#bulletin board system

[gmanmedias]

Random genders from my hoard: bulletboldinet

📌 📌 📌

🖥️ 🖥️ 🖥️

📌 📌 📌

[insurguitor]

guess who just discovered bbs for the first time :]

[nickyflowers]

literally come join me in the silly world of bulletin board systems. let's all form a new message network by linking up our boards. we can build a new web out of old parts. it'll be fun i swear 😭

[tribalephemeral]

Today, We Are Lucky

Excerpt from the Novel ‘Community Board’ by Tara Conklin, pages 97-100. Used without permission. [ … ] down a neglected sidewalk heaving with tree roots, through a taller, thicker hedge and then—sweating, out of breath, hating all cats for all eternity—I rounded a corner and — Blammo. / / / I collided with a man. / / / I’m sorry, I spluttered. I was trying to catch a— / / / The man held up a…

[symbologic]

As someone who studied journalism and has also worked in toxic environments that fed off of information hoarding, I used to believe that information sharing was inherently "good". Because it promotes transparency! And transparency challenges unspoken norms and combats white supremacy culture, which are both things that are very important to me

But the more time I spend on social media, the more I realize that the concept of a digital town square was a mistake. We as humans need smaller communities organized around common interests and shared causes, rather than a single place for everything to exist all at once

Nowadays, I'm starting to think "intentionality" is the real MVP in navigating online and life in general. Not because it's inherently good or bad, but because it means we're 100% aware of what we're doing, who we're saying stuff to, and why we're doing it.

It would be so much more productive and manageable than everyone hurling a million + 1 jarringly disparate things at each other simply because we're in an online ecosystem that actively rewards it

[mistfunk]

Mistigram: AdeptApril is the System Operator of the Storm Bulletin Board System (pictured above, on a wet day), and has drawn this #ANSIart screen in celebration of International SysOps' Day. Please leave your appreciation in the oneliners, not the page button!

[subjectsix]

tumblr's about to force me to finally make my neocities site smh

[dilfkuza]

Nishida's willingness to go along with the Zombie event is honestly so funny. i can just imagine Majima lying across the couch in the family office kicking his feet as he plans it out like "Kiryu-chan will never expect this!" and Nishida is just sitting there like. okay yeah sure why not. this might as well happen today. drag the whole family into your mating ritual why don't you.

[myrmeen]

I am pre-internet.

(By trope-specific i mean for example all the slash fics hosting websites, or the nsfw-only ones, etc)

[mana-junkie]

The Good Ol’ Days of BBSs: Where Every Call Was an Adventure

Before the internet became the digital behemoth it is today, there was a time when we connected through dial-up modems, tying up the family phone line as we explored the wild frontiers of Bulletin Board Systems (BBSs). It was an era of ASCII art, clunky file transfers, and message boards that felt like secret hideaways for those in the know. You’d dial in, listen to the screech and hum of the…

[in-sightpublishing]

Origin and Evolution of the Demoscene

                  Publisher: In-Sight Publishing Publisher Founding: March 1, 2014 Web Domain: http://www.in-sightpublishing.com Location: Fort Langley, Township of Langley, British Columbia, Canada Journal: In-Sight: Independent Interview-Based Journal Journal Founding: August 2, 2012 Frequency: Three (3) Times Per Year Review Status: Non-Peer-Reviewed Access: Electronic/Digital & Open…

[jays-world-of-wonder]

Prompts #35 - Max Modem: Dial-Up Defender of the Digital Frontier (serious)

Do you remember life before the internet? You know, some folks these days talk about a mythical time before the internet existed. Like, they had to, I dunno, read books or something? Sounds barbaric, right? But me, Max Modem? I remember the dawn of the digital age, back when the internet was a screeching beast tamed only by the bravest of keyboard warriors. Yep, I’m talking dial-up days, folks.…

[jellyfishsthings]

I have a grandchild?

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd liked to think he wore many masks.

The city knew him as Red Hood. To his brothers, he was the snarky, trigger-happy one. To Bruce, a question mark with a temper. But every Tuesday and Thursday, in a tidy, sun-filled classroom, he was something else entirely:

Mr. Jay.

He taught third grade English Lit. Paperbacks. Book fairs. Glitter-covered essays. Small chairs. Lots of stickers.

And somehow? He loved it.

Jason never expected to find peace in a room full of tiny, chaotic humans, but here he was—"Mister Jay" to twenty-four third-graders at Gotham Academy’s lower school, reading Charlotte’s Web with more expression than he thought humanly possible.

He wore cardigans now. He drank peppermint tea. He even had a bulletin board labeled "Our Word Wall."

And he hadn’t told a soul in his family

Not because he was ashamed—he actually liked it. He liked the simplicity, the structure, the way little Brian Jennings waved at him with both hands every morning and offered him a friendship bracelet made of rainbow rubber bands. He liked the chaos he could understand for once.

“Okay, who can tell me what the monster in Where the Wild Things Are really represents?”

Rory’s hand shot up first—Rory with wild curls, a constant sprinkle of glitter on her cheeks, and a reading level two grades above her age.

Jason grinned. “Hit me, Rory.”

“His FEELINGS. Because Max was MAD and monsters are mad feelings!”

“You nailed it.” Jason gave her a fist bump. “A plus level insight. Someone write that down.”

Rory beamed like she’d just won an Oscar.

It started during the fall parent-teacher conference, when you arrived ten minutes late, breathless and apologetic, your daughter’s glitter-covered backpack slung over your shoulder.

Jason took one look at you—coffee-stained shirt, wild bun, tired eyes and soft voice—and immediately short-circuited.

“Sorry—my car wouldn’t start, and then I had to stop Rory from feeding goldfish crackers to a raccoon.”

Jason blinked. Smiled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

“Sorry again,” you huffed, taking a seat. “I’ve had a long day.”

He blinked. “No problem. Uh, Rory’s doing great.”

You sighed in relief. “She talks about you all the time. Mr. Jay says this, Mr. Jay says that. I was starting to think she liked you more than me.”

Jason laughed—and it was a real one, the kind that crept into his ribs and stayed. “Don’t worry, she just likes that I let them write haikus about dragons.”

“Haikus?”

