#and to achieve this i must log off

[neonstatic]

i need to fix my sleep schedule i can't keep sleeping round 4-5am i got work!!!! shit's killing meeee

[kathaelipwse]

Soft Drinks & Sharp Tongues | Y. Jeonghan

Pairing: Troublemaker!Yoon Jeonghan × Student Council President!Reader

Word Count: 7,974 words : Reading time: 29-ish mins

Trope: Enemies to lovers | Secret softie × Overworked achiever | Protective bad boy | Poor girl x rich school

Warnings: Bullying, classism, mild violence, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mentions of loss (death of a parent), angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Synopsis: She was the school’s strict student council president with no time for nonsense—or feelings. He was the academy’s golden boy troublemaker who got under her skin like no one else. But when a cruel comment sparks a brutal fight and her secret life is exposed, she realizes that the boy who always pushed her buttons… was also the only one who ever truly saw her. In a world that judged her for being different, Jeonghan stood between her and the world—and maybe even her own walls.

-

The crisp autumn air of senior year did little to soothe the persistent thrumming behind your temples. "Another day, another disaster waiting to happen," you sighed, the weight of the student council head badge feeling less like an honor and more like a lead weight dragging you down. Just as you managed to organize the stack of permission slips threatening to topple off your desk, a familiar, infuriatingly casual voice echoed from the doorway.

"Well, well, if it isn't the iron-willed Prez in her natural habitat," Jeonghan drawled, leaning against the doorframe with an effortless swagger that somehow never failed to irritate you and make you lose your mind at the name 'prez' altogether. He pushed off the frame, sauntering into your small office with the confident air of someone who paid the university's exorbitant tuition fees ten times over, despite the crumpled pink detention slip dangling from his fingertips.

"Lost again, Han?" you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended, the exhaustion from last night's late shift at the café still clinging to you like a persistent shadow.

He chuckled, a light, airy sound that grated on your nerves. "Lost? Never, my dear Prez. Merely… exploring the less-traveled paths of disciplinary action." He flicked the detention slip onto your meticulously arranged desk, the corner bent and smudged. "Though, I must confess, your sanctuary of rules and regulations does possess a certain… stark appeal this morning." His eyes flickered around the small space, lingering for a moment on the wilting potted plant in the corner.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, the familiar headache intensifying. "Han, for the last time, gluing Mr. Kim's prized toupee to the rotating blades of the science lab's ceiling fan is not an act of artistic expression. It's disruptive, disrespectful, and frankly, the third time this month. Do you have a personal vendetta against follicularly challenged educators?"

He feigned an expression of wounded innocence, his usually sharp eyes widening in mock surprise. "A vendetta? My dear Prez, I'm wounded by the accusation! Perhaps the toupee simply yearned for a more… dynamic existence? A chance to experience the thrill of flight?"

"The thrill of flight that resulted in Mr. Kim nearly having a coronary," you countered dryly, already reaching for the detention log. "That earns you a solid hour of supervised detention. With me." The thought of spending an entire hour in forced proximity to him was hardly your idea of a productive afternoon, but rules were rules, even for the infuriatingly charming Jeonghan.

"Ah, but that's where the real intrigue lies, wouldn't you agree?" He leaned closer, resting his hands on the edge of your desk, a disarming smile spreading across his handsome face, a smile that you knew had melted the resolve of many a teacher. "Spending quality time in the hallowed halls of disciplinary action, under the watchful gaze of the student council head? A rare and undoubtedly enlightening experience."

You simply leveled him with a withering stare, the kind you'd perfected over countless student council meetings and rule infractions. "Don't even try, Han. This isn't a negotiation."

-

Later that afternoon, just as you were finally catching up on paperwork, your phone rang. It was a flustered Mrs. Lee, her voice bordering on panic. "He… he's gone, (Y/N)! He's just… vanished!"

You sighed, running a weary hand through your hair. "Let me guess. He charmed his way out of detention again?"

"He… he complimented my new scarf," Mrs. Lee stammered, a strange, almost dreamy quality entering her voice. "And then he offered to help me carry a rather heavy stack of textbooks to the library… I only turned my back for a moment…"

"Of course, he did," you muttered under your breath, hanging up the phone with a frustrated click. It was always the same infuriating pattern. His effortless charm, that disarming smile, the casual flirtation – it was a weapon he wielded with infuriating effectiveness.

What the perfectly coiffed and privileged student body, with their designer clothes and trust funds, remained blissfully unaware of was the quiet battle you fought every single day. The silence in your small, rented apartment after your mother left for her second job echoed the gaping absence left by your father's passing.

"Just trying to make ends meet, sweetheart," your mother would say, her shoulders slumped with a weariness that mirrored your own. To ease her burden, you pulled double shifts at a small, out-of-the-way café, the clatter of cheap cutlery and the pervasive smell of stale coffee a stark and unwelcome contrast to the hushed, hallowed halls of your elite university.

"Another lukewarm latte, another step closer to paying the electricity bill," you'd often think, the meager tips barely making a dent in the ever-growing pile of overdue notices.

Your no-nonsense approach as student council head had already earned you the thinly veiled disdain of those who considered rules mere suggestions. "She thinks she's so high and mighty just because she got in on a scholarship," you'd overheard a group of impeccably dressed girls whisper in the hallway, their eyes flicking over your slightly worn uniform.

"No mercy for anyone. Probably has something to prove." They saw you as rigid, unyielding, someone who had forgotten her place. Little did they know the constant tightrope walk you performed daily, the relentless pressure to maintain your perfect GPA and your scholarship, the gnawing anxiety that one wrong step could send your carefully constructed world crashing down.

Yet, amidst the predictable chaos that Han routinely unleashed upon the school, there were these… strange anomalies. One particularly draining Monday, after a particularly grueling weekend of juggling assignments and café shifts, you arrived at your desk to find a single can of your favorite soda, the obscure brand you rarely indulged in, sitting there as if it had materialized out of thin air.

No note, no explanation, just the cool, familiar weight of the aluminum in your hand. And then there were the days when the familiar, agonizing cramps of your period would leave you pale and trembling. On those mornings, a small, neatly wrapped bar of dark chocolate – the expensive, imported kind you usually only dreamed of – would be placed discreetly beside your planner, as if someone knew exactly what silent battle you were fighting.

One particularly frustrating afternoon, fueled by a potent cocktail of exhaustion and a nagging sense of unease, you finally decided to confront the enigma that was Jeonghan. He was leaning against a sun-drenched wall in the courtyard, effortlessly surrounded by a gaggle of giggling students, his usual magnetic charm in full effect. "Han," you called out, your voice cutting through the laughter, the authority of your position instinctively taking over.

He turned, that familiar, infuriatingly handsome smirk returning to his lips. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Prez?" he drawled, the title laced with a playful mockery that usually sent your temper flaring.

You gestured vaguely towards your office. "Those… things. The soda. The chocolate. Why?"

He simply shrugged, that characteristic air of nonchalance returning, his eyes flicking away as if the topic bored him. "Had extras." The casual dismissal was infuriatingly convincing, leaving you with a swirling mix of confusion and a strange, unsettling warmth that you couldn't quite decipher.

--

The fragile peace of the university courtyard, usually a backdrop for idle chatter, hurried footsteps, and the occasional strumming of a guitar, shattered with a sudden, brutal sound. A sharp crack, like bone meeting bone, ripped through the lunchtime murmur, silencing the surrounding conversations as abruptly as a slammed door. You, mid-sentence with the perpetually flustered treasurer, Sooyoung, about the logistics of the upcoming charity bake sale and the alarming rate at which the student body consumed red velvet cupcakes, whipped your head around, your meticulously organized clipboard scattering a flurry of sign-up sheets onto the paved ground. The scene that unfolded before you sent a shockwave of cold disbelief, followed by a surge of adrenaline, coursing through your veins.

Jeonghan, the ever-teasing, perpetually laid-back Han, the master of witty remarks and harmless pranks that somehow always skirted the edge of outright rule-breaking, was locked in a vicious, unrestrained fistfight. His usual playful expression, the one that could charm even the most jaded professors, was gone, replaced by a mask of raw, untamed fury that contorted his handsome features into something almost unrecognizable. His knuckles, already reddening, were white against the other student's increasingly bloodied face, his movements jerky and fueled by a rage you had never witnessed in him before. This wasn't the Han of stolen exam answers and strategically placed whoopee cushions; this was something primal, something dangerous, a side of him completely hidden beneath the layers of charm and nonchalance.

Instinct took over, overriding the shock that had momentarily rooted you to the spot. The student council head within you, the one who had to maintain order and uphold the university's (admittedly often ignored) code of conduct, kicked in.

You found yourself pushing through the stunned onlookers, a knot of fear tightening in your stomach, your voice surprisingly sharp and authoritative as you barked orders. "Break it up! Now! What in God's name do you think you're doing? Jeonghan! Stop!" It took the combined efforts of several bewildered students, their initial shock slowly giving way to a hesitant urgency, to finally separate the two combatants.

Han’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his usually bright eyes now dark with a simmering anger, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. The other student, a usually boisterous jock named Minho, captain of the university's baseball team, was a mess of split lips, a rapidly swelling eye already turning a sickly shade of purple, and a trickle of blood snaking down his chin.

Later, the sterile air in your small, often overlooked student council office crackled with an unfamiliar tension. Minho, sporting an impressive ice pack that did little to soothe his bruised ego, had been escorted to the university infirmary by a concerned coach. Han sat opposite you, slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, unusually silent. His usual playful demeanor, the easy smile that could disarm even your sternest lectures, was completely absent, replaced by a brooding intensity. The knuckles of his right hand were already starting to swell, a stark and unsettling testament to the brutal violence you had just witnessed. You sat behind your desk, the scattered bake sale sign-up sheets a forgotten mess, your mind still reeling from the unexpected eruption of fury.

"Han," you began, your voice tight with a mixture of disbelief, lingering shock, and a growing sense of unease. "What… what was that? I have never, ever seen you… like that." Your words hung in the air, the silence amplifying the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on his injured hand, turning it over as if it belonged to someone else. Finally, he looked up, his eyes dark and troubled, a stark contrast to their usual mischievous sparkle. "He deserved it," was all he said, his voice low and rough, devoid of its usual playful lilt.

"Deserved what?" you pressed, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the cluttered surface of your desk. "A brutal beating in the middle of the courtyard? What in God's name could possibly have happened to provoke something like that?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, his usual easygoing nature battling with the raw anger that still emanated from him. "It's nothing you need to worry about," he finally mumbled, his gaze flicking away from yours.

"Nothing I need to worry about?" you repeated, incredulously, your voice rising slightly. "Han, you just engaged in a full-blown fistfight! This is serious. There will be consequences. And frankly, I need to understand what happened. For the official report, if nothing else."

He finally met your gaze again, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something beyond his usual teasing or indifference. It was a raw protectiveness, a simmering anger that still seemed to vibrate beneath his skin, a fierce loyalty that surprised you. "He said some… things," he mumbled, his voice still rough, the words seemingly dragged from him.

"What kind of things, Han?" you persisted, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You had a bad feeling about this, a sense that whatever Minho had said had struck a nerve, a deep and volatile one.

He turned away again, his gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the opposite wall, as if the answers were hidden within its imperfections. "Just… garbage. The kind of crap guys like him spout all the time. It's not important."

But the university grapevine, as always, was relentless and remarkably efficient. The whispers started circulating almost immediately, fueled by the stunned witnesses and the sheer unexpectedness of Han's violent outburst. It wasn't long before the unsavory details, twisted and embellished with each retelling, began to reach you. However, the core of the incident remained consistent.

Apparently, Minho, emboldened by his usual entourage of jock friends and a misplaced sense of entitlement that seemed to cling to him like expensive cologne, had cornered you near the library earlier that day. His words, repeated with a sickening accuracy by those who had overheard and were still reeling from the audacity, echoed in your mind, sending a shiver of disgust and a prickle of humiliation down your spine:

"Hey, scholarship princess. Heard you're scrubbing floors at some dive to pay mommy's bills. With a body like yours, you could probably make way more than minimum wage if you actually tried. Maybe drop the goody-two-shoes act and use what you've got, huh?"

The blatant objectification, the crude insinuation about your body and your desperate financial situation, the sheer disrespect in his tone, made your blood run cold. It was a violation, a disgusting intrusion that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the carefully constructed walls around your private life crumbling under the weight of his vulgar assumptions.

--

Later that week, the memory of Minho's words still a bitter taste in your mouth, you found yourself alone with Han near the humming vending machines, the awkward silence between you thick and uncomfortable. You hesitated for a moment, the question weighing heavily on your tongue, then decided to broach the subject again. "Han," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, the humiliation still raw. "I… I heard what Minho said. About… about my body… and… everything." The words felt foreign and shameful, a stark reminder of the vulnerability you tried so hard to conceal.

He flinched, his eyes, which had been idly scanning the snack selection, snapped to yours, hardening into a dangerous glint. "Who told you?" His voice was low, almost a growl.

"It doesn't matter," you said quietly, meeting his intense gaze. "What matters is… why? Why did you…"

He cut you off, his voice surprisingly harsh, the raw protectiveness evident despite his dismissive words. "Why do you wanna know? He spouts shit, and you aren't all that… you know." He trailed off, his usual eloquence failing him, the memory of Minho's disgusting appraisal clearly still fueling his anger, a possessive fury that both surprised and slightly unnerved you.

You stared at him, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. Hurt at his dismissive tone, a flicker of something akin to gratitude for his defense, but also a strange, unsettling warmth blooming in your chest at the fierce, albeit violent, loyalty he had displayed.

The image of his enraged face, the sheer, uncharacteristic fury in his eyes, lingered in your mind, a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor. It was then, amidst the lingering shock, the uncomfortable tension, and the unsettling protectiveness in his gaze, that the buried feelings you’d tried so diligently to ignore since your first year began to stir, their roots running deeper than you’d ever dared to acknowledge.

The line between irritation and something far more complex was beginning to blur, and the unexpected violence, ignited by those vile words about your body and your circumstances, had somehow shaken it all awake, leaving you questioning everything you thought you knew about Jeonghan.

The relentless rhythm of university life continued, a predictable cycle of lectures, assignments, and the ever-present weight of your responsibilities as student council head.

But beneath this familiar surface, a new layer of anxiety had begun to fester. The memory of Minho's crude words, coupled with the unsettling protectiveness in Han's violent reaction, lingered like a persistent shadow. Adding to this growing unease was the constant, gnawing fear of your carefully guarded secret being exposed.

The chipped mugs and the weary smiles of your colleagues at the café had always been a world apart from the polished veneer of your university. It was a life you kept fiercely compartmentalized, a necessity born of your family's circumstances that you shielded with a quiet desperation from the judgmental eyes of your privileged classmates. The fear of that wall crumbling had always been there, a low hum of anxiety beneath the surface of your daily life.

Then, the inevitable happened. It started with a fleeting notification on your phone, a screenshot shared within a class group chat you rarely engaged with. A grainy, unflattering image flashed across the screen – undeniably you, in your slightly faded café uniform, a tray laden with steaming cups clutched in your hand, your hair pulled back haphazardly beneath a slightly stained hairnet. The caption, crude and mocking, stung more than you cared to admit: "Our esteemed S.C Head slumming it? Guess those scholarships don't cover everything." It had been taken during one of your late-night shifts, capturing a moment of weary concentration that was twisted into something pathetic and demeaning.

In a world where designer labels were practically a birthright and weekend discussions revolved around ski trips and yacht parties, the image was a stark, unwelcome intrusion. It ripped away the carefully constructed facade of the diligent, no-nonsense student council head, revealing the stark reality of your existence: the scholarship student working a dead-end job to keep her family afloat. The digital whispers began almost immediately, a low hum of curiosity quickly escalating into a deafening chorus of judgment and ridicule.

The fact that you had earned your place at this prestigious institution through sheer hard work and unwavering dedication, a testament to your intelligence and resilience, was conveniently ignored.

The narrative swiftly morphed. You, the seemingly unyielding and strict student council head, were now exposed, vulnerable, a target for the casual cruelty of those who had always resented your authority.

The air of respect your position once commanded seemed to evaporate, replaced by a palpable shift in the way people looked at you – a mixture of pity, disdain, and a smug sense of superiority.

Anonymous messages flooded your student council email. One particularly nasty one read: "So, S.C Head, when are you going to start serving coffee during student council meetings? Maybe you can earn some extra tips."

Graffiti, scrawled in hurried marker, appeared on the bathroom stalls. Underneath a crude drawing of someone vaguely resembling you holding a tray, someone had written: "From Council Head to Coffee Maid." The whispers followed you like a persistent shadow, echoing in the hallways. As you walked past a group of impeccably dressed girls, you heard one murmur, just loud enough for you to catch, "Well, look who it is. Fancy seeing her outside of a uniform." Another snickered in response.

You tried to ignore them, to keep your head down, to lose yourself in your studies, but the constant scrutiny, the thinly veiled contempt in the eyes of your peers, began to erode your carefully constructed composure. Even during lectures, you could feel their gazes on you, a silent, collective judgment that made your skin crawl.

