#being in pain has so much to do with your appetite. so i have found. and now that i am Not in constant agonizing pain i have not

[the-holy-ghosted]

kindof insane how everything that happens in your body has an effect on everything else. whats that all about

[envy-of-the-apple]

ive been really obsessed with your gojo/geto naga oneshots and asks lately it feels like literal brain rot at this point its so good. ive reread it 6 times lol

i was wondering though, what would Geto do if Gojo was just a little bit too heavy handed with you? to the point of a sprained or broken arm or leg. Would he get mad at Gojo or just mad in general that reader was hurt? Also how would they act in response to the injured reader who can't do basic tasks themselves, I personally think they would enjoy the fact she relied on them even more to even move now.

Reminder requests are still closed!!!! I just love this idea so so much holdon lemme-

Part one Part three

(Yandere, dark, implied forced relationships, noncon touching, biting, language barriers, drugging(?))

Top of the Food Chain pt2

Dark!Naga!SatoSugu x reader

Two days later, Satoru still wasn't allowed inside the cave.

You can hear him, hissing and clicking, right outside, hovering just behind the invisible line Suguru refused to let him pass. If you weren't already in so much pain, you would have found pity on the poor thing. He wasn't allowed in his own home, even though the incident wasn't entirely his fault.

Technically, Satoru saved you. It was yet again another escape attempt. Something you'd been doing a lot these days once you've figured out these beings' intentions with you. You'd gotten past the rock quarry this time, a new record. Your plan was filled with holes: there was no way to truly escape the island. You had no boat, no way to call for help. Still, you ran, forgetting that there were more dangerous things on this island other than two territorial serpent men.

It was a monster. There was no other way to describe it. Big, ugly, shiny spikes and sharp teeth, eyes dripping with bloodlust. You would have been eaten, killed, maimed, if Satoru hadn't caught up with you in time.

The only collateral was the loss of nearby plant life and your broken wrist.

That had been Satoru's fault. He'd pulled at you too hard at the hand. The remnants of adrenaline from the fight, his anger, anger made him too rough on your fragile body. He froze at the wet snap, and then you started screaming. That was how Suguru had found you. Despite how much Satoru clicked and hummed and tittered, from his mate's look, you doubted it helped his case.

Another lonely coo made you wince. Suguru only huffed, wrapping you tighter in his coils. They were already warm from your body heat. The numerous animal pelts helped your comfort too.

"Make him stop," you beg, "he's been going on for hours."

At that, Suguru lifts his head from the base of your neck. He tilts his head as he surveys you, and you can't help but think how awful you must look. Sickly-looking from the pain, clammy skin. He can't do much about your appearance, but the least he could do was shut Satoru up.

"What want?" Suguru asks, "water?"

At that, he picks up a sack filled with sea-smelling water. You wrinkle your nose, turning away, cocooning yourself within his coils. With the increased pain, your appetite has decreased, as well as your thirst. The stress of being trapped like this along with your broken wrist was starting to take its toll on your body.

Suguru makes a sound of disapproval, shuffling around behind you. You know he's still mad about the escape attempt, but he's concerned enough for your well-being to put his anger to the side for now. He'd helped wrap your wrist, using something stretchy and soft.

You raise your wrist up, inspecting the thin material wrapped around your wrist. You're not sure what it is, it's too silky to resemble cotton. It must be from the foliage around the island. Yet, another strange thing you'd never find the answer to.

There's another rumble coming from the Naga's chest. He wraps a hand around your chin, bringing your face closer. In his other, he holds the dripping sack.

"Suguru," it's too soft to be anything more than a whine, "it hurts too much to take anything right now. Stop."

"Hurt?" he asks.

To that, you gesture to your broken wrist. It may not have been broken, you were no doctor, so you couldn't say for certain. But considering you'd been in the same amount of pain for two days, it really didn't matter to you.

A click, before he's tossing a glare at the entrance of the cave. He'd already given Satoru a beating right before coming to coddle you. Despite being bigger than his mate, Satoru is docile enough to take them. Suguru had been acting more aggressive lately. You had a feeling it was your fault.

He'd been inspecting your wrist every so often, but you see a different look within his brown eyes now as he takes your injured hand. He carefully turns your palm over, pressing slightly into your wrist. When you yelp, he retracts.

"Hurt." Suguru confirms. You can only nod.

"Hurt. No drink? No eat?" You don't like the way he's talking. As if he's putting a puzzle piece together. Coming to a solution you won't like.

When you go to pull away, his grip only tightens.

"No hurt," he says it like a promise, as though you're a toddler and he's coaxing you into drinking a sour-tasting medicine. His lips part, revealing the fangs you've often seen him use on meat, on Satoru.

Never did you think he'd ever use them on you.

"Suguru," you're pleading, trying to move away when he bends down, his hair brushing your sweaty forehead. You can feel his breath on your neck.

"No hurt," he repeats, and then he bites down.

He lied, of course, he did. His teeth puncture your skin, tearing through like paper. You think you screamed, or maybe it was more akin to a pitiful whimper. In the background, you can hear someone hiss, Satoru maybe?

For a second, you feel everything, the pain, the puncture wound, Suguru lightly licking your neck.

And then, you feel weightless.

It's hard to describe, but your brain feels like it's turned to mush. Your body feels like you're on a soft cloud, just there, floating. In the back of your mind, you remember how dazed Satoru would get whenever Suguru bit him. At the time, you just thought he was lovestruck.

When Suguru pulls away, he's smiling. A trail of blood, your blood goes down his lip. You can barely keep your eyes on him, close to falling asleep.

"No hurt," he says. When he leans down to kiss you, you accept without a single fuss.

You don't remember much after that, but you remember accepting whatever Suguru put in your mouth. The panic in your body was non-existent as he held the water-sack above your lips, watching as your throat bobbed. You think he kissed you a few more times, but you're not too sure. You were a lot more averse to kissing before. It'd make sense he'd take advantage of it.

When you wake up again, you're in between two bodies. The pain in your wrist is still there, but not as horrible as before. You're still groggy, mind fuzzy. Whatever Suguru had given you was still in effect.

Satoru is the first to notice you're awake. Suguru and him must have made up during the time you were unconscious. He props himself up, peering down at you. With how dim the cave is, you can barely make out his features. He looks just as guilty as he had two days ago.

"Sorry," he mutters, "is sorry."

If you weren't still high, you might have laughed. When you continue to stare, he takes it in stride, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then your lips. You wince in distaste, leaning back.

"Stop," you say but don't fight when he licks at your jaw. You can barely move your fingers.

Panic is still far away, a distant call than anything alarming. It should worry you, but you still can't feel anything.

Suguru is at your back. You can hear his scales move across the cavern floor. He gives a hum, content as he curls himself around you. He doesn't seem to mind Satoru's touches. Your theory that they must have made up is unfortunately starting to strengthen.

You could barely manage Suguru's coddlings. You don't think you'll survive Satoru's.

"Sorry," he mouths into your neck. You can feel the grip on your waist starting to tighten. He stops, rising up to stare at you.

Blue, almost glowing.

"But no more leave."

You're coherent enough to piece together what he means. You can't escape Satoru. You can't escape Suguru. You can't leave this island. Running away is useless.

The nagas understood it. It's time you did too.

"Yes," you finally say, "no more leave."

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Can I please request thiccc Aegon being obsessed with eating his wife’s pussy

Appetite

PAIRING: Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader

WORDS: 1,102.

WARNINGS: female oral receiving, swearing, chubby!aegon ii, stomach riding, teasing.

A/N - apologies for the long wait. although this request was too delicious. hope you enjoy x

It was no discrete feat that your beloved husband, Aegon the Second, was known for his grand appetite.

As a young prince, suffering the constant scrutiny of the burden of high expectations, as the eldest sibling and the potential heir, Aegon sought comfort in the company of women, and most often food... With maturity, transforming from a scrawny figure, as his body grew so did his stomach. Much more portly and round, more visible softer edges and a pooling stomach that grew further out of his waistline, Aegon, handsome nonetheless, was a formidable figure.

And as his wife, it was your duty to uphold favors for your husband...

"Today could not have been more unbearable. This family of mine continues to prove to be a complete pain and bore—” Aegon cooly whimpers, his rotund body waddling its way towards you ever so slowly from the doorway, his familiar, heavy footsteps echoing between the stony walls of your shared chambers.

"Is that so? Does your Grandsire still talk your ear off in pursuit with talks of you being King? Has Cole worn you out with your royal training? Mayhaps you’ve grown lazy, as you spend more time shoving that pretty mouth of yours full.”

Aegon’s thick arms snake around your waist, pulling you inch by inch closer towards his larger frame, the warmth radiating from him. Your breasts press against his plump chest, pushing your cleavage upward, only a teasing distance away from Aegon’s face.

“Must you always tease me? You and I both know just how much you rather enjoy this pretty mouth of mine… Although, your absence was greatly felt today. I could not stop thinking about you and…”

"Hmm, and what, Aegon?" You seducingly whisper, your lips ever so lightly grazing against Aegon's plump mouth, as your grip tightens around his clothed, excess adipose.

"That pretty, tight cunt of yours."

With only a mutual exchange of beaming smiles and darting eyes, you found yourself comfortably sat atop your husband's curvaceous hips: feeling the growing stiffness bulging beneath his trousers, the more you shifted and pressed your aching cunt against it, the more it stirred. Earning a groan or two, Aegon sat shirtless, his soft, wife belly exposed, tits growing exponentially, you could practically hold them by the handful.

"Up, baby- I need you now. But turn around. We're doing this a little differently."

It took you a minute or two, steadying yourself with your back facing towards Aegon, as you carefully aligned and planted your exposed bare cunt onto his ravenous mouth. His lips felt moist against yours, although adamant on sucking, his latch was strong feeling his thick, warm tongue slither between your throbbing, velvet folds.

His deep moans, although muffled, were penetrable enough to hear, his grip tightening, a hand clasped at each of your thighs: you felt secure atop of him, as your husband kept you confined in place. Uncertain of your stance however, for this was a first, naturally your hands fell onto his meaty rolls, manoeuvring between the plump folds of his sides, and his ample tits.

"Gotten s-so, s-so big I can practically h-hold onto these t-teats to keep me s-steady, y-your Grace-"

"K-Keep it up, a-and you'll have the most g-gracious tits th-than all the m-maidens, I-I fear."

Your jaunts and jabs seemed only to heighten Aegon's lustful drive, his head pushing in further against your backside as his hands gestured your lap to fall deeper against him: his eager tongue delved deeper between your walls, gently biting at the tender skin of your entrance. Naturally, your nails clawed and dug deeper against the paleness of his paunchy blubber, leaving remnants of red marks to grow visible instead.

Your mind no longer coherent, felt senseless and weak in such a vulnerable position, whimpering for your husband, begging aloud his name, as your cunt began to ooze eagerly with your wetness. Hearing the messy, sloppy sounds as Aegon hungrily devoured and slurped at every inch of your cunt, savouring your delectable flavour, his grand appetite did not cease either in the bedroom...

"S-So fucking good- No craving in the world could appease me, only that of my wife's glorious fucking cunt."

Your elbows grew weary, your inner thighs trembling as the strength you mustered to keep balanced lessened: Aegon kept you secured against him, his hold unmatched you endured the feast he devoured of you.

"Now, my baby's turn. I bet this aching cunt is dying to feel this against her clit- Don't think I didn't feel you groping me that entire time. You love me being fat."

As you delicately shifted yourself to face Aegon, his stocky arms guiding you with assistance, you now sat atop his lap, gazing upon his handsome face, and the glistening, milky film that intoxicated his pouty lips.

"Taste it, my love. Taste yourself. Taste how divine you are, I can never get enough of it."

With impeccable obedience, your lips instinctively plummeted against Aegon's, his tongue remaining ever so keen, pushing through into your mouth, entwining with your own: a sneaky grin echoed across his lips pressed against yours, as you devoured yourself.

Preoccupied, Aegon's meaty forearms, had snaked their way once more around your tender thighs, lifting you gently upwards, nestling you atop his round, rotund belly. Your slick cunt leaves the residue mixture of your ooze with Aegon's own saliva, a glistening trail against the fleshy, fair skin of his prominent gut. Your pace slow, only began to quick as your steady breathing began to hasten with excitement. Your nails once more, digging into the soft flesh of his broad shoulders, claw marks like of some untamed animal, grew vibrant red in contrast with the paleness of his Valyrian skin.

"Mhmm- my beloved, you were so quick to taunt at how fat and round I have become and yet you crumble at the mere sight of me. Look at you, bouncing on this gut, as if you bounce on my cock. Need I grow fatter for you to accept that you relish in lying and mating with a fat man."

"A-Aeg- N-Not just any fat man... J-Just you, my G-Grace. I l-love you for th-this and s-so much more."

The natural friction brewing from beneath, a potent heat feverish against your inner thighs and entrance, against the portly double belly of your husband: feeling his fat meekly squirm between your folds was enough to ripen an excitement only your husband's cock could genuinely deliver. Falling into his cosy embrace, you shared the rest of the evening welcoming dusk in the intimate seize of your husband.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe

credit for divider - @/softstargirl

[stormy-river]

Transcripts from the Humanity Hotline 7

As I finished this, I discovered it's been exactly one year since I posted the last Transcript. A lot has happened in that year; I've graduated college :) . I want to thank everyone for the support I've received, and I hope to get back into some of my creative projects and give you guys an opportunity to laugh, and maybe learn something. This one is inspired by a request from @a-romantic-twst from forever ago; I hope it was worth the wait (sorry about that). (It's about periods if anyone's uncomfortable with that and wants to skip this one.)

------

Operator: "Hi, my name is Mindy. How may I help you today?"

Caller: "Hello, Mindy, I am very concerned about one of the humans on my ship."

O: "What seems to be the problem?"

C: "Well, I'm the chief medical officer and this particular human has been on the ship for just over two Earth months now. On two separate occasions during that time, she has requested strong painkillers citing 'Shark Week' as the reason. I looked into what 'Shark Week' is, and found an Earth television special about certain aquatic predators, and I'm unsure how that could cause a human physical pain lightyears from Earth?"

O: "Interesting, is there anything else you can tell me about this human during these events?"

C: "Yes, I've also received reports from other crewmembers around these events that this human is not as outgoing as usual, and shows signs of discomfort with facial expressions and changes in appetite, but does not respond well to the standard psychological protocols for team building and social connection."

O: "What about the timing? You said this has happened twice, correct? How much time was between them?"

C: "Yes, I've documented both with dates. The human requested the painkillers twice, 28 days apart. The crew reported signs of distress for a few days following each request, and two times in the day before the first request."

O: "Alright, I believe your human is using the phrase, "Shark Week" as a euphemism for the start of the menstrual cycle, which is often referred to as a 'period'. To put it simply, one of the female reproductive organs sheds its inner lining roughly once an Earth month, lasting anywhere from a few days to a full week."

C: "Similar to how the Rythyani shed and replace their stomach linings?"

O: "Yes, though the uterus has blood vessels that extend into that lining, so shedding also causes bleeding."

C: "Bleeding? How much blood is lost? Why has she not requested bandages or a transfusion?"

O: "For most, a period is not life-threatening. The amount of blood loss does not require a transfusion to replace, or bandages to stop, though iron deficiency may be a concern for some that can be easily remedied through their diet. Ultimately, your human will know her body and how to handle her cycle best. We learn to deal with periods from a relatively young age. You should have received a human anatomy and physiology textbook when the first human joined your crew. Do you have it?"

C: "Yes, though I do admit I have not yet had the time to read it."

O: "That's alright. The chapter on human reproductive systems goes into more detail about the biology of the menstrual cycle than I can tell you. For the time being, make sure your human knows that she can ask for support if needed, and inform your crew that not all humans will be happy all the time, and they don't need to be. Over time, you will gain a better understanding your humans' patterns. Until then, trust them to express their needs, and talk to them if you have specific concerns. I can give general advice, but they will know themselves best."

C: "Thank you for clearing up the confusion, Mindy, I will look into this and update the protocols as necessary. I have no more questions for you at this time."

O: "You are very welcome, please don't hesitate to call again if something else comes up."

End Transmission

[windcarvedlyre]

Rewatched part of ch1's trial and found something else that's really interesting in hindsight!

We're all familiar with Komaeda's FTE; over a decade later, there's still some room for debate wrt whether he was telling the truth about his diagnoses or not. My stance was already that he was telling the truth, instantly regretted it, and lied that he was lying, and I will die on that hill. I think the above lines reinforce my stance further.

Hear me out. I might as well make this a comprehensive 'Komaeda wasn't lying' post while I'm at it.

For reference, here's the entire final FTE.

The reasons I already had to believe him are as follows, ordered from strongest to weakest:

Komaeda almost died from despair disease; he was much more severely affected than Owari and Mioda. Lymphoma can weaken your immune system, leaving you more vulnerable to infections. While Komaeda's degree of illness could also have been due to bad luck, this could easily be an intentional hint about him.

He claims he's wanted someone's love all along. Again in chapter 3, after the trial, Tsumiki targets his lack of loved ones and seems to genuinely perturb him, indicating this is a real insecurity:

Behavioural variant frontotemporal dementia, or bvFTD, can have symptoms that align with a lot of his social and behavioural issues in the game. bvFTD symptoms can include saying socially inappropriate things/being rude and insensitive, rash/impulsive behaviour, empathy issues, and rigid thinking, among other things. Do I even need to cite examples of these? He can still hide things and manipulate people sometimes, but his ch4 investigation segment proves he's genuinely socially impaired. He sometimes fails to understand the emotional nuances of other people and the impact his words will have. For example:

(Though he still has moments of self-awareness and introspection; he acknowledges he's pessimistic in his introduction and worries he'll make Hinata hate him by saying weird things in Island Mode.)

Issues with memory, cognition in general, etc, are more of a thing in later stages of the disease, so Komaeda having significant social impairments but still being extremely sharp and lacking noticeable lapses in memory makes sense.

Physically Komaeda just doesn't seem healthy in general. He's pale, skinny, his hair is white (possibly fading into a pinkish brown that I could see being his hair colour in the past), and- at least in Japanese- he sounds really breathy and wheezy. I once laughed in a way uncannily similar to his ch1 breakdown when I had a chest infection. With asthma. Stage 3 lymphoma symptoms can include chest pain, shortness of breath, weight loss, loss of appetite and fatigue. If it's still stage 3 it's present in lymph nodes above and below the diaphragm but hasn't metastasized outside of the lymphatic system yet, but if it's advanced to stage 4 since his diagnosis then it may have spread to his lungs as well- having further potential to cause respiratory issues.

In his second-last FTE he starts to tell Hinata about something before he entered Hope's Peak but stops himself, not wanting to 'burden' Hinata. And leaves immediately to end the conversation. He'd just told Hinata how his parents died in front of him, showing zero awareness of how bad it was or how it would affect Hinata, so it must have been real bad for him to do this. And makes it less plausible he was impulsively repeating something from a book later, imo.

