they’ve successfully blamed all this time.

Mars is just...one giant cover up.

And Steve...holy shit, Steve was actually a person, a human being. That makes so much sense. None of it was programming, it’s just...Steve. All the mannerisms, the personality...it was real.

It still is real.

“We should...tell someone.” Eddie suggests, “people should know that One wasn’t an accident. Mars is their fault, whoever built him. It was deliberate, and they fucked up.”

“We wouldn’t be able to prove it though,” Chrissy reminds him, “Steve is our only evidence. And a creepy building in the middle of nowhere filled with dead Synths.”

Eddie sighs, she has a point. And if it really is one massive cover-up, the first thing they would do is eliminate Steve.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, unable to keep the question in any more, they make eye contact in the rear view, “what was your roll?”

Steve smiles faintly, “I’m the babysitter.”

Eddie dropped the girls off at Chrissy’s parents place and instructed them, very firmly, not to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone. They didn’t need telling, not really, but it still made Eddie feel better to say it.

Now they just need to sneak a Synth into Eddie’s apartment without drawing too much attention. Luckily Eddie’s in a cheap and shitty part of town, and most people keep their heads down and their business to themselves. It’s pretty late by the time they get back, and that’ll help.

Eddie had, briefly, considered going to Wayne but, fuck dragging him into all of this mess.

They have Eleven wrapped in a blanket, and Steve holds her vertically, one arm wrapped around her like she’s a piece of furniture. Eddie’s got his head on swivel, he tries to play it cool, but he’s failing miserably as he trails after Steve up the stairs. Anyone who sees him will know he’s guilty of something. The lights flicker, the bulb on the second landing gone completely.

Eddie nudges trash out of their way as they head along the hall.

Steve takes Eleven inside, laying her out on Eddie’s beat up two seater couch, her stiff body resting awkwardly, propped against a headrest.

Her hair is peach-fuzz, but whoever built her did just a good of a job as they did with Steve.

“Can you wake her up?”

“I can try,” Eddie’s exhausted, it’s been a long fucking day, but he retrieves his tools from where they are still laid out on the towel on the bed. It’s been long hours since Eddie found Steve’s memories, but Eddie’s tired enough that it feels like it’s been at least a week.

The panels are easier to find and open at least, thanks to the short hair.

Eddie wonders vaguely if that’s why they made it short.

“Wait,” Steve says suddenly, “we should check her for a transmitter. Henry must be aware of them, if that’s how he found me.”

“Sure,” Eddie gestures at her vaguely, there isn’t anyway Eddie’s going to be able to move her, but Steve turns her over. He moves her easily, but gently. With great care.

Steve lifts the back of her white shirt, indicating the place where Eddie should cut; the transmitter is there, exactly the same as with Steve. Eddie crushes it and drops the remains into the garbage disposal.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters to himself, getting a coffee, “okay we can do this,” he does his best to hype himself up, but he’s running on fumes. It really has been a hell of a long day, all the traveling, plus finding that place. It’s been a lot.

This morning, calling Chris, feels like it was simultaneously ten minutes ago, and about a thousand years.

Eddie tries to suppress another yawn, and fails, before pulling his visor down, Steve’s hand on his shoulder stops him, “this can wait.”

Eddie half shrugs, “she’s...your friend though, right?”

“Yes. And she still will be tomorrow.” Steve takes Eddie’s coffee away, “I can watch out for both of you tonight. You should sleep.”

Eddie could fight it, but he knows Steve’s right. Plus the idea of just going to bed sounds too incredible to resist.

“Okay, but first thing in the morning.”

Eddie blinks awake with gummy eyes. He’s still in bed, his room looks fine.

Obviously the government hasn’t ransacked his apartment and carried him off into the night. It’s all good. Eddie sighs, rolls over, and lets himself fall back into the nice place half between sleep and wake, cocooned in his warm bed covers.

He figures it’s maybe an hour later, Eddie still resting without sleeping, when there’s a gentle tapping on his bedroom door.

Eddie makes a quiet, ‘hmm?’ noise, figuring it’s Steve and that Steve will hear him.

Steve comes in with a steaming mug of coffee, which is just...outstanding really, and Eddie sits himself up more in bed to take it carefully, “thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Steve’s such an odd duck, for a Synth. It’s got to be all those human memories.