One particularly cruel message, slipped into your locker, detailed fabricated stories about the supposed squalor of your "humble abode." "Heard the rats pay more rent than her family," it sneered, the implication clear that you were somehow an imposter, undeserving of being among them. The words, dripping with a disdain for a life you had no choice but to live, hit you with the force of a physical blow. A wave of shame, a feeling you had fought so hard to suppress, washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and utterly humiliated.

You started avoiding eye contact, your shoulders hunching defensively as you navigated the crowded hallways. The snickers and muttered comments, though often just out of earshot, still stung, each one a tiny pinprick of cruelty chipping away at your carefully maintained stoicism.

The weight of your secret, once a private burden, was now a public spectacle, and the judgment felt suffocating, threatening to crush the very foundations of your hard-won place at the university. The unveiling of your other life had not brought understanding or empathy; it had brought only a fresh, stinging wave of disdain and isolation. You began to dread walking through the campus, the once familiar halls now feeling like a gauntlet of silent condemnation.

The cafeteria, once a bustling hub of student life, had transformed into a minefield for you. The clatter of trays and the boisterous chatter, once mundane background noise, now seemed to carry a sinister undercurrent, each laugh and whispered word potentially directed at you.

You had become a ghost in your own school, navigating the crowded tables with your gaze fixed firmly on the scuffed linoleum floor, a silent plea etched on your face to be rendered invisible. Lunchtime, once a brief respite, had become a daily exercise in forced solitude and silent endurance, each bite of your carefully packed lunch feeling like a leaden weight in your already burdened stomach.

Han’s usual raucous laughter and the easy, often insensitive, banter of his privileged entourage echoed across the vast space, a familiar sound that now struck a jarringly discordant note against the backdrop of your isolation. They seemed untouched by the subtle yet pervasive cruelty that clung to you like a persistent cloud, their world of inherited wealth and effortless comfort continuing its smooth, untroubled trajectory.

Yet, you had observed subtle shifts in Han’s demeanor in recent days. The ever-present smirk, his trademark expression, seemed to flicker less frequently, often replaced by a deep furrow in his brow, a restless energy in his movements, his gaze sweeping across the crowded tables with a searching, almost worried quality.

One particularly difficult afternoon, as you carefully maneuvered through the throng of students, clutching your worn lunch bag and desperately seeking the sanctuary of an unoccupied corner, you couldn't help but overhear fragments of their conversation. Jaehyu, Han’s loud and often tactless friend, was holding court, his voice booming with a cruel, self-satisfied edge.

"Did you see the comments under that photo? 'S.C Head serving the masses!' Hilarious! Looks like our perfect little scholarship student isn't so high and mighty now, wiping down sticky tables for a living." His cronies erupted in a chorus of boisterous laughter, the sound echoing through the cafeteria like a series of sharp, deliberate jabs. You flinched, your grip tightening on the brown paper bag, your cheeks flushing with a potent mix of shame and a simmering, impotent anger. You kept your gaze resolutely down, willing yourself to become one with the peeling paint on the nearby wall.

Finally, your eyes landed on a small, unoccupied table tucked away in a dimly lit corner near the overflowing recycling bins. It wasn't ideal, but it offered a semblance of privacy.

You hurried towards it, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the whispered judgments feeling like physical shoves. You just wanted to eat your simple sandwich in quiet solitude, to find a brief, precious moment of escape from the suffocating weight of their disdain. But before you could even lower yourself onto the hard plastic chair, Jaehyu’s voice, laced with deliberate malice and amplified by a sudden lull in the surrounding noise, cut through the remaining lunchtime hum like a jagged shard of glass.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his eyes locking onto yours with a smug, cruel satisfaction that made your stomach clench and a wave of nausea rise in your throat. "Look who it is. The queen of rule enforcement, the one who docked points from our club for being five minutes late. Maybe you should focus on clocking in on time at your real job, huh? Wouldn't want to get fired from your oh-so-glamorous career."

A fresh, brutal wave of cruel laughter rippled through his small group, the sound hitting you with the force of a physical shove, each guffaw a fresh wave of humiliation. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively lowered your head further, the familiar sting of tears pricking fiercely at the back of your eyes. You squeezed them shut, fiercely blinking them back. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of witnessing your pain. You had learned long ago to swallow the hurt, to build an invisible wall against their relentless cruelty.

But before you could retreat completely into your self-imposed invisibility, a sudden, sharp, and undeniably violent sound ripped through the remaining laughter, silencing the entire cafeteria as if an invisible hand had clamped down on the noise. A sickening thud, followed by a collective gasp and a sharp intake of breath from the stunned onlookers.

You looked up in stunned disbelief, your eyes widening in shock. Han stood over Jaehyu, his usually playful face contorted into a mask of thunderous, incandescent fury. Jaehyu lay sprawled on the sticky linoleum floor, clutching his jaw with a look of utter shock and dawning, agonizing pain contorting his features. The entire cafeteria fell into an eerie, absolute silence, the only sounds the scraping of overturned chairs and the hushed, disbelieving whispers rippling through the stunned crowd. A few brave (or perhaps foolishly curious) souls fumbled for their phones, their screens illuminating the unfolding drama with a cold, digital glow, capturing the unbelievable scene.

"Apologize to her," Han’s voice was low, dangerous, each syllable laced with a cold, hard steel you had never heard before, a stark contrast to his usual lighthearted tone. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, protective rage that seemed to emanate from his very core, were fixed on Jaehyu, who was slowly pushing himself up, his face a grotesque tableau of pain and utter bewilderment.

Jaehyu, clearly disoriented and not quite comprehending the sudden, brutal assault, stammered, "W-what? Why the hell would I apologize to her? She's the one who needs to apologize for being such a stuck-up-"

Han’s glare intensified, a silent, lethal threat that brooked no argument. The air around him seemed to crackle with barely suppressed violence. "Apologize. To. Her. Instantly, Jaehyu." His voice was a low growl, promising swift and unpleasant consequences for disobedience.

Jaehyu, despite his confusion and the throbbing agony in his jaw, seemed to recognize the raw, unadulterated fury in Han’s eyes, a primal anger that promised further pain if he dared to defy it. He mumbled a grudging, barely audible, "S-sorry," in your general direction, his gaze darting nervously between your stunned face and Han's menacing glare, his usual bravado completely evaporated, replaced by a palpable fear.

Confusion rippled through Han’s small group of friends. Seokhyun, usually the most jovial and easygoing of the bunch, stared at Han in utter disbelief, his mouth agape. "Yah, Jeonghan! What the actual hell was that? Why would you hit him? He was just joking! She needs to lighten up! She’s always acting like she’s better than everyone, lording her student council position over us."

Han’s head snapped towards Seokhyun, his eyes flashing with a raw, untamed rage that made Seokhyun visibly flinch, taking an involuntary step back, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. "Shut your damn mouth, Kim Seokhyun," Han spat, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with contempt. "Making fun of someone for working hard to support their family isn't a 'joke.' It's pathetic, cruel, and reveals more about your rotten character than hers. Unlike some of us who waltzed in here on daddy's platinum card, she earned her place with a hundred percent scholarship. She's smarter, more hardworking, and possesses more integrity in her little finger than all of you entitled brats combined. And you want to tear her down for helping her mother? You want to make her feel ashamed of her strength and sacrifice? You'll have to go through me first, you understand?"

He turned abruptly, his gaze, still burning with a fierce protectiveness, locking onto yours across the stunned silence of the cafeteria. Without a word, he strode towards your table, his movements rough yet strangely determined, his eyes conveying a silent message of solidarity and unwavering support. He reached you, his hand closing around your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the lingering tension radiating from him. He didn't say a word as he pulled you up from your chair, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, and began to lead you out of the stunned cafeteria, leaving behind a sea of bewildered faces, dropped trays, and the lingering echo of his unexpected, fierce, and utterly bewildering defense. As he guided you through the stunned crowd, you could hear whispers following in your wake, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a dawning, perhaps grudging, respect.

Han’s grip on your arm, though firm enough to guide you through the stunned and whispering crowd, possessed a surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the raw fury he had displayed moments before. The whispers followed in your wake, a low, persistent hum of confusion, speculation, and perhaps even a grudging respect, but you barely registered them. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief, the unexpected outburst replaying in a loop, the fierce, almost possessive protectiveness Han had exhibited a stark and bewildering contrast to the carefree, infuriating troublemaker you thought you knew.

He didn’t speak as he steered you out of the bustling, judgmental atmosphere of the cafeteria and into the relative quiet and anonymity of a deserted hallway, the echoing silence amplifying the frantic beating of your own heart. The tension between you was thick, a palpable weight of unspoken questions, lingering shock, and a strange, burgeoning sense of… something you couldn't quite name. He finally stopped near a row of cold metal lockers, turning to face you, his hands still resting lightly but possessively on your arms, his touch sending a confusing mix of warmth and unease through you. His usual playful eyes, so often crinkled in amusement or mischief, were now dark, troubled, and filled with an uncharacteristic intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Why?" he finally asked, his voice rough, the earlier, incandescent anger still simmering beneath the surface, a low growl in his tone. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you just… stand there and take it? Why are you so… ashamed?" The question hung in the air between you, a direct accusation that pierced through the carefully constructed layers of your stoicism.

The dam you had so carefully, so painstakingly constructed over the past few weeks, the fragile barrier you had erected against the constant barrage of judgment, finally cracked. The carefully constructed walls you’d built around your deepest insecurities, your most vulnerable truths, crumbled under the unexpected weight of his fierce defense and his direct, probing question. The words tumbled out of you, a torrent of raw emotion you hadn’t even realized you were holding back, a desperate outpouring of the pain and exhaustion you had carried in silence for so long.

"Because…" your voice trembled, catching in your throat, thick with the unshed tears that had been threatening to spill over for weeks. "Because it's true, isn't it? They're right. I am the scholarship kid working a dead-end job. I do come from nothing. And every single day, I walk through these halls feeling like I don't belong, like I'm an imposter in a world that wasn't built for me. I work my ass off at the café after classes, come home late, help my mom with bills, with rent… I’m tired, Han. So incredibly tired of trying to pretend that I’m just like them, that their cruel words don't cut me to the bone, that their disdain doesn't leave me feeling hollowed out."

Your voice broke completely, the carefully held back tears finally breaching the surface, hot and stinging against your pale cheeks. You hated crying in front of anyone, the ingrained habit of appearing strong, self-sufficient, and in control too deeply ingrained in your very being. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure, but the floodgates had opened, and the vulnerability was already out in the open, raw and exposed for him to see.

Without a word, Han’s expression underwent a profound shift. The lingering anger in his eyes softened, the hard edges melting away, replaced by a look of something akin to deep understanding, a surprising tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat and your heart clench with a confusing mix of emotions. He gently released your arms, his touch lingering for a fleeting moment, and with a hesitant, almost reverent movement, reached out and cupped your face in his surprisingly warm hands. His touch was a small, unexpected comfort in the overwhelming storm of your emotions, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

He didn't say anything, just looked at you, his gaze searching, empathetic, as if he were trying to absorb the depth of your hurt. Then, in a move that completely took you by surprise, a gesture both unexpected and strangely comforting, he gently scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing, his strong arms a surprising anchor in your turbulent sea of emotions. You gasped, a startled sound escaping your lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support, your face buried in the soft fabric of his expensive-smelling shirt, the familiar scent oddly grounding.

He carried you out of the university building, the surprised and curious glances of the few students you passed in the hallway fading into a blurry, irrelevant background. He didn't say a word, just held you close, his steps steady and sure, his presence a silent promise of safety and understanding. He carefully settled you into the plush leather of the passenger seat of his sleek, impeccably maintained car, his eyes filled with a quiet concern and a depth of emotion you had never associated with the playful, often infuriating, Jeonghan.

"Let it out," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand resting gently but firmly on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin in a small, comforting gesture. "Don't hold back. I won't turn around unless you tell me to." He was about to close the door, giving you the privacy you so desperately needed, when you reached out, your hand gripping his arm tightly, a silent plea for connection. You pulled him towards you, burying your face in his chest again, the sobs you had been fighting back for so long finally wracking your body, each one a release of pent-up pain and humiliation. The tears streamed down your face, hot and unrestrained, soaking into the soft fabric of his shirt, a physical manifestation of the emotional dam finally breaking. And the whole time, he just held you close, his arms a safe and unexpected harbor in the storm of your emotions, his presence a silent, unwavering promise of comfort, understanding, and something that felt suspiciously like… care.

The rhythmic sound of your sobs gradually subsided, each hiccuping breath leaving behind a raw ache in your chest and a damp, slightly embarrassing patch on the front of Han’s expensive-looking shirt. You finally pulled back, your face flushed and tear-streaked, your eyes swollen and red, reflecting the tumultuous emotions that had just poured forth. You felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in years. The fact that it was Han, the very person who usually exasperated you with his antics and tested your patience to its limits, who had witnessed your complete emotional unraveling felt strangely disorienting, yet also… oddly comforting.

He didn’t say anything, just offered you a small, surprisingly gentle smile, a stark contrast to his usual mischievous grin, and a clean, subtly scented handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. You took it with a shaky hand, dabbing at your wet cheeks and swollen eyelids, avoiding his direct gaze, a wave of self-consciousness washing over you. The silence in the car was thick, no longer charged with the earlier tension and unspoken shock, but with a fragile, almost sacred intimacy, a quiet understanding that had unexpectedly blossomed between you.

After a few moments of awkward but not entirely uncomfortable silence, you finally found your voice, still thick with the remnants of your sobs. "Thank you," you mumbled, your gaze fixed on your hands, which were clasped tightly in your lap, the knuckles white. "For… for everything. For today… and…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the confusing mix of gratitude and burgeoning realization swirling within you.

He just nodded slowly, his eyes still filled with that unfamiliar, tender concern that made your heart flutter in a way it never had before. "Are you… okay now?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a genuine worry that surprised you.

You took a deep breath, a shaky exhale that still hitched slightly. "I will be," you said, the words carrying a newfound lightness, as if releasing the pent-up tears had also released some of the immense weight you had been carrying for so long. You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question, a hesitant curiosity, forming in your eyes. "Han… why did you do all that? Back in the cafeteria. And… all those times before? The drinks… the chocolate… you always act like you can’t stand me, like I’m just a constant source of irritation."

Han shifted uncomfortably in his plush leather seat, finally breaking eye contact and staring intently out the front windshield, as if the answers to your questions were etched on the glass. A faint blush, starting at his ears, crept up his neck, a tell-tale sign of his rare discomfort. "I… well, that's not exactly true," he mumbled, his fingers fiddling nervously with the car keys dangling from the ignition.

"What isn't true?" you pressed gently, a hopeful tendril reaching out within you, a hesitant anticipation of something unexpected.

He finally turned back to you, his gaze earnest, almost vulnerable, the usual playful mask completely gone. "I never hated you, (Y/N). Not even a little bit. Annoyed? Maybe sometimes," he admitted with a small, sheepish grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He hesitated, then took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a plunge into unknown waters. "Actually… it's kind of the opposite."

Your eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, your carefully guarded composure momentarily forgotten. "The opposite?" you echoed, a bewildered laugh escaping your lips.

He nodded, his cheeks now flushed a deeper shade of pink, his gaze darting between your eyes and his fidgeting hands. "Yeah. I… I liked being around you. Even when you were scolding me for some ridiculous prank. Your frown… it was kind of cute, actually," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of his usual teasing creeping back in, but tinged with a newfound sincerity. He avoided your gaze again, a nervous energy radiating from him. "And… well, I noticed things. You always looked so tired, those dark circles under your eyes… and I remembered you mentioning once, ages ago, how much you loved that specific brand of overly sweet soda. The chocolate… well, I just… I know how bad period cramps can be. My younger sister… she goes through it too."

Your heart skipped a surprised beat. He noticed? All this time, amidst his chaotic pranks and infuriating teasing, he had actually been paying attention to the small, insignificant details of your life?

"You knew… about my period cramps?" you asked, a surprised, slightly disbelieving laugh bubbling up despite the lingering sadness.

He nodded sheepishly, a small, endearing smile finally gracing his lips. "Yeah, well… you always seemed to reach for dark chocolate those days. It wasn't exactly rocket science, Sherlock." He finally met your eyes again, his gaze surprisingly direct and unwavering. "And I knew about your scholarship, about your family… from the very beginning. You have this quiet strength about you, (Y/N). It's hard not to notice."

Your breath hitched in your throat. He knew? All this time, he had known about your struggles, your carefully guarded secrets, and instead of judging you, he had… he had been leaving you small, anonymous tokens of comfort?

"You always seemed so… together," Han continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, the playful teasing completely gone. "So strong, carrying all that responsibility on your own, never asking for help. But I could see it sometimes, the weight you carried, the exhaustion in your eyes. I just… I wanted to do something. Anything small, just to… to let you know someone saw it. So you wouldn't have to carry it all alone." He looked away again, his ears now a delicate shade of pink. "I… I think… I’ve liked you… a lot… since first year." The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and unexpected.