Iirc at least one spinoff manga runs with it being true, depicting him in a doctor's office during a nightmare. I'm too tired to hunt this down now; maybe I'll edit it in later.

On a meta level I just find it less compelling for the final reward for spending so much time with him to be 'Here's some actual vulnerability- lol psyche, remember he's manipulative? He might still want sympathy, you be the judge'. It would make the aborted confession at the end the only thing we can't infer from elsewhere in the game already. On the other hand, the diagnoses being real, and him trying to take it back and distract Hinata with an incitement to kill him (before also trying to confess his crush and aborting that too, he's a mess there), really really adds depth to his character.

Semi-tangentially, some people with bvFTD also develop neurological problems that affect movement- eg. making them slow and stiff. There's no evidence for or against Komaeda having this in canon afaik, and I've read it's more of a thing in later stages of the disease, but in the ch1 trial he talks about the threatening letter as if it's in his actual handwriting, and if so... it looks pretty stiff, doesn't it? Either it was angular on purpose or the writer has trouble with fluid hand movements. Let me know if he displays fine motor skills anywhere else, I guess.

The only real counterargument is that he's outlived the 6-12 months he was expected to, but:

The estimate is presumably from the cancer, which is treatable. FTD can take years and years, even 10+, to reach the later stages.

That's an estimate, not set in stone, and real people have survived after being told they have X months to live without supernatural luck.

In either case, it doesn't matter how dire the prognosis is if Komaeda's involved. If the chance of him surviving something isn't zero it will probably happen. When he finally managed to kill himself it wasn't even real.

Anyway, the thing I started the post with! Compare the lines below.

In both cases he's said something that could make others feel bad for him, immediately takes it back, and claims he did that on purpose.

But he wasn't actually lying in the first line, albeit hamming it up a little. He wanted someone to kill him. This happened while he was still pretending to be the killer, after Saionji asked him why he sent the letter. He dropped a hint about the truth and then deflected away from it, likely intentionally antagonising people to distract them from thinking too hard about what he just implied and make them more averse to empathising with him.

So what could that imply about the lines from his FTE?

TL;DR: He told the truth about having cancer and dementia, your honour. There's not only strong evidence for this but precedent for the sort of deflection he made afterwards.

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Love Playlist #3: Make It Right (Lee Know)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"It hurts to love you."

Pairing: Lee Know x Fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, exes to lovers Warnings: swearing, messy break-up, mc has a fear of the dark, mild haunted house/Halloween descriptions Word Count: 18.3k

*Written for @skzwritingcafe's July/August event: Summertime Confessions ☀️

Special thanks to @baekhyyun & @simpforyongbokk for beta-reading!! 💘

“I love you.”

You roll your eyes and shove Minho away, trying to suppress the giggles that threaten to spill out. “Stop that. We need to concentrate, or we’ll never find an apartment.”

“I’m definitely concentrating.” Minho grins mischievously. “On you.”

Laughing at his antics, you shake your head, shutting your computer for a brief intermission to tend to Minho’s insatiable appetite for your attention. Your boyfriend never fails to make you smile, no matter what. 

“I love you too, you menace.”

Minho wakes up with a start. He groggily glances over at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. Nearly 3 a.m. Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, Minho just sits in that position for a good twenty minutes, marinating in the pitiful mixture of his sweat and tears.

The night before, he’d attempted to drown away his sorrows at some bar he stumbled upon while aimlessly wandering the city streets. It hadn’t worked, obviously, because his wallet wasn’t bottomless, and the pain was too great. But in true character, Minho had tried anyway, until his savior found him slumped over the counter and led him back to a safe place to sober up.

“Stay here as long as you need to,” Chan had said, tucking Minho’s drowsy form into a bundle of blankets on the couch, like he was a little kid.

Minho had tried to resist, mumbling complaints towards his friend’s retreating back, but fell into a troubled slumber before Chan even reached his own bedroom. Now he’s wide awake and unwilling to be so, praying he can just fall back asleep and forget about everything that had transpired in the previous twenty-four hours. But even sleep can’t save him from the memories of what you both once were: happy.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the rift growing between you two in the past few weeks. You didn’t have as much time for each other anymore, reducing your interactions to quick dinners and text messages. But you both have been together for nearly three years, and Minho had assumed that it was just the stress of senior year taking a toll on you both, nothing more. You both had been browsing apartments together just one month ago, finally planning to take the next big step in your relationship. He loves you more than anything in the world, and he so believed that you felt the same about him.

So when you sat him down yesterday at your favorite café, Morningstar Coffee House, and told him that you had doubts about your future together, he was shocked. Too fearful of what you were going to say next, Minho decided to take an abrupt exit out of the conversation, rushing out of the door by using class as an excuse. And now, he will be forced to confront a brutal reality, wishing he could have just gotten this over with yesterday.

A small chime alerts Minho to a new text message, and before he even reaches over to the coffee table to pick up his phone, he knows it’s you. 

bobaluvrr: we need to finish talking catservant98: do we really need to? bobaluvrr: morningstar at 8. i have class, pls don’t be late.

With an exasperated groan, Minho stands up, tossing his phone onto the couch. At the very least, he could use the coffee.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” Soyeon scrapes the bottom of the pint of ice cream in her hands, frowning when her spoon doesn’t recover as much as she’d like.

“Maybe,” Sunoo answers for you from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, lying on his stomach while scrolling through his cellphone. Soyeon chucks a pillow at him, making him yelp and lift his hands up in defeat.

“This is for the best, Soyeon,” you reply firmly, stabbing your spoon into your own pint of rocky road and digging out a generous chunk. As you lick the spoon, you note that you barely notice the creamy goodness that always succeeds in cheering you up. Not today.

Sunoo sits up and sets his phone aside. “Literally last month, you said you wanted to marry Minho as soon as you graduated.”

You swallow harshly, remembering the exact moment Sunoo is referencing. It’s true that you wanted to marry your boyfriend— no, you still want to marry him, even now. But you meant what you said; breaking up with Minho is necessary to prevent any more heartache. You’ve been feeling this indescribable longing seeping into your heart for weeks now, silently pressing through all of your warning bells. It was a whisper in the wind beneath your lofty wings, telling you that one day, Minho was going to leave you. The last few days had been the final straw, forcing you to grasp your courage and do what had to be done.

“I know.” You hold your tears back. “But the situation has obviously changed.”

Soyeon takes your hand in her own, softly rubbing your palm with her thumb to comfort you, while Sunoo just rolls his eyes. “I still blame that bitch Minju. It’s her fault you’re feeling like this, if anyone’s.”

At the mention of Minju, your expression hardens. After all, you don’t exactly have warm regards for a backstabber like her, especially when she had pretended to be your friend just to get close to Minho. When you found out about her ulterior motive, it made the betrayal hurt ten times worse.

You had befriended Minju nearing the end of the previous year, after she sat next to you at lunch when you were alone in the dining hall. All along your short-lived friendship, you had noticed that she would only ask you questions about Minho or your relationship with him, but you brushed it off as an attempt to just get along with your boyfriend. You had no idea that she wanted to do more than that. 

At the beginning of the next semester, Minho mentioned that he had one class with Minju. Ever the optimist, you were pleasantly surprised, thinking that Minju could become friends with Minho as well. After all, it always took Minho forever to really bond with new people, and this would make everything easier. But the little things you kept overlooking built upon each other, forming a whole dam of distrust. 

First, there were all of the times you hung out with both Minju and Minho. While Minho always engaged in conversation with the both of you, if not more with you, Minju would actively ignore you just to talk to Minho. Once, you three visited an arcade together, and there was a game that involved picking teams. Minju immediately declared that she would partner up with Minho, so you had no option but to team with a stranger. But maybe she just wanted to get to know him.

And then you ran into Heeseung, one of Minju’s old classmates. Heeseung had no malicious intentions; he used to have photography class with Minju before she switched out, and needed Minju’s number to ask her for the pen he had lent her. It looked like Minju had changed her course schedule to share a class with Minho. But maybe that was just a coincidence.

The final piece that made you put together Minju’s puzzle was when Minho was dropping you after a date one night. He had kissed you goodbye, and you went inside, wondering if you should invite Minju over to watch some movies. You called Minju and asked her if she wanted to come over, but she claimed that she was very sick and couldn’t even leave her house, down with a high fever in her bed. Feeling sorry for your friend, you decided to whip up a quick batch of soup for Minju and walk over to her loft. However, you saw two people standing right outside the building. Upon closer look, you realized it was Minju and Minho, talking about something you couldn’t hear. But the sight itself was enough— Minju looked perfectly healthy and fresh. You could give the benefit of doubt to your boyfriend, but Minju had obviously lied to you. You ran away before either of them spotted you.

You shake your head, knowing in your heart that even someone like Minju couldn’t really end one of the most important relationships in your life. “It’s not just her. I’m tired of watching every other couple on campus, wishing Minho and I were like that. Everyone calls us perfect, but really, we’re not. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who cares. I’m just tired of everything, Sunoo.”

And it’s true. You’ve had enough of wondering about whether you love him too much, if you were being naive about everything. You have always been a very bubbly, social person, wearing your heart on your sleeve. You know that Minho is more of an introvert, and that it’s hard for him to express himself to others. However, you believed that with time, he would open up, at least to you. You found it as easy to confide your fears within Minho as it was to laugh when he tickled you. But communicating with Minho about his own feelings remained a difficulty. He still seems like such a mystery to you, and even if he wasn’t entertaining Minju’s whole plot, you feel like he isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. You hadn’t even bothered telling Minho the truth about Minju, because in the end, you doubt Minju would have troubled you so much if your relationship really was so unbreakable. 

Sunoo’s face softens, as he gets up to envelope you in one of his hugs. “I’m sorry if I came off too strong. I just want the best for you.”

Soyeon joins your little huddle, wrapping her arms around the both of you. “You are our best friend, after all. We can’t have our favorite girl being sad.”

A tiny flicker of hope ignites in your stomach. Whatever happens, you know you’ll have Soyeon and Sunoo by your side. You tell yourself over and over again that you don’t need anyone else but them, until you start to believe it.

It hurts Minho’s heart to see that you look more beautiful than ever as you step into Morningstar, even with your downturned lips and the reddened sheen of your sleepless eyes. He busies himself with the menu as you approach the table he’s sitting at, as if he wasn’t just watching you a moment earlier.

“Thank you for seeing me.” Your words feel oddly formal, especially taking into account your usual greeting for Minho was an excited hug and an avalanche of kisses.

Minho shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant and not as scared as he really is. “Yeah, of course.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, clearing your throat. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Unable to help himself, Minho rolls his eyes. “How do you think I slept, Y/N?”

You immediately flush, realizing how obvious the answer must be. “I was just—”

“Checking on me,” Minho interrupts you, sounding more wounded than angry. “Right after you tell me that you think maybe we shouldn’t move-in together and that you aren’t feeling the same about us.”

You reach across the table to take Minho’s hands in yours. He can’t bring himself to wrench them free from your hold. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You did.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I just…” You trail off, gazing out the window. The campus is alive with the buzz of students waking up and going on about their days. It’s a gorgeous day for October, with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky— Minho hates it.

He looks away, not wanting to showcase how truly vulnerable he feels right now. “Why? Why this all of a sudden? Did I do something wrong?”

You start. “No!”

“Are you still upset about yesterday? I know everything is stressful right now, but I promise—”

You take a deep breath. “I can no longer trust you. I don't know if I’ll always be the only one. But it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Of course you’re my only one, what are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, the desperation creeping in. “No. I promise I’ll try. I’ll be better. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this together.”

You slam your palms down on the table, making it shake. It shocks both you and Minho into a moment of charged silence. “We’ll only grow to hate each other at this rate. I need to end things with you now.”

“Y/N, please. I- I don’t want to break-up.”

You flash Minho a broken smile. “I don’t want it either. But I need to do this, for both our sakes.”

You stand up from your chair, and Minho finally breaks. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he fell into a ravine while hiking and broke his arm. Minho, who didn’t cry even when he was cut from the line-up for his dream internship in New York City. Minho, who never cries, sits in front of you now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his sweatshirt.

“Don’t go, please.” He makes one last attempt at getting you to stay, grabbing onto the arm of your jacket. 

You gently shake him free, taking your purse. You’re crying now too. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Min.”

Minho lets his arm fall limply to his side as he hopelessly watches you leave as quickly as you came. He always hated saying goodbye after every time you went out, but the thought of being able to see you the next day helped a little bit. Now, there wasn’t even that.

“One… two… three.” 

Minho grunts in effort, sweat slowly dripping down his neck at the arduous pace of each repetition.

“Keep going, Minho. You’re almost there,” Changbin says, leaning over Minho and supporting him on the bench press.

Minho barely hears him, flexing his biceps up and down, exhausted, yet determined to finish a set. He’s done nothing at all for the past few days, strangled with the inevitable grief of being broken up with. Minho sullenly welcomed trudging back and forth to classes. He went to bed early and slept in for as long as possible, and barely ate anything during the meals Chan forced him to have.

However, Chan finally became fed up with Minho’s mopiness, employing Changbin to drag him out to the gym and make him work out his feelings. And so, as he struggles under the backbreaking weight of the barbell, he yearns to feel a sense of accomplishment about something— anything.

“Ten! You’re done.” Changbin gently places a hand on Minho’s arm, willing him to stop, but Minho keeps going without toning down his pace.

Minho feels the excruciating ache burning in his muscles, the slow agony of pain rippling through him. Is this how you feel? Is this how much it hurts to love him? If so, he wants to live it over and over again, atoning for the reason you left him. He blames himself for letting you go, of course, but mostly for making you feel like you had to leave in the first place. He should have been a better man for you. 

“Minho, stop!” Changbin lifts up the weight in his own hands, racking it and staring down accusingly at his charge. “Are you crazy? You could have hurt yourself.”

“You lift more than that, and you’re fine. Give me that.” Minho reaches for the barbell once more, but Changbin places it on an even higher hook, forcing Minho to get off the bench.

“I’ve been doing this for years. You started after your girlfriend dumped you, four days ago.”

Minho rolls his eyes, picking up his towel and dabbing at his dampened skin. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You were already thinking about her anyway.” Changbin pats Minho’s shoulder, grabbing his bottle of green juice and walking over to the rowing machine to start his own workout.

Without further protest, Minho retreats to the locker rooms, wondering if he’s being that obvious. Minho gazes into the clouded mirror, inspecting himself for any signs of sadness, but all he receives is an eyeful of his general look, a guarded expression that reserves smiles only for those who deserve it. Weird. Maybe Changbin is just telepathic.

Minho shoves his belongings into his gym bag and heads out of the gym, back to nowhere else but Chan’s apartment, his temporary home until he finds a better place to stay. After all, he thought you both would be moving in together, but plans change. 

As Minho makes his way down the sidewalk that leads to the university off-campus housing complex, someone throws a soccer ball into his path. Great.

“Hey, can you pass that over here?” 

Clenching his jaw in annoyance, Minho kicks at the ball as hard as he can, not caring about where it lands. He ignores the person’s confused shouts and keeps walking until he reaches his destination, not acknowledging any of the strangers he passed by. What does it matter, anyway?

“Gym go well?” Chan looks up from the cutting board, setting down his knife and wiping his hands on a dishrag.

Minho sighs, neatly fixing his bag next to his current post, the sofa. “It was fine. I’ll go clean up and be right back.”

“Hurry! Dinner’s almost ready,” Chan calls as Minho heads inside the bathroom, locking the door and cranking on the shower. 

Minho feels his body relax as he steps under the steady stream of water, but his mind remains tense. He’d gone to the gym with Changbin today because he thought he’d be able to get some peace of mind and forget about everything, but evidently, that hadn’t worked. All he can think about is you, you, you. He’ll deny it to his friends for as long as he can, but he isn’t sure how long he can keep lying to himself.

As he finishes, Minho steps out of the steamy bathroom and into the bedroom, drying off and quickly changing into his clothes. He walks into the dining area, where Chan has set up two bowls and is ladling pasta into each of them. When he was younger, Minho’s mother used to tell them that a good meal could ease a troubled heart. For her sake and Chan’s, he decides to eat well today, just for living.

Enveloped in a comfortable silence, Minho and Chan dig in, enjoying the spicy, cheesy penne that serves as an instant comfort food. 

“Thanks, Chan,” Minho says, looking up from his bowl.

Chan swallows his bite and pauses, placing down his fork. “For what?”

Minho shrugs awkwardly, trying to find the right words. By now, he knows he’s no good at speaking his heart. “For being there for me. For feeding me. Everything, I guess.”

“And for making Changbin haul your ass to the gym.” Chan grins at Minho, nothing but warmth in his kind eyes. “What are friends for, brother?”

Even though he feels kind of crappy, Minho smiles. “Yeah, man.”

Chan reaches over and smacks Minho’s back, laughing the sentiment off. But deep inside, Minho knows that Chan understands him. Whatever happens, his brother will be by his side. He tells that to himself over and over again, through dinner and the TV show that Chan turns on, until he starts to believe it. 

The next morning, Minho wakes up after finally getting a good night’s sleep. The much needed rest spurs him on to message you, something he’s been putting off for a while now.

catservant98: did you wake up? catservant98: how are you doing? catservant98: ??

You don’t reply to any of his texts. Minho knows that you’re not much of a morning person, but you would never miss class, so you have to be up. Every Thursday and Friday, both of you have Writing Seminar together, a course that is mandatory for every senior student at the university you both attend. When he first received his schedule, he had been elated that he shared a class with his girlfriend. Well now you are his ex-girlfriend, and he doesn’t know that being in the same room and unable to speak with you is a great option.

Nevertheless, Minho tucks his phone into his pocket, opening the door to the lecture hall. The moment he enters, his eyes find yours. You’re sitting in your favorite spot in the middle of the fifth row, but the seat next to you that Minho usually takes is already occupied by some other girl who’s busy reading a book. You didn’t bother saving him a seat, for the very first time.

You tear your eyes away from Minho’s piercing gaze, looking at the grassy lawn beyond the window behind you, leaving Minho to find a new seat. He sets his backpack down in the very back row, where no one else is, and sits alone, a sad new reality setting in. Thankfully, the professor enters and starts talking about some upcoming project, leaving Minho ample leeway to observe you. 

Your head is tilted down and you're focused on the open notebook in front of you. Although he can’t see your hand properly, he knows it’s moving as you sketch a little doodle onto the paper. It’s a habit that he always found enormously endearing, and as you tuck your hair behind your ear, Minho feels another pang in his chest. He will never be able to brush back your hair for you, ever again.

The moment class is over, Minho quits pretending he’s actually paying attention and hurries over to you before you can leave. You’re midway through stuffing your books bag in your bag when you notice Minho hovering over you. With a resigned sigh, you look up at him expectantly.