“You said One was like you, but the kids are growing their memories organically?” Eddie cradles the steaming mug close to his face, breathing the scent of coffee.

Steve doesn’t move, standing over Eddie, “yes.”

“Do you think that’s why he chose Henry? Do you think that was his name, before?”

“It’s possible, if I had a name before, I don’t remember it,” Steve turns, sitting on the edge of the bed where Eddie’s invited him. Eddie shifts a little further when the bed really dips, it’s easy to forget that Steve is fucking heavy, “I have been wondering,” Steve continues quietly, “if Henry’s memories...are from a bad person. And that’s why he and I are so different.”

“I think...that makes sense. I mean, you’re a good guy Steve. Even Robin says you have a good soul.”

Steve frowns, looking pensive, “but what if...I don’t. What if I turn out like him?”

Eddie downs the last of the coffee, ditching the empty mug on the bedside table, “pretty sure the fact that you’re worried about it means that you won’t.”

Steve nods, “thank you, Eddie.”

[tanktopdiaz]

You Just Smile and the Picture Sells

eddie-centric | gen | 1.8k | 8x12 Disconnected Coda Saturdays he goes to the northeastern part of town and spends the afternoon driving around lovely couples who couldn't care less for his picture of him, a toddler Chris, and Abuela nestled in a tight loveseat. Tips come in steady, and as the sun goes down he notices he's a bit more hypervigilant of the couples he's hauling around. Pretty dolled up women holding hands and giggling to each other, bulky men next to tiny twinks, a group of butch women filing into his Prius like it's a clown car and they're the dependent variables of his clown college thesis. or: Eddie installs a little picture frame in his car.

story under read more or read on ao3 <3

On Mondays Eddie likes to stock his air-vent frame with the picture of Chris at his first robotics meet, crouched down and squished between two mentors behind a little robot made to throw basketballs. Chris's glasses are covered in masking tape to make them blue since that's his team's color and Eddie wasn't going to drop money on a new pair at the time (the next year, he transferred to the middle school team - red and white color scheme. Much easier on the wardrobe).

Only one person's ever commented on it. It was a mom with two teens, both in the back huddled over their phones. The mom's in the passenger seat, anxiously adjusting the temperature to make sure the kids were getting A/C. "Ah, First Robotics? My niece is in it. He yours?" Eddie talks about Chris for the rest of the trip and at the end of it all, the mom puts her hand on his arm softly and says "best of luck at the next comp. I hope my niece's team kicks his team's ass, though." She tips an additional $10 and puts a note to spend it on goggles.

-----

Tuesdays, he finds a rhythm from 2pm-10pm with a picture of the 118 smiling back at him. Buck's hanging off his shoulder, Hen and Chim squished on their sides, Bobby's tilted and stretched face in the foreground as he takes the selfie of them all.

There's a bar on the west end of the city that hosts industry night on Tuesdays, and next to that a bar that offers karaoke coupons and discounts to nurses and cops. The discounts start at 3pm but the cover starts at 7pm, and he circles the nearest hospitals and attorneys offices for hours starting at 2pm. Rakes in the fuckin money. He's almost always picking up groups of 2 to 4 and everyone loves the picture and is never silent about it. He gets to say, "I used to be a firefighter, actually. Transfer down to El Paso didn't go so smooth," with a grimace and a forlorn look at the picture on his dash. They all sympathize with him, talk about their transfers to the city or their connection to firefighters and other emergency personnel. Theres even a couple who were once EMS personnel and they share anecdotes back and forth.

Once, he dropped off and picked up the same nurse 5 hours apart and when she gets in the car she insists on sitting in the front seat and getting all the details about each of them. He beams, stutters an "oh I could talk about them for hours" and he sits in front of her house for an additional 10 minutes cackling over the names Hen, Chimney, and Buck before she stumbles back in her house. $20 tip.

-----

Wednesdays he sleeps in.

The picture of the 118 and his influenced attitude from it all means he's made enough the day beforehand, so he drives Chris to school and drops back into sleep when he gets home. Picks Chris up from school, takes him to a movie or dinner or sits with him at chess practice. When he gets home he'll endure his parents until Chris is out of the room, growl out a "you do not dictate my relationship with my son", and take a couple rides into the night until his blood warms back up and his fists unfurl of their own accord.