He backed off slightly, a nervous energy radiating from him, his expression a mixture of hope and trepidation, unsure of your reaction, his long-held secret finally laid bare. To his utter surprise, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they tangled in the soft strands of his dark hair. You gently tugged him closer, your eyes searching the depths of his earnest gaze. And then, without thinking, without analyzing, without allowing the years of exasperation and perceived animosity to cloud your judgment, you leaned in and kissed him. It was a tentative kiss at first, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected depth of his feelings, a soft exploration that spoke volumes. But it quickly deepened, a rush of long-suppressed emotions – gratitude, relief, and a powerful, undeniable affection – flooding through you, washing away the years of carefully constructed barriers. Your hands tightened in his hair as he instinctively pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, a silent, comforting embrace that spoke of a connection you had never dared to imagine.

He mumbled a soft, heartfelt, "I love you," against your lips, the words echoing the long-held secret that had finally found its voice within your own heart. "I love you too, Han," you whispered back, the confession a sweet, liberating release, a fragile beginning to something entirely new.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and luminous, reflecting the shock and the burgeoning, almost incandescent joy that had bloomed in his chest. "You… you really do?" he murmured, his voice thick with a raw emotion that mirrored your own, a hopeful tremor running through him like a live wire. The nervous energy that had been radiating off him just moments before seemed to dissipate entirely, replaced by an almost childlike wonder, a sense of disbelief that mingled beautifully with his happiness.

You nodded, a genuine, heartfelt smile finally breaking through the remnants of your tears, a radiant expression that mirrored the pure joy now illuminating his handsome face. The heavy, suffocating weight that had been pressing down on your chest for so long, the burden of your secrets and your struggles, seemed to have miraculously lifted, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity. In the small, intimate sanctuary of his luxurious car, tucked away from the judgmental eyes and cruel whispers of the university, the harsh realities and societal pressures of the world outside seemed to recede into a hazy background, the only tangible reality the unexpected, profound connection you had forged in the crucible of vulnerability and unexpected affection.

Han reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a feather-light, almost reverent touch. "So," he said, his voice soft, a tender whisper that resonated deep within you, a hint of his usual playful tone finally returning, but now imbued with a newfound depth of sincerity. "What… what exactly happens now, Head Girl?"

You leaned into his warm touch, a profound sense of peace settling over you, a feeling of finally being seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long time. The weight of your carefully constructed facade had finally been lifted, replaced by the liberating vulnerability of being completely yourself with someone who not only saw you but cherished you, flaws and all. "Now," you whispered, your eyes locking with his, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze, a quiet strength blossoming within you. "Now, we start over. Together." The word resonated with a profound sense of rightness, a solid promise of shared burdens, mutual support, and a future you no longer had to face alone.

A wide, unrestrained grin, the genuine, heart-melting kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up his entire face, spread across his features, chasing away the last vestiges of nervousness and uncertainty. A familiar spark of mischief flickered back into his eyes, a hint of the playful troublemaker you knew, but this time, it was different. It was a shared secret, a conspiratorial glint that hinted at future adventures, a promise of unwavering support, shared laughter, and a deep, abiding affection that transcended the superficial barriers of your different worlds. He leaned in for another kiss, a slow, tender exploration that sealed your unexpected beginning, a silent vow to face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, heart to heart. The road ahead wouldn't be easy; the ingrained prejudices of your classmates wouldn't vanish overnight, and the stark realities of your different socioeconomic backgrounds still loomed. But for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you had to shoulder the weight of the world on your own. You had Han, your infuriating, surprisingly perceptive, fiercely protective, and now, undeniably loving Han, by your side. And somehow, in that precious moment, that realization made all the difference in the world, painting a hopeful hue over a future that had previously seemed so daunting. The persistent headache that had been your constant companion throughout the tumultuous senior year seemed to finally recede, replaced by a quiet, burgeoning warmth that spread through your chest, a tangible promise of brighter, shared days to come.

The End

[pearsandrust]

the ultimate price of anaxa's achievements is to be forgotten. in this essay late-night ramble i will

every one of anaxa's character stories ends with an indication that said story will be forgotten. for his first story, he snaps out of a flashback. his second (an experiment log) mentions that the original has already been destroyed. the third is an improvised speech -- never recorded, never practiced -- and the fourth story literally states that it is "One of the echoes in Anaxa's memories after the Grove had fallen, which vanished because nobody discovered it".

over and over again they tell us that there will be no record of his achievements, nobody to remember him when he's dead. and the heartbreaking part is that anaxa can come to terms with sacrificing his body, but he can't come to terms with sacrificing his memories. because anaxa desperately wants to be remembered. in as i've written, it's mentioned that he's able to laugh off his failures because his achievements will grant him a legacy that lasts for generations. and look at his experiment logs -- how organized they are, how diligently he must keep them, all so that his efforts are preserved. and, of course, why else would he insist on being called anaxagoras? to shorten a name is to forget something, and he can never risk that. because memories are all he has; having lost his family and sacrificed his physical form, what else is there?

but the thing is, anaxa has to be forgotten to succeed. in his last character story, he says this:

Yet, I have not lost enough… In comparison to what I pursue, I have not lost enough to fulfill the law of equivalent exchange.

so he knows he still has to lose something else. and later in the same story:

My future students, if you see these words, it proves that my endeavor has failed at the final step.

"if you see these words, I have failed." and in the context of his destroyed experimental logs, his interrupted flashback, his improvised speeches, we understand that the final price anaxa must pay is his legacy. the law of equivalent exchange is claiming the one thing he has worked towards all this time.

anaxa knows he's arrogant. but i'd like to think it's a desperate, tragic sort of arrogance, like the flare of a fire as it finds its last piece of kindling. please look at me. please remember me before it's too late.

[museofzia]

♡ things i incorporate into every attempt

to lock in guaranteed productivity & results !!

how to stop feeling unmotivated and lazy and begin finding your own methods for productivity

i've had many moments of questioning if i'm being productive enough in my shifting attempts. i think the one thing i told myself that helped with these kinds of doubts is: i have so much time. i don't have a time limit to how long i have until i HAVE to shift. though i'm eager, i need to take my time to explore my own boundaries and know what works best for me.

yes, there are some moments more than others where i miss how productive i was in my past days. however, with time comes improvement.

i think it's harder to willingly begin to fail. being productive with my own research and attempts is one of the most crucial things i did. but i didn't just try to depend on research-- i frequently logged my journey and kept up with my own boundaries and preferences. i made my own methods, i thought of my own affirmations, and i shifted on my own time. i have trouble with memorizing methods, so i made my methods short and sweet. 3 steps yet all of them include such important factors for me. that way i can ensure productivity without straining my own memory.

♡ focus.

it's difficult for me to get into a state of mind where i'm shifting my consciousness to another reality if i'm still hung on this one. this is why, i get off of my phone 1 hour-30 minutes before my attempt. i spend that time beginning to connect to my drself and my dr. thinking of my life, my relations, how my day will go, and how i am there. these are my moments of reflecting what the experience will be like, the pros and cons equally.

e.g. let's say i go to a boarding school in my dr. what do my classes look like? which one is my favorite and least favorite? what about my dorm? how frequently do i visit home? who do i room with? how packed is my schedule? that's the kind of stuff i reflect on-- especially because i don't go to a boarding school in my cr. this lets me disconnect from my cr and be able to visualize and ground myself in a much easier way. this is one of the most productive things i can advise someone to do.

productivity comes from the mind- the mind that's traveling. have some consideration for just how much information you can retain. journal! journaling and logging my progress and boundaries did so much for me. i've never been so at peace and organized with my shifting journey until i began keeping track of things like what works for me, what days i'm least stressed, etc. writing everything down helps you reflect on yourself and your progress. this gives such incredible results, especially if you struggle with focusing and finding the right methods and time for you. you must sort yourself out in order to achieve peace and organization.

♡ support

finding a support system that shares productivity and motivates you each day can do an incredible amount of good for you. being around people who share your struggles and build you up can help a lot. it can also be very intimate-- reality shifting is a journey that's meant to be walked through, and if you know you have a bunch of people who are achieving the things you want to, you'll know it's all possible. getting to know those people as well helps you find yourself, especially knowing there are people that are so similar to you achieving anything you want to achieve. not only that, but be your own support system. no one will shift FOR you. shifting is a journey you walk through with yourself primarily. no one can find you your own preferences or make you a method that'll work for you, no one has seen the world through your eyes. no one has seen you through yourself. this is all a journey of self reflection and building yourself. looking at realities where you're someone you've always wanted to be. looking at new environments, and appreciating everything you have.

make the journey fun

no one else will do it for you ♡

love, zia.

[poeticpomegranate]

How to get your life together: Student edition ᯓᡣ𐭩

Mindset

As cliche and redundant as it sounds, it's important to be positive, as well as realistic, about your academic life. Understand what you want to achieve, what you're capable of, how to effectively push yourself and how to rest. This is the recipe for success.

2. Goal setting

Bouncing off of the mindset step, focus on what it is your want to achieve in your academic life. Be very specific with these goals. Understand and set your yearly goals, quarterly goals, as well as monthly and weekly goals. This will help you plan your days and have a realistic sense of time in terms of how much work needs to be done in certain subjects, how much rest can be had, and how often breaks should be taken.

3. Discipline & self understanding

Understanding who you are as a person and how you learn, process, and retain information can help you effectively practice self discipline.

Questions to ask yourself:

+ What type of learning style do I have?

+ What time of day do I work best in?

+ What environments do I work best in?

+ Are digital or physical notes more comfortable and effective to me?

+ Have I established a pleasant relationship with my instructors and at least one peer in all of my classes?

+ What subjects am I strongest in?

+ Do I learn best in a group environment, one on one, or reviewing notes independently?

+ Am I easily distracted when studying? If so, by what, and can these things be easily prevented?

+ What are specific triggers (if any) that help me get "in the zone?"

+ When are my typical rest days, or times of the week/month/year that I like to rest (no work at all, or very light reviewing)?

4. Daily schedule

Now, create a schedule around your answers to the previous questions and make certain tasks "non-negotiable." (Whether this be "I must brush my teeth and shower after waking up," or "I must study from 6-10 every night," is your decision.) Be realistic with setting these non-negotiable tasks, but also believe in yourself, and try and push yourself a little out of your comfort zone. You know what you're capable of, and if you want to achieve something you feel you're just not ready for, practice,- and build up your stamina!

Things to always include in your daily schedule:

+ Wake up time

+ Getting ready/ commute time

+ At least two meal times

+ At least an hour of leisure time

+ At least seven hours of sleep a night

+ Do your homework the day it is assigned

+ Give yourself a daily reward

Things to always include in your montly schedule:

+ At least one date with friends or family

+At least one date with your significant other

+ At least one phone call with long distance loved ones

+ At least one study date a week with peers or friends

+ At least a certain time during a certain day of the week to completely unplug and rest

+ Read the syllabus and log every important deadline and exam

Other useful tips:

+ Keep your workspace tidy, inspiring and organized

+ Changing the scenery when you work can be a nice change of pace

+ Breaking big tasks down into smaller chunks can feel less overwhelming

+ Plan meals ahead or small snacks so you won't feel hungry/forget to eat

+ Use materials that are effective and fun for you

Studying time frames:

Study time - Break time

20 min - 5 min

30 min - 10 min

45 min - 15 min

1 hr - 20 min

1hr 30 min - 25 min

2 hr - 30-45 min

When should you study?

+ Never the night before

+ Exam - 1 week before

+ Test - 3 days before

+ Study first thing when you awake

+ Review complicated concepts before bed

[glowettee]

Hi Mindy! (can i call you Mindy?)

It's me again.

I have loads of projects i desperately need to do, but the thing is, they're all online! And whenever i do online work, i go down the usual rabbit hole. Tumblr, Tiktok, and more!1 I ned ways to stay FOCUSED!!!!!

And also, any shifting/manifesting advice from the mother herself? I've manifested small shit, but nothing HUGE, like LIFE-ALTERING, funnily, because that's the ones i really want.

TYSMMMMM!!

how to stay focused on online projects (without falling down the rabbit hole) ✧˖°

hey angel, i totally get it. online work is a blessing and a curse. one minute you’re deep into your project, and the next, you’re three hours into a tiktok spiral or reading conspiracy theories on tumblr. it happens to the best of us. but let’s break the cycle because you deserve to get things done (and actually feel good about it).

let’s get into it.

so sorry this reply was late, i constantly have new messages in my tumblr inbox and lost track of this message you sent 'til now. love you <3 - mindy

(and yes, you can call me mindy!)

✧˖° romanticize your workspace

okay, first things first: make your workspace too cute to abandon. i’m serious. if your desk feels like a productivity oasis, you’ll naturally want to stay there.

➼ light a candle (bonus points if it’s a scent that reminds you of libraries or coffee shops)

➼ add a few aesthetic sticky notes with motivational quotes or little to-do lists

➼ keep only one drink on your desk (water or coffee/tea), so you’re not tempted to wander off for refills

➼ use a cute, minimal desktop wallpaper to set the mood. something calming, not distracting

➼ put your phone in a different room. i know it’s painful, but trust me, it’s a game-changer

mindy’s tip:

try using an app like forest that plants a virtual tree when you focus. seeing a cute little forest grow while you work feels surprisingly rewarding.

✧˖° digital declutter before you start

seriously, babe, open tabs are the death of productivity. if you’ve got pinterest, tumblr, and three youtube videos lined up, you’re practically begging to get distracted.

➼ close everything that’s not directly related to your project. be ruthless.

➼ bookmark important tabs so you don’t feel like you’re losing something by closing them

➼ use a distraction-blocking extension like stayfocusd or cold turkey to limit your time on distracting sites

➼ (biggest tip) create a separate user profile just for work. log into your school/project accounts there and leave social media behind.

mindy’s tip:

make a shortcut to your “work” profile on your desktop. just clicking that instead of your usual browser can trigger a more focused mindset.

✧˖° trick your brain with a “study/work starter pack”

sometimes, your brain just needs a little ritual to know it’s time to work. create a pre-study/work routine that you actually enjoy:

➼ 5-minute journal entry to clear your mind

➼ stretch or do a quick yoga flow to wake up your body

➼ put on a lo-fi playlist (i love anything that feels like a rainy day in a cafe)

➼ set a specific goal for the session. just one. keep it simple and achievable

mindy’s tip:

make your study/work starter pack feel indulgent. choose a cute notebook, pick a special pen, and make your coffee or tea just the way you like it. romanticize it.

✧˖° micro goals and mini rewards

sometimes, the problem isn’t just the distractions. it’s feeling overwhelmed. break your project into bite-sized tasks, and reward yourself for every little win.

➼ write a checklist, but make it pretty (cute doodles are a must)

➼ give yourself tiny rewards: a piece of chocolate after 20 minutes of focused work, or a quick dance break

➼ keep a visual tracker. a progress bar or a flower you fill in petal by petal works great

➼ switch locations if your energy is dropping. just moving from your desk to the floor can give you a mental reset

mindy’s tip:

when you’re deep into a task, leave a small note for your future self to come back to. something like, “you’ve got this. pick up from here!” it keeps the momentum alive.

✧˖° manifesting the big stuff: life-altering magic

you’ve already proven you can manifest the small things... now it’s time to scale up. the biggest secret? act like the version of yourself who already has it. (LOA)

➼ visualize your desired outcome daily. be super specific. what are you wearing? who’s with you? how do you feel?

➼ create a vision board, but make it interactive. add notes and affirmations next to your images. say them out loud when you look at it.

➼ talk about your desires in the present tense. instead of “i want to be successful,” say, “i am successful, and i’m attracting new opportunities every day.”

➼ detach from the outcome. manifesting isn’t about obsessing over results. it’s about embodying that energy and trusting it’ll come to you.

mindy’s tip:

make a manifestation jar. write your desires on little slips of paper, fold them, and put them in a cute jar. every time you doubt yourself, read one aloud and remind yourself that you’re capable of attracting it.

✧˖° romanticize the process

the biggest secret to staying focused and manifesting big things? make the process feel beautiful. even if it’s the way you set up your desk, the affirmations you say, or the playlists you choose, let every part of it feel special.

you don’t have to be perfect. you just have to be intentional. i believe in you.

💌 let me know how it goes. i’m rooting for you!

if you need me to make a longer manifesting post, let me know.

[academicfever]

14/100 days of productivity!

My therapist told me to stop thinking about happiness .. instead I must focus on achievements cuz that gives me longer lasting joy...

Log: 18th Dec24 #cleanup office desk and dust off #Review Revision_15 #note_taking _SOH estimation #digital Declutter

Update: Wow my pms is hitting hard this time… I constantly feel like killing myself lol

[ardbar]

I have been thinking about Evbo getting mutations from living basically in the void for so long.

There are a total of 5 possible mutations that the Noobs know of, that they keep to themselves. They know each has a purpose and those who manage to live long enough to grain even two of them are considered to be old, those with Three are considered to be nearing the end of their lives. Only 3 people have gotten all 5 of them since Evil Champion took over. Old Man, Noob Neighbor, and Evbo himself.