“I- I just wanted to check on you,” Minho says quietly, looking down at his hands like he’s a kid again, guilty of stealing a candy instead of impinging on your time. “And see how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been better.” You look away and stand up, gesturing towards the door. “I should go. Soyeon’s probably waiting.”

“Okay then.” Minho steps aside, letting you pass. You both had a lot of mutual friends; surely every interaction between you both will not be this awkward, right? 

Before you leave, however, you turn and look at him. “Let’s try to be civil and move on, okay? We’ll still be seeing each other a lot, so.”

Minho just stares at you, for a moment, before remembering himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s try.”

You curtly nod and walk out the door. Minho isn’t so sure that moving on is what he wants. Of course he wants to get along with you, because having you in his life and not being romantically involved is better than not being involved with you at all. But he wishes the world— time, you, and even himself— would understand that moving on meant this loss in his life. Shaking his head, Minho heads out of the classroom and towards a hopefully better day.

“Are you sure this isn’t a bad idea?” You worriedly scan the increasing mass of partygoers. Usually, you love a good party; spending time with friends and making new ones is one of your favorite things to do. Tonight, however, you can’t help the bad feeling building inside of you.

Sunoo loops your arm through yours, leading the way for you through the swanky flat, searching for a place to sit. “No, it isn’t. You deserve to have some fun.”

“What if I see Minho?” You ask him, but you already know the answer. Of course Minho is coming to Jihyo’s birthday party; unfortunately, both of you were in the same large friend group, an aspect of your relationship that you used to cherish. Now, not so much.

He looks over at you, a challenge in his eyes. “And so what if you do? You told him you wanted to be civil. So be civil.”

“Right.”

You both find a place by the food tables, where boxes of pizza have already been opened to entice guests and bottles of beer chill in the cooler. After congratulating Jihyo and helping yourself to a few slices, you sit down on the couch next to Sunoo, trying to enjoy your dinner. After boba, pizza is your most favorite food on the whole planet, but even that can’t seem to soothe your nerves. You wish Soyeon were here too, but she’s stuck studying for an exam.

Noticing your restlessness, Sunoo whistles to a few people mingling nearby. “Hey, who wants to play Truth or Dare!”

Although outdated, Truth or Dare is a certified party hit for stressed college students like you all, especially if there’s alcohol involved. You’re just thankful for the distraction. Everyone quickly huddles around, buzzing in anticipation of either a comedy show or secrets being revealed.

“I’ll go first.” Chan says, stepping forward. If he’s here, so must be Minho. “Truth.”

Sunoo rubs his hands together in thought before piping up. “What’s your beef with your Student Council co-president?”

Chan immediately tenses, his cheeks turning red. “Shit. I’ll drink on that.”

Everyone whoops with laughter and cheers as Chan downs his beer, setting the cup down with a sour expression on his face due to the bitterness of the drink. He must really hate his co-president. The game continues, before you’re the only person playing who hasn’t gone yet. Unfortunately, your questioner is Mark Lee, a junior that’s notorious for his nosiness. You brace yourself for whatever invasive question he’ll come up with, but you aren’t as quite prepared as you think.

“Why did you and Y/N break up?” 

“Huh?” You follow Mark’s gaze to see him looking at Minho, who joined the game without you realizing. The question was meant for him, not you.

Minho says nothing, giving Mark the opportunity to keep talking. “I mean, weren’t you guys the golden couple of campus or something?”

Everyone quiets down, zeroing in on you and Minho for all of the wrong reasons. Minho’s eyes dart over to where you sit, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You feel your skin prickle and your body heat up, the stress clouding your senses once more.

“This is stupid. Game’s over,” Minho declares while getting up, and everyone disperses, not willing to argue with him.

You stare down at your lap as Sunoo places an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea Mark would ask that. What an asshole.”

“I’m fine.” You stand up, brushing off your skirt. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sunoo offers.

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll come back.”

After getting some water, you wind through the impromptu dance floor that has now taken over the living space, everyone jamming to the raging music that thumps through the loud bass speakers that Jihyo had installed into her flat. You dodge a couple grinding up against each other and a pair of best friends swinging to the beat. Before you head back to Sunoo, you’re about to find temporary reprieve out on the balcony, but like a cruel universal joke, you see exactly what you fear most.

Minho leans against the railing, the evening breeze ruffling the chestnut hair that frames his handsome face. And next to him stands Minju, twirling her hair around her fingers while listening to what Minho is murmuring to her. Yours and Minju’s eyes meet, and she gives you the faintest hint of a satisfied smirk. Your heart drops and your feet want to give out right then and there, but you would rather die than fall apart in front of both of them. You turn on your heel and blindly march to wherever will rid you of the sight of the person you love the most speaking to the person you hate the most. 

That destination turns out to be the kitchen, as you march in and huff out loud as your body hits the kitchen island. There’s no one else there except for one other person with his upper body hidden by the refrigerator, obviously raiding it. At the sound of someone else entering, he shuts the fridge door and looks over at you. Taking in his faded pink hair and beat-up converse sneakers, you vaguely recognize him from somewhere.

“I was just looking for some carrot juice, that’s all.” The guy shoots you a sheepish smile. “I don’t do booze past 9 p.m.”

“Carrot juice? Don’t tell me you’re a fitness freak.”

He raises his hands in faux surrender. “Guilty. But outside of the gym, I’m Kang Taehyun. Or Terry, if we’re acquainted, and hopefully you and I will be by the end of the night. So call me Terry.”

You’re intrigued by this carrot-loving stranger. “I’m—”

“Y/N, I know. We have Writing Seminar together.” Terry smiles as the recognition hits you.

You slap your palm against your forehead, wondering how you could have missed him. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was always too distracted in that class.”

He waves your apology off with a twist of his wrist. “No worries. Besides, you’re a lot more memorable than me.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

In the brief silence that follows, you gaze up at the pattern of the tiling on the countertops, toying with the hem of your skirt. Once again, your thoughts flit over to Minho, wondering if he’s still talking to Minju. Terry notices you spacing out and speaks up. “Hey, are you okay?”

You look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, everything feels like too much, and you’re overwhelmed with your own emotions. You feel yourself tear up, and you’re immediately mortified for breaking down in front of someone you just met. 

Unfazed, Terry crosses over to you in three quick strides and gently touches your arm, concerned. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You swipe at your eyes, trying to collect yourself. “No, it’s not you. I broke up with my boyfriend recently. And it’s been… bad. God, this is embarrassing.”

Terry dips his head in understanding. “I noticed you weren’t sitting next to him as usual in class earlier today. Minho— that's him, right?”

You let out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Well…” Terry trails off, and you fear you’ve ruined the mood with your depressive recollection, but he smiles at you. “I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me. I have a fear of mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

A giggle escapes your mouth at the absurdity of his confession. “What?”

Terry nods solemnly. “Yes. Technically, I have a fear of visiting the dentist, but mint choco is close enough to the taste of toothpaste to give me the chills.”

You grin at Terry, the down atmosphere slowly fading away. “What do you like, then?”

“Water slides. Pleasure reading. And caramel popcorn with extra caramel.” Terry flexes his bicep. “Even a fitness freak needs his sugar fix.”

You roll your eyes in good humor. “You’re really something, aren’t you, Kang Taehyun?”

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.” Terry runs his hand through his bubblegum hair, carelessly mussing it up. You find the messiness of his bangs absolutely adorable.

“It is.” You tap your nails against your cup, trying to think of something to say next. Generally, you have no difficulty in keeping a conversation going, but Terry seems to be content with that role in this one.

“Are you an Apple or Android kind of person?” Terry inquires.

You take a sip of your water, raising your eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I was trying to think of a good way to ask you for your number.” Terry shrugs, that playful smile that you’ve now become familiar with coming back.

You return it. “You just did.”

Both of you exchange cell phones and type in each other’s contact information. When finished, Terry slides your phone back into your palm, and you don’t miss the light touch of his fingers against your own.

“I have to go find my friend now, Terry. But I’m glad I met you. Don’t forget to spam me with more weird facts about yourself.”

Terry laughs. “I won’t. Like I said, Y/N, you’re not easily forgettable.”

You hide your smile and leave the kitchen, lost in your own world, even as you run straight into Sunoo, who asks you what took you so long. When you finally get back to the warmth of your own room after the party, you sit down to get some homework done before bed. You notice your favorite keychain, a little cat charm, hanging off your ID card lanyard that’s strewn across your desk. Minho gifted it to you last year, stating that you needed something to remind you of him when he wasn’t there. After a moment’s hesitation, you unclip the charm from the lanyard and tuck it away inside your desk. You don’t need the reminder right now.

terrypotter: hey, good morning!! this is terry from yday btw bobaluvrr: hii!  bobaluvrr: omg ur user <3 i love harry potter too!  terrypotter: this friendship was meant to be.

You throw off your covers, hopping out of bed. Last night was proof that things could start out horrible and end well. You meant what you said to Terry; you’re happy you were able to meet someone like him. Even though you both only hung out for a few minutes, talking to him felt relaxing and uncomplicated, less of a puzzle and more like a game, unlike how it felt with Minho. You were tired of always guessing Minho’s thoughts, and so Terry’s habit of speaking his mind feels incredibly refreshing.

terrypotter: here’s a thought- coffee @ morningstar?  terrypotter: they make a mean breakfast bagel too, if ur up for it

You frown down at your phone, the lighthearted feeling fading into uncertainty. You are glad that Terry named this new acquaintance as a friendship, but still, he’s a boy— and a good looking one at that, too. You aren’t sure if getting coffee entails something potentially romantic down the lane, and if it does, it feels wrong, especially so soon after Minho. You definitely haven’t moved on, yet. After all, you once believed that Minho would be the man you would marry one day, and a tiny part of you still dreams of what could be.

bobaluvrr: i can’t :( promised my roommates breakfast terrypotter: aw that’s too bad

After a moment of thought, however, you text him again. 

bobaluvrr: but i’ll save you a seat in class today! terrypotter: see u then :) 

Strangely buzzed, you make your bed and get ready for the day, trying not to think of the fact that Minho is also in Writing Seminar with you and Terry. You don’t want him to give him the wrong idea, but then again, you both weren’t together anymore, so what does it matter? 

After showering and getting dressed, you stand in the kitchen so that the excuse you gave Terry won’t be a lie, scrambling a few eggs in the frying pan that Minho bought you last year. As the designated chef in your relationship, Minho used to cook for you all the time, whenever you came over to the apartment he shared with Chan and Jisung. Whenever he visited you, however, he complained that there weren’t enough proper cooking supplies for him to create a “proper culinary experience” for you, so he insisted on buying you some. 

When you nearly fainted, looking at the receipts for everything he bought you, he promised that you could make it up to him by bringing everything with you when you moved in with him. That’s how he very smoothly asked you to move in with him, and you accepted by attacking him with kisses. You both planned to find an apartment as soon as possible, since Jisung wanted to move-in with his best friend, and Chan was looking for his own place. The reminiscing smile on your face fades away when you remember that everyone’s plans came to fruition except for yours and Minho’s.

You don’t know if it’s the universe looping Minho into your life again and again, or if your treacherous heart just misses him so much that you can’t help but subconsciously cling to every last remnant you have of him. The sensible side of you knows it’s the latter scenario. 

“I smell food.” Sunoo ambles out of his room, looking like a lovable yet scruffy teddy bear. 

He tries to sneak a piece of fried egg from the pan, but you quickly push his hands away, wrinkling your nose. “Go brush your teeth first. I’m going to throw up.”

Sunoo rolls his eyes sleepily, but obeys, before Soyeon also comes out of her bedroom. Unlike Sunoo, however, she’s all dressed and ready for business, clad in her uniform of baggy jeans and a badass leather jacket that you adore. Soyeon pulls out three glasses and starts juicing a couple oranges to complete your meal, as you start plating the food.

“Thank you, my angel,” Soyeon blows you a kiss as you set the eggs and some slices of buttered toast on the table. You wink back at her as you both take your seats and Sunoo comes out to join you, still wearing his pajamas.

“And you, lazy ass? Wake up earlier so you can help out more. You never do anything.” Soyeon smacks Sunoo’s arm, hard, eliciting a cry out of him.

“Hey! I take on the emotional support role in this house,” Sunoo replies, aggressively biting into his toast.

“This is an apartment.”

Your two roommates trade their usual insults back and forth as you tune them out, picking at your own plate. Maybe it had been a bad idea, asking Terry to sit next to you. And it wasn’t even about how you could already envision your ex-boyfriend’s beautiful eyes full of betrayal, but more of how you’re coming off to Terry. What if he got the wrong idea, that you both were heading into something more than a friendship?

When you’ve escaped Sunoo and Soyeon’s bickering, you plug in your earbuds and walk to the lecture hall. The sound of your morning mix fills your ears as you enter your own world. While you cherish the people in your life more than anything, you treasure the times when you can slow down and just appreciate the fact that you’re alive and healthy. Gratitude isn’t something you feel a lot, especially taking into account recent happenings, but maybe you’ll start now. A new friend is always something to be thankful for—

You hear someone calling out and immediately pull out your headphones to see Terry next to you. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Terry falls into a synchronized step with you. “Did I interrupt any deep contemplation? The look on your face was pretty intense.”

You shake your head, accepting the coffee that Terry hands to you. “Thank you. And no, you didn’t. It’s nice to see you again, Terry.”

Terry smiles, sipping from his own cup. “Likewise. Ready for class?”

You’re about to naturally give him an affirmative answer, before you halt, remembering yet another moment with Minho.

“Who the hell is he?” Minho glowers threateningly at the guy next to you, pulling the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows. The man quickly rushes out of the bar and into the rain, without even bothering to open the umbrella in his hands. 

You sigh loudly while Minho sits down on the stool the man was just perched on. “Was that necessary, Min? Poor guy just wanted to ask me about the book I’m reading.”

“That’s the pretense that all guys put up when they’re trying to hit on a girl.” Minho slides his arm around your shoulders, and despite your mild annoyance, you melt into his touch. He smells like a mix of cologne, rain, and fresh cotton sheets.

You look up at Minho through your eyelashes. “Is that what you did when you asked me out?”

Minho smiles lovingly at you. “I didn’t have to. You were down bad for me already.”

You shove him away in mock offense. “You were the down bad one! I remember your whole cheesy speech.”

“I don’t recall anything like that.” The smirk on Minho’s face fades in favor of a deep blush.

Laughing, you press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips, and he quickly reciprocates. The truth is, you both were impossibly down bad for each other. And to be even more honest, you enjoyed it when Minho got like this; the feeling of being Lee Minho’s girl will never not excite you, especially when he was the one keen on enforcing it.

You sigh to yourself. While that was a pleasant memory without the context, you aren’t so sure it’ll be cute this time, when Minho reacts to you and Terry.

Terry holds the door open to the lecture hall, letting you go in first before shutting the door behind him. Most of the class is already assembled there, setting up their desks before the professor starts. You see that Minho’s also sitting, perched in the back again, but he seems busy rifling through his bag, looking for something. As you take your own seat, you don’t know if you feel relief at Minho not saying anything, or disappointment that he didn’t notice you at all.

Throughout the duration of class, you and Terry giggle together over the professor’s infamous random rants, but your mind keeps flitting over to Minho. You can feel his gaze on you and Terry, but when you turn, you see him immersed in his notes like he wasn’t looking at you in the first place, and you end up feeling stupid. Fearful of what Minho— or really, you— might do, as soon as class ends, you grab Terry’s wrist and practically pull him out of the door, ready to get out of there. Terry doesn’t question it, understanding the rationale for your actions. You appreciate that about him.

To make it up to Terry, you take him out to lunch, choosing a restaurant downtown. You love the views of the riverfront there, as well as their renowned spicy food. You block out the memory of all of the times you and Minho walked over here, hand in hand. You are entitled to lunch at your favorite restaurant, you remind yourself. Once you’re seated, the waiter comes over to your table.

“Chef’s special soup, please. Level-three spice,” you tell the waiter.

The waiter writes down your orders and walks away, leaving Terry to look at you with an amused expression. “Level-three? The food here is already spicy.”

You cross your arms. “I have a very high spice tolerance.”

“Alright.”

In no time at all, your waiter is back, setting down the food in front of you both. Terry immediately digs in, shoveling liberal spoonfuls of his mild fried rice into his mouth, leaving you to stare at your soup. You can practically smell the red pepper in the steam rising out of the bowl.

“Here’s my last warning before destruction,” Terry says, squeezing a lemon onto his rice. “Try some rice.”

You sit up, trying to look self-assured. “Nonsense. I can do this.”

Of course, you wish you hadn’t bragged so much, barely a few seconds after your first sip of the spicy broth. Your eyes start to tear up involuntarily, and Terry fills a glass of water from the iced pitcher and hands it over to you. You accept it, clumsily tipping the cool water into your mouth, as Terry gives you a knowing smile.

“Aren’t you overdoing it?”

The spoon in your hands nearly falls onto the floor in your shock at Terry’s words. “What did you just say?”

Terry gives you an odd look. “Um, I said, ‘aren’t you overdoing it?’”

You take a deep breath, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. But you know that they’re not completely due to the soup. “Wow.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Terry hands you a napkin, worry written on his face. He signals for the waiter to refill the water pitcher.

You smile ruefully. “Yeah, I will be.”

“I can handle it, Minho.” You give him a glare, placing the napkin on your lap and scooting closer to the table. It’s your first date with Minho, and you want to impress him so bad.

Minho nudges your leg with his own, and you try not to look flustered. “It’s okay if you want to order something else.”

You stubbornly dig your spoon into the bowl, gathering a large helping of broth and noodles onto it. “You like the soup here. So I want to eat it too.”

He just laughs, watching intently as the clear signs of regret manifest on your face. “Told you so.”

"What are you talking about?” You narrow your eyes, unwilling to admit defeat, even though you really, really want to. You drink the soup in careful spoonfuls, pretending it’s too hot, but you struggle to speak even in between tiny sips. “This… is.. so… delicious.”

Minho is now hysterical, losing his mind laughing at the look on your face when you bite straight into a whole jalapeno. “Aren’t you overdoing it?”

“Minho, you’re so mean!” You can’t bear it any longer, the tears gushing down your cheeks while you also laugh in both pain and genuine happiness at being here with Minho, at making him laugh. 

“Alright, alright.” Minho quickly goes and gets a large glass of chilled apple juice from the bar, handing it to you. 

When you’re finally calmed down, you wipe your mouth with your napkin and set the spoon down, metaphorically waving a white flag. You skip straight to dessert, opting to soothe your taste buds with cold ice cream, all while watching Minho in awe as he easily finishes his own bowl of soup. After paying for dinner, Minho takes you to a secluded section of the rocky beach bordering the river that runs straight through the city. You both walk in a comfortable silence, still at that point where your hands slightly touch as you walk, unsure of just holding each other like you so want them to. 