He flips between two different pictures of him and Chris, one from Christmas and one from Easter. No one says anything - they don't have to - that's obviously his son. He's beaming with a kid in his hands, what else could it be? Sometimes his mind races. Do they think he's an absent father with only holiday pictures to show for it? Do they think this could be his nephew? Do they think he's doing this to provide? Despite the silence, he gets decent tips. Maybe because of the silence, actually.

-----

On Thursdays it's - surprise surprise - another picture of him and Chris. Buck and Bobby are in the background doing goofy faces, Eddie and Chris squished cheek to cheek with BBQ sauce decorating silly smiles of their own. Hen took the picture, a fried pickle hanging out of her mouth and a smudge of ranch on her cheek. It's nice to reminisce on in the morning when he picks up silent teens for school or half asleep business workers.

He picks the rides back up around 8pm, the same time most live music events in the city start opening their doors, and once it rolls around to the closing numbers his app starts pinging like crazy. "Oh my god this is adooooooooorable," crows every drunk women that pours into his prius. "You and - oooooooohhhh - is that your son?? He's a cutie patootie!!!!" they'll all but scream, party partners in the back both cringing and drunkenly egging their friend on. "Who's that in the back?" they'll ask, some continuing with no answer, "they look like family! Are they yours?" And Eddie will smile and nod and sometimes tear up when he speaks and they'll clutch their chest, tears in their own bloodshot eyes, and fawn over the picture until he drops them off at home.

50/50 on them raising their tips once they're in their own homes. Most of the tip increases come in the middle of the night, no doubt when they're coming down from their high and scrolling their phones to piece their night back together. They hover over the Uber app, gasp a smile, and remember him.

-----

Friday is much the same as Wednesday. Eddie puts a simple picture of him and Chris in his visor and takes Chris to school, survives off Thursday's tips until night comes and the clubs start to fill up then thin. He nearly overdoses on B12 as he prepares for a night going into the next day, but Friday partiers are a whole different breed down here, he finds. He keeps picking up men who try to intimidate him or make snide remarks about having a Prius in Texas where everything is supposed to be Bigger; women who bat their eyelashes and adjust their tops in his mirrors and pout out nonsensical questions when he's trying to make tight corners or convince them to be dropped off a block or two from their warehouse destination.

He doesn't get good tips on Fridays, unsurprisingly, and eventually decides he'd rather be with Chris. Chris would rather be with his friends though, and Eddie's happy to play chauffeur and hang in the background while Chris hops around town. His friends sometimes chuckle at the picture of the two of them and one evening there's a girl included. She sits in the front and smiles adoringly at the picture, cuts her eyes carefully up to Eddie's face every now and then. When he drops them off and drives to the back of the parking lot, he sees her lean towards Chris and put a flirty hand on his shoulder with a look towards him in the lot. Chris turns too, then turns back quickly, and the girl melts at whatever he says back.

He should get Buck on that pronto.

-----

Saturdays he goes to the northeastern part of town and spends the afternoon driving around lovely couples who couldn't care less for his picture of him, a toddler Chris, and Abuela nestled in a tight loveseat. Tips come in steady, and as the sun goes down he notices he's a bit more hypervigilant of the couples he's hauling around. Pretty dolled up women holding hands and giggling to each other, bulky men next to tiny twinks, a group of butch women filing into his Prius like it's a clown car and they're the dependent variables of his clown college thesis.

That first night, he hauls three people - a bored looking Latina in the front seat and two handsy young men in the back who keep glancing at him and toning their behaviours down. "I'm from LA," he blurts out 15 minutes into the 25 minute drive, cheeks flushing when they give him weary looks from the rearview mirror. "I know a - I have a lot of gay friends, so you're totally good to keep on, uh, what you were doing. No hate here." The boys are silent for the remainder of the drive and once they're out of the car the Latina in the front puts a soft hand on his arm and says, "they were awkward, but thank you. Texas isn't always kind to people like my brother." The curtain of hair and kind eyes don't escape him.