The Void sees The Noobs as it's people. Such silly little things, so ill adapted to its harshness. But it can help them, it will hold and change them and let them thrive. First it deals with the lack of light, the way it turns darker than pitch when the sun sets and even when it's up, the dirt above blocks out most of it. It changes their eyes so that they reflect light similar to a cat. That will help it's darling people to thrive.

After seeing someone consume enough raw meat, The Void will come to the conclusion that they to are a Carnivore, a Predator. An ill adapted one though, so it makes their teeth longer and sharper, perfect for ripping through their prey. It changes their stomaches so they can more easily digest the raw meat and bones they consume. What silly little things, eating Bones when they could not before, but it is okay because Void is here to help them.

The third mutation, which few achieve comes as The Void watches them struggle to stay on blocks, struggle to cling to them after jumps. The Void reaches out again and brushes against their code, changing it just enough. It's a slow and painful process that not all survive. It takes at least two weeks and as it happens, parkour is Hell. Nearly Half who get that mutation simply starve from being unable to get food. For when it is done, their feet have changed to the paws of a Sphinx Cat, with large claws to grip wood and dirt blocks so they can lean out over the edge with no fear. Some who last long enough, like Evbo, have enough flexibility and dexterity in their paws to grip onto things like Crystals and Glass Panes, wrapping around them and holding firm. The Void does this so that they will be better at Not Falling into its waiting arms.

The fourth mutation is one that rarely happens. The Void sees those who have Paws struggling with their jumps still and decides that it is not the sliding off that is the problem, so surely it must be power and balance they are lacking! After all, they can't catch up to those from the upper levels that come down so surely it must be that they are not fast enough to catch up! So The Void whispers to those it changes, "I can not make you are fast or nimble as your prey, but I can make you Stronger. All you must do is catch them by surprise." The Fourth Mutation changes their legs, making them thicker and stronger. It is now impossible to knock them from a perch unless they are dull body tackled into the Void or they slip on a jump. Their landings are also better thanks to this getting rid of any wobbling or sliding that could happen. It is why Evbo can land 360s but others can't, because they can not plant their feet to stop the momentum and simply tumble to the side.

The fifth, and possibly final, mutation is the most extreme yet. The Void saw those chosen few still unable to hunt for themselves and watched closely when they got their food. It watched as the Pros, the Prey, sprinted away. It watches as one tries to seemingly jump over a log at a Prey and misses the swipe of its arm, the Pro slipping from their grip. Grip! That is the answer, surely! The Prey must simply be wiggling away from Its Chosen Few before they can have their feast! So The Void reaches out one more time, changing their hands and arms, giving them strength enough to crush the bones of their Prey by wrapping their arms around them, strength enough to snap a wrist if they hold to tightly. And to top it all off, something between a cat's paw pads and the suction cups of a gecko upon their hands so they can grip not just Prey but Blocks as well, to pull themselves back up if they should slip.

The Void is proud of its work as it whispers lullabies in the pitch dark of night to all its lovely players. For those belong to The Void and it has makes them as so. Even as it's favorite, the strongest Predator it has ever created, climbs away from It towards the top, It Knows that It's Favored will return one day and while so high above, it will have plenty of Prey to catch and consume.

I love this so much, not only is the writing just beautiful but it's just really interesting. Personally I've always been a fan of concepts or strange entities being personified so I really think the way you wrote the void is really fun. I honestly don't even know what to say but I'll try my best.

First I think the idea that each and every mutation is the void trying to help it's citizens better adapt the the harsh environment is fascinating. One thing this does make me wonder is just how aware of this are the other layers, I remember in another one of your asks you described it as uncanny valley, meaning that people instinctually know something is wrong they can't quite tell what it is. While this does make sense for some of the more hidden augmentations I wonder how the things like the sharpened teeth and claws would be perceived. I wonder if Evbo is ever asked about them.

Another thing I found really fascinating about this is how you mentioned very few people make it long enough to get all of the mutations, only mentioning 3. The person I want to touch on is the Old Man. We know that after being beaten by the armored champion he returns to the noob level, assuming it wasn't until the armored champion took over that people actually started to spend a long period of time trapped on this level I wonder if he didn't get these mutations until he was old and had to flee to this level, or if he still had them but a lesser extent in his youth, if he was born on the noob level.

What I really find the most interesting about this is how the void views the noobs as it's people and the pros as the noobs prey. I wonder specifically how it makes this distinction. Also you mentioned how this belief effected the physical aspect of the noobs, however, I wonder if this also effects their mentality. They were forged to hunt and break those that once outran them do you think that when it battle these instincts to kill to consumer ever comeout?

The last point I feel like bring up is what exactly is the void. What I mean by this is what is it in comparison to the Parkour god. This is the parkour gods land his kingdom so what is this foreign entity existing at the bottom of it. I wonder if since there seems to be no bedrock in their world that the voids presence isn't dampened its free to do as it wants. I wonder if the layers exist to keep this being trapped to keep its corruption from spreading. I wonder if the armored champion wasn't wrong when he decided to keep noobs for ascending? I wonder what will happen now that one of the voids children bears the weight of godhood?

[connor6sex]

EPHEMERAL SMP (My writeup)

Hi, my IGN is Lunethh. I joined the server 20 minutes late, and wandered around until i found someone (Lulu175) who said there was a trial chamber near spawn. I decided to accompany them to the trial. On the way we ran into a Catbboymmilo, who had iron and gave us shields. Catboy also gave me a bone, and with it i was able to tame a single nearby Wolf. This wolf was to be named Archduke Franz Ferdinand. And if anything bad happened to him, i swore i would find a way to start a world war.

Before our journey to the trial chamber commenced, Lulu declared we must get a bed, because she would surely die and wanted to set her spawn. This was an excellent call from Lulu, who got the most deaths on the server with 42.

We wandered into a forest where we met DarubyPrincxx, who had gone mining and had iron for shears. They lent us shears so we could make a bed and head off to the Chamber.

And to the Trial Chamber we went. There was a little trouble getting to it due to the immense lag we had mining straight down. It took ten minutes to mine maybe 30 blocks down. But eventually we were in the Trial Chamber, with stone tools and no food.

And none of us were really experienced Trialers, I'd not actually played the latest version of the game at all, and Lulu only ever poked around Trial chambers in creative, but we managed. Managed to get the most deaths on the server.

Eventually we ran into someone else in the trials. Mothyboyo i think. And they had cleared a room and gotten a omen potion. (Or milo found the first omen bottle, not entirely clear, but regardless) The trials got harder. With the omen, but we did, eventually. With a lot of deaths, manage to get some ominous keys and start opening a vault. And on our second ominous vault, Milo dropped a heavy core.

This was the first of many maces we would acquire.

We all got to kill each other with the mace right away, getting the achievements in chat and we declared ourselves Mace Trio. I wanted to leave the trials right away to go start killing people at spawn with the mace, but Lulu and Milo insisted we get more maces. I said that us getting more maces was statistically unlikely.

However Milo said "LETS GO GAMBLING" and that's hard to argue with. So we cleared the next rooms, and eventually got another Mace. At that point i said, we should really go back to spawn now, but the response once more was LETS GO GAMBLING. And that's really hard to argue with.

We ended up leaving the trail chamber with not two, not three, but FIVE maces.

At one point i nearly had a diplomatic incident in chat, when i asked very politely, if i could abolish the monarchy that had been growing in strength while Mace Trio and I were below the ground.

The leader of the Monarchy, the Monarch themself, RGBmothman, promptly declared war on me Specifically. However, when i pointed out that i merely asked to abolish the monarchy, and didn't threaten it at all beyond asking. A ceasefire was declared, and i asked if we were about to kiss. They did not Reply to me about if we were in fact about to kiss. But I digress.

Eventually we did surface, maces in hand and ready to kill. But before i went on a killing spree, we gathered candles in the Trial Chamber that we wanted to bring to the Vigil. It wasn't enough candles to offset the combined deaths we all had in the trials. But it seemed like a nice thing to do.

We spent some time at spawn, and noticed The Emerald Throne, which had been there since i logged on. The throne was made of dirt. Not emerald, so with Trial Chamber loot, Lulu fixed this.

On the way to the Vigil, we witnessed a wafflehouse massacre, and I ended up getting murdered on the steps of the Wafflehouse. I believe it was either Engibot or Kafrisuru, who killed a lot of people. The only thing i recovered from my death was my Mace. Thankfully. I really don't know how that worked out, it had fallen into the river, and i guess they didn't spend too long looting my corpse. But i did have good stuff on me. like 1/2 diamond and 2 god apples.

Anyhow. With one more death, we made our way to the vigil to give them some candles. On our way there, we were stopped by the Monarchy's soldiers. They were looking for someone who stole something or something. idk, i was a little wary of them because they had previously declared war on me.

We didn't end up having any trouble with them, but that would not be our last encounter with the Monarchy (i don't like monarchs out of principle)

Heading back to spawn, we searched for the rumoured Sex House. When i had asked Willow what it was, i was told that it was a house at spawn with all the player beds. And someone just put a sign there. And i wanted to see it for myself.

With a bed of my own, and a hefty shaft in my hand, i found nothing at spawn. But i did see the monarch nearish. I figured a ruler would know of the comings and goings of the world, and asked if they knew of the Sex House.

They did not know where it was, but as we fell into discussion, i said "its not about finding a sex house, but building a sex home" and the monarch and I discovered the true meaning of Sexmas. As well as found out that we were in fact, about to kiss.

But we had to split ways with our insight shared, I had to start construction of a new Sex House. A house for all of us, a house for Sex.

Just off the coast of spawn, right where the stone beach turns to grass sat a small roof held up by fenceposts with a single wall. It wasn't much, but it was the start of the SexHouse that i know and (made) love.

Now that i had two of my primal needs satisfied, (Shelter & Companionship), i needed to sate my thirst for blood. I had a mace, and i had windcharges, i wanted murder almost as much as i wanted sexhouse.

Most of my time left on the server was spent trying to kill people. I think i killed a lot of people. I killed God even. I asked them if they wanted to be killed by my Mace. And they said yes, and switched to survival.

The rest of the time went peacefully and bloodily, at one point there was a dirt mansion massacre, where the dirt baron brought me and lulu to the highest point of the manor, and stood directly below it, with a small crowd of other people who wanted to be killed by the mace. It was a smashing time.

And best of all, nothing bad ever happened to my dog. Nothing bad has ever, or will ever happen to my dog.

[teethstoobigmouthwontclose]

The World Turns

It starts with a woman - no, it starts with the end of the world. Every achievement, every monument of humanity utterly destroyed. Ruination. An apocalypse complete. And cruel: It didn't kill everyone.

So the world turns, and nature reclaims, and the people of the old world must find their way in the new.

It is raining. The forest is vast, and dark. The woman runs, because as freezing and as starving and as wretched as she is, the momentum of movement is all she has. The wind is loud. The trees are dense. The downpour masks the woodsmoke. So when she stumbles into the clearing, with the cave, with the roaring fire - it overwhelms her, blinds her, a transition so monumental. Like a birthing.

There is a man in the cave with the fire. Gaunt, ragged, and stinking. He turns his gaze from the flames to watch her. Otherwise, he does not move. "Please" She begs. "Can I come in?" "Can you come in?" He asks, rendering her speechless. She could cry. He has all the power in this situation, she thinks. The cold will kill her if she leaves. He has no weapons. The cave is bare, save for a store of wood drying by the fire's heat. So she takes her chances. It's warm - almost hot. The fire is stoked far too much for the needs of one man. He watches her, still unmoving. Eventually her body demands it's dues. She is exhausted, and sleeps.

Morning brings the end of the storm. She wakes, sweating, in the same position she fell asleep in. The man is where he was, though has clearly been active - wood has been depleted from the stores. Noticing her awake, he watches her. She understands. Has seen this madness before - people of the old world who cannot cope with its loss. She has seen people in old ruins moving like sleepwalkers, pointlessly keeping routines long since senseless, uselessly moving or touching broken remnants of the past. The woman busies herself with the necessities of survival. Nearby there is a river, the water fresh and clear. There is food, for those with the eye to discern it. There is wood, stone, vine, and mud. Days pass by the handful as such. The man stokes the fire. He watches her work, and eat, and rest. She shares her food, hoping it payment enough for the fire shared. It's a week before he actually eats it. She makes him an axe, stone forced into a handle, to help him gather wood. He accepts, and carries it with him, but she still finds him tearing down branches with his bare hands. She shows him how to use the axe. One day, as she bathes in the river, she catches him watching. She shrieks, and covers herself, and when he does not react she curses him. "Go away!" She screams, and he does. It happens again. Again, she demands he leaves. Again he does. And again, the next time, he returns. So this is it. She thinks. The price for the fire's warmth. She tries to ignore him. He does nothing but watch. The next time she goes to the river, he joins her. He bathes, and does not watch her. He stops stinking.

The old world was humbled before humanity. Now it grows bold, and rightfully so. Now is the law of predator and prey. She makes two spears. She gives one to the man, and teaches him how to use it: making him practice striking and throwing against a rotting log. "This is how you defend yourself." She says. One night the beasts come. They come with hungry eyes and eager fangs. She fights, desperately, back against the fire. And the man... dutifully runs to the log, striking it with his spear. Just as he practiced. Even has the beasts tear him down. She fights them off. It is bloody, and the price is too much. The man is dead. She buries him the old way: nice and deep, so the beasts won't dig him up. The woman keeps the fire burning in his memory. That's all the luxuriant grief she can afford: the world does not stop turning. Always work to be done - She makes traps to catch small beasts of the land and river. She makes a small house for herself, out of wood and vine and leaf. She stops visiting the grave of the man. Loneliness has its thorns in her, twisting her thinking. Sometimes she thinks she can feel the ground shifting.

One night she is in the cave, stoking the fire. She doesn't keep it as high and as crackling as the man did - which is why she can hear the coughing. And the footsteps. Now she has a knife as well as her spear. But she drops them. For the man is back. The wounds from the beasts are gone, but so are his fingernails. His hands are caked in blood and dirt. His lips are blue. He reeks of earth. He puts more wood on the fire. Talking to the man is difficult. He repeats questions, or gives overly simplistic answers. "What is my name?" "What is my name?" "Where are you from?" "Here." "Who are you?" "Me." "Can I stay here?" "Can you stay here?" She doesn't sense any malice. The man seems to be communicating in earnest.

Another survivor comes to the clearing - a joyous event. He wears the hides of beasts, and has a walking stick, and has travelled far. He declares the clearing "An ideal place to settle!", and offers his services. They ask the man if that would be acceptable - it's only polite, since he was here first. They take his "Would that be acceptable?" to be permission. The new person knows how to skin beasts and preserve meat. It's much easier to feed three mouths when spoilage is avoided. The woman makes the tanner a house, too. The man lives in the cave, where he can keep the fire going.

Over time, more people arrive. Some days they can see the fire-smoke. On calm, overcast nights they can see the light reflected on the clouds. Soon they are felling trees to make more room for homes - the woman is getting good at building them. Alas, the beasts didn't fear the fire, and they don't fear the greater gathering of people. Hunger drives them, adding more weight to the scales of choice until any risk is worth it. They are repelled - the man knows to strike more than the log, now - but again, the price is bloody. And too much. They gather to mourn those lost. The man stokes the fire. He watches the bodies. He tries to stop the burial. The woman has to put herself between him and the others. "Why are you trying to stop us burying them?" She demands. "They'll choke." He says. "They're dead." "Yes." "Bury them." She says to the others, and drags the man away by the arm. She takes the man to the cave, where the roaring fire will keep the conversation private. "They won't come back" she tells him, with finality. He looks confused. "Why not?" "Why not?" She laughs, bitter at the absurdity. "They can't. No-one can." She wields the last like an accusation. The man looks... bereft. Distraught. "But the fire is burning." She wants to pity him, but instead: "Are you even human?" "Yes." "Have you always been?" "No." It should feel like a victory. A truth won. But nothing has changed: The truth won't bury the dead. It won't do tomorrow's work, or the next. So she leaves the man by the fire.

The man hunts beasts, now. He walks into the woods with a spear and knife. He always returns bloody, and sometimes the blood is his. On days he doesn't return, the woman stokes the fire. The village grows, nurtured by the resources provided by the forest and the river. The beasts don't come anymore, but they find their bodies sometimes. Time passes, and children are born. So strange, these people of the new world. So bitter, to look upon their faces and know that the old will be forgotten. The people keep trying to give the man silly, mocking names, like 'The Firekeeper'. They avert their eyes and bow their heads when he passes. She tells them off - nature is cruel enough as it is, she won't tolerate any more manufactured by humanity. She won't abide mocking those broken by the end of the world. They scoff, and roll their eyes, but they listen... at least, when she's in earshot. They watch him, though, when he's stocking the fire, or back from a hunt, or when he tries to watch them. Time passes, and their stares start to turn on her. Nothing's ever said, and when she talks to people, they reply fine enough... but there's an odd twang to their words. A truth skirted around. Some kind of distance forming. The children grow up. Many people leave, in search of new places to settle. Sometimes people come back, and there's talk of trade. Deer trails through the forest are becoming paths. The woman catches her reflection in the river one day. It hasn't changed. It hasn't changed from the day she first stumbled into the clearing, and met the fire. She goes to the cave, to see the man. "What's happening to me?" She asks - then, before he can say 'you're standing by the fire' or somesuch, she quickly adds "Why am I different? Why aren't I changing?" "It always happens to the first." He says, feeding wood to the fire. "You were here first, though." "The first after me. The first to arrive. Someone has to help the others." "What others?" He takes her by the arm - gently - to the mouth of the cave. And shows her the village.