You look over at Minho, suddenly self-conscious. At this point, you see no point in faking anything; he’s seen you literally sob over a bowl of soup. “About the soup… I promise I’m not a braggy show-off. Honestly, I just wanted to impress you. Guess I did the opposite, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho shakes his head, all laughter from before gone. “I’ve never met someone who ate a bowl of soup here just because I like it. Not even Chan would try it, and he’s my best friend.”

You blush, illuminated by the combination of the moonlight and the glittering city surrounding. “Thank you.”

Minho stops walking, turning around to face you. “I know I told you this when I asked you to go out with me, but I suck at using my words, so I’m sorry.”

You copy his movement so you’re looking him directly in the eye. “I understand you, words or not.”

Minho looks down at the rocky ground, secretly fighting his own insecurities. “I’m trying, but I… I admit I’m not great at this.”

You try not to show how utterly charmed you are by his bashfulness. “To be honest, neither am I. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever gone out with. Nobody’s really been into me before.”

“Seriously?” Minho looks shocked. 

You now wonder if divulging that information in him was wise. Definitely not. “Yeah.”

Minho kicks a pebble into the river, watching it sink into the water. “Idiots.”

You blink. “Sorry?”

He scoffs, looking back at you. “I don’t know what kind of idiots you were hanging around before. How could no one be into you?”

You shrug, embarrassed. Your heart feels heavy, thinking of the things people used to say to you, thinking they were being funny but not realizing how much mere words were hurting you. “I’m kind of undateable, I guess. People tend to gravitate towards Soyeon. They say I’m more of the comedic relief. I don’t blame them, though. She’s perfect.”

Minho gives you an unreadable expression. “You have no idea.”

“Of what?”

He crosses that miniscule space between you both, answering you in a different way than you expect. His lips are full and sweet, and he tastes like your coffee ice cream that he stole a few bites from. The surprise you harbor quickly melts away when you shut your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his around your waist. If it took this long to find the right person, then so be it. And you don’t know if you can say that this— your first kiss ever— is like the movies; it feels even better. 

“I may not be good with words, but I can say this: you are perfect.”

“You look kind of stupid,” Hyunjin says, cackling at Minho’s struggle to look over the top of the box in his hands while coordinating his movements. 

Minho gives Hyunjin a sharp look in response. “And you look ready to go into the air fryer.”

Hyunjin immediately tosses his phone aside and scurries over to where Minho is, taking the box out of his hands and transporting it into Minho’s designated bedroom with ease, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he goes. Minho smiles to himself, satisfied. 

He follows Hyunjin into the room, finding the latter boy dramatically smoothing out the bedsheets and straightening the pillows. Hyunjin side-eyes Minho’s entrance, earning him a smack on the backside and a great reason to get out of the room, leaving Minho in peace.

Minho quickly unpacks, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them in the closet, before organizing the rest of his belongings around the room. When he finishes, he falls back onto his new bed, staring up at the ceiling fan and observing it whir. Out of everything that’s happened, he knows he should be thankful; although Hyunjin is the designated comedian of their friend group— along with Jisung, of course— he values his privacy incredibly. So when Hyunjin offered to rent out a room in his apartment to Minho, he couldn’t believe his luck. Then again, he wishes he wasn’t in this position to begin with.

Earlier today, Chan insisted on going out to catch the football game that their university hosted. Minho had agreed, with nothing better to do— besides, he noticed that Chan was also having a rough start to his day, after being locked in the campus library all night with his co-president that he always conflicted with. Chan had stayed quiet for the entire time, staring out the window on the ride to the home game, but at least he had a happy ending. By the end of the game, things had changed for Chan, and for the better: he’d amended things with his co-president, and of everything that could have happened, they even emerged from the stadium as a couple. For Minho, however, things had been quite different.

Namely, there’s a new replacement for Minho. He saw you walk into class with Kang Taehyun yesterday, and he’d been so anxious to not let you see his reaction that he immediately busied himself with his backpack. The entire time, however, he was watching you both whisper to each other during class. He darkly observed Taehyun scribble something onto the corner of your notebook, and it had made you laugh. That was what Minho used to do all the time. By the end of class, Minho considered confronting you right then and there, without caring about anyone else, but you ran out of class with Taehyun before he could even move.

And to make things even worse, he saw you and Taehyun together at the game. Minho had to resist the urge to march down to your section and slap the flirtatious smile off of Taehyun’s face. But more than anything, he wanted to ask you if it was true. Did you really already start to move on with a new man? Is Minho really that replaceable to you?

“Hey, what are you up to?” Hyunjin cautiously sticks his head into the room, snapping Minho out of his reverie.

“Nothing much. What’s up?”

Hyunjin steps into the room, his silky shirt and pressed trousers a stark contrast to Minho’s soft blue t-shirt and gym shorts. “Wanna go to the convenience store with me? I ran out of snacks.”

“You and your snacks,” Minho teases, chasing after Hyunjin when he sticks his tongue in retaliation.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin successfully drags Minho into the convenience store, disappearing into the junk food aisles to get his fix and leaving Minho to wander around the store. Following the twisting row of frozen foodstuffs, Minho turns and crashes straight into you.

“Minho?” Your eyes widen.

Minho clears your throat, trying not to gaze at you like you’re a returned long-lost love. You are indeed lost to him, but he had class with you merely the day before. He needs to get a grip on himself. “You dropped this.”

He kneels down, picking up the tub of ice cream, and hands it to you after inspecting the flavor label. “Strawberry? You hate strawberry.”

You take it back hastily. “Yeah. You always loved it, though.”

That doesn’t satisfy Minho’s rampant irritation. “You wouldn’t even touch strawberry ice cream with a ten-foot pole before. What changed?”

“I just wanted to try something new,” you say, with what Minho observes as guilt.

Before Minho can respond, the person he wants to see the least rounds the corner and interrupts you both. 

“I promise, the strawberry ice cream here is amazing and— oh.” Taehyun walks up to where you are, standing slightly between you and Minho, before he looks down at you, ignoring Minho. “Am I interrupting something? I can go away.”

You shake your head, flaring the rage in Minho. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

“So you’ll eat strawberry ice cream with him, but not me.” Minho rolls his eyes, the humiliation inside him swelling like a balloon.

“Hey man, it’s nothing like that. I know she doesn’t like strawberry ice cream that much, but I practically threatened her to try it. J'adore strawberries,” Taehyun says in a joking tone, but Minho doesn’t miss the protective glint in his eye.

Minho has never been a violent person, but he balls his fists. The nerve. “Who the fuck even are you? You don’t know anything about—”

“What is your problem, Minho?” You cut in angrily. “If you’re mad at me, then be mad at me. Don’t take your frustrations out on Terry.”

What you said is perfectly sensible, Minho knows that. He doesn’t have anything against Taehyun at all; he doesn’t even know the guy. But all logic is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

“Terry?” Minho scoffs at the nickname. “You know what, I am mad at you. Because seriously? Kang Taehyun? He isn’t even your type.”

Before Taehyun can say anything else, you respond to Minho’s jab, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Right, because you were so perfect for me.”

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, and Minho starts in surprise— you’ve never talked to him like that before, ever. And neither has he. The regret is evident on your face as you shake your head, frustrated, like that came out wrong.

“I got the snacks!” Hyunjin announces suddenly, waltzing into the aisle, before he notices you standing there with Taehyun. “What’s going on here?”

You and Taehyun stay quiet, adding onto Minho’s misery. He wants you to say something, anything. He doesn’t even want an apology; he knows he absolutely deserved that insult. Still, Minho can’t help that horrible feeling rising inside of him.

“Let’s just go.” Minho turns on his heel and walks out of the store, before waiting to finish the conversation, Hyunjin following closely behind. He doesn’t bother looking back.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything to Minho, falling silent in the rapidly approaching night. At times like this, Minho prefers to be left alone. But he isn’t, really. Not with the truth leaning over his shoulder, like an angelic superego. He tries not to think of it, however, or the fact that his heart is falling apart so violently in his chest. Although you and Minho are not together anymore, you’ve both now fulfilled a milestone: hurt each other beyond repair.

The convenience store encounter with Minho left you feeling guiltier than ever, even more than when you actually broke up with him. You should have been more understanding towards Minho; after suddenly ending things, you appear out with Terry. Even though you don’t see Terry like that, you are well aware of how it can look to Minho. After all, you’d react similarly if you found out that Minho and Minju are dating. But you hadn’t, because you know that Minho would never do that to you. 

You sigh, shutting the door to your room and collapsing onto your bed. After the whole incident, the air between you and Terry had been pretty awkward. While you still don’t know much about Terry, including his intentions, the topic of a romance had never been broached until Minho did it for you. He’d walked you back to your apartment, before wishing you a goodnight. 

Your phone sounds with a text, and you pick it up, curling into your pillow. It’s Terry.

terrypotter: just checking up on you terrypotter: how are you doing? bobaluvrr: better, thanks for asking terrypotter: glad to hear  terrypotter: and i also want to say that i’m sorry for any role i might have played in what happened today bobaluvrr: you’re good, terry. it wasn’t about you. i’m sorry for bringing you in

There is truth to this. No matter how much it feels like third parties have an avenue in furthering the split between you and Minho, the problem has always been internal. It’s truly between you both, hence, you’re not a couple anymore.

bobaluvrr: let’s change the subject? terrypotter: ofc terrypotter: wanna play would you rather?

You laugh in spite of yourself. It feels good to laugh, to distract yourself, but Minho stays like a stubborn mirage in your mind. Nevertheless—

bobaluvrr: game on. terrypotter: beaches or mountains? bobaluvrr: beaches terrypotter: sweet or salty? bobaluvrr: are u kidding? my username? boba?? terrypotter: LOL sweet then bobaluvrr: yes. terrypotter: spring or autumn? bobaluvrr: spring, duh terrypotter: and lastly, dogs or cats? bobaluvrr: DOGS terrypotter: u are 100% correct terrypotter: all of our answers are the exact same LMFAO

You think back to your first date with Minho. Before the whole soup fiasco, the atmosphere had been so awkward while waiting for the soup to arrive. This was months of tension and pining between you both, and now that the apex had arrived, neither of you were sure of what to say. Without thinking, Minho broke the silence by randomly asking you if you liked dogs or cats better. You were automatically enchanted by the bashful look on his face. From there on, for every single question he asked you, both of you had the exact opposite answers. For the longest time, your differences had felt charming, before they weren’t. 

Terry, on the other hand, shares so many similarities with you, beyond the strawberry ice cream betrayal. Both of you are outgoing, have a similar sense of humor, and like to be unabashedly yourselves. If a romance did ever blossom between you and Terry, if your friendship lasts your current heartbreak, you could be happy with him, maybe. You would never be insecure, worrying about what’s going on in his mind, because he would talk to you directly. You appreciate that so much about him. But whenever you look into his eyes, or whenever your hand accidentally brushes his, you don’t feel that electricity that had always coursed through you when you were with Minho. You’ve been searching for it everywhere since, but that spark just isn’t there; Taehyun’s just not Minho. Your heart calls out to Minho, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t, and you can’t deny it any longer.

If there’s one thing that Minho has learned in the duration of his college years, it’s that work has no tolerance for those special ailments of the heart. His professors don’t give a crap about the fact that his girlfriend dumped him, or that his girlfriend has now apparently moved on with some pink-haired stud. No matter how much he wants to slam his laptop screen down and fall asleep to the rhythm of his shattered heart, he knows he can’t. His term paper will not write itself, and it matters, especially since he’ll be graduating this year.

“What will you do when we graduate?” You set down your iPad, flexing your fingers.

“A job at a good company. And then one day, my own business.” That familiar, dreamy look mists Minho’s eyes. 

You smile at him. “My handsome CEO.”

Minho tapped your nose with his finger, following it with a soft kiss there. “You are so cute.”

“I know.” You peek down at his notebook that’s full of graphs and lengthy strings of numbers. “This looks complicated.”

“Welcome to the life of a business and economics double major,” Minho laughs. “But you’re literally a pre-med student. I’m not going to complain when you have to memorize human anatomy and random proteins.”

“Don’t remind me.” You dramatically shudder, giggling at Minho. “But I don’t care, as long as one day, you’re CEO Lee, and I’m Dr. Lee.”

Your words shock both you and Minho, invoking a moment of charged silence. You both have never talked about getting married before. But before you can backtrack, a slow smile spreads across Minho’s face. “Dr. Lee… has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

You turn a bright red, but lean into Minho, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Definitely.”

Minho clears his throat and shakes yet another memory of you away, trying to concentrate on the email open in front of him. Just minutes ago, he’d received notice that he’d been chosen for a position at Google, following graduation. Fucking Google. Every business major would kill for a job at Google. And not only that, but his employer noted in the message that they usually don’t even extend offers this early in the year, but made an exception for him because they wanted him so much. 

For a moment, he forgot all about the angst of the previous day, giddily jumping off his bed in a rare display of emotion, even if nobody else was around. And then he reached for his phone, opening up your contact and preparing to type in a text to you; for months, you knew Minho was anxious about his application to Google. But then he remembers himself; he’s now someone in your past.

Minho swallows roughly, staring at the blank space where his response accepting the offer should be. A moment later, he decides he’ll respond to the email later. But he doesn’t even have any time to chide himself before he notices someone standing in front of him. 

“Minju?” 

She looks down at him, either oblivious to his confusion or choosing to ignore it. “Hey. Am I interrupting something?”

Minho nods, waiting for Minju to sit down and get settled into her chair, trying not to let his bewilderment show.

At Jihyo’s party, he had needed some air after that stupid game of Truth or Dare, and even worse, your reaction to the question asked of him. Minho had escaped to the balcony, hoping for a moment alone, when Minju approached him. When she launched into a conversation with him about school, Minho realized that you probably never told Minju about the break-up. So he excused himself as politely as he could, explaining that you and him both broke up. He never really considered Minju as his own friend, and did not expect Minju to pursue a relationship with him any further.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Minho.” Minju exhales, looking him directly in the eye. “I like you.”

Minho sits up immediately, shocked. “What did you just say?”

Minju purses her lips. “I like you, and I always have. Go out with me.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, the confusion fading into anger. “You’re Y/N’s friend. How could you do this to her? How can you even look at yourself?”

“You’re not together anymore, it doesn’t matter,” Minju says, her voice wavering.

He scoffs, packing up his belongings and shoving them carelessly into his bag. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Minju grabs the sleeve of Minho’s jacket as he turns to leave, desperation in her eyes. “Be with me instead. I’ll make you forget her.”

Minho shakes her free, giving her a look of both pity and disgust. “I still love her, and I always will.”

And with that, Minho leaves without looking back, walking slowly and deliberately in thought. Was this what you meant when you told him that you weren’t sure if you were the only one? Was Minju the reason for the love of his life leaving him? A strange mix of both fury and hope washes over Minho as he exits the library and breaks into a run, barely eight out of his eight-thousand word essay written.

After you broke up with Minho, you forgot one very crucial detail: you didn’t unlink him from your Google calendar. One of the few things you both share in common is your organization, and when you were together, you both loved to plan things together and very ceremoniously add them to your shared online calendar. It became a game, trying to guess where the other was at random times, judging by their schedule. More often than not, the calendar proved to be a very useful tool in pinpointing each other’s locations. It’s why the brief surprise of seeing Minho standing outside your apartment door in the middle of the day on a weekday fades away quickly. You don’t have any classes scheduled today.

“Y/N,” he pants, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Minho. What are you doing here?” You cross your arms, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug him in all of his puffer coat glory. You used to make fun of him for that coat, all the time.

“I needed to see you. Minju told me,” Minho lowers his eyes, as if he’s nervous. “I need you to know that there was nothing going on with her. You have always been my only one. I promise. No one else. I miss you.”

Your heart wrenches in desire and nostalgia at the sincerity of his eyes. Of course you knew that he never cheated on you; this is Minho. But that’s not the reason why you have to remind yourself, once more, that you aren’t right for each other. Not in the long run. “I miss you too. And I know you didn’t cheat on me.”

Minho’s eyes fill with what you recognize as a mix of despair and tears, because after all, you’ve felt it in you too, before. “Then why? Why end it?”

“I feel like you don’t love me as much as I love you.”

The wheels turning inside of Minho’s mind and searching for possible reasons, immediately crash to a stop. “What?”

You shrug, drawing back your hands to tuck them into your lap, a habit that Minho has observed whenever you are nervous. “Remember when we were at that picnic with all of your friends? And Jisung and his girlfriend were also there? We were playing a question game.”

Minho nods slowly, still confused. “I do.”

“Felix had asked all the guys to think of why they love their girlfriends.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “Changbin had a whole list of reasons. But when it was your turn to speak, you had no answer.”

The recollection comes back to Minho like a tsunami. He hadn’t really ever thought much of that day; he always had trouble talking about personal things in front of other people, and he thought you already knew why he loved you. He didn’t know his inability to share something like that could hurt you so much, especially when he can write a whole book of reasons for why he loves you. Your smile. Your endless generosity. Your never ending patience for Minho’s antics. The way you always see the best in people, and how you light up the whole room when you walk in.

“Baby,” Minho starts, before realizing that he doesn’t have the right to call you that anymore. Reluctantly, he continues, using your name instead. “Y/N, I have trouble talking in front of other people. I love you so much, and if you know that, it’s all that really matters. A stupid game doesn’t change that.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But see, Minho, I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re feeling half the time. Felix’s question was just the icing on the cake. I’m exhausted from wondering. Wondering if you love me. Wondering if I really know you. Just wondering all the time. I shouldn’t feel that way.”

I’ll try harder to be more open. I’ll work on myself. I just— please believe me.”

“I do believe that you’ll try, Min. It’s who you are. But I can’t force you to be someone you’re not, and you can’t force me to want different things. We’ll only end up hurting each other more.” Your eyes fill with tears. “It hurts to love you.”

Minho flinches at your words, and he sees the sorrow in your eyes, but you say nothing to soothe the burn. Nevertheless, he keeps trying, as if he didn’t notice the determination written in your gaze as well. “I know I was senseless. But please— I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t leave, not again.”

You look away from him, a single tear sliding down your cheek, as Minho tries to hold back his own. The whole scene feels disturbingly like a few days ago, when you broke up with him in Morningstar. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. 

“I tried to understand you. I did. But don’t you think that being senseless about everything that was going on also means that you were that indifferent towards me?” You scrub at your face to keep from crying even more.

Minho cringes, hearing the truth in your words. Once upon a time, he cherished the silence you both could share comfortably, working independently in the happy company of each other. Now the quiet hangs in the air like smog, a heavy uneasiness that he never imagined around you. “I really thought I could change. I swear.”

You nod, a brisk movement that doesn’t match the tears glistening on your face. “You should go now. Please.”

And you turn your head, as if you can’t bear to watch him any longer. Minho turns, his head hanging down like he’s a sinner. A small, ugly voice in Minho whispers that he truly is one, for hurting you and letting you go. It implores him to fall at your feet and stay, insisting, breaking at you until you crumble into his arms, taking him back. But the part of him that carries the resolve is stronger by a thread, the one that fuels his despondent retreat from your heart.