“Very serious educational practice.”

You smiled. Something clicked into place.

It started slow. A cup of coffee after conferences. A chat outside after school pickup. Then, one Saturday, he ran into you and Rory at the Gotham public library. Rory sprinted into his legs, squealing “MISTER JAY!!!” loud enough to startle nearby birds.

That day ended with the three of you at a bakery. Rory passed out with a cookie in her hand. You gave him a look—surprised, amused, softened—and said, “She’s never warmed up to someone like this.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Just wrapped Rory’s scarf tighter and said, “She’s a good kid.”

What he meant was: I’d do anything to keep her happy.

Jason fell hard. Harder than he’d fallen in years. He kept it quiet at first, didn’t want to spook you with his baggage, didn’t want Bruce to send a drone overhead and “investigate” why his second-oldest son was skipping crime fighting for PTA meetings.

He just wanted this one thing for himself.

And somehow, it worked.

You dated quietly. Rory loved him instantly. He helped her with spelling words and listened to her detailed theories about dragons living in Gotham’s sewer systems. He fixed your heater when it broke and always remembered your favorite snacks.

By the time spring rolled around, he was yours, completely.

Jason was...gone. Just absolutely a goner. He’d found a rhythm in the chaos—dinner with you, homework with Rory, bedtime stories, and night patrol. It was weird and messy and full of glitter.

And it was home.

He was there when Rory lost her first tooth. When she scraped her knee on the playground and insisted only Mister Jay could clean it. When she had a nightmare and called him, not you, because "Daddy Jay fights monsters."

He didn’t correct her. Not once.

You saw it—how she clung to him, how he always bent to her level, how she crawled into his lap like it was the safest place on earth.

You asked him once, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason kissed your forehead. “She’s my kid, too. Blood or not.”

So when you had an emergency work trip and your usual babysitter canceled, you didn’t even hesitate.

“You sure you don’t mind watching her overnight?” you asked, handing him a list of instructions and emergency contacts longer than a novel.

“Go save the world, I have this covered.” 

You kissed his cheek, hugged Rory tight, and left.

“Alright,” Jason turned to her. “Movie or fort?”

Rory’s eyes sparkled. “BOTH.”

Jason kissed your cheek. “She’s my favorite kid. We’re going to build a pillow fort and eat suspicious amounts of mac and cheese. Go save the day.”

What neither of you accounted for... was Bruce Wayne.

Two hours later, the living room was a pillow apocalypse. Jason wore a glitter crown and had his nails painted purple. Rory was asleep, snuggled in his hoodie, soft snores muffled under a blanket castle.

It started at 6:37 p.m., when Bruce—who was supposed to be on a League mission—showed up at Jason’s apartment.

The door creaked open.

Jason glanced up.

And froze.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway.

“I need to talk to you about the armory in Blüdhaven,” Bruce said, standing in the doorway like the world’s most dramatic bat.

“Uh.” Jason didn’t move. “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the bright pink tiara sitting crookedly on his hair. The glitter smearing his cheeks. The empty sippy cup peeking out of his pocket.

Jason, his Jason, was wearing a pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and holding a bowl of glitter slime, staring at him dumbfounded. “Now?”

Then Rory ran into the room with a towel-cape tied around her shoulders. “JAY. THE UNICORN IS UNDER ATTACK.”

She froze when she saw Bruce.

Bruce froze when he saw her.

There was a long, loaded silence.

Jason opened his mouth.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “...Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory looked up at Jason and whispered, “Is that Batman?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, that’s Batman.”

“COOL,” she whispered loudly.

“She looks like you,” Bruce said.

“WHAT?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you WHAT?!”

“That you have a child.”

“She’s not—! I mean—! I’m babysitting!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! She’s not mine!”

A pause. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Daddy Jay?”

Jason died.

Bruce looked like he had transcended.

“She calls you—”

“She’s SIX and I READ TO HER. It’s a TITLE OF AFFECTION, not a PATERNITY CLAIM!”

“She has your nose.”

Jason screamed, his arms wildly flailing. “She has a BUTTON NOSE!”

Bruce just stated “I expect pictures at Christmas.”

Rory interrupted cheerfully, “He’s dating my mom!”

Bruce looked like he aged ten years in one second.

“...You’re dating a civilian... with a child… and didn’t tell me?”

“She’s not mine!” Jason repeated, clutching the slime bowl like a lifeline. “I’m just babysitting!”

Rory handed Bruce a plastic tiara. “Do you want to be the princess or the dragon?”

Bruce stared at it. Then at Jason.

Jason shrugged helplessly.

Bruce sighed. “Dragon.”

When you came back the next morning, you were greeted by a sight you would never forget:

Jason, asleep on the couch, Rory curled up beside him like a cat. The apartment was a war zone of glitter, tiaras, and cookie crumbs.

And Bruce Wayne, sitting in a tiny plastic chair at Rory’s tea table, wearing a paper crown and reading a bedtime story.

He looked up at you. “She made me tea.”

You blinked. “Is it real tea?”

“No. It’s glue and glitter water.”

“Ah.”

“She named me Sparkle Dragon.”

You smiled. “Fitting. What happened?”

“Your kid called me Daddy Jay. In front of Bruce.”

You blinked. “Okay. And?”

“He thinks she’s my biological daughter.”

“... Did you correct him?”

Jason stared at you. “She said I have her nose. Bruce believed her.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “Well... she has told people you’re her ‘real’ dad since February.”

Jason groaned into his hands.

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay. Honestly... I don’t mind. You are kind of her dad.”

Jason looked up.

You met his eyes. “You show up. You care. You paint her nails and make dragon haikus and fight the blender when she wants smoothies. That’s more than biology.”

Jason’s chest tightened. Then softened.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you more”

Jason opened one eye. “Tell me you brought coffee.”

You laughed. “Only if you tell me why Batman is babysitting my child.”

Jason sighed into the pillow. “Long story.”

Bruce stood. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a menace,” Jason mumbled fondly.

Rory woke up and shouted, “GLITTER PANCAKES?”

[losergendered]

💙💙?