After that he decides on a picture of him and Buck - simple, out of uniform but perched next to each other on the loft island with the slightest lean into each other. Showing off his bisexual friend should surely make it easier to explain why they should find solace in his car. He keeps picking up obviously not-hetero couples and tenses his shoulders until he sees them look at the picture, then him, then give themselves private smug smiles. The picture worked as intended, he hums to himself. Everyone loves my bisexual friend. Is he supposed to NOT talk about his bisexual best friend to the gay people in his car who ask about him? Tips stay steady, but the ones who ride in silence still tip more.

His Sunday is really still Saturday, from the tip of the clock to 3 or 4am depending on his B12 intake. The gay people in his car get gayer, louder, drunker, kinder, and he finds that questions of his bisexual best friend start extending to him. "Aww, is that your partner?" And he says yes because it get him good tips. "Oh my god he's so hot" and Eddie will give a smug thank you and then they'll squeal, "you're in the picture too!!!" "How'd you two meet?" Hiccupping giggles through drunk lips when he talks about how much Buck hated him when they met and how quickly he nipped it in the bud.

As the night progresses it becomes more "you two look so happy" and "ugh, too cute, get it away from me" from a handful of singletons and "reminds me of me and my man" from the older crowd he picks up around the corner. Eventually he gets nothing but people dozing on his windows or silently staring ahead like they're processing the night. "Have you had a good night driving?" or "Been safe tonight, I hope." become the default small talk.

"He must be sick worrying about you out so late," an older woman tuts once, tapping the corner of the framed picture of the two of them. She's turned into the console with her other hand tight in her girlfriend's as the girlfriend leans head first against the passenger seat, drunk as a skunk.

"Nah," Eddie says with a tired grin. "He knows I'm coming home to him."

[leblogreblog]

Hear me out:

on his first day he stumbles upon some old lady, being too busy looking up and around to notice her and he instinctively catches her. she thanks him and calls him darling/honey/dear or something else like that.

because never had he heard it before, he assumes that it's something rude/about how dangerous he looks and gets offended (lets be honest, the last time this man was called anything positive was when he got his Conquest monkier, because he was being useful. with how he behaves there is no way he ever got called any endearment and others were probably too scared of him to say any of it anywhere he could hear, if they've even knew it themselves)

he starts to storm off but then hears other people around using this endearment, like two people holding hands, parent to their child etc. and then notices that all of them are smiling and look... happy.

seeing this he turns back towards the lady and smiles awkwardly, assuming that it's customary response to such words. she calls him a handsome lad/strapping chap or sth like that while patting him and then turns around and walks away, leaving stuned-looking Conquest behind

cut to him during questioning, looking into distance lost in though

whoever does the questioning says that it's good to know his purpose on Earth and all, but he still haven't introduced himself, which is just rude at this point.

Conquest's full focus snaps back to them, and he stares at them in silence for a long moment, long enough to make the person doing the questioning sweat/start getting nervous and wish to take back their words

He then slowly breaks out into a full smile, cracked teeth and all, knowing now that it's customary to do so when one hears this word, and introduces himself with his new name

Invincible AU where nothing changed but Conquest were sent to Earth instead of Nolan (and he didn't conquer the Earth instantly).

[monstera-modd]

Becoming (a) Man’s Best Friend

Part 1

To be Living Again

Many things have changed since Danny was a kid.

He told his parents about being Phantom, and… they didn’t take it well. But it was okay! At least the only thing they did was tell him that he couldn’t stay with them, so he just moved in with Sam and Tucker.

Then there was the whole “Young Daniel, you are now the Ghost King!” speech that Clockwork had gone on and on about. Training for that job –one he never really wanted– was tiring, but he had gotten the hang of it over the last six or so years.

He also learned that, since accepting and becoming king, he’s gained a broader power set. He can now mold and stretch the ectoplasm around him and within himself, essentially allowing him to shapeshift. (Which is so cool!)

His core has also shifted a bit, as well as his obsession, which now includes space– in both the literal and physical sense. Frostbite explained it as his presence taking up all the space around him, either absorbing everything within it or influencing it. But he’s still having a hard time really understanding what that all means.