Later, holed away in the place he would now have to call his home, Minho is left alone in the bed that he’d once believed to belong to you as much as it did to him. The nights cuddled together and the mornings after, when you woke up to each other in a halo of sunlight, all fade away into the prickling solitude that now constitutes his new reality. There is nothing left for him to do now, except looking out at the sky through his tiny bedroom window, wondering if you were both gazing at the same moon in the separate worlds you both now are in. He’d left you one last message before promising himself that he’d never text you again, and thankfully, you never responded. He didn’t think you would.

catservant98: I’ll always love you.

“The festival will end by the time we get there.” Jeongin lets out an exaggerated sigh, making a show of checking the watch on his wrist.

“Shut up. I need to lock this place up properly or my parents will kill me,” Seungmin mutters grumpily, as he carefully turns the key in the lock to Morningstar, taking his time. “It’s not my fault that I’m the owner’s son.”

Jeongin, donned in a Harley Quinn outfit, bounces on his toes in uncontained anticipation. “Hurry up!”

Seungmin tugs at the lock for good measure, before turning and swatting at Jeongin, who yelps and jumps out of the way. His detective hat, which he wore as a part of his Sherlock Holmes costume, falls off, and Jeongin grabs it. Usually, Minho would have laughed at the way Seungmin has started to chase Jeongin around, but he just glumly stares down at his sneakers, having no energy to join in. 

“You okay?” Chan notices Minho’s downcast gaze, slinging his arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Minho shrugs with one shoulder, out of options. “I’m fine. I have nothing else to do anyway.”

Today is Halloween, your favorite holiday of the entire year. It seems especially cruel to him, to have to confront this day without you by his side. It was never much of his scene, and he’d always been reluctant to dress up, but one look from your pleading eyes and he’d fold, decking himself in a cheesy costume and feeding you all the candy you desired. The night would always end in you both binging horror movies together because you were too scared to watch alone. The memory of Minho getting distracted, just watching you hide behind your hands the entire time, used to bring a fond smile to his face. Today, it makes him want to smash something into bits.

“Let me know if you want to leave the festival early, though. Changbin can drive you home later.” Chan juts his chin out at Jeongin and Seungmin, who are now smacking at each other, while Changbin responsibly tries to pull them apart. “I have to make sure those two idiots don’t get in trouble.”

“Thanks. But you don’t have to worry about me.” Minho gives Chan a half-hearted smile. Chan looks hesitant, like he wants to keep talking with him, but he nods, focusing on the moonlit path in front of them. 

The roar of the annual Halloween festival that the university throws resonates throughout campus, drawing stressed students ready to throw aside their homework and party. But Minho is in anything but a celebratory mood; the last few weeks have been absolute agony. Ever since things fell apart. He just wants to go home and curl up into a ball under his covers, ready for this stupid night to be over. He didn’t even bother with a costume, choosing to stuff himself into his hoodie and make himself seem as small as possible. But he’s too tired to tell anyone, so he opts to stay quiet and gloomy on his own.

The gravel of the walkway crunches under their little group’s shoes, barely heard over the deafening sound of “Thriller” blasting on the DJ’s stereo. The entire main lawn of campus has been converted into a party space, crammed with different tents full of attractions, games, and souvenirs for students to indulge themselves in. There’s even a converted frat house that’s now a haunted house, as well as tables of snacks and lightsticks for people to wave around. Jeongin, Seungmin, and Changbin immediately zero in on the haunted house, running off to get tickets for it, leaving Minho and Chan alone. Two boys swaying together at the edge of the dance floor catch Minho’s eyes. He looks closer and notices that they both are dressed in an obvious couples costume, and it makes him think of you again— last year, he was Chucky and you were Tiffany Valentine, and you both won “Best Look” together, at the festival’s costume contest. Minho feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, she’s stunning.” Chan’s eyes are wide, and Minho follows his gaze to a very pretty girl dressed in a white gown that seemed to float above her knees, two trailing pieces of fabric sticking out daintily from the back of her dress. An angel. 

She approaches him with a shy smile on her face, as she not-so-subtly checks out Chan’s own dracula costume. “You look good.”

“I— you’re pretty,” Chan stutters, and they both blush. 

Seriously?

“Thanks, Chris.”

Chan smiles lovingly at her. “You don’t have to call me Chris, you know. My friends call me Chan.”

“Chan,” the girl tests with a beam, before quirking her brow at him. “So I’m just a friend now? Not your girlfriend?”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” 

And then they both start kissing right then and there, which doesn’t seem to faze anyone else around them, considering the fact that they are surrounded by other couples. Minho, however, has to look away, his stomach turning. Is this how everyone else felt when he used to kiss you, whenever and wherever he wanted? 

“Hey guys, I’m going to go find a place to sit,” Minho calls out to Chan, who barely notices in the midst of his make-out session. “You know what? Never mind.”

Cringing to himself, Minho makes his way over to the food tables, dodging at least five witches, seven ghouls, and six zombies on his way. He collapses onto the bench of an empty table with a groan, letting his head rest on the table before lifting it up like he’s been stung; the thump of the DJ’s bass seems to vibrate through the wooden tabletop, worsening his already horrible headache. What was he thinking, coming here?

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Minho looks up, ready to lash out at the intruder, before he notices it’s Hyunjin. He is so out of it that he hadn’t even recognized his voice. “I thought you were staying home and painting tonight?”

“Thought about it, but I kept getting distracted by all of the noise outside, and thought I’d take a snack break.” Hyunjin plops down on the seat across from him, setting a plate loaded with brownies, potato chips, and cookies cut into pumpkin shapes. He’s dressed in plaid pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt to fight the October chill, the only one besides Minho who hasn’t dressed up. “Want some?”

Minho shakes his head, watching Hyunjin dig in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Hyunjin nods, his cheeks stuffed with food. “Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Minho fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, feeling his face heat up. He was never one for sentiments like this, but even though he and Hyunjin have more of a seemingly lighthearted relationship, they’re more alike than they think in how deeply they care about each other. “I mean, you’ve never even had a serious relationship before, but you’re like the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met. How does that even work?”

Hyunjin looks surprised, at first, but quickly smooths it away in understanding. “I do get lonely sometimes. But I just occupy myself with the things I love. Painting, reading. Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I can’t be realistic. And I have been in a serious relationship before, remember?”

Minho frowns. “Oh. Right. What happened?”

He notices Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something— grief, maybe. But the emotion is quickly replaced with indifference. Hyunjin shrugs. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I love a good romance novel, but is it real life? No. I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

Minho stays quiet, unknowing of what to say. He never thought of himself as a huge relationship person either, but then again, that was before he met you. You changed his perspective on a lot of things, and most of the time, he thought it was for the better. Now, he feels empty, alone. He wants to match costumes with someone, and go bobbing for apples together. And he wants that someone to be you, only you.

Hyunjin must have noticed Minho’s melancholic contemplation, because he gives him a sympathetic look. “Is this about Y/N?”

Minho’s chest tightens at the mention of your name. “I don’t know, honestly. I just want to go home.”

“Same. I just came for the free food.” Hyunjin chews on a brownie, before swallowing. “Let’s go after I finish eating.”

Minho hums in response, pulling his hood over his head, as the rest of their group comes to join the table. Chan and his girlfriend, unsurprisingly, are discussing plans about some upcoming event for the Student Council. Jeongin and Seungmin, on the other hand, are immersed in a gleeful recollection about the haunted house with Changbin, who is dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. Everyone seems to have a role except him.

“That was actually wild,” Jeongin says. “If Jisung was with us, he would have fainted when he saw the chainsaw guy!”

Seungmin shudders, while Changbin glances around their table. “Hey, where is Jisung, anyway? And Felix?”

Chan breaks away from his own conversation as his girlfriend pauses to eat her slice of cake. “He’s handing out candy to kids at home. Meanwhile, Felix is Trick-or-Treating.”

Jeongin snickers. “Trick-or-Treating? What is he, ten?”

Seungmin grins evilly at Changbin. “At least he doesn’t have the height of a ten year old.”

Changbin rolls his eyes, but chooses to ignore Seungmin and Jeongin’s high-five at his expense, instead turning to Hyunjin. “Can I have a cookie? There are no more left.”

Hyunjin gives him a judgemental glare, but passes a cookie over anyway. “Where’s your girlfriend, by the way?”

Changbin stuffs half of the entire cookie into his mouth, licking the frosting on his lip. “She has work. But we’re going to meet up later tonight and watch movies. Wanna come?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m good. Minho and I are headed home soon anyway. Right, Minho?”

But Minho isn’t paying attention. His gaze is locked on none other than you and Taehyun, dressed in Hogwarts robes— you in Gryffindor, and Taehyun in Slytherin. He’s seen multiple people tonight sporting similar getups, and so both of you wearing Hogwarts robes doesn’t exactly entail a couples costume, but it makes his heart clench either way. Both of you are standing near the apple bobbing station, laughing and talking animatedly together. It hurts to see you enjoying yourself, while Minho has to struggle to keep himself together, to keep from breaking down on the spot. It hurts that he’s not the one matching with you right now, the one to be making you laugh, holding you on one of your favorite days of the year.

He watches as you and Taehyun walk closer to the haunted house. Your smile has now faded into an unsure expression, skeptical and tinged with fear. Taehyun puts his arm around your shoulders, evidently trying to assure you, before he leads you inside the house. Minho immediately springs up from the bench, fists balled up at his sides. You love everything about Halloween, except for one thing. You hate being in the dark, and so you had always avoided the haunted houses at every Halloween festival or any other event that you and Minho went to. Obviously, Taehyun doesn’t have a clue about your boundaries, and as always, you’re too kind to point them out.

Ignoring Hyunjin’s confused protests, Minho stalks after you and Taehyun, even though he knows that he should sit right back down. He told himself that he’d stay away from you if you didn’t want him, but if he even gets the slight sense that you are afraid, he’ll throw all reason out the window. He won’t let you go inside, not without him.

“Excuse me— you can’t go in right now. The haunted house is at full capacity.” The ticket collector stops Minho even though he shows her the ticket that Jeongin had passed out to everyone before. “Just wait for a few minutes for someone to come out.”

But he can’t. Not if you’re already inside. Minho steps back for a moment, and the collector glances back down at her phone. Before the collector can react, he rushes past her, running inside. She calls after him angrily, but he barely hears her. All he can register is the racing beat of his heart, and the faint screams deeper inside, wondering if one of them could be you. 

He whips past the ax-wielding maniacs and the corpse brides in tattered dresses, pushing past their horrible acting and all of the other props in his way to you. Minho feels his hoodie snagged against a cloud of fake cobwebs, and the fake blood on the walls is enough to make him gag, but he goes on. A desperate search in nearly every nook and corner yields nothing, and Minho curses the haphazard quality of the setup, nearly tripping over a loose wire. As he passes through a room decorated like a murderous hospital room, he hears a small whimper from behind the fake operating table. 

His senses perk up and there you are, sitting down with your knees drawn to your chest. With how his eyes have now adjusted to the dark, he can faintly make out your crouched body and the shine of your flowing tears. Immediately, he gets onto his knees, and envelopes you with his arms, firmly pulling you against his chest.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he murmurs, the scent of your coconut shampoo blocking out the stench of ammonia.

“Terry and I got chased by one of the ghosts and then got separated,” you mumble as you cry, shivering in his arms as he begins to rock you slowly. “I’m so scared, Minho.”

Minho looks at the tears still leaking down the sides of your face, and has to restrain himself from the instinct to kiss them away. Instead, he puts a steady hand to your skin, gently wiping them away. In this moment, you aren’t broken up. He isn’t your ex-boyfriend, and you aren’t his ex-girlfriend. You are the girl he loves, and him the very soul that has so vehemently devoted himself to even at such a ripe age, an inspiration and a shame to the vengeful spirits that govern your favorite holiday.

“I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you.” Minho gazes down at you. “Are you still frightened?”

You shake your head no, wide eyes clinging to his comforting presence. Minho gives you a small smile, rubbing your jaw softly with his thumb, a movement that doesn’t feel as inherently romantic as it generally would be. “See? You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re just scared of being alone in it. And that goes away when you realize something. You’re never really alone.” 

Both of you just gaze at each other in the dark for a few minutes, saying both nothing and yet everything to each other. He carefully rests his palm against your heart, gaging the beat until it slows down to its usual calm. Wordlessly, he helps you onto your feet, his arms still wrapped around you as you both navigate the maze of the haunted house. You don’t encounter any other of the actors, but at one point, you jump in Minho’s hold, spooked by the amplified horror sound when passing by a speaker. Steadily, you both make your way out together.

The first thing Minho sees as he steps out of the exit is the array of blinding lights that shine on his face, in addition to the glow of the raging bonfire that has now been set up for students to roast marshmallows. Then he catches that shock of pink hair in the small crowd gathered outside of the haunted house; Taehyun, distress written all over his features as he speaks to the security guards.

You and Minho, however, stay frozen on the spot, just staring at each other with a fresh uncertainty. Realizing himself, Minho lets go of you. Contrary to how you felt, Minho could always read you like a book. He practically memorized all of your expressions, able to tell how you were feeling in an instant. But the indecipherable look you give him is baffling, but before you can open your mouth and say something, Taehyun notices your arrival.

“Y/N!” Taehyun immediately rushes over, his breathing labored from sprinting the distance to you. “I’m so, so sorry; I lost you and tried to come back inside to find you, but they wouldn’t let me!”

Minho steps to the side awkwardly as Taehyun hugs you tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Your tears are long gone, and you pat his back softly, giving him the comfort of your safety. “I’m alright, Terry. It’s all good.”

Taehyun pulls back to look at you, before turning to Minho, surprise and confusion on his features as if just registering Minho’s presence. You clear your throat, placing a hand on Taehyun’s arm. “Hey, could you give us a minute?”

“Sure. Of course,” Terry says, the stress on his face softening as he looks down at you. Minho recognizes it— it’s how he always imagined himself to look whenever he saw you.

You turn back to Minho as Terry walks away to a food stand, presumably to get you a warm drink. “Minho, I—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Minho interrupts, unable to bear any more. He chokes back a sob, his eyes trained on your pained expression. “I need to go.”

“Minho, wait!” You grab his arm, and it places you both in the uncomfortable déjà vu of when everything ended. 

He looks back at you, swallowing his dread and pushing away the angsty alert of his brain, the command to let everything go and just take you back, then and there. But he wouldn’t be the man you had always loved, then. Not if he takes advantage of you when you’re like this, vulnerable and exhausted. Not when there’s a perfectly good man standing at a distance, hesitantly holding a cup of hot chocolate for you. Not when he knows that he’s lost his chance of ever getting you back from the moment he gave up on you both. Minho realizes that he doesn’t have the right to call you his anymore, when you’ve finally found a man who prioritizes you over his pride and his insecurities— a man who will treat you right, and will never make you wonder if you’re his only one. All he’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. That has to be enough for him. It will be.

Minho leans down before you can protest, kissing you on your forehead softly. You stay silent, looking up at him with those wide, inquisitive eyes, the very ones he fell in love with. “Stay smiling, always.”

And with that, Minho finally walks away, willing himself not to cry as he tries not to think of his heart breaking.

You watch Minho, dazed, as he walks away for the second and last time. It feels worse, somehow, than when he left your apartment, weeks ago. Minho had spoken to you so gently, inside the haunted house, calming you down in spite of the fact that you had so cruelly broken up with him, and then he proceeded to wish you his best, before leaving. You didn’t miss that note of finality in his voice, the one that told you that he wasn’t going to go back on his word. He had let you go.

You barely notice Terry approaching you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

He hands you a cup of hot chocolate, as you stare at Minho’s retreating back before it finally disappears within the crowd of partygoers. “Everything’s fine. Thanks for this, Terry.”

Terry blinks at you, slightly unfocused. “Yeah of course. But… can I ask you something?”

You nod, sipping the hot chocolate. It’s so warm and sweet, and it feels wrong to be drinking it. It feels like you don’t deserve it. 

He hesitates for a moment, before speaking up. “What happened in there? In the haunted house?”

You bite your lip, still distracted by the thought of Minho; Terry’s question doesn’t pull at you as much as it probably should. “He just found me and helped me back. That’s all.”

Terry looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and you don’t question it. The rest of the night is clouded by an awkward rut that has originated from nowhere at all, one that you never guessed you’d experience with Terry. He walks you back to your apartment early, and waits next to you as you fumble with your keys. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he says softly, as you finally wrestle your door open. 

“Thanks,” you whisper back, too drained of energy to make one of the usual jokes traded when you both say goodbye. He tips his head at you like he always does, albeit in a less jaunty way, and steps into the apartment elevator at the end of the hall, flashing you one last little wave before the doors close. 

You turn back to your apartment, walking inside and locking the door behind you once again. This time, you don’t go straight to your bedroom and drop onto your bed, like you always do after a horrible day. Instead, you stalk over to the kitchen, which is illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb. You tug open the freezer, fishing out a box from your emergency stash of ice cream, the one thing bound to be on stock at all times. When you went grocery shopping some time ago, you didn’t think that a crisis would hit so soon. 

Cracking open the lid of the chocolate ice cream, you take your scooper and place a bowl on the counter. After a second thought, you take out your blender as well, and scrape the ice cream into there instead, throwing in some milk and peanut butter as well. Tonight is a milkshake kind of night, you think, the kind that necessitates butterscotch chips and whipped cream as well, you note, opening the cupboard to get said ingredients. When you finish blending, you pour your icy salvation into a large tumbler and collapse onto the living room couch. You turn on the television, blankly staring at the screen while barely registering the dialogue playing. 

“That’s not a milkshake— that’s diabetes in a glass.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.” You shoot Minho a pointed look as you chug down your shake, savoring the sound of Minho’s laughter even more than a hefty peanut butter and chocolate combo. 

It isn’t until you taste saltiness instead of the sweet milkshake that you realize you’re crying. 

callmeterry: can we meet? bobaluvrr: yes. see u @ morningstar

You stare into the bathroom mirror, checking your face one last time, inspecting it for bloodshot eyes and dry skin, the telltale signs of the tears that have now become a habit over the past few days. Ever since Halloween, things haven’t been the same since you and Terry. Although a fairly new friendship, you both spent a significant amount of time together after meeting at Jihyo’s birthday party. However, you haven’t seen each other at all outside of Writing Seminar nowadays— probably because during class, you’re too busy staring at Minho, who won’t even spare you a single glance. You’re determined to at least save your friendship with Terry, which is why you are so quick to agree to meet him.

“Catch you two later,” you call out to Sunoo and Soyeon, who both are slumped on the couch, watching One Piece over boxes of takeout butter chicken. 

The journey to Morningstar doesn’t take long, especially since the vastly approaching night has gotten you nearly jogging, regardless of how safe your college campus is. Although it’s been nearly a month and a half, you still can’t get used to not having the security and comfort of your boyfriend. Serves you right, you think.