I don't know how to end this story. I don't think the end matters. The village grows, the fire is kept, the world turns. It always does.

[20forty9]

I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter IV - Candles On Fire

Summary : The spirit spars with Maheas and doesn't realize the mistake it has made will lead to terrible consequences. You go on your first mission with other people, but it doesn't go all according to plan. You have to learn that it's okay to be vulnerable with people you are starting to trust.

Word Count : 9.4k

Contains : Violence. Very vague mention of top scars. I think that's it, please let me know if I'm missing anything!

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N : So I know I said I wouldn't update in two weeks, but I lied. I lie for fun, apparently. I pumped this chapter out like my LIFE depended on it (confirmed Gege was holding the gun to my head... especially with those latest leaks brah I can't believe it). LOTS of Satoru and Gojo in this chapter! And just a short flashback to Suliman, probably the shortest one I've written so far... Some small fluff too, for once! I must really be feeling sick... I'm also curious, are there any characters you'd like to see more of? OR, actually, who are YOUR favourite characters from JJK that you'd like to see involved in the story? Remember, it's Multi x Reader, so it can be anyone! And is there anything you're not vibing with in this story so far? Feedback means the world to me and keeps me logging back in every day to check if I have any new comments. Trust me, your support goes a long way and keeps me motivated, so thank you to my regular commenters!

Curiosity is the wick in the candle of learning. ~William Arthur Ward

Suliman is utterly obsessed with the spirit’s powers, to put it simply – though even that word couldn’t put enough emphasis on it. Every day, she would create training dummies of different sizes made out of her strange purple tendrils for it to use as target practice, showing off its destructive fire capabilities. 

Though it was glad to be able to use an element without any drawbacks, the way Suliman observed, refusing to tear her eyes away for even one second, disturbed it deeply. Knowing her, she already had a few plans in mind on how to use it for her benefit. 

After absolutely eviscerating another training dummy, Suliman approaches the spirit, stepping over the leftover ashes, slowly clapping her hands. 

“Good,” she simply says. “I think I’ve had enough of you training on something like this. I have a better idea.” 

With a click of her fingers, her entourage of men walk over, followed by the kid the spirit had an encounter with a little over a month ago – Maheas is his name , if it recalls correctly. The dirty-blonde boy holds a sword in his hand, donned in clothes appropriate for exercise. He looks up at the spirit anxiously, a small frown on his face, probably remembering their first meeting. 

“Maheas, from this day forward, this spirit will train you,” Suliman explains to the boy, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are my most promising acolyte, I want to shape you to be the best, and this will surely help you achieve your goal.” 

His gaze drifts to the woman, apprehensive. But when she gives him a soft smile, it seems to weaken his resolve. 

“I won’t let you down, Madame. I’ll work as hard as possible, and become even stronger than that thing!” Maheas points an accusatory finger in the spirit's direction. “I can probably beat it right now!” 

“Oh, is that so?” She tilts her head to the side, the smile never wavering. “Well, why don’t you show me? Make me proud.” 

“I would be honoured.” 

Suliman takes a step back, followed by the men, giving both the spirit and the young boy enough space to spar. 

Unimpressed, the spirit stands firmly in place, not moving a single muscle. It doesn’t want to fight a kid, but it looks like it has no other choice. It remembers their first encounter, when Maheas punched it in the gut and managed to summon enough cursed energy to do some damage in its weakened state. As long as it doesn’t let him hit it directly, it could end this fight in mere seconds. 

“Prepare yourself, spirit!” Maheas says, pointing the tip of his sword in its direction. “I won’t go easy on you.” 

It has to fight the urge to roll its eyes, raising its fists in front of its face and bringing its left leg forward a bit, bending at the knees. With a raise of a thick red eyebrow, it provokes the young boy enough to charge forward, swinging his sword back. The spirit side-steps his attack quickly just as he brings the weapon down right where it was standing, getting it stuck in the ground. 

The sword must be slightly too heavy for Maheas, as he struggles to pull it out, giving the spirit just enough time to move a hand underneath the young boy’s arm, bringing him closer to it before it knees him in the stomach, just strong enough to knock him back and leave him breathless on the ground, but not enough to actually injure him.

Just like that, their fight is over – if you could even call that. 

After taking a deep breath, Maheas sits back up, staring daggers at the spirit. If looks could kill… 

“I want a rematch!” He declares, but when he tries to stand back up, his legs wobble and he immediately sits back down. After getting knocked down like that, the spirit knows he’ll need a few minutes before he can use his legs properly again. It motions with a hand for him to keep sitting, imitating deep breaths. 

“I don’t listen to you,” Maheas says, though he does it anyway, crossing his legs and harrumphing. 

“You did well,” Suliman says as a butler approaches the young boy with a glass of water. “You’ll only continue to improve as you train. I don’t want either of you to hold back on each other, do you understand me?” 

That seems to be a dangerous request, the spirit thinks to itself. It looks over at the boy’s discarded sword laying on the ground, deciding to pick it up and weigh it in its hands. It is definitely too heavy for a boy of his height and weight, and also too restrictive. He’d do well with a polearm. 

There’s a light smack to its side, bringing its attention to the red-faced boy who is – surprisingly enough – already standing on both legs, yelling at it. 

“Put that down, it’s not yours!” He continues weakly punching it with his small fists. 

It decides to look over the sword once more, completely ignoring Maheas, shaking its head in disappointment. 

“What seems to be the problem?” It reads upon Suliman’s lips when it looks over at her. 

She waves the butler over, who brings a piece of parchment paper and quill dipped in ink at the ready. The spirit looks at the objects, confused. 

“You barely talk, so write what’s on your mind instead,” she says. 

It hesitates as it grasps the quill, the tip of it pressing against the paper, still unsure. It doesn’t know how to write . 

“My, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Suliman’s lips are still quirked up in a small smile as she gently berates it. “Fine, just speak instead.” 

It swallows nervously, suddenly becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. It doesn’t know what vowels to emphasize or vocalize. It shakes its head no instead, pointing at the sword and making an ‘x’ with its fingers before gesturing at Maheas. 

“Are you saying the sword isn’t a good weapon for him?” She asks, crossing her arms. Thankful she understood it, it nods. The young boy standing next to them looks mildly offended, stomping a foot on the ground. 

“You calling me weak?!” 

The spirit shakes its head back and forth again. 

“I think it’s saying that another weapon would suit you better,” Suliman patiently explains it to him, and it nods at that. “If that’s the case, why don’t you show us what will work better?” 

Each of the men that were standing on guard brandish their weapons, each of them being different. They stand tall, backs straight and situated in a line, and hold their weapon in the palm of their hands. 

“Go on,” she encourages the spirit. 

Its eyes scrutinize over each of them before they land on a man holding a polearm. It walks over to him, pointing at it then looking back at Suliman. 

“Well, go on then,” she urges Maheas with a gentle push to his back. He reluctantly makes his way over to stand next to the spirit, taking the polearm from the man standing in front of the both of them. 

The spirit notes that it’s definitely too long for someone of his height, but with a few adjustments, he’ll be able to move more swiftly and have more versatile attacks. It will significantly extend his range and striking power, too. Compared to the sword, this is a much better option for the young boy. 

“How does it feel?” Suliman asks Maheas, observing him. 

“It’s okay, I think,” he replies, weighing the weapon in both hands. He still seems unsure, but with time he’ll become more used to it. 

“Wonderful. We’ll make you one that suits you better so you can properly train with the spirit by tomorrow,” she says, motioning at the man to take his polearm back. 

The young boy smiles widely at the prospect of a new weapon, thanking her over and over again. Suliman pats him on the head in a motherly way, giving him a smile of her own, but the spirit notices that there is no genuine warmth behind it. She adjusts her dress slightly before leading Maheas away, leaving a request to the men to bring the spirit back to its room. She waves goodbye to it as she walks with the young boy through the gardens and back to the greenhouse. 

The spirit can’t help but think it has made a grave mistake. 

 

The following day after the big thunderstorm, you wake up with a sudden start, feeling your alarm clock vibrate underneath the pillow. You click it off, setting it on the nightstand, and immediately sit up, wiping the sleep away from your eyes. It feels like your blood is already pumping – today is a big day, after all. It’s your first official mission, no less a mission with other people. Today is a day where you can prove his worth and show your loyalty to the higher-ups. 

You already have some clothes set aside for today – your usual sleeveless compression shirt and dark brown cargo pants and converse. After taking a shower and changing, you open the blinds to let in the morning sun shine into the room through the leaves of the trees outside. After the terrible weather from yesterday, it seems that today is a beautifully bright day. 

You smile to yourself, grabbing your notebook and pen. Closing and locking the door behind you, you exit the dormitories, heading to Yaga’s classroom so your team can be debriefed. As usual, you’re the first one there, so you take a seat at the desk you claimed during your first time there, putting your legs up on the table. 

“How are you feeling today?” Yaga asks as he looks up from his laptop, a pen in his right hand, papers in his left. It looks like he was doing paperwork for a mission the others must’ve been sent on recently. 

You reply with a thumbs up and a bright smile, which makes the older man relax, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

While you both wait for the others to show up, you doodle silly drawings in the notebook to fight the boredom. You’re not an artist by any means, but it still helps to pass time. You drew the fish that were in the sign language book from yesterday, but this time, the koi fish is swimming happily with the two other betta fish in a small pond. 

You get pulled out of your intense focus when a manicured finger taps down on the top of the notebook, bringing your gaze up to meet Shoko’s. 

“Cute drawing,” she says, leaning over to see it better. 

You sign thanks a little bit flustered, flipping the notebook to a blank page. 

- How are you doing? :) 

“I’m good, thanks,” she replies, hopping onto the desk next to your own. She turns to look at her teacher. “Am I on time, sensei?” 

“Take a look at the clock yourself,” he seems to grumble. 

Five minutes past their agreed meeting time. “Ehh, close enough.” 

It takes another ten minutes for Gojo and Geto to show up together, fashionably late as always. Instead of wearing the hoodie he used to wear with the hood up to protect his eyes, Gojo has now switched into the full normal school uniform, along with the glasses you gifted him. 

“Yo!” The white-haired man casually greets Yaga, a wide smile spread across his face. 

“Fifteen minutes,” the man replies. 

“Huh?”

“ Fifteen minutes late!” You can nearly feel the ground shake from how loudly Yaga yells. “Are you two morons ??!” 

“Sorry sensei, it’ll never happen again, we promise,” Geto says, bowing at the waist in respect. When he notices Gojo doesn’t bow either, he shoves a hand at the back of his head to force him to follow. 

You share a deadpan look with Shoko. You seem to be having the exact same thought — it’ll happen next week, guaranteed. 

“...Well, now that you’re all here, we’ll debrief and you’ll leave as soon as I’m done explaining,” Yaga says, closing his laptop and setting his papers in a neat pile. “This curse has been reported near an abandoned concert venue, just on the outskirts of Hachioji. It’s a bit of a drive, but bear with me. It shouldn’t be too difficult–” he levels a deadly look in Gojo’s direction, “–it’s a simple Grade 2. Just remember to put a veil up, and don’t get injured. Shoko is staying behind today.” 

“No complaints from me,” she says before rolling her head side to side, trying to loosen up a kink in her neck. 

“Behave, you two,” he tells both Gojo and Geto before turning to you. “And you… just– I don’t know, do what you usually do, but don’t be a pain in the ass.” 

You salute him with a goofy smile spread across your face, making the teacher glare at you halfheartedly. Unbeknownst to you, the two young men in the room snicker behind you at your behaviour. 

With the meeting adjourned, the three of you walk through the Jujutsu school’s campus to make your way to the transport car, where the driver waits for you patiently. You all clamber into the car, Gojo sitting in the passenger seat because of his ridiculously long limbs. He seems that he doesn’t know what to do with them either, awkwardly shifting the seat back to make enough room to be comfortable. You sit directly behind him with Geto to your right. 

The car immediately speeds off, the view of trees and houses quickly blurring together. You wistfully look out of your window. The sun shines brightly through the leaves of the trees, making you squint a little and turn your head to the right, facing Geto instead, who is already looking at you. 

“Are you looking forward to exorcising your first curse?” He asks, resting his cheek on his fist. 

Thankful you didn’t forget your notebook today, you quickly write on the paper. 

- Yes, I hope we’ll make a good team. I’m aware you two are capable, but we should learn to work as a team properly. And I’m NOT(!!!!) just saying that because I’m scared of what Yaga might say if we end up causing a mess, I genuinely want to help with making Tokyo more safe. 

You doodle a small smiley face at the end of your paragraph, hopefully to drive your point home. You’re more than aware that the two of them are adept at this, but they can’t be the only two to do so. They should be able to rely on others, especially someone that doesn’t need as much rest, food or water like most humans do. 

“It’ll be a learning experience, for sure,” the raven-haired man humbly replies, before his eyes seem to sharpen, sending a teasing look in your direction as he reads the rest. “You’re sure you’re not afraid of Yaga?”

You shake your head back and forth vigorously, your arms forming an ‘x’ in protest. Absolutely, but I won’t tell these two that. 

Gojo abruptly turns around in his seat, leaning over the center armrest (and apparently pissing off the driver while doing it) and shoves his phone in Geto’s face. 

“Look, look!” He says, waving the phone around wildly in front of his friend’s eyes. 

“Dude, calm down,” Geto scoffs, yanking it from Gojo’s hands to take a look. “Seriously, Digimon?” 

“X-Evolution is finally out on DVD, we gotta watch it!!!” 

“Didn’t you see that movie, like, six times since its release?” He raises an eyebrow, shooting him a judgemental look. 

“Actually, it’s more like seven. Or eight,” he pauses, pushing his sunglasses up along the bridge of his nose. “Wait, actually, no, it was ten.” 

“You look like a total nerd,” Geto looks down at the screen again. “And somehow you want to watch it again ?” 

“Absolutely.”

The white-haired man says it with the most serious expression you have ever seen that you can’t help but snort lightly, covering your mouth with your hand when you realize it grabbed both of the men’s attention. For some reason, it makes you feel incredibly uncomfortable. So you settle back in your seat, leaning your head back and only turning your eyes back onto their lips to read the conversation once you’re absolutely sure Gojo’s piercing gaze is fixated back onto his friend. 

“Let’s pick up the DVD after the mission,” he says, grabbing his phone back from Geto’s hands, still continuing to lean over the armrest. 

“You mean you’ll pick it up,” he points at him. “I am not paying for that. You are literally rich.” 

“But it’s more special and meaningful and romantic when we pay for something together!” He whines, wrapping his long arms around the headrest and hugging it in faux-comfort. This man truly loves bringing out the theatrics , you think to yourself. 

“Allow me to disagree with you on that,” Geto says, a deadpan look on his face, before turning his head to the window. 

He seems to be saying something else, you can tell by the way his jaw moves, but you can’t see his lips from this angle. Whatever it is, it makes Gojo laugh and point at him, but by this point you don't bother following the conversation anymore, too confused. What the hell is Digimon, anyways? What’s a DVD? Sighing to yourself, you look outside, watching the scenery pass by. 

A little over half an hour passes by when the car makes it out to the outskirts, driving along a slim road. There are farmhouses and fields, buildings placed further apart from each other as it becomes more remote. Tokyo city has nothing compared to the lush greenery on Hachioji’s outskirts, and you can tell that it’s much more quiet here compared to the city. There’s no familiar rumbling of trucks that you have become accustomed to when walking along the pavement, instead it’s peaceful. You wonder if the birds chirp more loudly here. 

The driver drives up a steep hill, and the distant sight of a mountain covered in thick, healthy green trees greets your group. The car goes up, up, up and around the streets that bend along the hill before you come across a split in the road. The driver turns to the left onto an unpaved road, gravel bouncing against metal, and suddenly the sun seems to disappear underneath the canopy of leaves. 

The deeper you go onto this unpaved road, the less you come across houses, until there are none left. Instead, old, empty, rusty steel drums spray painted with arrows and different symbols replace them. There’s nothing around except for ‘ No Trespassing! ' signs. 

The vehicle comes to a sudden halt, and you feel the door underneath your palm shake slightly, meaning that the car is unlocked. You open the door with your notebook in hand, happy to stretch your legs out after spending nearly an hour travelling. You feel the dry twigs snap underneath your feet, dead leaves brushing against your ankles. The smell of fresh air fills your lungs, and you take a deep breath in. This is as close to heaven as it gets . You reach back into the car to grab your polearm that was laying on the floor in its holder, putting the strap around your chest so the weapon can rest against your back, leaving your hands free. 