Clashgender (link): A gender/umbrella term for genders related to The Clash in any way

Bulletboldinet (link): a gender related to bulletin board systems

[shesgaymichaelscott]

Hiii I love your work! I have a reader x Melissa request if you’re okay with that. Reader is pining after Melissa (who doesn’t know) but Mel (mutual pining?) is with the fire captain. Reader goes on a date to try to get over Mel but Melissa finds out about the date and gets jealous. Maybe Melissa sees them at a restaurant or Jacob spills the beans. Melissa is all cranky about it and reader finds out why. Something along those lines! Honestly I just love mutual pining hahaha

Captain Who?

(SO much mutual pining, idiots secretly in love, random first date, angst, eventual smut-at the v v end)

Word Count: 5.9k

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs

~ The first time you realized you had feelings for Melissa Schemmenti, it wasn't a thunderclap or an epiphany.

It was quieter than that—smaller.

She'd leaned into your classroom doorway, arms crossed over her chest in that easy, amused way of hers, and teased you about your bulletin board falling off the wall mid-lesson. You were still flustered, holding up the whole laminated solar system with both hands like Atlas in sensible shoes, but she just grinned, shook her head, and walked away.

You stared at the empty doorway for a full thirty seconds longer than you should have.

It wasn't the first time she'd razzed you. You weren't even new to Abbott anymore. But that moment—it stayed.

And you, idiot that you are, let it stay.

You were the kind of fool who liked little things too much. The way Melissa's voice dipped when she was tired or affectionate. The way she'd call someone "honey" and it would feel like you'd earned something holy. The particular scrunch of her nose when she pretended not to care.

And it would've been fine. Quiet pining is sustainable. It's safe.

Except then came him.

Captain Robinson.

Tall. Confident. Decent jawline. Firefighter. The kind of man who makes moms at pickup line whisper in pairs. He met Melissa at a community fire safety presentation, and within a week, his name started showing up more than yours in her stories.

He brought her lunch once. Melissa told you he made her laugh. He helped her carry in three crates of juice boxes one afternoon and kissed her temple before leaving.

You'd gone home and scrubbed your kitchen tiles on your hands and knees until your arms ached.

Melissa didn't talk about him often. Not in that giddy, oversharing kind of way. But he was there—in little glimpses, in a new necklace she said he bought her, in a few mornings where she showed up with wet hair and a satisfied kind of smirk that made your heart hurt.

You tried to be happy for her. Truly. She looked... safe with him. Relaxed.

But then there were the other moments.

The way her gaze lingered on you when she thought you weren't looking. The softness when she handed you coffee without asking. That time she saw you shivering in the parking lot and wordlessly wrapped you in her own scarf—and kept her hand on your back a second too long.

It made your head spin. And it made you angry. Because if she wanted you—why didn't she do something?

Instead, you were stuck in a weird purgatory. Halfway between being her coworker and her almost-could be-something. Meanwhile, she had a firefighter with a beer belly and a stable retirement plan.

"You need to go on a date." Jacob said it during lunch one Wednesday like it was a group project assignment.

You blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard him," Janine said, nodding. "You've been weird and mopey for, like, a month. Ever since Melissa started—"

"I'm not mopey," you interrupted.

Jacob gave you a long, painfully kind look over his yogurt. "You wore mismatched shoes last week."

"I was tired."

"And you nearly cried when Melissa said you were 'like family.'"

"That was contextually emotional, okay?"

Jacob patted your hand. "You deserve to be distracted by someone hot. And kind. And not currently entangled with a fireman who looks like he does intermittent fasting for sport."

You almost laughed—but it caught in your throat.

"I don't know," you muttered. "I'm not really in the mood to..."

"You don't have to marry them," Janine said gently. "Just a date. With a woman who thinks you're cute and actually wants to kiss you instead of teasing you like it's not stringing you along."

That part hit a little too close.

They set you up with someone named Riley—a friend of Jacob's from a book club that dissolved after too many arguments about The Secret History. She was pretty in an art-teacher kind of way, all expressive earrings and dry wit, with a sharp smile that promised you wouldn't be bored.

You agreed, half-dreading it, but also desperate for the ache in your chest to lessen, even by an inch.

The night of the date, you wore something simple but flattering. Something you knew Melissa liked on you. That fact haunted you in the mirror as you adjusted the neckline.

You arrived at the cozy wine bar Riley had chosen and she was already there, sipping a glass of red and smiling like you were exactly what she'd hoped for.

"You're cuter than your picture," she said as you sat down. "Is that okay to say?"

You smiled. It was nice. It was.

Conversation flowed. She was funny. She got your sarcasm. You even forgot to check your phone for nearly half an hour.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

Melissa didn't come here often.

But there she was.

Leather jacket. Perfect hair. That careless walk like she owned the room without trying.

Captain Robinson wasn't with her. She was with Kristen Marie—probably grabbing a drink after dinner or some neighborhood thing. You weren't sure.

But her eyes scanned the room lazily...

...and then stopped.

Right. On. You.

And Riley.

Sitting close, laughing, drinking wine, her hand touching your arm like it had every right to.

Melissa froze.

Not visibly. Not to anyone else. But you saw it. The way her smile twitched. The way her eyebrows lifted a fraction of a second too high.

Kristen Marie kept talking beside her, oblivious. Melissa nodded distractedly—but didn't look away.

You felt your stomach flip in the worst way.

Because she looked jealous.

And you—god help you—you liked it.

There was a booth at the far end of the bar Melissa liked—half-lit, quiet, good vantage point for people-watching. But tonight, with you just fifteen feet away under warm hanging lights and Riley laughing like you belonged to her, she picked a table far too close.

Kristen Marie was mid-sentence, spinning some ridiculous story about one of her preschoolers swallowing a LEGO head, but Melissa wasn't hearing any of it. Not really.

Because you were smiling. At someone else.

And Melissa couldn't fucking stand it.

She schooled her face into something neutral—interested, even. She nodded when Kristen Marie paused. Maybe even laughed a little too hard at a line she barely caught. But her eyes kept drifting back. Over the rim of her glass. Under her lashes. Quietly frantic.

You were doing the same thing.

Trying to act normal. Holding onto this date like a lifeline. Laughing at Riley's jokes even when they didn't quite land. Listening. Flirting, even.