You enter through the glass doorway of Morningstar, the door chime ringing and announcing your entrance to Terry. He stands up from the table he’s sitting at, walking over to you with the  genuine smile that you were fearful of not being able to see again. Terry looks heartbreakingly handsome, dressed in a long brown coat and wool scarf, an ode to the plaid shirt days and hot chocolate nights that you know you could have with him.

“Hi,” he says, pausing his gait when he’s a few feet away from you. Tentative, but still Terry. The bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands, however, isn’t. 

You can literally feel your face fall, as you stare at the certainly expensive arranged red roses and lilies. “I—”

“Don’t.” Terry’s smile doesn’t fade, but the slight sheen of moisture to his eyes is new. “ I know. I’d rather not hear you say it. Please.”

You’re speechless as he hands you the flowers, the refreshingly floral scent wafting up and screaming at you to wake up. You had a feeling, you knew how Terry felt about you. But you didn’t think he’d act on those feelings so soon.

“You know, I’ve been in love with you since August. You walked into the very first day of class late, wearing this gorgeous pink dress— and God, I was so whipped. I even dyed my hair the same color.” Terry laughs lightly, but you can see the heaviness in his eyes, the same thing that you feel in your chest. “I didn’t approach you, though, because I saw the way you were looking at Minho.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Terry…”

“And then you walked into the kitchen at that party; it felt like a sign. But that can’t have been true, because the way you looked at him didn’t change. It never will.” He stops for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. “When you both broke up, I ignored my heart telling me not to dig myself deeper into this, to leave you alone. But I couldn’t, Y/N, because I thought that the risk would be worth it. And it was, you know. You are worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, at a loss for words. You don’t know what else to say, whether it’s a reaction to how your friend is pouring out his heart to you, or the fact that he’s always known that you’d never be his.

The smile on Terry’s face is now a sharp contrast to the strings of tears that mar it. “Don’t be. It’s Minho. It’s always been Minho for you.” 

He turns, but you rush forward and block him. You can’t lose someone else. Not again. “Terry, wait! Can’t we be friends?” 

“Of course we can be. I’d rather have you as a friend than not in my life at all. I’ll move on, eventually. But you have to go fix things with him now.” He flashes you another one of his signature beams. It doesn’t have the same joyful effect on you as it usually does, now that it’s tainted with sadness. “I’ll see you next class. Hold onto him, okay?”

Terry leaves, and you stare after him at the door, dumbfounded, haunting the entryway of the coffee shop nearing closing hours. You never saw this confrontation coming, not today. And you didn’t want it to happen any time soon, not like this. But no matter how much you want to deny Terry’s words, you know they are the truth. You know what you have to do. Because love works in strange ways, you realize, and now yours needs to be made right.

“We shouldn’t be here.” You say, shaking your head. “It’s dangerous.”

Minho just stares at you, his eyebrow skeptically quirked in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s literally just a bridge.”

You glare at him, before looking out at the arched walkway that connects the wooded expanse of the university library to the rest of campus. According to university lore, any pair of lovers that walks over Forsaken Bridge together is doomed to suffer an untimely separation; hence, its ominous name. And you would rather look stupid for believing in superstition rather than risk losing Minho. 

“It can’t be.” You cross your arms stubbornly. “I know so many couples that came here, and they ended up breaking up.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, just pondering your words, and you think he’s about to step back, allowing you to cross the bridge first, before following on his own. But then he grabs your hand, pulling you towards the bridge.

Your immediate reaction is to let out a small scream that cuts through the quiet night, and it’s quickly muffled by Minho’s hand gently closing over your mouth. “Trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen.”

You really want to remind Minho of what happened to Hyunjin and his girlfriend— well, ex-girlfriend— but you let him lead you towards your dreaded destination. Because you do trust him, more than anything. 

The balmy summer night sticks to your skin, a feeling that will soon give away to the crisp bite of autumn. You’ve already moved back onto campus to get a headstart on the teaching assistant position for your biology professor, but for the first time ever, you don’t feel sad or apprehensive at the thought of going back to college again. This was the gap in time that you once despised because it signaled the unfortunate trudge of school life: textbooks, homework, and stress. But nowadays, you think it to be a reminder of something better: Minho, Minho, and Minho.

Your boyfriend takes an easy step onto the bridge, his hand tightly clasped in yours. You trail after him more cautiously, hiding behind his broad frame like the bridge will come alive and attack you. “You better not ever break up with me, Lee Minho.”

He turns back to look at you as you both near the center of the supposedly cursed bridge, his lips pressed together in a way that suggests concealed laughter; knowing him, it probably is. “Never. Now close your eyes.”

With a grumpy sigh, you oblige him, shutting your eyes. “For what, Minho?”

“I need to tell you something.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable. It’s a new color to him, compared to how assured and confident he always seems to be.

You crack open one eye, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

He frowns, letting go of your hand. “No peeking!”

“Okayy.”

Minho takes a deep breath, right before he turns your world upside down. “I love you.”

Your eyes fly open, and Minho doesn’t complain this time, only gazing at you nervously, clutching his right arm with his left hand like he’s a little kid again. “What did you just say?”

Regardless of his uncertain body language, he looks you directly in the eye. “I love you, Y/N. And I know it’s too soon to say it, but it’s true. I love you, and you don’t have to tell me back, but—”

“I love you too,” you blurt out, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, in mutual shyness and surprise. You can’t believe how good it feels to finally say the words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue for the past few months since you started dating.

Minho’s beautiful face breaks out into a dazzling smile as he steps closer to you. “Then let’s make our own story for this bridge. Two people crossing the bridge together will be lifelong friends. And if they kiss, lifelong lovers.”

Your poor, racing heart can’t take anymore of this; what a man that you have found. “Kiss me, then.” 

Minho gives you a tender look, and in that moment, you wish you had a camera to capture it. You can’t seem to remember your initial fear of coming onto this bridge, not when you have a beautiful boy who gazes at you with nothing short of absolute adoration. You’ll follow him anywhere, if it means you’ll stay together. Always and forever.

From when you were a little girl, your parents painted fairy tales for you in your childhood bedroom, of handsome princes mounted on midnight stallions and towering castles set against sunsets. For the longest time, you thought them to be true, because by the time you might have grown up, you found your own handsome prince, who rode a secondhand bike instead of a horse, and his castle was the sweatshirt-strewn dorm room he shared with two other boys. Nevertheless, you so strongly believed you would get your own happily-ever-after, that it took you a long time to accept the thorns in the rosy brush that constituted your outlook on life. You had a hard time understanding your prince, sometimes, and ended up spinning your own stories to fill in the gaps you thought he created. It never once occurred to you that life would never be perfect, and that your prince could not be exactly who you dreamed him to be.

It’s why you stroll the length of Forsaken Bridge alone, materializing its dreary name with your head bent and hands tucked in your pockets. But you’re not surprised either, when you see your prince, standing on the very place where he made you a promise that you broke yourself. His crown is misplaced and his armor has lost its luster, but he’s your beautiful prince, still beautiful while heartbroken over you.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say softly. 

“I shouldn’t have.” Minho stares at the deteriorating timber planks beneath your feet. “But I can’t say no when it comes to you.”

You shake your head, sniffling lightly. You both hate and love him for being so understanding, so kind, even now. You hate yourself for it, too. “I broke your heart.”

Minho blinks, clasping his hands in front of himself. “There are so many things that I’m sorry and thankful to you for, but you know I’m not good at expressing myself.”

“That’s my line, Min.” You scoff through your tears. “I tried to force you to be someone you're not. And you respond by taking care of me, like you always have. And you listened to me instead of fighting. You walked away.”

“I wanted you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted. With or without me in the picture.” Minho shoots you a watery smile. “I love you, you know. I always will.”

You inhale shakily. “And I love you too. I was scared of being hurt because I love you so much. I shouldn’t have been so afraid of what I didn’t know. I should have tried to ask you instead of coming to assumptions on my own.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” Minho steps forward towards you, reaching up to hold your face in his hands. “Remember what I said? You never have to be alone. I’m right here, always.”

Minho rubs his thumbs over your tears, nothing but devotion in his eyes. You touch his arms, pulling him into a hug. “I know I ruined everything, but please come back to me? I’m so, so sorry.”

“Me too. And you ruined nothing.” He squeezes you. “We still have our whole lives ahead of us.”

You draw back from the embrace, smiling through your tears— for once, they’re the good kind. “I love you, Lee Minho. Let’s start over?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Minho whispers, a grin slowly spreading on his face. “And I don’t want to ruin the moment, but can we begin by finding an apartment, please? If I accidentally drink Hyunjin’s paint water one more time I think I will literally die.”

You laugh, raising your eyebrows at him teasingly. “Only because you want to escape Hyunjin? Not because you love me?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, a light blush tinting his pale skin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should show me what you mean.”

“I should.”

Minho obeys your command, leaning down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss, before you grasp his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the movement. God, you missed this so much. You missed him, so much. Minho’s hands reach up to cup your neck as you trace endless love letters on each other’s lips, campus curses and bad faith banished from your lovestruck young minds.

“See? Looks like our story came true.” he whispers as you come up for air, nudging your nose sweetly with his own. “Lifelong lovers, we’ll be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Minho kisses you once more and pulls back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “This means forever.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It feels so good to get back to Love Playlist <3 This whole series itself was inspired by the cute, college au vibes of the K-drama Love Playlist and its spinoff, Dear M. (starring NCT's Jaehyun, a must-see), but this story especially was heavily based on Dear M.'s second leads. Brownie points if you've noticed which hit superhero TV series I took a piece of dialogue from! I just adore that quote so much. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Minho and this story has a special place in my heart. Can you guess who is next?! And thank you for supporting me, always! -Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

TAGLIST @chansburgah @hamburgers101@ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98@ohish@chizumiyoshi@lilydaisyyy@jetblackbelle @143hyunes @yeahhspider

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[mrhaitch]

hi mr. haitch!

i was wondering if you could do a character analysis on suguru geto? i have a hard time understanding how his ideology changed, specifically when he takes it to the extreme and wants to eliminate ALL non-sorcerers. i’d also like to hear your thoughts on the dynamic between gojo and geto… their conflicts and how they drifted apart but never permanently resented the other. lastly, if possible, could you touch on how loneliness affected the two and if it had any impact in their actions, both after riko’s death and after their argument when they split paths

thank you so much,

a curious anon

My knowledge of the series is pretty limited so I can only answer with what I've seen and understood, but Geto and Gojo can be looked at as two different reactions to the same trauma: one blames himself and the other blames everyone else.

That's the core to the changes both of them underwent after Riko's death. Gojo was recognised and elevated as the strongest from birth - the linchpin that holds his society together. Despite the swagger and the ego, beneath is a powerful loneliness and detachment. He has been reduced to a function, with no choice other than to fulfill it, and there's a lot of resentment towards Jujutsu society as a result - they took his childhood, his humanity. His whole identity is based on being the strongest, and yet when he found something he wanted to protect - he failed. Since Riko's death we see evidence of constant effort to master his abilities, to better fulfill his role but at the cost of sinking deeper into the expectations of others. Even so, Gojo comes away with a greater appreciation for the vulnerable, especially children.

Geto, however, did not suffer the same societal pressure - everything about him, his place in the story, is a result of choice and agency. He wants to be a sorcerer, wants to get stronger to protect the weak, he wants to work with Gojo to better the world. When we first meet him, he views his abilities as a means to realise his desires, his ambitions, and - fundamentally - his values.

Riko's death, and everything that followed, robbed him of that ability to choose. Her death meant nothing, a new vessel was found, the world didn't end, everyone moved on. Gojo internalised his feelings of failure and forged on - seemingly unmoved. Geto threw everything he had at saving and avenging her and it changed nothing.

I'll pause here and say that I think Geto and Gojo saw different things in Riko: Gojo saw someone weaker than himself forced into fulfilling a role, Geto saw someone exemplary and unique murdered by the powerless. Perhaps (and remember I'm not an expert here) she came to stand for all of Jujutsu society in his mind - someone with an inherent greatness or importance sacrificed for the sake of people who lack the strength to protect themselves. She was the ultimate realisation of his early beliefs (the strong serving the weak) and it proved to be horrible, far removed from what he envisaged.

But let's focus on their reactions: Gojo went further into himself, into his role, aspiring to realise his full strength to protect others. Geto stopped growing - became bitter, twisted, blaming everyone but himself. He thinks himself a liberator, but in truth he is motivated by an endless appetite for revenge - to take his pain and inflict it on everyone else. It's a response common among men who struggle to regulate and manage their anger and personal set-backs, looking to displace their own negative emotions and push them onto someone else: believing it'll lessen their own pain.

All of this is just supposition, though. Fundamentally Geto is a violent racist, with a fascistic worldview built around strength as some kind of valorous ideal - gleefully inflicting pain and suffering on others. We can empathise with his journey, but we don't have to forgive his actions.

[writers-potion]

Hi. I'm writing a novel in first person and my main character has some serious trauma around swimming, but I'm not quite sure how to write that fear or that reaction they would have. also having the same problem with a lot of fear-related subjects when writing in first person. any tips? thanks! :D

Hi, thank you for the question!

As someone who has a deep fear of drowning AND of swimming, I think I can testify for that particular fear in person. But before I dive in, here are some factors to consider:

Age of your character: A child or teen or adult?

Children are more likely to show fear by expressing dislike, or even being violent/throwing tantrums when they're made to confront it. Teens may try to hide it, or build creative (sometime extreme) methods to avoid it like hell. Adults, at least mature ones, will learn to build barriers around their fears: avoiding it as much as possible, but also learning to control their reactions when they come to contact with it.

One-time event or chronic?

Another thing to consider is how the trauma came to be in the first place. Here are two traumas from my personal life:

Fear of water: I nearly drowned in a wasterfall at age 2. At age 5, one of my friends pushed me into a pool unexpectedly. Age 10, my sister made me swim to the deep side of the pool and when I stopped to take a break, I couldn't stand up. Age 13, I had a horrible swimming teacher who expected everyone to be able to swim..etc.etc. I've had multiple near-death experiences in water and after that, even after I've learnt how to swim, I'll NEVER.

Fear of elevators: I was locked inside an elevator for over an hour during a powercut. When I managed to forced the door open to escape, I found myself staring at the abyss that smelled faintly of oil. I was stuck in between floors. + Around the same time, a delivery man in the same elevator grabbed and kissed me, then ran away. A couple of days later, he tried to force his way into our apartment when I answered the door. These two event alone was enough to compel me to take the stairs for the next seven months.

Usually when a trauma has been built over time, it's difficult to see the problem rationally even when time has passed.

Traumas caused by a large, one-off event, moving away from the specific location and getting rid of the situation more or less permanently is often enough to make the person see the situation rationally. It was that particular elevator, that delivery man. It's not going to happen again. It'll remain more like a fully healed scar that tingles once now and then.

The attitude of your character. Do they want to overcome the fear, and feel frustrated/angry at themselves when they inadvertently feel scared? Or are they highly defensive? Maybe they have no mental walls built, and simply run away at the slightest hint of the feared situation.

Tips for Writing Fears

It's easier to open up to strangers. It's easier to confess a fear to someone who doesn't know your personal history, since there's less chance you'll be judged.

Simulating isn't the same as actually confronting. Your character can find themselves dreaming about being able to swim perfectly, then feel their daydream shatter when they actually try to.

Extreme tension + crashing afterward. Whenever your character is exposed to swimming, they'll be at their wit's edge, being tense and paying extreme attention to their surroundings. Once they're home, they'll simply crash like how you'd hit the bed after a long, hard day (maybe feeling body pain, constricted chest, headache, loss of appetite from the sheer exhaustion).

Overly prepared vs. Avoiding. It's one or the other. Either your character brings a safety jacket, a donut tube, a rope, snorkling equipment, etc. or they don't bring a swimsuit at all so that they can say, "I can't swim in my skinny jeans and silk shirt, can I?" and avoid it altogether.

Saying "I'm okay!" repeatedly. More to themselve than to others as a form of desperate self-assurance.

Panic. At times when your character comes dangerously close to swimming, they'll just panic and make the situation worse for themselves. For example, if they just happen to slip inside water while sitting at the edge of the pool, they'll immediately start kicking and gasping as thogh they've already drowned. It almost becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. They'll swallow water, strain all the muscles in their body, and sit extremely still covered in multiple swimming towels afterward, saying nothing and playing the moment over and over in their head.

Being nervous for the whole day if they know they have a swimming class (or something similar) later

Dreaming about drowning

Trying to learn swimming, but not progressing for months because they can't bring themselves to step out of their comfort zone (which is going to be very small)

Hope this helps! :)

[ofallthingsnasty]

a/n: Someone asked for more of Doflamingo's family pet - unfortunately I accidentally deleted the ask, but as I actually keep a physical list of all the asks I need to get to, it hasn't been lost! I hope this finds its way to you, anon 😘💖

tags: heavy dehumanization, weird pet metaphors, unreliable narrator, noncon, violence, minors dni, death (not yours), fat gn reader, vomit mention, read the tags and read them twice, just some thoughts

word count: 1.1k

Doflamingo thinks himself a good owner.

You're clean, well-groomed, clothed, fed and loved. Entertained, too. He stuffs you into your crate only at night - even if he has to leave you behind (which he rarely does), you stay with the rest of the family, not in that little cage. He's responsible. Loving. Tender.

But even he can forget about some things.

Maybe it should have been obvious, since you haven't been neutered. But to his defense, it's rather easy to forget that you, when stripped down, are just a mammal - blunt little teeth, yappy antics and bug-eyed, watery stares fool him so easily, make you sexless and too cute to have any needs of your own. And with his frequent appetites sated and you chewing through the leather of his newest chaise, you're just his mutt, feisty but spoiled. And really, who likes to think about their precious little darling dog being aroused? Not him, that's for sure. You're supposed to be something soft to spoil, something to lighten up his days.

Unfortunately, his pesky habit of kicking you whenever you drool just a little too much on his expensive pants (among other things) leads to the discovery of uncomfortable truths. One peculiarly placed hit, and something happens that he never expected - you yelp in pain, and then it climbs out of your throat, grotesque and breathy. A moan. And suddenly, something occurs to him. Makes him go down the lane of unsavory thoughts he never wanted to have when it comes to you.

He has neglected you. Greatly.

In all these years, he has been nothing but selfish - always enjoyed someone hanging off his arm, someone to warm his bed - while you had gone without, never had the possibility to get some relief. That's why you're getting winded over a simple kick to your crotch, poor, pathetic little thing. It's so wrong, so fucking depraved - he didn't train you to be so needy, to have to find pleasure in something so brutish. Yet here you are. Writhing in pain and something else as you try to shield your most sensitive parts from further intrusions.

He's suddenly going silent, brooding above you. Something needs to be done, he realizes.

The answer seems obvious - he should get you someone you can play around with, to let off steam, to indulge in the cruder parts of your nature. At first, the thought is appalling, but the more he ruminates and lets different scenarios play in his head, the more he sees that it has to be done. And it could be quite a bit of fun for him as well, if done correctly.