There’s a quick tap on your shoulder, and you turn around to be face-to-face with Gojo, who looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses. Bright blue eyes stare at you, and you realize that it’s something that you’ll have to get used to, unless you want that smug bastard to tease you every time you get nervous from looking at him in the eyes. 

“Let’s go,” he says, thumbing behind him. “We have to walk a bit, and the driver is gonna stay with the car. Hope you like to hike.” 

You have to leg over the horizontal chain attached to two poles to block any cars from passing, and Gojo nearly trips over it, his hand immediately reaching out to your arm to steady himself before he can fall face first and accidentally eat a pile of dirt. 

“ Nice one, ” you sign with an eyebrow raised, the white-haired man standing back at full height, rubbing his hands against his uniform as if trying to wipe your cursed energy off of his skin. 

“I don’t know what you just said to me, but I don’t like your attitude, kiddo,” Gojo replies, taking a ‘ parent-disappointed-in-you ’ pose, arms crossed, hips jutting out. He’s about to retort with something else before he closes his mouth instead, jogging ahead to catch up to Geto, who was waving the two of you over impatiently. 

“Let’s just get this over with instead of messing around, alright?” The raven-haired man sighs, an exasperated look on his face. 

“You just wanna show off,” Gojo says, tucking his hands into his pockets before sauntering off. 

None of you speak a word amongst each other until you make it to a big, rundown building. It’s not as big as a stadium, but the concerts held here back in the day must’ve been fun with such an open area. 

“I wonder why they had a venue out in the middle of nowhere,” Geto says to you as he walks alongside you. “Seems a bit strange.” 

- More space? Beats me. 

You turn the page to face him after you finish writing, giving him a shrug of your shoulders. 

You’re just about to ask where Gojo went until a flash of bright white hair makes itself known in the corner of your eye. You see him waving at you both, motioning you to come closer to the building. 

“Slowpokes, over here!” 

Geto rolls his eyes, but follows him inside, and you follow suit. 

You’re greeted with a dark lobby, burst pipes leaking water and forming deep puddles on the ground. You can immediately feel the water seeping into your canvas shoes and socks, making your face scrunch up in distaste. At another glance, there are multiple stands labeled ‘Food’, ‘Alcohol’, ‘Merchandise’, and more. This must’ve definitely been a popular place. The paint is peeling off of the walls, and there’s graffiti sprayed against any space that isn’t occupied by mold or dirty, dripping water. You walk over to a concession stand, inspecting it and turning your back to the front doors where your group first walked in from. 

“Do you think Nirvana played here?” Gojo asks Geto, pointing at the large closed doors, presumably leading to the concert hall itself. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” 

Gojo pouts, kicking a fallen piece of pipe on the ground. “Jeez, you only had to say no.” 

Just as he’s about to open the big doors, he pauses, his whole body freezing up. Geto, upon noticing this, feels a wave of guilt wash over him, assuming his words actually insulted his friend. 

“Hey, you know I was just kidding, right?” 

“Get down!” Gojo whips around suddenly, calling out your name. Luckily, you had been looking at the two of them just as he spoke up, and the instant you read his lips, you duck, not even thinking twice. You feel a violent crack of air whip the top of your head – if you hadn’t moved in time, your head would’ve been sliced clean off. 

Twisting your body around, you look up, coming face-to-face with a group of low-levelled curses, one of them having long, razor-sharp cleavers for arms. They’re all mangled and twisted, ribs protruding out of their sides and wearing paper masks with strange symbols trying to imitate facial features. Their skin is almost human-like, but the fact that every inch of them is somehow warped together quickly puts that thought to rest. You reach for your back, about to pull out your polearm from its sheath, but you’re beaten to the punch as Geto runs up behind you, launching himself in the air and kicking Razor-arms in the face, sending it stumbling backwards. 

The other curses quickly retaliate, one of them trying to gain the upper hand while Geto is still in the air and grabbing his leg, slamming him down onto the hard floor. They’re about to bring down a finishing blow, but get interrupted by you finally taking out your polearm and slashing at their masks, making the group stumble back. Gojo immediately rushes over, splaying out his arms before bringing them together again and making rushed, complicated hand movements. The reaction is instantaneous – a large blue orb starts forming and the entire group of curses get sucked into it like a magnet, crashing together before turning into nothing. 

You and Geto get back on their feet. You’re shocked at what you just saw, mismatched eyes wide in surprise. Gojo just completely evaporated those curses as if it was nothing to him, not even a single drop of sweat wasted on them. This must be why he’s on such a constant high horse .

The white-haired man looks at you in disdain. “You’re a cursed spirit and you didn’t even feel your own kind?” He rolls his eyes. Well, there’s that classic Gojo that you first met – so much for his unexpected kindness from yesterday. 

You look around for your notebook, hoping to explain your lack of reaction better. Unfortunately, you find it where you nearly got decapitated, in a muddied puddle of water, completely ruined. Wonderful, you think to yourself. You can’t even be angry at the fact you were so careless just to toss it away at the first breath of danger, just annoyed. 

“Maybe you didn’t want to kill them,” he continues, making your eyebrows raise. It was hard not to be genuinely offended by that comment. “After all, they’re you.” 

“ They aren’t me at all, ” you try to be patient as you sign, but you can’t help the feeling of anxiety that pangs in your chest, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. This is not how you wanted your first mission with others to go. 

“Satoru, that’s enough. If you want to nag them about this, do it later,” Geto interrupts the two of you, motioning vaguely to the big doors you had yet to go through. “Let’s get this done first.” 

Gojo decides to heed to his friend’s demands, mercifully giving you some space. You trail behind the white-haired man, looking down at your water-logged shoes, feeling a heavy weight on your shoulders. That is, until Gojo grabs you by the bicep to tug you forward to walk beside him. Surprised at the sudden action, you look up at him. 

“You’re too quiet, I won’t be able to hear if you get snatched up by a curse,” he explains through gritted teeth, looking up at the graffitied ceiling through his sunglasses. Refusing to actually acknowledge you, as if you’re more of an annoyance than teammate. 

You look forward, not bothering to dignify him with a reply. A tight feeling in your chest makes itself known, unpleasant and uncomfortable. 

“Seems weird to me that we haven’t run into the Grade 2 curse yet. Yaga didn’t tell us there would be any others besides it,” Geto turns around to face the two of you when you approach the door, an unsure look in his eyes. 

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly, walking up to the doors and tugging on the handles to pry them open. As soon as they swing ajar, a thick cloud of dust permeates through the air, making all of you cough violently as you breathe it in. Carefully, Geto takes the first step in, taking a flashlight out of the deep pocket of his pants, turning it on to illuminate the concert hall. 

The ceilings are high, and the venue has a main floor, balcony, and gallery. The seats are old and wrecked, a layer of dust, dirt and mold covering them all. Some are knocked over by miscreants, others are completely missing, and some are left untouched. The stage itself is decorated with even more graffiti, not a single inch left blank. 

Geto and Gojo are conversing about something, standing closer to each other than before, and it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what they’re discussing because of how dark the room is. If only the windows weren’t blacked out, then the room would have just enough light for you to lip-read. 

You’re about to wander off on your own to find the curse until there’s a powerful rumble underneath your feet, nearly making you lose your footing. Suddenly, a gigantic monstrosity crashes through the stage, sending wood and debris flying everywhere. The creature has multiple limbs, the most prominent features being its two front arms covering its ears, an unhinged jaw with far too many rows of teeth, with snot, sweat and tears running down every single orifice on its body. Its complexion is stark white, and there are strange neon tattoos along its other limbs. 

This must be the curse Yaga was talking about. 

This is definitely more powerful than a Grade 2 curse. 

Even with your lack of awareness of cursed energy, you can certainly tell that this is far beyond whatever was reported. 

There’s another powerful shake in the ground as the beast opens up its mouth, sending spittle flying everywhere. You ready your polearm, prepared to exorcise the curse, but you notice the lack of attack from your teammates. Gojo should be jumping at the opportunity to show off and waste another creature. Concerned, you take a quick glance behind your shoulder and notice that both Gojo and Geto are hunched over, covering their ears and clenching their jaws so hard that you can notice a prominent vein in the raven-haired man’s forehead popping out. 

You run over to them, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on Geto’s back. Eyes that were once screwed shut crack open to look up at your worried gaze, and he weakly points to the huge curse on the stage. 

It suddenly dawns on you – the rumbling wasn’t from the pure size of this curse breaking through the wall, it was from its mouth. It’s screeching so loud to the point where everything is shaking. 

The curse stops screaming for a moment, turning its deformed body to look around, its singular huge eye locking straight onto you . A dense string of drool pools from the corner of its mouth onto the ground, creating a disgusting, thick puddle of mucus below it. 

Taking the short distraction to his advantage, Gojo starts to make those complicated hand signs again, but unfortunately the curse notices too quickly – it opens its mouth to continue shrieking at your group, making glass shatter all around you. It completely incapacitates Gojo and Geto, whose hands immediately go to cover their ears again. Upon closer inspection, you notice drops of blood running down both of their jaws; the curse is so loud it makes their ears bleed. 

And you can’t hear a thing. 

The resolution comes to you much more easily than you expected. You grip your polearm tightly in your left hand, running forward to give yourself enough momentum to throw yourself upwards, twisting your body in the air to bring the blade of your weapon forward. Just as it’s about to pierce the skin of the curse, it opens its mouth and makes such a powerful blast of noise that it sends you flying back in the air, roughly landing on your back against some seats on the top floor, in the gallery. 

You cough violently as the breath is knocked out of your lungs, but quickly gets back up onto your feet. The curse is already aiming one of its gangly legs in your direction, and you level it with a glare, unmoving until it brings its hand down. The second the large limb gets close enough for impact, you push your foot against the ground, sending you sideways and putting just the right amount of distance to avoid getting hit. 

Its arm gets jammed between the seats and concrete of the third floor, and you take the opportunity to hop onto the forelimb, running along it and bringing your polearm forward to take yet another swing at the curse. Just as expected, the curse tries to screech at you again, so you jump up, going above its head and somersaulting in the air to bring your weapon down. Just as you feel the blade make impact with solid skin, a mouth appears right where the blade is and swallows it whole. You don't have enough time to register the shock, but still have half a mind to use the rest of your momentum to fall back down onto the ground floor, where your teammates are still hunched over, clutching at their heads in agony. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain that must be rattling throughout their brain. 

You huff, wiping the sweat from your brow. With no more weapons in hand, you decide to take this curse seriously and be more cautious. This isn’t just a Grade 2 anymore, this is something definitely dangerous. But…

You don't want to use your powers in front of others. Knowing that you are capable of this destruction will only make others more fearful of you, and it’s the last thing you want. You don't want to be isolated again, or working and living with people who don’t trust you. You just want to help. 

You’re considering his options, glancing back at Gojo and Geto for a moment, a wave of concern washing over you. If you don't get rid of this curse soon, they’ll probably lose their hearing completely, if they haven’t already. Fuck, if only things weren’t so damn complicated–

You see the shock written across Gojo’s face before you feel the impact against your side. His blacked-out sunglasses dropped down to the tip of his bloody nose, the sides of his face covered in blood, but he still had enough consciousness left in him to register the curse creeping behind you, eyes widening as it pulls back a large hand and whips you across the room. 

You break through multiple layers of wood, feeling splinter after splinter embedding in your skin and ripping it open as they get caught onto other debris. Finally, you slam against the furthest wall, concrete cracking against your back from the sudden shock. Blood spurts from your mouth - definitely a few broken ribs - and you feel dizzy, but you can’t pass out just yet. You force yourself onto shaky legs, looking at the creature that seems to be preparing to release another bloodcurdling scream. 

Fuck it.

There’s a sharp spike of pain that courses throughout your body as you raise your right arm, aiming at the curse. With a snap of your fingers, an enormous explosion of cyan fire mixed with purple flames ignites the entire stage, crawling across the curse’s skin and making it wail out in pain – or at least, that’s what you think it's doing. You can feel the heat against your skin, sparks igniting and scorching the exposed part of your arms, sweat beading your forehead. Tears and mucus fly everywhere as the curse’s limbs reach out for release, anything, from the burning that is spreading all along its body. Multiple hands crunch concrete and wood underneath it, bringing half of the ceiling down on top of it, but the flames burn brightly until the violent rumbling underneath your feet becomes a simple vibration, then turns to nothing . 

You bring your right hand up again, palm facing the violent flames, then bring it back down to your side, making the fire dissipate completely, leaving behind a mountain of ashes and thick clouds of smoke in its wake. 

And just like that, it’s over. 

You breathe in and out deeply, ribs painfully screaming out in protest at the action, and you clutch at your side to try and alleviate the pain. That curse had quite the punch to it , you think to yourself. Looking up, you walk through the smoke to return to your teammates and check on them. The uncomfortable warmth from using your fire lingers in the building, making you feel like you’re in a sauna. Your nose scrunches as you wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, only to feel the moisture gather again. 

You know they’ll be horrified and disgusted. You feel a pang of sadness and guilt – they’ll never want to face you again. Gojo was right, you are a cursed spirit. You’ll only bring destruction and death to the people around you. You’re a monster.  

You do not expect the sight in front of you. Geto smiles at you in relief when he sees you appear through the thick clouds of smoke, though his eyebrows are knitted in concern when he sees you clutch your side. Gojo, however, beams at you, bright white teeth on display. His hands are covered in blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in the least. 

“Holy shit, why didn’t you tell us you could do that?!” Gojo exclaims, walking up to you and wiping the blood on the pants of his uniform. “You’re not as weak as I thought you were.” 

You stare at them, confused. Shouldn’t they be worried that you’d use this power against them? Isn’t this exactly what Gojo and the council of elders were afraid of? Eyes unblinking and unfocused, you give him a half-hearted shrug, feeling like you can barely move a muscle all of a sudden. 

This feels wrong. Bile rises at the back of your throat as uneasiness creeps along your spine – shouldn’t you be punished for unleashing your power like that? Gojo and Geto are obviously putting up a front. As soon as you all return to the school grounds, you’ll be thrown into confinement again, you’re sure of it. There’s no way this can end well for you. 

“Damn, my head is killing me,” Gojo says, bringing you out of your inner turmoil. “Let’s head back, I need to fix my poor eardrums.” 

Geto wordlessly follows, your eyes glued to the ground below you as your eyes go back to feeling clouded, mind feeling foggy as your body moves on autopilot. The tips of your fingers are tingling, hands and arms feeling numb as you feel like you’ve detached from yourself, a third-person view to your own life. You feel nothing until you collide into Geto’s muscular back, feeling your ribs throbbing in pain. 

Wondering why the raven-haired man came to a sudden stop, you focus back on the moment at hand, looking up at him. Geto looks concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he clasps his chin in between his fingers. He eventually closes his eyes in frustration, lips downturned. 

“Did any of us put up a veil?” He asks. 

Gojo turns his head around slowly, the smile on his face frozen. You feel cold sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

“Oh, fuck.” 

It’s pitch black by the time the car returns to campus, all staff and students already tucked in for the night besides Gojo, Geto, and yourself. It’s nearing one in the morning, as Gojo forced the driver escorting you to stop by a DVD store to pick up the latest Digimon movie, then dinner, then snacks too. Thankfully, he paid for everything. 

The best part about the situation is that Yaga is an early sleeper, so none of you have to face his wrath about messing up the veil until tomorrow morning when you have to debrief. You’re all too tired to deal with being slapped over the head by a ruler. It’s the small mercies that make all the difference. 

The streetlamps and the moon are the only things illuminating the pathway to the dormitory building, all three of you lugging your own plastic bags filled with goodies back to Gojo’s room. You place it down next to the door as the white-haired man goes to unlock it, and turn to leave to go back to your own room until you feel a large, warm hand grasp your right wrist. Your head snaps back, turning to face Gojo. 

“Where’re you going?” He asks, frowning and tilting his head to the side. “We’re all watching a movie together, c’mon. You don’t have a choice.” 

Your mouth drops open slightly, confused. “ Okay, ” you sign with your free hand, letting it awkwardly hang in the air. As subtle as possible, you yank your wrist free from Gojo’s hold, feeling the warmth spread along your arm through the bandages. 

Gojo’s room is tidy, for the most part. There’s a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room, right next to the laundry basket, and his bed is left unmade, blankets strewn everywhere. However, the desk is set up in a precise way, the chair is tucked in, and all the pens are lined up straight. The posters in his room are mostly all of Digimon and some other movies that you don't know. The TV is parallel to his bed that is pressed up against the wall, exactly like yours is, and there are a few bean bag chairs on the ground in front of it. 

Geto immediately launches himself on top of one, letting his body sink into it and letting himself relax. Gojo sets up the large array of snacks on his desk after putting his pens away, putting his favourite ones on the right. You continue awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, observing him as he puts chips in a large bowl. His head twists to the door suddenly and he opens it up, revealing Shoko. 