But your heart was hammering too fast in your chest. You could feel her. The weight of her stare burning into your side like a slow match. And every time you dared to glance toward the bar—there she was. Beautiful, unreadable, with one hand wrapped tightly around her glass and the other clenched in her lap.

Still not alone.

Of course.

Kristen Marie caught sight of you and waved. You smiled automatically, polite and shaky. Melissa didn't wave. Her jaw twitched once. That was all.

"She's been watching you since we walked in," Riley said casually, her voice low as she sipped her drink.

Your stomach flipped.

"What?"

Riley tilted her head, eyes amused. "The redhead. I take it you know her."

You stared down into your glass. "She's... someone I work with."

"Uh huh," Riley said, leaning back, her tone playful but sharp. "And do you work with her while secretly pining like a Victorian ghost?"

You choked out a laugh, panicked. "What? No. I mean—no. Not... not anymore."

Riley raised an eyebrow. "So formerly haunted. Got it."

You stared at the candle between you like it might offer an escape.

"I don't blame you," she added after a beat. "She's hot. And currently staring at me like she wants to set me on fire."

You flinched, glanced over. Yep. Melissa was doing that thing again—masking it with a slight smile, talking with Kristen Marie, but her eyes? Laser-focused.

"She's not—jealous," you said, maybe to yourself. "She's just..."

"Watching her coworker on a date. Intently. While ignoring her own companion? Yeah, no, that's totally casual behavior."

You rolled your eyes, but your skin buzzed with nerves. Riley was too perceptive for your own good. But she wasn't wrong.

The waitress came by with the wine refill, and you forced yourself to sit up straighter, to focus.

Riley leaned in again, a little closer this time. "So. Are we making her jealous on purpose or by accident?"

You snorted, more genuinely this time. "I didn't even know she'd be here."

Riley nodded. "Then it's fate. Which means we owe it to the universe to keep going. You seem like someone who needs a push."

You blinked. "I do?"

"You look like you've been in love with someone who doesn't deserve you for, like, a decade."

You frowned. "She's not... she's not a bad person."

"I didn't say she was," Riley said, tilting her head. "I said she doesn't deserve you. If she did, she'd be sitting here instead of over there playing I Spy with your collarbone."

You couldn't help it. You laughed.

And Riley leaned in even further.

She reached across the table and rested her fingers on the back of your hand. Just lightly. Friendly. But pointed.

You could feel Melissa's gaze burn hotter than the candle.

Riley's voice dropped, soft now. "Hey. I like you. And if this is too much, we can call it. I don't want to be some rebound you regret."

"I don't—" You hesitated. "It's not like that. I wanted to be here. I'm glad I came."

"Good," Riley said, warm again. "Then let's make it worth your time."

You smiled.

But behind her, your eyes met Melissa's.

And Melissa—still seated across from her sister, still pretending not to care—was gripping her wine glass like she wanted to crush it with her bare hands.

Melissa couldn't breathe.

Okay, no, that was dramatic. She could breathe. Technically. But something felt tight in her chest. Like jealousy had snuck up on her with its hands around her ribs and squeezed.

She'd thought she could handle it.

She told herself it didn't matter when Janine mentioned you were "finally going on a date." She even smiled. Said something dumb like, "Good for her. About time."

But now? Watching you lean toward that girl—smiling, letting her touch you, looking goddamn radiant in that shirt Melissa had once complimented half-jokingly in the break room?

Nope.

She couldn't handle this.

Kristen Marie finally stopped her story and looked at her sideways. "Are you even listening?"

Melissa blinked. "Sure."

Kristen Marie raised an eyebrow. Then turned, followed her gaze, and saw you.

"Oh, that's what's happening."

"Nothing's happening."

"You look like you're one half-glass away from walking over there and dragging her out by the hand."

Melissa glared into her drink. "She's on a date."

"Yeah, I can see that. So can you. Which is why your eye is twitching."

Melissa reached up and smoothed her face automatically. "It's not."

Kristen Marie smirked. "Okay."

There was a long pause.

Riley's grin deepened, catching the shift in tension. "You know what? Let's lean into it."

You looked at her confused.

She slid her chair a little closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Let's show her what she's missing."

You swallowed but didn't pull away.

Riley reached across the table and brushed her fingers lightly against your arm, just enough to make your skin tingle. Then she flashed a devilish smile.

"I'm a pro at this," she said.

You felt yourself relax a fraction, and a smile tugged at your lips.

Riley caught the cue and dipped her head, her eyes sparkling. "So... one more drink? Or maybe two?"

You nodded, letting yourself be coaxed into the moment.

Riley ordered another round, and suddenly the air between you was charged. She laughed more freely, her hand casually resting atop yours. You responded with a subtle lean in, fingers brushing. The chemistry was electric but playful.

Meanwhile, Melissa was watching all of it—her jaw tightening, the set of her shoulders rigid as she forced herself to laugh along with Kristen Marie's commentary. Her eyes flicked to your hand touching Riley's.

You noticed, and your heart twisted. There was a pang of guilt. But also something more complicated.

When you finally decided to leave—feeling that mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion—you thanked Riley softly.

As you stood, Kristen Marie, who had been watching the entire scene with a knowing smirk, suddenly waved enthusiastically. "Hey! Over here!"

You froze.

Melissa's eyes caught yours, and time slowed.

Kristen Marie's voice was loud enough for you to hear, dripping with playful cruelty. "Come say hi to Melissa."

You forced a smile, heart pounding, and approached the table where Melissa and Kristen Marie sat.

Melissa's gaze was sharp. Unblinking. Her sister shot you a pointed look.

"Hey," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

Melissa's lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Hey."

The silence that fell between you was thick—full of things unsaid and feelings barely contained.

Kristen Marie took the opportunity to cut the tension with a joke about her preschoolers, but it only made the awkwardness more pronounced.

You nodded politely, glanced at Melissa one last time, and quietly excused yourself.

Outside the bar, the cool night air felt like a balm, but inside, you could still feel Melissa's eyes burning holes in your back.

The next morning at Abbott, the air was heavy. The usual hum of busy teachers and students felt subdued in your corner.