Arrangements are made almost too easily.

It's only fair that he gets you someone from that heap of trash you called your home. Maybe you even knew each other, before he found a place on his lap for you - it matters not, as long as the specimen is someone you would have fucked way back when he first took you. Doflamingo figures the man is up to your tastes, picks someone who looks healthy and strong. After all, he only wants the best for you - if he gets to pick his entertainment du jour, why shouldn't he at least get you someone appealing? (He also doesn't need any suspicious activity on Dressrosa, especially because he doesn't intend to have the man turned into a toy. He has his own visions for this - but that's not for little lap dogs like you to know.)

The male is taken, Doflamingo's room prepared and you - naive, stupid, and stunted that you are - follow him as you always do and walk right into his trap. It's nothing elaborate, really. But it does the job. Just the bound male, a flick of his wrist to restrain and oh-

He can play with the two of you like puppets. Of course, you're all confused. He rarely (if ever) uses his powers on you, so the sudden restraints feel like some sort of betrayal. Your big eyes question him, looking somehow even more pathetic underlined by your fat cheeks. He doesn't know if he should tut or laugh at you, that's how delicious your expression is - and it gets better and better as he tears your flimsy, carefully picked out pants apart. You are so utterly shocked, so taken by surprise it looks like you're short-circuiting. Only when the bigger man pounces on you - because Doflamingo is making him do so - you try to kick, bite, scratch, suddenly coming back to reality. But poor little fat pup, you're breathless and limp after a few minutes of struggle against his restraints and heave out your tears when your breath leaves you behind. Your fat ass up in the air, you can do very little with the way he's holding you in position.

You have to let it happen, even as the snot pools on the floor.

It's for your own good. And to his great amusement. He keeps you like this, makes the man mount you, fuck you, defile you - keeps intently watching the scene in front of him, the way you blubber and cry out. It's kind of cute, really - you're both crying. Like some grotesque version of two young lovers taking each other's virginity, you're both stuttering out apologies and clutching what is closest to you, even if that is your ass in his case.

It gets boring rather quickly, though. And rather tiring on the hands, too.

So he lets the male go - who gets cross-eyed faster than he can realize he's been freed because there is suddenly a pistol aimed directly at his forehead. If he was crying before, he's downright hysterical now. It doesn't leave you unfazed, either - Doflamingo's precious little mutt is suddenly deadly silent, too afraid to squeak out even a tiny moan. A precious sight to him. Especially when the man finally pumps his load into you, his orgasm flat and fast and unsatisfying, because it's ripped from him entirely due to the way his body functions, not because this is in any way enjoyable to him. Doflamingo smiles as the male huffs out a sigh, weighing himself in a moment of false security and-

He pulls the trigger.

You scream - but only a second later, only when the man goes limp above you, only when blood and brains splatter all over your back. You scream and scream and scream until you're hoarse, until your voice gets wet underneath the vomit that suddenly leaves you. Doflamingo would click his tongue at the sight if he wasn't so busy laughing at your predicament. Really, he had forgotten how fun it is to terrorize you a little, had forgotten how quaint it can be when your stupid face goes from empty stupidity to sheer and utter fear, the kind one can taste on their tongue. You can be so entertaining when pushed a little and he can't help but revel in the tiniest sliver of nostalgia as he looks at you, beaten down and traumatized like the day he took you.

Still, he's getting you neutered the next chance he gets.

[archivalofsins]

For Futa Jackalope really did just turn to camera and say chicken says what. Like he called the audience cowards. Too afraid to judge Futa because it would mean judging themselves.

Jackalope was on it. This end of trial report he hit all the right notes- He was in all the right places. He saw the audiences weaknesses and he hit them over and over.

He said you had your fun sowing lets chat before the reaping starts and he went in.

Like damn no remorse.

"Or……maybe you just couldn’t bring yourself to find him “guilty”, because he reminded you too much of yourself……I’m just blabbing."

Even down to highlighting the faceless Futa showing that he could easily be any of us as he said it. Jackalope said,

"I take no prisoners; you will see an ending before the end. It will be shaped like every door you did not open and every life you did not live. Then in the face of your doubts you will keep walking forward because where you came from no longer exists. Time has an insatiable appetite and we are all on it's menu. Hahaha I'm such a kidder."

Back to what he really said and the thing that intrigues me the most. Jackalope throughout the second trial report kept highlighting that despite finding Kotoko guilty we proved through our verdict that her actions do work.

By finding everyone who she attacked/threatened Innocent. This continues the trend of Kotoko jumping on any sign of agreement to get to the conclusion she wants to end up at. That being her methods are correct. So just because we found her guilty doesn't necessarily mean we found her methods wrong.

The way Jackalope interprets the guilty prisoners change in verdict may be exactly how Kotoko will view it herself.

"But, to put it another way, if this is because he showed remorse, you could also say his “innocent” verdict was thanks to the actions of Kotoko Yuzuriha, right?"

Cuz think about it…….who knows how he would have acted without the pain, right?

Q.04 Would you make the same mistake again?

Futa: I don’t think so. I don’t think I could take this kind of pain again.

Q.07 What have you been into lately?

Futa: Finding a way to distract myself from the pain.

Well next up Kazui~

He’s a self-admitted liar, have you been able to solve the mystery?

Well given the little amount of information provided in contrast to Jackalope's statement on Yuno... I would have to say we haven't. Instead Jackalope just reiterates things that Es brought to attention in Kazui's second voice drama.

Not mentioning anything about cheating or marriage in the slightest.

Again very interesting in comparison to Yuno who Jackalope admits told us what she did herself without ever really honing in on what part of what she told us should be considered.

Just stating,

"She said it herself, so her crime became quite clear, hasn’t it? And that crime didn’t raise to the level of murder to you, I take it. Interesting. I guess that’s how it is in your era."

Yet in Yuno's second trial interrogation she said a lot of things. Including dismissing the audience previous judgments on her and the guards desire to project a sob story onto her.

Yuno Second Trial Interrogation

This situations bothersome-ness has won out./I won't be bothered.

"So, I am extremely cooled off." (-273.15°C) "That is all."

"That’s the real Yuno Kashiki, you could say. Cold and logical. Practical and unromantic. Getting her to interact is gonna be a heavy lift, I’d say."

"You want to make clear the truth...huh? Fu... Haha!"

"The result of doing looots of sugar-daddying: ...abortion."

...!

"That's probably my murder. Well, please go ahead and partake of the truth."

...

"How is it? Satisfied? Then, can we be done already?"

Yuno...you...

"You don't surprise much, do you? As I thought, you knew it from the song extraction."

Cold and Logical

Well, yes. As one possibility, I thought it was likely. That, going by Milgram's scope of interpretation for murder, it was possible.

"I'm sure. Well, I generally got the sense that that's how it was. I could feel it."

You could feel it...you say?

"I can hear it, while I'm in Milgram. It's probably the same for everyone else."

Practical and unromantic.

"Voices peeking in, digging around, and discussing my sins."

Interesting that she uses sins plural here not singular. Didn't note this previously but probably should have.

Something like that...

"Are those not the thoughts you were having? Not that I would know."

But you get my point Jackalope's end of trial report on Yuno confirms that what she said in her second interrogation was in fact the truth and nothing but it. However, he speaks very little on how we interpreted what we were told in contrast to other prisoners.

Just making a sweeping statement,

Interesting. I guess that’s how it is in your era.

But he does ponder an interesting thing,

"I wonder though, what decides the worth of a life?"

Playing on the abortion debate that her trial turned into before plainly asking,

"……don’t tell me, did this murder seem smaller to you than the murders of the other prisoners? Thought-provoking!"

Again playing on the idea the fans have ran with that Yuno should not even be here because she hasn't committed murder like the other prisoners. He says a lot and not that much while discussing Yuno but Jackalope's statements on her can be used to further scrutinize what's not said about Kazui.

Like I said he basically confirms Yuno was in fact telling the truth throughout her second voice drama but doesn't mention any of what was brought up in Kazui's outside of reiterating Es' points.

Of Kazui being a liar and self-pitying going as far as to call him emo and even praise us for being so accommodating to him despite his woe is me routine.

Jackalope even comments that he can't bring himself to be interested in Kazui,

"It all feels very emo and I can’t bring myself to be very interested in him, but the fact that you’re so accommodating to him, is commendable."

However, he reiterates another point one that he brought up from the beginning that directly contradicts a statement that Kazui made in his second voice drama,

"He’s the only one who has the strength to fight off Kotoko and Mikoto after all."

Kazui states in his second voice drama that if Kotoko and Mikoto were to team up that would be the end of him and Milgram. Contradicting Jackalope's statement in Es' voice drama that if Milgram were an all out brawl then Kazui would come out victorious.

So Jackalope basically goes he's still lying have you figured out what the lies are and then just goes here's one of them for free.

Now onto the other interesting one- Amane.

Amane's is interesting because Jackalope basically goes her life would be this way in and out of Milgram. Showing that his focus with Amane is not us being tricked into going easier on her because she's a child but a desire for the audience to go harder on her because she is a child.

Coddling isn't going to prepare her for the real world but neither is being unnecessarily cruel to her either. Even admitting that he himself doesn't know what made the audience find Amane innocent this time around and stating he's curious about the judgement.

Despite how vocal people said Amane fans were being- This again highlights that no, they weren't. Amane fans weren't pushing super hard or really loud. They weren't going around shouting at people to vote her innocent or bribing people to. Hell, the staff couldn't even write a decent bit for her part of the video because they don't know what caused this.

"I remember feeling a sort of awe at your resoluteness to your duties, being a kid didn’t mean you couldn’t be “guilty”, right? So, what was it that made you choose “innocent” this time? I’m very curious. Is it her, or her beliefs, or her birthright, or her fate…."

Whatever the circumstances may be, she is the one that has to bear the blame. That’s just how it is. Both in and out of MILGRAM, isn’t that right?

They were wrong for highlighting the tasing scene like this again. They went I'm about to make you feel bad if you voted this kid guilty fucking suffer rip to you I guess- you are the problem. Like there was no joking here Jackalope looked at the camera and went,

Jackalope: This is just how it is everywhere. Your vote won't change that. It won't lessen the weight of the blame on her shoulders. In or outside of Milgram.

The “It can’t be helped”, from the scum that can’t be helped. That makes them doubtlessly, clearly, absolutely, unequivocally, beyond any doubt, categorically, emphatically, GUILTY.

Then just went to Mikoto like that shit was nothing like it didn't just destroy my soul.

That concludes my fucked up things from the end of trial two report.

[igotanidea]

Essay : professor!todd x student!reader part 1

A/N: this is a completely new verse, I just couldn;t stop myself, so if you ever get ideas for that one I'll take them in a heartbeat.

A/N 2 : I was wondering whether to finish it here of give you more spice, but decided to just whet your appetite for part 2 ;)

***

Do you know how they used to call her in high school?

The unsullied.

Like in a freaking “game of thrones”

All because while her friends were partying, getting drunk and scoring, she was far more focused on her education and school work. And damn, that girl was sharp. Her writing and literature skills and instincts were something people would admire if they weren’t shallow and judgmental.

Instead she got the teasing nickname and all her peers treated her like she didn’t exist.

And of course it hurt, not having girlfriends or anyone who would even try to understand why she would rather spend her time in the library in the company of Shakespeare or Emily Bronte or Charles Dickens instead of drinking and having accidental sex. It was painful to admit that she never had a boyfriend or that she lacked experience in so many social areas. But she just clenched her teeth and pushed through, telling herself that she didn’t have to have all the answers at the age of 17.

She worked hard for a couple years and that got her a scholarship and entry to the college of her own choice. And while her parents and family were pushing her to choose something big, like New York or other big city, much to their surprise and displeasure, she decided to stay in the state and attend Gotham University.

“Why?” her mother almost got a heart attack upon hearing the revelations, choking on the fancy cake served at the tea.  (one more word about the girl – she came from the really fancy, new-money family, where she never fit, being way to feisty and fiery. She could never be described as a lady despite her mother’s best efforts).

“Just because” she shrugged

“watch your tone, girl.” Her father warned “never speak to your mother like this.”

“sorry, sir.” She smiled apologetically, but it was meant more like a sarcasm then a real word of remorse “ Gotham has one of the best university literature program. And since it’s something I want to pursue….”

“I think we should let her make her own choices, father. Y/N knows what she’s doing.”

Thank god, for her older brother, Tom, who always had her back. He was the only person she was going to miss when leaving. But he was right. She knew what she was doing. And Gotham did have the best literature course. And that was because of one of the professors, Jason Todd.

At the young age of 26, being only a couple years older than her, he managed to finish his studies summa cum laude and having a few awards on his account decided to dedicate his life into teaching and shaping young minds. Y/N couldn’t wait to attend one of his classes.

Yeah, college was going to be life changing for her.

Only she didn’t know how much when she first stepped into the hall of residence.

***

Soon enough she found out that first years were not supposed to attend Todd’s classes. Apparently something about heavy and mature content on different levels.  To put it simply, no one below 21 were allowed to engage in those discussions.

But Y/N was sly and determined enough to sneak into the evening lectures, making notes to herself and being an original thinker she got so much ideas and inspirations just by sitting in the corner of the classroom and listening. It went like that for half a year and she believed herself to be clever enough to not get notices, but apparently professor Todd was even better in the art of deception. And it all started when she lost her notebook while leaving and figured it out on the way to her room.

“Shit!” she hissed turning around immediately and looking for the lost item on the way. If it were to get into unfit hands, in the worst case – dean’s – and her secret would be uncovered , she would be expelled immediately due to not abiding the rules “Fuck!” she whispered-yelled again, having reached the classroom and still not finding it.

“don’t creep there, miss Y/l/N, come on in.” Professor Todd’s voice echoed through the empty hall and she shivered. How the hell did he know she was there? And more importantly, how the fuck did he know who she was?!

“I’m sorry to interrupt professor.” She started “I’m just …. I mean, I…..”

“Lost something?” he asked, his green eyes meeting hers and it was like a spark of electricity through her. God, was he handsome. Only now, she understood  the rumours on the campus, something about girls attending his course just for him, not really for the books and stories. Shit! She didn’t really have much opportunities to watch Todd while sneaking out and watching her every step.

“Yeah, I …. I mean, I…..” she stuttered “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even be here, and what I’m writing there is just stupid and …..”

“The only thing stupid here is that no one under 21 can join my class.” Todd laughed sonorously “come here, miss Y/N, please, sit, I won’t give your secret away.”

“You won’t?” hypnotised by his voice and eyes she took a few steps forward and perched on the first desk, out of instincts waving her legs in the air in a child-like manner.

“No. Sure not. I read some of your notes, forgive me that” he apologised quickly seeing the terror on her face “and those are good. Like really good. I don’t think I have such an original thinker here in like …. ever, to be honest” he smiled brightly “how old are you again?”

“almost 20 now.” She sighed in frustration. Here she was, sitting in front of her idol, unable to get full advantage of his knowledge.

“such a shame. Would love to know your brain more.”

“Can I just have it back and be on my way? I won’t bother you anymore, I promise I don’t want any trouble." she reached for her notebook, but did it so clumsily that it made her lost her balance in the process and she started falling to the ground, when her weight overbalanced the desk. She would probably end up on the floor, if it wasn’t for Todd’s reflexes. His strong arms found a way around her waist holding her tight, her hands locking on his arms and all of a sudden feeling safe and not so eager to leave.

“You good there?” he asked as their gazes met.

“Yeah…. I…..” once again the spark flew between them. Maybe it was just her imagination but she saw something predatory and …. lustful(?) in his eyes. “I… I really should be going now, professor. It’s late and after curfew and ….. sorry.” She grabbed the book from his hands, fixed her shirt and bag and rushed out the door.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he called after her and the girl spun around to face him.

“You can keep coming to my classes. Like I said, it’s a stupid rule and your secret’s safe with me.’

“Um, yeah, sure, professor, thank you.” She mumbled and practically took off running to her room, having absolutely no idea what was happening to her .

***

She didn’t get much sleep that night, instead taking care of the urge and itching between her legs, imagining green orbs and silky voice calling her good girl and a one particular man touching her. Good thing she had a single room with pretty thick walls.

***

It became pretty clear that classes were not enough for either of them. All things considered they kept it professional for a long time, only meeting in public places, discussing some teacher-student stuff, not really making any of the stuff suspicious. Apart from some additional rumours, nothing new on the campus, they were extremely correct and hesitant to do anything stupid.

But.

Literature talks and exchanging beliefs and ideas quickly led to getting to know each other on way more personal level. She learnt about his family, his adopted father and brothers and he got the whole story of how she was treated in school and why she chose to specialise in literature.

They were getting close.

Arguably closer than teacher – student should, but the more time they spend together the less they cared.

Soon enough their meetings moved from the classrooms and campus to the outside places. And from the days to the nights, always being careful not to get caught. But the urge and the sexual tension between them was making them slip.

It was only a matter of time before someone would lose the war of nerves and needs.

***

Since the dean was tuned in to everything that was happening on the uni ground, after a couple of months Todd was called into his office and had to some heavy explanation of why he was doing nothing less but hanging out with a student that was still under the legal age.  Barely, but sill.

And with the natural ease and smoothness the young professor talked and talked about y/n’s talent and insight and how she was wasting her potential while waiting to be admitted to his classes. He used some pretty convincing arguments about the fame and reputation the uni would get if she becomes the exception to the rule and get the permission to attend despite her age.

And all that seemed to convince the dean.

Y/N was allowed to attend Jason’s course.

And that meant more time spend together.

***

“I almost forgot. I got your essays graded.” He stated one Tuesday evening almost ending the lecture,  holding a bunch of sheets of paper in his hands and waving it around “as usual, most of you should have read between the lines, but apart from that it’s better than before. I see some progress to some of you.” He started walking around, giving the papers to the students.

Was it her imagination again or did he really brushed over her shoulder while passing her? If it was a dream she didn’t want to wake up, feeling that familiar aching in her body. God! She was still at class, acting like a horny teenager! About the teacher! That was completely inappropriate!

“That would be all for today.” Jason stated “class dismissed.”

“But….” She objected. She didn’t get hers back.

“As for you miss Y/L/N….” he trailed, waiting till everyone left  “We need to talk about your thesis. But we’re gonna need the library to prove the point. Meet me there in half an hour, all right? Take your coat with you, the night is going to be cold.”

“but…. But it’s like 8 p.m.” she frowned “I thought the library was closing at 7?”

“I got a special pass. Now go, Y/N.”

Something was telling her that this was not going to be about her writing. And she couldn't wait to discover the double meaning.

[pascalsangel]

The Greenhouse Keeper

authors note: this is my first time writing fanfic 🥹 so please be kind!! i'm hoping to make this into a series, i'm trying to go for an enemies to lovers, but i'm not sure how strong it's coming across. it's not proofread 🥲so sorry if there are any errors. any feedback or comments are greatly welcomed!!