He thinks he understood more of what Frost was talking about when his universe ended. The GIW had gone overboard, and in a desperate attempt to save the Infinite Realms, Danny –being king– ended his universe. The feel of the space in… well, space, was an odd sensation; almost hollow. It wasn’t as bad when he found out that all of Amity Park had been turned into ghosts, though, seeing as nearly all of them were liminal or more from the ecto exposure.

Having Sam, Tucker, and Jazz with him was a huge weight off his shoulders –one he didn’t even know he had. They were his everything– his family and support system. And sure, he had Ellie and Dante (the whole Danny, Dani, and future Danny thing was a lot), but Jazz and his friends had always been there with him. Fitting, really, that they were with him from the beginning to the end.

Though now… he was just annoyed with them.

“Danny, you need a break! You’ve turned into a workaholic!” Sam stressed.

“You’re just lucky you can’t work yourself to death, dude, seeing as you’re, well… dead.” Tucker grinned at his own pun, which Danny would always appreciate, but he still held a serious tone.

“So,” Sam took a deep breath. “Me, Tuck, and Jazz talked with Frost and CW, and we decided it’s time to intervene.” She looked pointedly at Danny’s turned face. (No, he wasn’t pouting, thank you.)

“You need a break, Danny. This isn’t good for your physical health or your mental health,” Jazz soothed, like always. “We’ve decided to give you a vacation.”

Danny snapped his head toward her, mouth open, protest rising in his throat. But Jazz just held up her hand.

“Before you say anything– yes, we can take care of things here. Danny, the realms ran for years before you came along. They can run just fine for a couple of months while you’re away.” She sat silently, waiting for him to get his bearings before answering.

With a sigh, Danny begrudgingly admitted that, okay, maybe he had been working a bit too much. And now that he was focusing on that fun little fact, he could almost feel the way his core ached, his ectoplasm screaming– like a wound that kept getting reopened.

Danny flinched a bit.

“Okay, yeah.” He leaned back into his chair, running a hand down his face. “Maybe I do need a break.”

He felt better seeing their faces lighten, a bit of the stress they had for him lessening. That much, he could see. And it made him feel a little bad, realizing he’d gotten so consumed with work that he hadn’t noticed he’d –accidentally, mind you– hurt his family.

But it’s okay. He can do this.

Just take a break. Not worry at all about his friends, family… the whole of the realms… or the new planets that were close to aligning.

He took a deep breath in and pulled at his hair a bit. Not the best move. If the look Jazz was sending him was anything to go by, she knew it too. But it helped ground him.

Kept him in this space.

“So, where were you guys thinking?” He glanced between all three of them, each of their smiles slowly growing.

“Clockwork is sending you to the living realm again– through the reincarnation cycle,” Sam said softly. She had probably also picked up on his little slip. Nothing ever seemed to get past her. She was almost as scary as Jazz when anyone she loved was distressed.

He frowned, now registering what she’d said. Jazz, having seemingly never taken her eyes off him, corrected that immediately.

“Danny,” she paused, biting her lip a bit. Slowly, she came closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t not go back to the living realm. You know this. It’s what helps keep you healthy. What with you being half-alive still.” She took a breath, facing him fully now. “Frost explained it. Your human half is in hibernation right now –stagnant– while simultaneously slowing your ghost half down.”

She had now put both hands on his shoulders, bending down to look him in the eye.

“You are both alive and dead. You need to take care of both, or both will start to die, Danny. And you can’t die on me now, okay?”

She was growing a little misty-eyed. Danny did his best not to tear up as well.

“Okay.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay, I’ll think it over and get back to you guys, alright?” He looked at Jazz, then glanced over at Sam and Tuck.

They all smiled.

“That’s all we can ask of you, dude.” Tucker punched his shoulder.

They stayed and talked a little more about life– after life. Danny found out that, in his work-obsessed state, Sam had been working with Undergrowth, exploring all the abandoned islands and turning them into lush forests and parks. Tucker had moved to Technus’s lair, supposedly working on a secret project. And Jazz, to the shock of no one, had moved to the Far Frozen, helping ghosts either move on or, if not, settle with the knowledge that they could be happy and content in this life.

That night, after saying goodnight to his friends and family, Danny lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what it would be like to go back.