Janine was bouncing on her toes outside your classroom, grinning like she'd just discovered a secret. Jacob lingered nearby, arms crossed, eyes flickering with amusement.

"So," Janine said, practically vibrating, "how was the date?"

You forced a small smile. "It was... fine."

Jacob exchanged a glance with Janine. "Come on, spill."

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "Melissa was there."

Janine's mouth dropped open. "What?!?"

Jacob leaned forward like you were about to reveal the ending to a season finale. "Did she see you on the date? Did you talk?"

"She was the date," Janine said dramatically. "The date was the battlefield."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "We didn't talk. Not really. I mean—Kristen Marie waved me over when I was leaving, which—don't even get me started."

"Oh no," Jacob said, clutching his chest. "You had to stand there? In front of her? While she was seated, all scorned and powerful like a Roman senator?"

"Yes," you muttered. "Exactly that."

Janine groaned and dropped her head to the table. "This is terrible. This is amazing. This is so terrible."

"She said nothing?" Jacob asked, aghast.

"She said 'hey.' That's it. I think she was trying not to stab me with a steak knife. Which, to be fair, valid."

"Did Riley know who she was?" Janine asked.

"Oh, yeah. She called her 'the redhead who wanted to set her on fire.'"

Jacob gasped. "Oh my god, I love her."

"I don't think she meant it affectionately," you mumbled.

Janine lifted her head, eyes huge. "Wait. So did you tell Riley? About Melissa?"

"No," you said quickly. Then hesitated. "Sort of. I said we work together."

"You said that while Melissa was burning holes in your head from ten feet away?" Janine asked, scandalized. "Babe."

"I panicked!"

Across the building, Melissa sat at her desk pretending to care about a stack of field trip permission slips.

She'd read the same sentence four times. Something about emergency contacts. Her jaw kept clenching.

Kristen Marie had tried to talk to her on the way home, to get her to admit what they both knew. But Melissa brushed her off with a low, "Drop it," and spent the rest of the ride staring out the window like a brooding teenager.

She hadn't slept. Not well. Her mind kept replaying that moment when Riley touched your hand—when you let her.

She could still hear your laugh. Still feel the flutter in her chest she refused to name.

Captain Robinson had texted last night:

"Goodnight, babe. Can't wait to see you Friday."

She didn't answer.

The worst part was, she knew she should feel guilty. She should feel conflicted. But all she felt was rage.

And jealousy. And this tight ache under her ribs.

A knock came at her door.

She looked up too fast. It wasn't you. Of course not.

Barbara slipped inside, calm and quiet as ever. "Melissa."

Melissa straightened. "Hey, Barb."

Barbara closed the door behind her. "What happened?"

Melissa blinked. "What do you mean?"

Barbara tilted her head. "I may be old, but I'm not blind. You've barely looked at her today. And she's barely looked at you. That's not nothing."

Melissa swallowed. "We're just—busy."

Barbara raised one elegant eyebrow. "Try again."

Melissa sighed. "She was on a date. I happened to be there."

"With Kristen Marie," Barbara said knowingly, sitting across from her. "She told me."

Melissa looked down at her desk. "It's not my business who she goes out with."

Barbara was quiet for a moment. "Then why does it look like someone kicked your puppy?"

Melissa didn't answer.

Barbara leaned forward. "Do you love her?"

Melissa's breath hitched.

She didn't speak.

"You don't have to say it out loud," Barbara said gently. "But if you do... you need to be honest. With her. With yourself. And with the man who thinks he still has a place in your heart."

Melissa looked away.

"I don't love him," she said quietly. "Captain Robinson. I never really did. Not like that."

Barbara gave a small, sad smile. "Then why are you still pretending?"

Melissa didn't know. Maybe because it was easy. Safe. Expected.

But last night, when you looked at her like you didn't recognize her anymore—when Riley held your hand and you didn't pull away—it was the first time she'd felt real panic.

Not fear of losing. But fear of being too late.

Barbara stood. "You have a choice, Melissa. But if you wait too long... someone else might make it for you."

The last school bell rang like a mercy.

You stayed at your desk longer than usual, eyes glued to a stack of graded essays you had no memory of writing feedback on. Your thoughts kept looping, tangled in Melissa's unreadable stare, Riley's soft smile, Janine's gasps of disbelief, Jacob's whispered theories.

You were exhausted.

Emotionally drained from playing it cool all day. From ducking into side hallways to avoid running into her. From pretending like you weren't reliving that candlelit wine bar moment on repeat, her voice a tight "hey" that sounded like a question she didn't ask.

And the worst part?

You missed her.

You missed her. The ridiculous banter. The eye-rolls she saved just for you. The way she'd sneak snacks into your desk drawer without ever admitting it. The warmth of her when she stood close. The way she looked at you sometimes like you were gravity.

And today she hadn't looked at you at all.

Janine appeared at your door like a worried sibling, already mid-sentence. "Okay, so we've decided you're coming over tonight. I'll make spaghetti. Jacob's bringing that fancy red wine that gives us both headaches. You're not allowed to wallow alone."

Jacob followed close behind. "We're staging an emotional intervention. You get to pick the playlist, and if you say Phoebe Bridgers, I will cry with you."

You smiled despite yourself. "You guys don't have to—"

Janine cut you off with a look. "No. We do. Because we love you. And because Melissa's acting like she's in the final act of a tragic opera and it's making everyone weird."

Jacob glanced down the hall. "She's been pacing her classroom. Ava told me she took three different calls in a row and said 'I gotta deal with this' out loud to herself."

"She also slammed a drawer," Janine whispered dramatically.

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"She never slams," Jacob said. "Something's up."

And then—Jacob's eyes widened.

"Oh my god," he hissed, grabbing Janine's arm. "Look."

You followed his gaze.

Down the hallway, tall and solid as ever, was Captain Robinson, dressed in his off-duty jeans and department t-shirt, walking purposefully toward Melissa's room with a bouquet of white tulips in hand.

You froze. Janine's jaw dropped. Jacob physically recoiled.

"He brought flowers?" Janine hissed. "She told him to come?"

"I thought she ghosted him!" Jacob whisper-screamed. "He texted her last night and she didn't answer! This is... this is the twist!"

You stared.