Her brown hair is a bit of a mess, and she looks exhausted, but she manages to muster a small grin when her eyes land on you, waving at you. 

Wordlessly, Gojo pulls out the chair underneath his desk and sits in it, Shoko immediately walking behind him and puts her hands over his ears. A small glow of cursed energy emits from her hands soon after, and you can see the way the white-haired man visibly deflates in the chair. A few minutes pass, and she strolls over to Geto, leaning over to do the same thing to him. 

She goes to you last, hands hovering in the air. 

“I’m still not sure if I can even heal you, considering last time,” she says, looking at you with a hesitant look in her eye. “But your ribs need to be looked at, at the very least.” 

“What do you mean, you can’t heal them?” Geto asks, lifting his head up from the bean bag. 

“I tried to heal their nose, but I couldn’t,” she replies rather simply. “Sorry, this might hurt a bit.” 

Her hands press against your ribcage, and you inhale sharply, trying to stay still as Shoko’s cursed energy resonates against you. 

“See, it’s not letting me,” she says, looking at you then at the other two men. “I can feel their injuries – just bruised ribs – but I can’t properly heal them. I can feel that they’re hurt, but it’s like every single part of them is, and my technique can’t pinpoint the source of where they’re actually injured at the moment.” 

Geto looks over at you thoughtfully, his gaze raking up the entire length of your body. His eyes land on the bandages carefully wrapped around your arms, still securely in place even after the encounter with the curse. His eyes narrow – maybe Shoko’s cursed energy is focusing on whatever is hidden beneath the bandages. You notice his stare and nervously shuffle in place, which makes Shoko grab you by the biceps to keep you still. 

“Don’t move,” she tells you, frowning. “Do you have any more clean bandages?” 

You nod your head, holding a finger up. Be right back, you mouth, then walk out of Gojo’s dorm to go to your own room. You unlock the door, being greeted with a pitch-black room. Quickly flicking the lights on, you rummage through one of the drawers of your dresser for the bandage wraps. You feel the familiar scratchy fabric brush against your fingers, and grab a roll out. As you go to close the door and make your way back to the group, you take a final look at your room. 

It feels more empty and desolate than usual. You’ve never associated this feeling with your own dorm room before, and it’s not something you like. There’s a tug at your chest, something at the back of your mind telling you to return to the others, and you decide to listen.

Shoko smiles when she sees the bandages in your hand, taking the roll from you and motioning you to take your compression shirt off, tugging at the edge of it. 

You press your lips together awkwardly, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe you should’ve just stayed in your room, after all . However, the look she gives you says enough – you don't have much of a choice. You exhale deeply out through your nose, acquiescing. The shirt is covered in the curse’s mucus and sticks to your skin, nearly making you gag as you take it off, feeling the slime stick to you. 

“Jesus, what the hell were you guys fighting?” Shoko’s gaze is fixed on the two other men who look equally grossed out, thinking at the bodily fluids from earlier. When she turns her head to look back at you, her eyes immediately land on your exposed chest, eyebrows raising slightly. “Ohh… I kinda guessed.” 

The scars on your chest aren’t something you’re ashamed of, but it’s still something that you consider private. You understand that you’re taking his shirt off purely for medical reasons, but it still feels like you’re exposing a side of yourself that only one other person knows. And now, other people know, people whose opinions you care about. 

“I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to do that,” Shoko says your name, looking directly into your mismatched eyes. “It means a lot.” 

That makes you smile for the first time in hours. You nod, looking down bashfully as the eye contact is a bit too much for you right now. Your eyes eventually flicker to both Gojo then Geto, the latter giving you an encouraging thumbs up. You notice that both of them have changed into different clothes, out of their dirtied uniforms and into t-shirts and sweatpants. You look over to the white-haired man, who has shoveled a bunch of sweets into his mouth. He’s saying something, but it’s too hard for you to lipread when half his face is covered by food. Gojo seems to realize this, swallowing everything down in one large gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“We don’t care about that stuff, dude,” he tells you. “You don’t have to worry about us judging you.” 

You sign your earnest thanks, warmth spreading across your cheeks. 

“Yeah, seriously, I’m more worried about the bruises,” Shoko says, pointing to the darkened skin.

She then raises your arms, unfurling the bandage roll and starting to wrap it around your torso. The pressure is uncomfortable and makes your body ache, and you can’t help your eyes from scrunching closed – it’s been a while since you’ve gotten injured like this, and it doesn’t seem to get any easier. 

As soon as she’s done bandaging you up, you reach for your discarded shirt before Gojo’s hand stops you, grasping your wrist. He seems to have a knack for touching you. 

“Nuh-uh, no way are you putting that back on when it’s covered in that shit,” he yanks the shirt out of your clutches. “And get out of those pants too, they reek. You aren’t allowed in my room if you keep wearing those.” 

“You know, if you want to see them naked that bad, you could’ve been more subtle,” Shoko teases Gojo, a wide grin spread across her face, provoking him to try and trip her with his long legs. 

“Fuck off,” he says, though the tips of his ears are turning red. “That isn’t what I meant, go smoke outside or something…” He proceeds to shove a white t-shirt and some grey sweatpants into your arms before addressing you. “Just go change in the bathroom.” 

You nod, a smile playing upon your lips. Though Gojo’s attitude towards you has been fluctuating like crazy today, you’re grateful that the man still has enough decency left in him to give you clean clothes. 

You close the door to the bathroom, turning the light on and being greeted by the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your face immediately drops. The reminder of Suliman’s permanent mark on you stares back at you, the magenta eye seemingly haunting every corner of your mind. You look down to your left arm, thankfully still covered. There’s no trace of the curse mark peeking through. 

You quickly tug the oversized t-shirt on, the fabric soft and delicate against your skin – it must’ve cost Gojo a pretty penny for it. Next, you take your ruined cargo pants off, tugging the sweats up. The ankles of the pants are way too long and cover your feet, but you’ll have to work with it. After tightening the drawstring of the pants to make sure they don’t slip down your hips, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. 

You only see the version of yourself that you were with Suliman. A mess of a monster, clinging to any humanity blessed upon it. A glutton for a life worth living, but the hunger for curiosity was its ultimate punishment. At any moment, Geto and Gojo will most likely realize what a terrible creature you are and become disgusted with you. 

You can’t look at yourself any longer, opening the door of the bathroom and joining the others again. You force yourself to ignore the thoughts gnawing at the back of your mind, determined to enjoy the most of your night.

Gojo has the TV turned on now, delicately placing a metal disc in the strange contraption underneath the television. He has a notebook and pen in his other hand, and the second his eyes land on you, he stands up straight, walking over and grabbing your hand to place the notebook and pen in your hold. 

“There you go,” it’s hard to tell what he says because his mouth barely moves, as if he’s trying to keep the conversation just between yourselves, but you make out just enough to understand. Gojo then steps back, flopping onto the other free beanbag chair, a black brick with buttons in his hand – you have never seen anything like that before. 

- What’s that thing that Gojo has? And what’s the round shiny thing? And the thing under the TV? 

You nearly shove the notebook in Geto’s face, making his shoulders shake lightly with laughter. 

“You’ve got lots of questions about things, don’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, a small smile on his face. “That’s a remote, he’s putting the DVD in the player so we can watch a movie.” 

“...You do know what a movie is, right?” Shoko asks as she walks over with a bowl of snacks in hand. She puts a big pillow on the ground, plopping herself right in between the bean bags. 

You nod your head, deciding to sit down on the edge of Gojo’s bed, legs dangling right behind Shoko. 

“Which one’s your favourite?” Gojo turns around to watch the conversation unfold, finger hovering over the ‘play’ button. 

You shrug. Yaga has talked about his favourite movies in the past, but you never ended up watching any together. 

- I don’t know, I’ve never watched any before. 

As soon as you turn the notebook around for the others to read, Gojo’s face drops, and he looks horrified. 

“You are the most boring person I know,” he says, instantly getting a slap on the back of his head from Geto. “Ouch!”

“Do you have any self awareness?” Geto glares at him. 

“But their life sounds so dull! No boba or movies? What the hell was sensei doing, was he keeping you locked up in a dungeon or what?!” He raises his arms to gesture at you. 

Well, it wasn’t a dungeon. Though you decide to keep your hands by your side instead of saying anything. It would probably make Gojo more aggravating. You just aggressively point at the remote instead, then at the TV. 

“Gladly,” he replies, pressing play. “Prepare to be amazed .” 

Shoko turns to look up at you from the ground, a conspiratorial look on her face. “I think this is a good time to tell you that Satoru is the biggest Digimon nerd on the entire planet. Don’t be fooled, he could ramble about the entire lore for hours.” 

You quietly laugh as Gojo gives her an offended look. “I am proud to know every single detail about Digimon, thank you very much.” 

“That is not the flex you think it is,” Geto says with a deadpan look on his face, before he takes a handful of chips into his mouth. Noticing your eyes on him, he offers the bag to you. “They’re barbecue flavoured.” 

You happily munch away on the snacks as the movie rolls, the colours completely enrapturing you. The closed captioning was the cherry on top, too; you’re able to understand everything so easily, a wide grin on your face as you follow along with the story. If only you could have that in person whenever someone talked to you, then you may not feel so isolated from everyone else. Absent-mindedly, you grab one of the pillows on the bed and hug it in your arms, hunching over as your head rests on top of it and crossing your legs. 

All of your friends seem engaged, cheering and laughing. The characters look incredibly strange, but their designs are enticing to you, and Gojo seems to love this movie, so you keep your entire attention on the screen. 

However, the weight of everything that has happened today seems to finally be catching up to your body, and you feel your eyelids droop, a muted yawn slipping past your lips. Gojo’s bed is so comfortable, the mattress soft and malleable underneath you, so you can’t help but lay your body down, half-opened eyes still trained on the screen. The colours seem to mix together eventually, and you can’t keep your eyes open, letting the comforting embrace of sleep lull you. 

You don't even feel it when you fully fall asleep. 

There’s someone shuffling the covers, trying to be as delicate as possible as to not wake you up. You’re so tired that you let them move you around, feeling your head sink into the softest pillow you’ve ever felt. Then something warm envelops your body, and you fall unconscious again. 

Halfway through the night, you wake up again, fully opening your eyes. It’s completely dark in the room, save for the blinds drawn back, the moonlight illuminating some parts of it. You’re covered by a fluffy blanket, still laying over the duvet – someone must’ve placed it over you. You see Geto and Shoko both sleeping soundly on the floor on futon mattresses, the beanbags discarded to another corner of the room. 

But, where is… 

You feel movement from behind, and cautiously turn around, seeing the back of Gojo’s head, his white hair now a blue hue from the moonlight. He seems to be asleep too, shoulders slowly moving as he breathes slowly in rhythmic patterns, shoulders relaxed, and you smile. After the long day you’ve all had, you deserve a good night’s rest. 

You go back-to-back once more with Gojo, prepared to fall back asleep. You tuck your chin into the fluffy blanket, ready to close your eyes, but your gaze lands on the nightstand next to the bed. 

The notebook and pen that you were given earlier lay on the nightstand, with Gojo’s sunglasses neatly placed on top of the open notebook. 

Three different handwritings are scribbled on the paper. One is messy, almost ridiculously so, the other is neat, and the last is incredibly precise. All three read the same thing. 

- Goodnight. 

You smile. 

And you finally let yourself fall back asleep.

[theygender]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

1. 59,103 notes - Feb 18 2024

Having a vagina honestly sucks bc it's like you have to do fucking alchemy just to prevent yourself from getting sick. You've got an intricate ecosystem of microorganisms down there that you're dependent on for your own well-being and they can be set off by the tiniest fucking thing

Keeping your pubes too short can cause yeast infections, but letting them get too long can also cause yeast infections. Washing the area with specialized soap can help prevent yeast infections, but it can also cause them. Your periods can cause yeast infections, and so can the medicine you take to stop your periods. Having sex can cause yeast infections, especially if the person you're having sex with is diabetic (???). Being diabetic can cause yeast infections. Wearing the wrong clothes or eating the wrong things can cause yeast infections. Not getting enough fucking sleep can cause yeast infections. The list is neverending

Luckily, yeast infections are fairly easy to treat with OTC medicine that you can find at any Walmart. BUT! Even if all of your symptoms indicate that you have a yeast infection, you have to take a test first to confirm that it's a yeast infection (they do not sell the tests at Walmart) bc you might actually have the opposite of a yeast infection (bacterial vaginosis) which has the exact same symptoms as a yeast infection but is caused by an imbalance of different microorganisms. And if you use yeast infection medicine to treat a bacterial infection it will light your pussy on fire. So if you have a bacterial infection, you must instead visit your local witch doctor (gynecologist) and get prescribed special potions (antibiotics) to treat it

Antibiotics can also cause yeast infections

2. 46,742 notes - Nov 4 2024

You know I'm gonna be honest. I don't think all these apps really need access to my precise location

3. 4,152 notes - Oct 12 2024

Griddlehark isn't enemies to lovers. It's "crabs fighting to keep each other in a bucket" to "crabs sacrificing themselves to help each other out of the bucket"

4. 3,914 notes - Oct 16 2024

5. 865 notes - Sep 13 2024

Here's a video of my new black kitten to celebrate Friday the 13th

6. 387 notes - Dec 4 2024

The reason your brain feels shitty when you don't shower is bc the human body remembers its humble origins as a protovertebrate aquatic worm that breathed through its skin so when your pores get clogged the worm part of your brain thinks you're suffocating and gets scared. Going into the wet regularly helps keep your worm brain calm and happy bc it keeps your skin clean and also simulates the worm's natural environment of the old mid-cambrian ocean. Take care of your worm brain. It's hard being the evolutionary remnant of a creature so tiny it can't understand lungs trapped inside the body of a large complex mammal

7. 265 notes - Oct 22 2024

So apparently the symptoms for chronic fatigue include loss of memory, reduced concentration, and fainting/lightheadedness when sitting/standing up?? Why didn't anyone tell me about this 😭

8. 196 notes - Apr 16 2024

Imagine how cursed it would be if tumblr had a memories feature like facebook. If I had to log on and see like "8 years ago today you posted [vent about how much you wanted to kill yourself]" or "10 years ago today you posted [0 note flop that you tagged #funny #meme]" I would just delete my blog

9. 156 notes - Jun 5 2024

Had a dream last night that the mushrooms in Mario games were realistic and you had to identify their species to find out if they were poisonous before you could eat them

10. 148 notes - Apr 10 2024

Harmonizing is gay as hell tbh. What are you singing alto for? Bc you want to be under another woman? Bc you want to support her and uplift her so she can achieve things that she never could have achieved alone, regardless of whether you get anything in return? Bc you want to entwine your body voice with hers until no one can tell where you end and she begins? I need to lie down

Created by TumblrTop10

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝔼𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕌𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TW: sentient

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @hayillaaaaaaa @miguelito-maruti-blog

ᵀᴼᴰᴬʸ'ˢ ᴬᴿᵀ : An Encounter With the Unknown!? Cosmic Opera - Emu Otori

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Recently, you found a single player VR game that you absolutely fell in love with!! It had great storyline, fun minigames, managable and enjoyable exploration... it almost had no flaws! And even if you wouldn't like something, you could usually jsut skip it, thanks to not everything being forced!

Few days ago, you got on higher level~ Being 30! It wasn't much compared to the max. level, but you were still pretty proud of achieving this in such a short time~

"(Now I just have to craft some stuff and I can... Who's that?)"

You wondered as you noticed weirdly dressed for a village, short pink haired girl that was standing nearby the crafting table. She was... hitting it with minerals? As if trying to figure out how to start the process... as if she was the player...

But you just took it as fun NPC and side quest ocassion so you came up and crafted something out of minerals you took from her and handed her finished product, which she seemed to appreciate!

"This is so cool!! I was waiting so long for a player to come by finally!"

"(Is this part of some late April Fool's joke?)"

You couldn't help but question... though overthinking won't do much good, so for now... you might as well go on with it and see where it goes! It's just a game after all! It's not like anything can actually happen, right?

What concerned you more was that this NPC was staring right at you and you had no dialogue options available.

"Why's there no dialogue options..."

"Oh! That's because you can just talk to me! I'm not like other NPC's!"

"What-"

"I'm Emu!! And looking at your profile... you must be Y/N!"

"Yeah... you got it..."

"Hehe~ I'm so glad! Hey, how about this! I'll show you super duper cool place!!"

"(I meet weirdly sentient NPC, praying it's some kidn of joke... do I seriously want to go with them just to calm down my curiosity?)"

You took a moment to think a little bit about this offer, not wanting to jump into this too quickly...

"(Yeah, I do. I'm curious.) Sure."

"Yay!! No one ever agreed before! But I promise you won't regret that! You'll LOVE it!"

Not even getting a chance to react, you got teleported into some... weird space location... You never saw it on any spoilers, trailers or anything!

Not to mention the fact this felt so.. real... you lietrally couldn't feel ground under your feet... this must be a very cool and detailed design! Right?

"What the hell is this..."