Would he have a mom and dad again? Siblings?

What if they found out about him being half-dead and hated him?

Or, worse– what if they accepted him? Loved him regardless?

That’s what scared him the most, he thought. He knew how to deal with unloving or neglectful parents, but… loving ones? Jazz loved him, he knew that. But their situation was different. She was practically his parent, spending most of her life protecting and caring for him. He felt like being accepted was forced or maybe just instinctual for her at that point. (She tells him all the time that’s not true, but he can’t help it.)

But real, unconditional love and acceptance?

He honestly didn’t think he could handle that.

Something nudged his head.

He uncurled to see what it was. (When did he curl into a ball?)

Cujo wagged his tail happily at having Danny’s attention and licked his face.

It was a shock. Danny couldn’t help the wet laugh that escaped him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. Having emotions was a real bitch sometimes. Not that Cujo minded—he just squirmed his way under the comforter to snuggle with him.

This… Danny thought. This is what I want to do. It's not far from protection; comfort practically falls under the same category. He can be someone's best friend like Cujo is to him. He can help someone through a panic attack or protect them from a bad guy. It’d be weird at first –what with being, well, a dog– but he has time to get used to it.

Sleeping that night was peaceful, his mind free of thoughts and worries. With Cujo cuddled beside him and the thought that he could help both his other half and one of his obsessions, he finally felt at ease.

Tomorrow, he’d talk to Clockwork.

________________

AHHHHHHH I'm so excited to write more for this! Expect lots of feels from this story going forward though.

Based on this Tumblr repost story: https://www.tumblr.com/monstera-modd/779134794202284032/oh-my-god-this-is-the-cutest-shit-ever-might?source=share

Also come check it out on my AO3!

[mageknife]

the point of me doing all of that timeline nonsense is to talk about the letter from alexius to halward shortly after alexius takes dorian in. there are two primary takeaways i have from this and they both make me crazy. first:

He's rather despondent over the life's path you've charted for him—if I may speak frankly—and thus, I think a part of him sabotages all efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow, either to spite you or to punish himself.

this sentence is. it’s a lot. in knowing dorian for such a short time, alexius understands him far better than his parents ever have. (“I know my son.” What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble.) dorian acts out because he’s miserable, he’s angry that he’ll never be what his parents want, angry at both them (for setting such unachievable expectations) and himself (for never being enough, for his inherent inability to be enough). alexius can see this so clearly. alexius genuinely cares for him. whether his parents at all care for the man he’s become or just for the man they wanted him to be is debatable.

and secondly, we have this sentence:

The boy had enough cheek, even in his inebriated state, to invite me to join him.

alexius tells halward that dorian propositioned him for sex. dorian is at this point, what, 17 or 18? this is likely the first evidence halward has that dorian likes men. alexius basically outs him. subtly, but it’s there. halward knew for a long time, or at least had a suspicion. but it was in private. only admitted in alexius’s correspondence.

in 9:37, when dorian is 26, he’s caught in bed with a lord’s son and essentially taken captive by his parents. he runs away a few months later, never to return.

below are two quotes from dorian during last resort of good men:

But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to change me!

He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me... acceptable. I found out. I left.

“the first thing you did.” this implies that halward only truly confronts dorian about his homosexuality and moves to act after the incident with lord abrexis’s son.

as dorian says in his sex scene:

Where I come from, anything between two men… it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.

maybe it would have been fine behind closed doors, but it’s been made extremely public. word has spread quickly among halward’s enemies. just look at this letter:

Halward: I only wanted what was best for you!

Dorian: You wanted the best for you! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!

when dorian says this, he’s exactly right. halward might not understand dorian, but dorian understands him. halward knew dorian slept with men for 8, 9 years before this, thanks to alexius’s letter detailing how they met. it hasn’t been an issue before. but it’s only now that it could pose a threat to halward’s reputation that halward decides it has to change. he goes back on his word, his teachings against blood magic, to protect himself, his legacy, his image. it’s disgusting. appalling.

finally, i want to address this banter between cole and dorian:

Dorian: You think that if they love you, they should understand. They shouldn't want to hurt you.

Dorian: So you feel betrayed. You say things you can't ever take back.