Melissa had called him.

She wanted him here.

You thought your stomach might hit the floor.

Janine put a hand on your arm. "Hey. You okay?"

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You felt numb. Cold and hot all at once.

"I—I don't know."

Jacob moved closer. "We can leave. Come on. You don't have to watch this."

But you couldn't move. Not yet.

Just as Captain Robinson reached her door, Melissa opened it.

She looked like she'd been non-stop pacing. Her hair was a little frizzy from her fingers, her expression serious. You couldn't hear what she said, but you saw her eyes flicker in surprise—then soften.

She stepped aside, let him in.

The door closed behind them.

And the silence stretched like it wanted to snap.

Captain Robinson set the flowers down on her desk, his grin easy. "You look good."

Melissa gave a faint smile. "Thanks for coming."

"You said it was important. What's up?"

She didn't sit. "We need to talk."

He paused, straightening. "Okay..."

Melissa exhaled slowly. "I've been thinking a lot. About us. About this."

He nodded once, the corners of his mouth twitching into something wary.

"You're great," she said. "You really are. You've been kind. Steady. Exactly the kind of guy anyone would be lucky to have."

"But not the one you want," he said gently.

She flinched. "No. I thought maybe I could get there. That something would click eventually."

"But it didn't."

She shook her head.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then offered a sad little smile. "So... who is she?"

Melissa's eyes flickered up, startled. "What?"

"I'm not blind either, Schemmenti. You think I didn't notice the way your whole face changes when someone mentions her?"

Melissa looked down at the floor, her voice quiet. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," he said easily. "We were dating. Not married. Not even exclusive, technically."

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. "We both kept things vague. But I'm glad you called. It was the right thing to do."

Melissa nodded, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a bit.

He picked up the flowers again and smiled. "I'll give these to the nurse's office. Someone'll appreciate them."

She laughed once, and he winked. "Good luck, Schemmenti. Go get your girl."

And with that, he walked out.

You were still frozen just outside your classroom when he passed, bouquet in hand, nodding at you politely before disappearing down the hall.

You blinked. "What—?"

Janine gasped. "Wait. He's leaving?"

Jacob leaned closer. "Did she break up with him?"

You looked toward Melissa's room again.

And this time, the door was open.

She stood there, still in the doorway, watching him walk away.

And then her eyes found yours.

She didn't look away. You didn't either.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

Jacob whispered, "Oh no. This is definitely happening."

Janine clapped her hands, whisper-yelling, "Okay, no one breathe too loud. History is being made."

And you knew, suddenly, that she hadn't just called him to talk.

She'd called him to end it.

Because she finally knew what she wanted.

And it wasn't safe. It wasn't easy. It was you.

The air in the hallway went still. Like the building, the world, the entire school day had drawn a collective breath and held it.

Melissa stepped out of her classroom.

Slow. Controlled. Measured. But her face—God, her face. Her mask was gone. All that tight, sharp tension she wore like armor cracked open, and underneath it?

Bare. Raw. Terrified.

You stepped forward too, almost involuntarily. Some magnetic force that had always existed between you pulling tighter, demanding less space, fewer lies.

"Okay," Jacob whispered, tugging Janine's sleeve. "We need to go. We're not animals."

"I am," Janine hissed, eyes wide. "But fine."

They backed into your classroom with the cartoonish urgency of sitcom characters escaping a scene. The door clicked shut behind them. Probably watching through the blinds.

But it didn't matter. You couldn't look anywhere but her.

She stopped a few feet away.

Neither of you said anything.

Then Melissa broke the silence, voice low and rough. "He's not coming back."

Your stomach flipped. "I saw."

"I ended it."

A pause. "Why?"

Her breath hitched, but her gaze didn't waver. "Because I couldn't stand the thought of sitting across from someone who wanted me... while thinking about someone who doesn't."

You felt like you'd been punched. "Melissa—"

"And then I saw you." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "With her. And I thought—I did this. I waited too long. I let you move on."

"I didn't move on," you said, almost instantly. "I tried to."

She stepped closer. "You looked like you were happy."

"I was happy," you admitted. "She was nice. She is nice. But I kept thinking about you. I kept wishing it was you sitting across from me instead."

Melissa's eyes shimmered. Her hands flexed at her sides.

"I was scared," she said, softer now. "You're the only thing that ever felt real. And that made it hard. I thought I could keep it casual with him. Play safe. Be comfortable."

You tilted your head, barely breathing. "And now?"

"I'm not interested in comfortable anymore," she whispered.

Another step. She was close enough now you could see the freckle under her right eye. The way her breath hitched when she looked at your lips.

Your heart pounded.

You could kiss her. Right here. In the hallway. Between the bulletin board and the copier. Right where the worst day of longing was turning into something else entirely.

But you didn't. Not yet.

"Melissa," you said, quietly but firmly. "You have to mean this."

Her eyes locked onto yours. Fierce. Devoted. Wrecked.

"I've mean it every single day," she said. "Even when I tried not to."

Your breath hitched. "Then say it."

Her voice was barely audible.

"I love you."

The hallway spun a little. Or maybe that was just your heart giving in.

You reached for her hand—her fingers threaded through yours like they always belonged there.

"I love you too."

She exhaled like she'd been holding it since September.

And then, finally, finally—she kissed you.

Right there in the hallway. After the bell. After the breakup. After the date.

Soft. Desperate. Devout.

You melted into it.

Everything that had been tangled inside you—longing, confusion, jealousy, guilt—unraveled in that kiss.

And then—from behind the classroom blinds, Janine let out a strangled sob. "OH MY GOD. THEY'RE KISSING."

Jacob practically squealed. "We are not emotionally prepared for this arc."

You broke the kiss, forehead resting against hers, laughing into her smile.

Melissa didn't pull away.

"Dinner at your place tonight?" she murmured.

You nodded. "Only if you bring dessert."

She grinned. "I am dessert."

"Oh my god," you groaned, shoving her shoulder, laughing.

Down the hall, a door creaked open.

Barbara peeked out, made eye contact with the both of you... and gave a knowing, satisfied nod.

Then shut the door again.

That evening, dinner at your place felt different than it ever had before.