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader - jackson era

word count: 1,708

summary: joel got a reassignment and that’s where he meets y/n

also, if you are reading this, then please do your daily click:

Tommy and Joel had recently been out for their usual patrol run with a small crew when things quickly turned south. Joel had accidentally veered off from the group to check the surrounding wooded area. He didn’t hear the single infected that had snuck up on his right side. He acted as quickly as he could’ve when he finally noticed the infected running up on him, but it was too late. 

He had got a good shot which killed the infected, but he had lost his balance when he pulled back to avoid being bitten. He tried to catch his fall, his right ankle ended up taking the most damage as he rolled it. The makeshift doctor at Jackson had given their best guess of a sprained ankle, but they couldn’t say how severe. They recommended a minimum two weeks of rest and elevation which Joel rolled his eyes at. Now, he was at dinner with his brother trying to figure out how soon he could get back to patrols. 

“Tommy, we both know that this is a bunch of bullshit. I don’t need to be reassigned. I’ll be fine to go back on our next patrol shift,” Joel sighed out. He pushed his plate away, losing his appetite from his frustration. “I mean for fuck’s sake where is she even thinkin’ of putting me?” 

Tommy looked at him with disbelief. “Joel, we both know that you can barely walk on your fuckin’ leg right now. You’re not ready for patrols. You were grimacing in pain just walking on your way for cryin’ out loud. Maria is doing what’s for the best.” 

Maria overheard the last part of their conversation as she pulled the seat next to Tommy out to join them. “What am I doing for the best?” she said. 

“I was just telling Joel here how much he’s going to love his reassignment to greenhouse till his ankle heals.” Tommy said through a smirk. 

Joel leaned back and crossed his arms. “You're joking, right?” He said, as he slowly looked between the two. 

Maria looked over at Tommy, seeking out any sort of help to console his brother, but his grin just kept getting wider. “Joel, listen. I know the greenhouse is probably the last place you’d want for reassignment, but it’s just until your ankle heals. There are no other role openings at the moment, so this decision is final.” 

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it,” he grumbled. 

You were pulling out your set of keys to the greenhouse to open it up when you heard your name being called behind you. You were there a bit earlier than your scheduled time, so you were surprised that someone was stopping by already. 

Maria approached you with a small wave. As you looked past her, you noticed Joel Miller was slowly making his way over to join you guys. You knew who Joel was, everyone in Jackson knew who he was, but you’ve never actually met him. You were a bit flustered that he was here right now since you’ve noticed him around the commune and have always found him to be attractive. He commanded each room that he stepped in, and it was hard to ignore him with how much space he took up with how broad he was. His hair has grown out since the last time you’ve seen him and had more white peppered throughout it. You hid your smile at his attempt of growing out a beard and the small empty patches throughout it. You desperately wished that he would spare you a glance, but he rarely interacted with anyone that wasn’t Ellie, Tommy, or Maria. Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach at the possibilities behind his appearance. 

“I’m so glad that I remembered that you tend to open earlier, I caught you just in time.” She said, just as Joel finally reached her side. She gestured over to him, “Joel, this is Y/N, she’s the greenhouse keeper. He was recently injured on patrol, so I’m reassigning him to work with you for the next couple of weeks.” 

You were hoping that a friendship could blossom from working closely with him. He seemed like the no-bullshit type, he would make it apparent if he truly wanted to be friends or not. His friendship would be a secret into getting to know the real him, the person that he is around those that he loves. It is no secret that you’ve struggled to make genuine connections with others since arriving at Jackson a year ago. As the greenhouse keeper, people have tried to take advantage of being acquainted with you. It was hard to tell if you people truly liked you or because they thought you would sneak them more potatoes. You were envious of the tight knit group that Joel had. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Joel. I’m sure that we can find a way to accommodate your injury.” You said as you met his eyes, you were surprised to see so much frustration reflected in them. 

He simply stared at you and gave a curt nod. He was acting as if you were the one inconveniencing him. 

Maria cleared her throat to air out the silence clinging in the air, “Well, uh, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other and to figure everything out.” 

You watched as she walked away, hoping she would turn around and free you from this awkward moment. You have been fantasizing about this very moment, finally meeting him, but the version in your head was slowly crumbling to the harsh reality. He was being very short with you and the two of you had just met. You always try to believe in the best of people, but you have been burnt too many times by others. It felt naive to give him the benefit of the doubt and think that he was just frustrated with the situation and not you. 

  “Right, um, if you just want to follow me inside, and we can get everything sorted. I noticed you walking up, is it your leg that's hurt?”

“My ankle, probably just a sprain.” He grumbled.

“What happened?” You asked, hoping that this would open him up to share some small talk. 

He sighed, “listen, if you could just set me up somewhere and give me a task, then I’ll be out of your way till I’m done with this reassignment.” 

“Oh, yeah um, I can do that. I don’t know how much you know about greenhouse work, but I’m sure I can find something that you can do.” 

You looked around to see what projects you were working on in preparation for summer. The easiest thing that you could think of for him was repotting the seedlings you had into bigger pots, they still weren’t ready to be transplanted into the garden. You started to move one of the tables out from the corner when you felt a hand on your wrist. You were shocked at the contact.

“I got it,” he said. He started to pull on the table when you stopped him by pulling on the other end. 

“It’s okay. I can do it, I don’t want you to hurt your leg anymore than it already is.” 

“I’ve said I got it.” He said with a sternness while giving you a nod to move out of the way. 

“Don’t get mad at me when you have to be stuck with me for longer than what you thought.” You crossed your arms and watched as he moved the table around. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for a sign on where you wanted it.  “Over here is fine,” you said, as you pointed out an area for the table to end up at. 

“Let me go grab you a chair. Or do you want to do that yourself, too?” You hadn’t meant to be snarky with your last comment, but he was being frustrating. 

You went to the storage closet in the back to grab the chair and a small soil bag for his ankle and stood in there for a moment trying to collect yourself. You had never had someone get on your nerves as easily as he did. You took one long breath and stepped out. Joel was leaning against the table and looking around the greenhouse when you came back with the supplies. He was surprised with the attentive care and transformation you have brought to the greenhouse. He remembers briefly glancing around when the previous keeper was here, and it looked like the space had never been touched. You had everything  neatly organized, labeled, and growing in vibrant shades of green. He quickly stood up when he noticed you coming back down the aisle toward him. He reached out to help with what you were carrying, but you leaned away from his aid. 

“My plan was to have you working on repotting. I also brought an extra bag of soil over here, so you can rest your ankle on it while you work, if you want. Take a seat, and then I can show you how to repot the seedlings.” You said as you looked him over and offered a small smile. The moment in the supply closest helped a bit, and you were excited to show someone your passion for planting.  

His gaze finished scanning around the greenhouse and landed on you. “Oh, that all won’t be necessary. If it’s just repotting, then I don’t think I need your help.” 

“Are you sure?” You couldn’t believe him right now. He was just going to openly deny your help. “It’s really not a big deal for me to show you the process. I know it seems straightforward, but there are some tricks that I know of to make sure they get the best transfer.” 

“Nope, I think I’m good. Just going to finish out my time here, if you don’t mind.” 

“Fine. I guess I’ll leave you to it.” You turned around to go outside to start watering the plants in the garden. You wanted to scream or throw something. He was acting like a pompous ass. You couldn’t wait for the day to end. 

[basil-the-slinking-thing]

I have found myself trapped between the themes of two fictional stories and a YouTube video. (Really it’s three stories, but I have yet to incorporate my ideas about Ninjago and its lore into this framework, despite feeling very strongly about it for the way it has these same concepts.)

In Jekyll and Hyde, someone attempts to create a serum that rids you of all appetite for evil, which instead rids the subject of all inhibition and makes your passions and desires and disagreeableness and animalistic drive deeper and stronger. As a consequence of this, the subject’s experience of the world becomes faster, sharper, and more substantial. They become more impulsive and less bothered by violence, but also more athletic and deft. This results in unpredictable, destructive behaviors that the story villainizes, claims is dark and demonic.

Henry got biologically younger when he drank the formula.

In the Uglies series, someone creates a brain surgery that successfully rids you of all appetite for evil by suppressing all the subjects capacity for passion, desire, disagreeableness, and animalistic drive. As a consequence of this, the subject’s experience of the world becomes duller, syrupy, more sluggish, and perpetually dazed. Not quite aware. They become less creative and less able to process very much at once, but more prone to smiling softly and accepting other people’s influence. This results in docile, manageable behavior that the story would have you pity.

There were things that could, however, break through the haze, granting temporary lucidity. Pain, hunger, shock, especially shocks of cold, or getting your heart rate up/feeling like you were in danger.

Veritasium has a whole scientific documentary on the research experts are doing into the difference between chronological age and biological age. And a possible key to changing the second one at will, in which they concluded that it definitely would make you get old less fast if you let yourself be hungry for longer, got into scary-thrilling situations/got your heart rate up, or experienced shocks of cold (among other things.)

The opposite of thinking like Hyde is being Pretty minded. But doing things that will make you less Pretty minded are also being discovered to make you more like Hyde in an unrelated way. These sources came up with these things independent of one another, but they're all talking about the same phenomena of human nature.

There’s just a very clear line I’m seeing, in these works that resonate with me so, between danger and vitality. To increase or decrease one, you do the same to the other. Along with it, the pervasive underlying question of whether more would be worth it.

[sonicasura]

Realizing this now but Poppy Playtime would fit in the Transformersverse creepily well once you think about it. Shockwave, Meltdown, Mandroid, Tarantulas... They have experimented and create terror for various purposes that left either disgust, horror, or both on viewers than just the opposition.

Poppy Playtime could fit right in even more so when you notice how the toys operate. All of them are taught to pretend to be normal children playthings. Still like statues until no one notices and the perfect time to strike. Ambush predators that need to eat as there is evidence like tailoring Boxy Boo's appetite to human flesh(to get rid of those who knew too much) in a recording found inside Project Playtime or the EXP.1006/The Prototype not needing to eat unlike the other experiments within a recording inside Poppy Playtime.

I can't forget the most darkest information. These living toys were once human and the Chapter 3 ARG has given more evidence children being potential subjects. In Chapter 2, there are documents that label a kid's name but also a toy in the Game Station.

Children were actively being tested by scientists before the conversion. However the final nail in the coffin is this official video from Mob Entertainment's YouTube page. A confirmed toy who was once a person.

It gets even worse. This shit is morbid enough so how bad can it become? The Bigger Bodies Initiative. A plan to make giant toys for the purpose of labor. Legitimate slave labor in order to cut costs as these human experiments will work to sustain the factory until they are killed. Toys meant to never age so they continue to live unless put out of their misery.

Now I know you're thinking they couldn't stand a chance against Cybertronians. A giant toy might be able to offline Minicons and damage regular bots to some degree unless trained to aim for weakspots. Like ambush predators tend to do. TFA Optimus and TFP Arcee wouldn't have fun with Mommy Long Legs due to personal trauma involving spiders.

No, the danger is directed to their human companions. Most Transformers series has at least one person becoming an important member of the team with the majority being teenagers and CHILDREN. Poppy Playtime's monstrous toys can easily kill humans as Boxy Boo is made to devour adults whole without a peep.

There's no way to discern or even expect a simple children's plaything could be a man eating monster. Optimus kills a toy that found its way into base and Ratchet does an autopsy. Imagine their horror upon discovering human organs being intertwined to make an actual alive creature.

The dread only deepens as realization dawns that these are from children. Someone is bound to feel ill especially when you consider Optimus fondness for humans and the iterations with young charges. Death seems natural to a species intertwined by war for over multiple millenia.

They stomach the grief as until the battle is truly won, they can't mourn fallen comrades for long without being in constant danger. What people like Shockwave does to others truly wrought terror. To know their own kind is subjected to experimentation so extreme, so vile, that you don't believe there's a line this person won't cross.

Real horror can come from those they cherish becoming targets to an unforeseen threat. Morbid realization that toys could kill and devour the humans who snared their sparks. The disgust since these monsters once being their charges' species even possibly their age. And it can be your fault as toys like plushies are common innocent gifts.

TFP Bulkhead getting Miko a little Catnap toy as a present for her birthday. Imagine his horror seeing the girl unconscious, pain etched on her face from vivid nightmares. The toy he gave to Miko ready to take a bite out of her neck until he crushes it. Bulkhead would be forever haunted by the incident.

Now there are two threats hiding in plain sight. The machinery used for everyday life can potentially be a war criminal with the only indicator of potential death being an emblem. Now simple children playthings are possibly a former human that feeds on others.

And this threat doesn't have a warning sign until it's too late.

For those who want to delve further then here are the recordings so far. Chapter 1 & 2, Ch 3, Project Playtime Phase 1+2. Chapter 3 ARG summarized can be found here. Finally the documents from Poppy Playtime right here.

[marjayla284]

Painful ~ Miguel Mora

Miguel x plus-size reader

⚠️TW: Eating Disorder, depression

3rd POV

Since he had been busy with his career and school, Miguel hadn't noticed her odd behavior until recently. For the past few days, Y/N's appetite had been low, she jumps every time he touches her or gives her affection, wearing baggy clothes instead of her normal style, mood swings; one minute being all clingy and the next being distant, etc. But when the two do talk, Y/N seem negative about herself. He's concerned and worried all the time about her, but this is a different level.

Miguel enters their shared bedroom, after showering, and sees her staring at the wall, absentminded. He approaches the love of his life and kneels down next to her. "Hey, mi vida."

She still wasn't responding which concerned him even more. He gently touches her cheek, snapping Y/N out of her trance, feeling a warm hand on her face. She looks up to see those dark eyes of the person she fell in love with.

"Hey, you okay?"

Y/N nodded. Ever since the hate comments she have been getting on social media, Y/N haven't been the same. The comments like 'he doesn't deserve you' 'you should lose weight' 'Miguel won't love you if you are fat' 'lose some weight' and other mean things, get to her head. This has been going on for quite a while, but it hasn't affected Y/N before as much as now.

"You hungry? I can order you something if you want or making you something."

"No, I'm not hungry"

"Baby, you haven't eaten anything in days."

"..." He sighed, worriedly.

"Babe, I'm going to make you something and you are going to eat it,okay?" Miguel said, waiting for her response, but it never came. "I'm taking your silence as a yes."

When he fully closes the door, Y/N rushes to lock herself in the bathroom. Sitting on the bathroom floor, staring numbly at the wall in front of her.

Meanwhile, Miguel prepares a bowl of chicken salad. He pours some in a small bowl, heading towards what he thinks is where she is. When he opens the bedroom, she are nowhere to be found. Miguel places the bowl on her nightstand, looking around the room for his girlfriend.

Miguel sees the bathroom door open and walks towards the bathroom. Leaning on the doorway, he sees her numbly staring into space.

"Alright, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Y/N, tell me or I'll force you to eat the food."

Y/N decided to just eat the food. Miguel felt happy and relieved that his girlfriend was going to start eating again. He leads her to the bed, and once Y/N sat down on her side of the bed, he placed the bowl of chicken salad on her lap. He put on a her favorite movie to watch. Miguel gets up to leave.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

"Okay..." Y/N says in a small voice, twisting the food around on her plate, looking more depressed than ever. Miguel's heart breaks at seeing his girlfriend like this. He knows Y/N had struggled with depression before, so it wasn't easy.

Miguel leaves the room, not knowing what Y/N had done the moment he turned around. He enters the kitchen, washing the dishes, and putting the dried dishes away.

He sighs, feeling helpless. Miguel thinks she might have an eating disorder, he isn't sure. For the  next few days, Miguel tries to help Y/N with her eating issues, but it hasn't been easy.

She plays with her food during dinner, refusing to eat. She won't come out of the room for days. He has to physically bring her food, and sit with her until she finishes.

When Miguel would leave the room to take the empty plate down to the sink, Y/N would run to the bathroom and force herself to vomit.

Until one day, Miguel decides to talk to her about it and get her the help she needs. He enters the room, spotting her watching a movie.

"Hey, can we talk?" Miguel sits on the bed, slowly. She turns her head to look at him, nodding.

"Sure." Y/N speaks in a small voice as she turns off the TV.

"Look, I-I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe you should get help." Miguel chooses his words carefully in order not to spook her.

"I don't need help."

"Y/N, I'm just worried about you and want to help you get better."

"I told you, I don't need or want help."

"Y/N, I'm not gonna force you to get help, but I'm trying to look out for you."

Y/N stays silent for a few moments, then the next words that leave her mouth break Miguel's heart more.

"I just want to be pretty."

"What are you talking about? You are pretty, beautiful even." Miguel questions weekly, swallowing back the tears in his eyes,

"Not like those girls on social media."

"What do you mean, ma?"

"Their skinny, blonde, have perfect eyes and hair, clear skin, big ass and boobs." You feel a sob wanting to come out of your throat. You manage to croak out; "I just want to meet your standards."

Miguel didn't think it was possible for his heart to break even more, but it did. He sees you sob and carefully takes you in his arms. You keep repeating 'I just want to be pretty.'

"Shh, it's okay. You are pretty. I'm going to help you and everything's going to be fine."

[pokemoncenter]

i'm not so much scared as I am slightly concerned (and maybe the littlest bit curious), but if you know anything regarding something like this, a bit of input would be much appreciated..

you see, I have this Fletchling named Candle- he's an adorable little dude, I wish I could send in images, but alas -and he's always been small.

he was a rescue, according to the center I adopted him from, n' something messed up his wings pretty bad before he was found by a ranger. they suspect he was abandoned considering he had zero survival instincts and was determined to beat up anything bigger than him up. that is to say, everything is bigger than him.

his wings have long since healed and he can fly without any pain or struggle now, so that's not where my point of concern comes from.

i've had him for about a year and he's always been.. tiny. it's not that he has an improper diet or lack of space- he can come and go whenever he pleases and is fast enough to escape most danger. it's just that he's so physically small.

most other Fletchlings, or at least those I've seen, are usually 9 or 10 in height wise. Candle's only about 7 in tall and he weighs less than a kilogram. he's a lil paperweight, and yet he's active and healthy and, if anything, has a bigger appetite than usual.

I worry he's stunted in some way? I know it takes different Pokemon different times to evolve and they're all different sizes, but I fear he may not be able to evolve at all if something is wrong.

he's rowdy, competitive, and is a sore loser, but it's never been to the point where I worry about his attitude. he's not aggressive aggressive, y'know? I was just wondering if you have any idea what could cause his itty bitty-ness.

to be fair, it might just be me being anxious and dumb, but I wanted an official veterinarians opinion on it.

Some Pokemon are merely smaller than others. If he was abandoned for being a runt, that would be explanation enough, and if he evolves, he will likely become a more normal size.

That said, you should still take him in for a thorough physical regardless. What you have described does not sound like dwarfism, but a runt who survived through being scrappy, but I imagine for your own peace of mind, it would do you good to check.