Cole: “Get out. You are no son of mine.”

Dorian: Yes, like that.

Cole: He wishes he hadn't meant it.

world of thedas says dorian “escaped,” “fled.” even dorian says he “found out [and] left.” but this banter, given the above context, is elucidating. dorian didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night. he confronted halward. he stood his ground. he refused to let halward change him. he had hope, even if just a sliver of it, that halward would understand, would still love him, even if he wasn’t everything his father wanted.

and for staying true to who he was, he was given rejection. wholehearted rejection. halward said that dorian was not his son, and he meant it. if dorian couldn’t behave in a way that would uphold house pavus’s perfect legacy, if he couldn’t “put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away,” then he couldn’t be a pavus.

dorian left having tried everything. having desperately pleaded with his father to still love him for who he was. but halward never truly loved dorian. he only loved the man he hoped dorian would become, the man he tried to force him to become by throwing money and disciplinary action and strict schools at the problem because he never truly cared about what dorian wanted, the man he was entirely willing to abandon his abandon his principles to use blood magic to change dorian into.

dorian was not halward’s son, because he fought against the life he was forced into since birth. dorian was not halward’s son, because he dared to put dorian before pavus.

[dclovesdanny]

Version two

Jazz Smith has made Lex Luther cry on three separate occasions, though she will remain adamant that the first and third time weren’t her fault. The first time, he cried because she thought he was an old man who was lost and he had to explain in detail who he was. The third time was firmly on Bruce Wayne’s shoulders. He was the one who had bumped into him, spilling his drink on his suit. Jazz was just trying to clean up the mess. How was she supposed to react when she saw the bomb strapped to his chest? Panic?

No, she simply made a fuss and used her minor tech abilities to make it look like the juice had turned off the bomb, leading to her loudly wondering why he was stupid enough to strap a fragile bomb to his chest. She just wanted to shake him, not make him cry.

(After that day, Oliver Queen hired her to work for him. Dinah quickly adopts Jazz emotionally, with Roy acting as a big brother. Lian adores her auntie Jazz)

Samantha Drake was a problem child, according to almost everyone who met her. She was a goth child who hated acting prim and proper like their parents wanted. Tim was the only one who understood her, supporting her veganism and later helping her prank Batman. (She and Bruce were rough and angry with each other in the beginning, but they still stayed in contact. Bruce grew to admire her stubbornness and conviction, while Sam could begrudgingly admit Bruce was a good man when he wanted to be.)

(She and Bruce never spoke about the night where they sat side by side on the clock tower. It was Jason’s death date, the first one since she and Tim had debuted as Robin and Crow. They never talked about how Sam admitted she knew grief, and she let herself tell Bruce a little about Danny. Only Alfred knew that the two spent the night reminiscing, sharing stories and anecdotes, until they arrived in the cave. None of them talked about the brief hug, the first hug Bruce had ever given her. They never acknowledged that night again.)

Tucker Thomas never left the Narrows, forging a birth certificate that labeled him as 19, even though he was barely 15. Duke didn’t call him on it. He visited often though, always keeping a suspicious eye on Bruce. He didn’t trust the man.

(Damian was the only one who bluntly asked him why he glared at Bruce. Tucker couldn’t figure out how to explain it at first, so he channeled his inner Danny. “He gives off fruitloop vibes. Gotta make sure he doesn’t start going all crazy with things like cloning or becoming obsessed with green goo.” Tucker immediately noticed how much Damian stiffened at that, but he didn’t say anything.)

Dante Constantine was only a child in demon years, though he looked like he was a teenager. He was doing home schooling for the time being as John worked with the bats to get papers made. He was a social and happy kid, smiling and chaotic but nothing cruel or barbed.

(John noticed how his son stared at the stars with a longing nothing seemed to satisfy. He noticed how warily Dante stared at the toaster, and how the terrible nightmares that caused his son to sob for hours often involved names like “Jazz” “Sam” “Tucker”. Most of all, he never forgot how his ex mentioned that Dante’s soul had been older, much older than it should be. John saw it too. He was more concerned in the slowly healing cracks in his son’s soul.)

Tonight, all four of them would be attending a party thrown by an old friend of Constantine’s.

Let the fun begin….