Not just because Melissa was here—she'd been here plenty of times before, balancing takeout containers and grumbling about the thermostat being too high. But tonight... tonight she stood just inside the doorway, a little unsure, a little wide-eyed, like she couldn't quite believe she was finally allowed to be here like this.

You ended up making something simple. Pasta, mostly because it was what you had, and you needed something to do with your hands. Melissa leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of wine and watching you with a look you hadn't seen before—not quite smirking, not teasing.

Just... soft.

Like you were something holy.

"Y'know," she said quietly, "I used to picture this."

You glanced up. "This?"

She nodded. "You. Me. A night like this. Your place. Something simmering on the stove. You humming. Me pretending I'm not completely gone for you."

You froze mid-stir.

Her voice was quieter now. "I've been gone for a long time."

Your hands dropped to the counter. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Melissa hesitated. "Because I didn't think I could have this. You're..." Her brow furrowed. "You're the kind of person who makes me want more. And that scared the hell out of me."

You blinked back something tight in your throat. "You think I haven't been terrified every time you walked into my classroom with some sarcastic comment and that crooked smile and a bag of pretzels like I wouldn't immediately crumble?"

Melissa laughed, choked and warm. "I was never just dropping off pretzels."

"I know that now."

You moved closer, the space between you dissolving.

"I thought I could get over it," you whispered. "I really did. That's why I went out with Riley. She was kind. She made me laugh. But she wasn't you. And it didn't matter how much I tried to pretend she could be."

Melissa reached up, cupped your cheek gently. "I hated seeing you with her."

"I know."

"I hated how much she got to see you laugh. That's mine."

You leaned into her touch. "Then keep it."

She kissed you again, slow and deliberate this time. No urgency. Just this deep, reverent thing. Like she had all the time in the world now.

And maybe she did.

When you finally pulled apart, you both stayed wrapped up in each other, arms loosely looped around waists, wine forgotten.

You asked quietly, "Was it really that bad? Wanting me?"

Melissa's eyes filled with something aching. "It wasn't wanting you that hurt," she said. "It was pretending I didn't."

You exhaled slowly, forehead pressing to hers.

There were no more walls. No more stolen glances. Just this.

You whispered, "Come to bed. With me."

She nodded against your lips. "Only if I get to stay."

You pulled back, heart full. "Stay as long as you want."

You led her to the bedroom in silence.

But not the kind that stretches awkward or unsure. This was different—thick with meaning. Sacred, almost. Melissa followed close behind you, fingertips brushing your arm like she couldn't stand even an inch of distance anymore.

You turned once you reached the edge of the bed, facing her, unsure if you were shaking from nerves or adrenaline or just the fact that she was finally here, in front of you, like this.

Her hands found your hips. Yours slid into her hair.

And when you kissed her this time, it was deeper—hungrier—not rushed, but full of all the nights you'd dreamed of this. Of her.

She kissed you like she'd been starving.

Like she was trying to memorize every angle of your mouth, every sound you made when she pressed closer, every breath that hitched between words you weren't speaking.

You pulled her shirt over her head slowly, and she let you, her eyes never leaving yours.

There was reverence in the way you touched her—fingers tracing the lines of her shoulders, the strong curve of her back. She was all warmth and steady hands, moving with purpose and something more vulnerable than you'd ever seen in her.

"I used to think about this," you whispered against her neck. "What it would feel like. To be this close."

Her hands slipped under your shirt, lifting it with care. "And?" she asked, voice husky, eyes flickering with emotion.

You smiled, a little breathless. "It's better than I imagined."

Melissa kissed you again—slower this time, softer. She took her time with every button, every layer of hesitation, like she was unwrapping a secret she already knew by heart.

When the last bit of distance disappeared and your skin pressed against hers, you both paused.

It wasn't about lust. Not just that.

It was about recognition.

Like coming home.

In the hush of the room, your bodies found each other with aching gentleness—exploring, learning, listening. She asked with her hands if you were okay. You answered with a gasp and a pull that said don't stop, I need you, I trust you.

You were still tangled in each other, skin to skin, when she whispered your name like a secret—like it meant something only she got to say.

Her hands never stopped moving. Not frantically, but reverently. Like she was still learning the shape of you, the way your breath hitched when her fingers trailed along your ribs, the way your thighs tensed when she pressed a little closer.

"God," Melissa murmured, her lips ghosting over your collarbone. "You're so damn beautiful."

You exhaled softly, your fingers threading through her hair. "So are you."

She shook her head faintly, smile curving against your skin. "You've always undone me. Even when I tried to act like you didn't." Her voice was lower now, husky with awe. "I kept telling myself it was just admiration. Just a crush. But every time I looked at you..." Her lips pressed just below your jaw. "I fell a little harder."

You arched into her, gasping as her hand traced slow, languid lines down your side. She was everywhere—her body flush against yours, her breath warm against your neck, her voice making you tremble more than anything else.

"I love the way you sound," she whispered, almost in disbelief. "The way you move. The way you let me in."

You guided her hips down to meet yours, the angle perfect, a slow drag of skin on skin that made you both gasp.

Your nails clutched at her waist. "Melissa..."

Her mouth found yours again, messier this time, needy. She was grinding into you, her rhythm steady, deliberate, like she wanted to make you feel everything.

And you did.

Every moan you swallowed into her mouth. Every word she whispered—"So good," "Just like that," "I've got you"—sent your body spiraling closer to the edge.

You rocked against her, hips rising to meet her, the friction electric, dizzying, perfect.

Your head fell back into the pillow, your voice catching. "You feel so good."

She held your gaze. "Come with me."

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

And then she said it—low, breathless, honest:

"I've waited so long for this. For you."

That was what did it.

The words. The weight of them.

The love.

You came with a gasp, your legs tightening around her, your hands in her hair as Melissa followed just seconds later, her body shaking against yours, her mouth open in a soft, broken moan.

And when it was over, you stayed like that.

Foreheads touching. Fingers linked.

Both of you catching your breath in the quiet aftermath.

She kissed you again, slower this time. A thank you. A promise.

You smiled, still breathless. "I meant it. Stay."

Melissa pulled you even closer. "I'm not going anywhere."