"This is space of the game! Kinda like the backstage~ Even players become part of the game here!"

"Coo- Wait. What do you mean 'become part of the game'?"

She just shrugged and took your hand, jumping over invisible stones as you tried matching her peace. During your little tour, she pointed out many places... but what you found the weirdest was that through all of this, you couldn't see your stats anymore and she always brushed off your question about it...

You were honestly pretty creeped out by now, so you wanted to log out while she wasn't looking... but the menu wasn't working... Classic movement that you'd make to open the menu, didn't work... And when you raised your hands to take off the helmet, you felt just cold air...

"Emu... Why can't I get out...?"

"Oh! I told you! It's backstage of the game!"

"That's... this is very cool place but uh... I need to go now."

"Awh... are you busy? Will you come back tomorrow?"

"I'll... try...?"

That was straigh up lie. You weren't about to just come back as if nothing happened, but you needed to play a little play pretend to make it easier on yourself...

"Alright! I'll help you get back to the game world!"

"(Well that was easy...)"

You thought as she took you back to the village where you met her, as if nothing ever happened... You just dropped quick "bye" before quickly taking off the helmet, not even bothering to save and quit the game.

This was... too weird to be happening... She was literally sentient! You considered reporting this to game developers... but could you really do that after seeing she just wanted to make friends, despite being a bit too hyper about everything?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[aeoki]

HOLISTIC HOLIC - The Saint and The Dead: Chapter 5

Characters: Kouga, Hiiro, Aira, Mayoi & Tatsumi

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< The next day. >

Aira: What!? So you’re saying what I heard yesterday was just a dream…!?

If you told me earlier that the ghost wasn’t real, then I wouldn’t have suffered from my nightmare…!

Tatsumi: I’m sorry for letting you know so late, Aira-san. 

Hiiro: But I’m glad Aira’s in a better mood now. Colds can be the worst when they drag on.

Aira: Yeah, I guess… I slept like a log at the hospital, so I think I’ve gotten a lot better.

You couldn’t proceed with “UNDYING” because I got sick, right? I’m sorry, Tattsun-senpai…

Tatsumi: Hehe. There’s no need for you to apologise, Aira-san. I happened to get very inspired yesterday and came up with a few great ideas for the performance.

Aira: Wait, really!? What sorta ideas did you come up with?

Tatsumi: I decided to tone things down a notch after hearing your opinion.

It’ll be less scary and more friendly, just like “ES Halloween”. What do you think?

Aira: “A bizarre musical seamlessly woven together by doctors and a ghost who sings at the dead of night…?”

Hiiro & Mayoi: …………

Tatsumi: …What does everyone think?

Aira: Hmm~... Something feels a little off to me.

Tattsun-senpai, is this something that you want to do?

I’d understand if it was a unit like “Valkyrie” doing this sorta performance, but doing a fantastical musical isn’t something “ALKALOID” would do.

Tatsumi: You’re saying it’s not “ALKALOID” enough…? Which parts specifically?

Aira: Uh… I don’t mean this in a negative way, okay? It feels like you’ve listened too much to my demands and it doesn’t seem like an event you’d like to do, Tattsun-senpai.

Although, I’m not in any position to talk about others.

You can concentrate on working hard to come up with a performance you want to do and then we’ll support you. That’s more like “ALKALOID” in my opinion.

But it feels like you’ve been focusing too much on that girl who was hospitalised since you’re dedicating the performance to her. I think it’s fine for you to add more things that’ll really make the event yours, Tattsun-senpai.

Hiiro: The previous idea had way too much horror and Aira was scared because of it, though…

The new idea isn’t as scary but it’s difficult to understand what Tatsumi-senpai wants to achieve through it.

Maybe you’re too focused on the “meeting the young girl and teaching her to sing” part and trying to recreate the past.

Mayoi: All this time, we’ve been a unit that primarily focuses on performances, so it doesn’t mean we’re a unit of many talents.

I think conveying our feelings in a straight-forward manner without showing the strange and eccentric is fine…♪

Tatsumi: Without showing the strange and eccentric, you say…?

Everyone, thank you for your opinions. I’ll revise the performance some more.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< That night. >

Tatsumi: (...Hmm. I’m utterly exhausted.)

(I’d thought “UNDYING” did show parts of myself, but it appears I was too considerate of the others and it ended up as a performance that didn’t sound like something I’d come up with.)

(I feel sorry towards the other members of “ALKALOID”. It must mean that even I’m unaware of what I truly wish to do.)

(I intend on playing the role the others seek of me. When I was treated as a “saint”, it was clear what I needed to do.)

(But on the contrary, this time, these beautiful memories of mine are distracting me.)

(Should I truly cast aside my personal sentiments?)

(...As I thought, I should erase my memory of what happened at the hospital. That would be best.)

Hmm…

Kouga: Looks like someone’s down in the dumps. What’s the matter, Kazehaya-senpai?

You’re makin’ a face that screams the world’s gonna end. You alright?

Tatsumi: My apologies, Kouga-san. So you noticed.

Please, don’t mind me. I’m just mulling over the details of my performance.

Kouga: Oh, you’re tryna come up with ideas?

What kinda performance is it? If you don’t mind, I wanna see.

Tatsumi: Sure, I don’t mind.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to get your opinion on this. Would you be willing to provide me with your humble opinion, Kouga-san?

Kouga: Yeah, sure thing.

Hmm, “UNDYING”, huh… It sure sounds like a pretty roundabout performance.

Tatsumi: Roundabout, you say?

Kouga: Yeah. If your event’s centred ‘round “immortal and undying”, then there’s a simpler way.

That theme will be conveyed with you just performin’ on stage, Kazehaya-senpai.

You’ve added all this extra stuff to it, so it just sounds like you’re makin’ excuses. You don’t hafta do any of that.

Even without all this roundabout nonsense, “ALKALOID” are a group of charmin’ performers. Anyone can tell by seein’ how your fans react.

Tatsumi: …………

Kouga: Hey, say somethin’. I didn’t say anythin’ weird, did I…?

Tatsumi: No, no. I was just thinking how you were right, Kouga-san.

It appears I was overthinking things because I was thinking too much about the others. What I can offer to others is singing and dancing…

Thank you. I’ll revise the performance once more.

Kouga: Nah, you don’t hafta thank me. We’re roommates, yeah?

Besides, it’s not gonna be much of a fight for me either if the other units aren’t up to scratch.

Tatsumi: Hehe. That sounds like something you’d say, Kouga-san ♪

(I just need to focus on it in a simple way. I truly feel as though my eyes have been opened.)

(It should be fine for me to separate the performance from my story with the little girl.)

(And as Aira-san pointed out, I was too focused on lessening the horror elements, so I should change it…)

(...Alright, I think that should be good.)

(I appreciate “ALKALOID” and Kouga-san for providing me with their opinions.)

(In the end, those who are watching the performance won’t understand how that little personal anecdote of mine relates to the performance.)

(Alright. Now, it should be a performance that everyone will enjoy…)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[ridiasfangirlings]

fushimi having "not beef cuz i dont care about him i just hate him but its not because of anything" with bandou because he killed fushimi on a game in front of yata

I’m just imagining Fushimi finding ways to quietly and sneakily fuck up Bandou’s life and poor Bandou is like ‘what did I do??’. Like Yata invites Fushimi to join him playing some video game with Homra, Fushimi doesn’t really want to but Yata’s so excited and Fushimi did say he would try to get along with Yata’s clan so he agrees. He figures at least he can show off how much better he is at this than all those losers from Homra, like Yata keeps chatting about how good Saruhiko always is with video games and he can’t wait to see how well Fushimi does and Fushimi is possibly maybe a little bit looking forward to Yata calling him cool with shining eyes. And then they start playing… and Fushimi gets taken out like two minutes in by a sniper shot from Bandou. Bandou is all laughing over the voice chat like ha showed you guys, bragging about how skilled he is at this while Yata’s all oh yeah we’ll get you next time. Fushimi is utterly silent except for a single tongue click.

The next day Bandou logs into one of his gaming accounts to find he’s been hacked, his profile name was changed to ‘Sunglasses Loser’ and all his achievements have been wiped. He has no idea who did it but whoever it was must have been skilled because this guy left no traces behind. Yata overhears that and somewhere deep in his mind he has a moment of ‘Could it have been…? Nah, no way that guy cares this much about getting killed in a game.’ And then Bandou receives what looks to be a perfectly legit email that infects his entire PC with an untraceable virus and he has to do a full wipe and restore. Later he’s in the middle of playing a game tournament when his character freezes and nothing Bandou can do will get it to move, Bandou doesn’t know if he’s being hacked again or what, and a low level newbie sniper with a completely boring, uncustomized character takes him out. Homra gets called out to deal with a Strain and Bandou thinks at least this will get him away from his string of bad luck for a bit, only for S4 to ‘accidentally’ send the Strain in his direction (they swear they didn’t know he was over there, he didn’t show up on the map they had of everyone’s position on their PDAs) and now he has a cactus growing out of his head for the next two days. 

Bandou’s at the bar bemoaning his fate, wondering who he pissed off, as Fushimi comes to pick up Yata to go drinking. Kusanagi slides Fushimi a water and quietly asks if Fushimi is mad at Bandou for some reason, Fushimi has no idea what he’s talking about. Later even Yata’s like you know that character Bandou described as being really new looking and plain, isn’t that like what you used to use in jungle and Fushimi just shrugs, he doesn’t like that guy but why would he want to waste his time making a worthless person’s day even worse. Yata’s like that’s kinda harsh but I guess it’s true, there’s no reason why you’d be mad at him, totally oblivious as Fushimi adds that they should play video games again with Homra some time, Fushimi’s been practicing.

[chaiandtakkar]

Whispers beneath the stars

Chapter 23 

May 1999, Amritsar

Arnav logged into the chatroom with an easy confidence, anticipation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. His fingers moved over the keyboard as if drawn by instinct, waiting for the familiar notification that OceanBreeze was online. As the screen blinked with her arrival, a smile flickered across his face. His heart picked up a beat, a quiet thrill that only she could stir, though he wasn’t in any rush—knowing she was there was enough. Tonight, he was determined to press into the edges of their banter, savoring every playful line she threw his way.

OceanBreeze is online.

Just a name on the screen, yet it felt like everything—a presence he could almost feel, despite the hundreds of miles separating them. For a moment, he just stared at the screen, letting the simple sight of her name bring him a quiet, familiar joy. It was as if, in these brief connections, he had found a part of himself that fit nowhere else. He began typing, his words alive with the comfort and excitement she always stirred in him.

He typed out his usual greeting, his fingers flying over the keys with their familiar ease.

Skybound: Have I ever told you, Kishmish, that the only thing keeping this sky from floating off is the ocean breeze?

Her response popped up, quick and teasing, and he could almost picture her grinning on the other side.

OceanBreeze: Is that so, Mr. Sky? Are you sure you haven’t whispered that line to every breeze that comes your way?

A chuckle escaped him, and he settled into the warmth of their easy exchange, feeling that steady joy she always seemed to bring. Here, in these late-night conversations, he felt understood in a way he couldn’t explain, as though she’d seen his soul and somehow found it worthy.

They always went back and forth like this, laughter threaded between each line. Arnav reveled in the way she pushed him, kept him on his toes with her quick wit and steady deflections. But tonight, he wanted her to know just how much he’d heard in her silence, how deeply he felt the warmth she so carefully rationed out to him. He typed carefully, each word carrying the depth he knew she’d feel, even if she didn’t respond in kind.

Skybound: Now, now, that’s slander, Kishmish. Only one breeze has the power to keep this particular Skybound from drifting away.

Arnav’s smile grew, picturing her, probably tilting her head to the side as she typed, the way he imagined she did when something amused her. He leaned forward, fingers poised over the keyboard, carefully choosing his words to match her rhythm as her next message followed, laced with her usual wit.

OceanBreeze: Well then, I suppose I’d better keep this sky in line, don’t I? Wouldn’t want you floating off without permission.

Arnav felt the quiet weight of her words, the subtle restraint she always carried, like a delicate curtain she allowed him to part just enough to glimpse her heart. He knew she cared; he felt it in every playful jab and gentle tease, but he sensed her hesitation too, as if she were afraid to give too much.

Her words were playful, yet there was something else woven within them—an unspoken promise, a tenderness that filled him with a closeness that mere words rarely achieved. He took a breath, savoring this delicate moment between them, marveling at how lucky he was to have found a connection like this.

Undeterred, he pressed on gently, leaning into the warmth she offered in small, cherished doses.

Skybound: I must be the luckiest sky around. Although… if you ever tire of keeping me grounded, I’ll just have to drift around aimlessly, lost in the clouds.

Her response was quick, carrying a hint of mischief that made his pulse race.

OceanBreeze: Now who’s slandering whom? Maybe I’ll let you drift a bit… but I’ll always keep you within sight.

Arnav leaned back, eyes fixed on the screen as he ran a hand through his hair. His mind spinned with the words she hadn’t said yet. 

He felt emboldened to test the waters a bit more, to see just how far he can stretch this connection without asking for the confession his heart craves.

Skybound: Say, Kishmish, if I were to stop being a Skybound and take up something more practical—like, say, medicine—do you think you’d trust me enough to let me operate on you? You know, as an experiment?

There was a pause, and his eyes lingered on the screen, wondering how she would respond. When her message came, it was layered with just enough ambiguity to drive him mad with hope.

OceanBreeze: I suppose… if you were the one wielding the scalpel, I’d take my chances. Even if you made a complete mess, it would be an adventure worth the risk.

His heart skipped at that—the idea that she would trust him so completely, even when the stakes were high, when there was no guarantee of a good outcome. He felt a warmth settle over him, a glow that he only felt when she was there, somewhere across the country, sharing that silent space with him. He knew she was holding back, knew she hadn’t said the words out loud, but the trust in her tone filled the gap. There was a tenderness in the way she let him chase her words, allowing him just close enough to know she cared deeply.

He contemplated letting her know just how much he felt, but in the end, he chose patience. There was beauty in that waiting, in letting each moment build on the last, like a symphony slowly reaching its crescendo. He typed, each word carefully chosen.

Skybound: Now, that’s dangerous trust. What if my hands shook?

He typed it slowly, each word carrying the subtle, unspoken desire he could never quite put into words. He imagined her reading the message, feeling the tension in his question, and maybe, just maybe, sensing what he truly wanted to say.

Her reply came quickly, filled with the same lighthearted tone she used to mask the depth of her feelings.

OceanBreeze: Then I suppose I’d have to steady them for you. Can’t have my doctor panicking, now, can I?

Arnav’s heart thudded as he stared at her words, feeling the unspoken promise they carried. He wanted to touch her hand, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, to pull her close and let his lips find hers in the quiet assurance of everything they’d left unsaid.

Skybound: I’d settle for steady hands. But maybe, someday… I’d trade it all for just one thing.

He paused, fingers hovering over the keys as he thought of the words he’d never said to anyone else—words that could bridge the space between them, if only he had the courage to press send.

After a moment, he hit backspace and deleted his message. Instead, he chose the safer path, one that hinted at his feelings without revealing too much.

Skybound: One day, maybe I’ll surprise you. I’ll be right there, just a whisper away.

She didn’t reply right away, and he could feel the silence stretching between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer. And then, finally, her response appeared, a soft admission wrapped in her usual wit.

OceanBreeze: A whisper away, hmm? That sounds… dangerous. But maybe, just maybe, I’d like that.

Arnav’s heart skipped a beat. He could almost feel her there, her presence filling the room, her warmth as real as the air he breathed. He wanted to close the distance, to tell her everything he’d hidden behind his jokes and half-formed confessions.

Skybound: So, if I were close enough, would you let me? Just one…

He let the thought linger, the words an echo of the quiet yearning woven into every message. There was a pause on her end and he wondered if she understood, if she could sense the way he ached to close the gap between them, to bridge the distance with a single, gentle kiss.

There was something exhilarating in that silence, a thrill in imagining her reading between his lines. He let himself relish the tension before her response appeared.

She responded, her words playful yet layered with something deeper, a gentle affirmation he felt down to his bones.

OceanBreeze: Well, Sky, if you were close enough… I might just surprise you.

He leaned back, his heart swelling with an almost unbearable sweetness. He could spend a lifetime in this, letting each unspoken word bring them closer. For him, loving her had never been about rushing to the end; it was about savoring each moment, each breath she took in response, knowing that this gentle dance of words was more precious than any confession could ever be.

They continued chatting, easy laughter flowing between them, but beneath every playful exchange lay a sense of certainty, a silent understanding that one day, when the time was right, they would finally close the distance that separated them.

Until then, Arnav was content—content to linger in these late-night conversations, to feel her presence through the words on a screen, to carry her with him in the quiet, unspoken spaces between their messages.

As the night wore on, his heart stayed light, his love for her unhurried and joyful, brimming with the sweetness of anticipation. One day, he knew, they’d step into the moment they both felt was waiting for them, like a shared secret under the stars, unhurried and inevitable. Until then, every word was enough, a gentle promise of all that was yet to come.

@arshifiesta