[juyeoz]

U + M3 = LOV3 — NISHIMURA RIKI

019 ┆what the hell (1.1k words)

You rush down the halls of Decelis Academy with pure anger plastered over your face. There’s nothing that can make you this happy aside from the athletics council — to be more accurate, that lunatic of a boy, Nishimura Riki.

If anything, he’s hell. You don’t see what other girls see in him. The amount of love letters that flood out of his locker everyday, the constant cheers from outside the gymnasium after he scores during their games while you worked on the bulletin boards past school hours.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him play, the last time being sophomore year. Although it’s an open opportunity, you’d never go back and do it again. 

The sound of the presenter on the mic announcing to the crowd that #2, Nishimura Riki, had scored again, was a constant replay in your head during the times you decorated the bulletin board. 

However, that was years ago. 

Ever since then, you haven’t heard about him or seen him — well, not until he appeared in front of your club room that day.

You sigh, hating what is about to leave your mouth. Never in a million years would you have seen yourself saying this name again. “Nishimura Riki,” you call from in front of his desk as disgust settles into your system. 

The classroom falls quiet as he looks up from the game on his phone screen. Luckily for you, class is nearly done. It’s almost time for lunch anyway. 

His brows knit at your appearance and he rolls his eyes before returning his attention to his video game. Riki doesn’t have the energy to hear you blabber about whatever nonsense of an issue you had with him and his council. 

Judging by your angered expression, it’s obvious that would have been the topic of your ‘conversation’. Annoyed, you grab his phone out of his hold and turn it off immediately. 

His head shoots up with a mix of confusion, anger, and shock expressed through his features.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Riki exclaims while standing up abruptly to reach for his phone. To his dismay, you only pull back further, increasing the distance between his hand and the device.

“Come with me to the principal’s office.” 

Your tone is stern. It’s more of an order than a casual statement. 

Riki’s brows raise. “Absolutely not, are you insane? Give me my phone back.” He reaches for his phone even more, however, once again, you pull back. In quick motion, you harshly grab his wrist and begin to drag him out of his personal habitat of his English class. 

He’s alarmed by the sudden change in environments all while trying to shake your hold off of his arm.

“Let go, I don’t want you touching me.” He says, trying to put your walking to a stop. Spoiler alert — he fails. Your grip isn’t faltering one bit, leaving him with no choice but to let you take him away against his own will.

Riki tries once more, but there’s nothing. Your harsh grip remains firm with no gaps for him to slip through.

He sighs and gives up, maybe if he obeys he can get his phone back and flee the scene, right? 

Maybe.

His eyes run over your clothes, noticing the gleam during the moments the sunlight from the windows hits you two. It's glitter. The glitter. Satisfied, he bites back a smile and stifles a snicker. Their trap worked and you just so happened to fall right into it.

You harshly let go of his hand after stopping in your tracks. His giddy state falters and is replaced with irritation at the sight of your face.

The door behind you reads the Principal's office, giving Riki perfect context as to what is going on — you’re snitching on them.

You shove his phone into his chest and let go of it before Riki gets the chance to put his hands out. Luckily, he catches it at the last second, but the moment he looks up, you’re gone and the door is swinging back and forth. 

He rolls his eyes and slips his phone into his back pocket before letting himself into the office as well. You’re sitting in a seat in front of the administrator’s desk with an empty one beside you. 

Naturally, anyone would take that empty spot, but Riki didn’t. He takes a seat on the empty couch located in the middle of the office as you scoff. Good for him, you didn’t want to sit beside him in the first place.

“(Last Name) (Name),” your principal begins, “Nishimura Riki. Come here.” He instructs and Riki does just that.

“I’m tired of the two of you fooling around. Therefore, I’m not going to deal with whatever business you’re here for today.” 

The principal hands you both a slip. There’s words on it. Ones you don’t ever want to read again.

“What the hell?!” You both exclaim out loud. You can’t believe your eyes.

You have to work with Nishimura Riki to one, clean up the mess he caused, and two, attend a volunteering centre as punishment?

Nishimura Riki has to work with you? You of all people? Outside of school too?

“I’m not doing this.” You say and place the slip back on his desk. There’s no way you’re going to spend a whole day with Riki. That’s the last thing you’d ever want to do.

“Me neither,” Riki chimes in, copying your movements. 

Your principal sighs and pushes the slips towards the two of you just like before.

“Either you go through with this or earn detention. That isn’t  a good look for you, especially when you start applying to universities.” He explains and you stiffen. 

Riki scoffs. “Hell, like I’m going to apply anyway. I’d rather take detention.” He crosses his arms above his chest. Suddenly, silence washes over the office, running chills down Riki’s back. 

He slowly turns his head to face whatever brought the bad energy — you. You’re staring at him with an intense glare. It’s intense in both ways: it’s filled with annoyance and pleading. He can’t read you, but he feels irritated.

What does your case have to do with him? 

Your brows lower as the annoyance within you settles down, leaving Riki confused. Are you actually begging him to change his mind? 

You? 

The same person who hates his presence, the way he breathes, the sound of his name, and everything about him? 

He quickly looks away and sighs. Truly, he shouldn’t feel swayed by this. However, he does feel a tiny bit guilty for what he said. If anything, it’s not like he completely forgot how much you’d boast about your post-secondary future.

It’s whatever, it’s only for a day after all.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — HE FOLDED HE FOLDED HE FOLDED

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @himewonu @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy @i03jae @en-dream @firstclassjaylee @sunoo-bby @wensurr @itsactuallylina @r1kification @s0shroe @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ranjupotato @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs @paradiseoflosers @starbyeol1512

UPMEL TAGLIST BATCH ONE — @deeour @unhakki @heartheejake @yoonchaecat @hhyvsstuff @kukkurookkoo @stvrriki @filmofhybe @notcamii @ellieshe4rts @enhypenlovre @fluviorss @n-i4 @secretvii @athenaisonlinee @honkwrld @coqhee @jungwonbropls @bigsimpo343 @cheruphic @kittsnewera @enhzzlvr1009 @mensisim @rairaiblog @yvesrama @whywomenk1ll @stars4jo @heeheesang @urmomdotcom5678 @nishiriks @dylanobr1ens

© JUYEOZ