#but also like. fic writers know what the fuck theyre doing.

[peachywontyell]

i need to hear buggy whine and whimper and beg.

[timeisacephalopod]

I've kinda seen some pushback to the idea of representation in media and I don't necessarily think it's bad to point out actual rights are more important than Disney's thousandth first gay character that's fine, but I've had a LOT of people comment on my works about asexual characters and tell me what I wrote changed their life-and it's always that phrase- because they now have the language to describe what they feel. I've had people who ARENT ace or aro comment that what I wrote finally made a concept they didn't understand make sense, or that the way I explained things was interesting and enlightening and I'm kind of a mediocre writer who hasn't written anything in ages.

Like idk, if reading something from a writer who is fucking around and only somewhat talented can genuinely impact someone because they've not seen anything like them reflected back at them in life or media I don't think pushing for representation in media is as "needless" as some people seem to think and caring about that doesn't mean you don't care about more "important" (although if you think seeing people like you in media ISNT important it's because you already have that representation or are privileged enough to not care if you do, in which case maybe pipe down) stuff. Hell, I even got a Facebook message ages ago from someone who found a comment I left in an ace group about QPR's and what they meant to me and how I perceived them and the person no joke said what I wrote two years before they even found it changed their life forever because they finally knew what kind of relationship they actually wanted.

So like sure, of course there's always bigger fish to fry them diversity in media (you know, like diversity in real life lol) but I don't think it's as frivolous as some people are beginning to act like it is. At least not if you're an aspec person it's not, I STILL don't see ace characters almost ever and I'll bet my whole everything if I asked a writer of a show why they'd tell me that EVERYONE has to be in a sexual relationship and characters that aren't won't sell and are boring- I say this because in film school I had a teacher TELL ME every character needed to basically be sex obsessed and when I pointed out a GREAT MANY CHARACTERS are not revolved around sex (Supernatural stars two brothers, I pointed out) and when she asked if I had love interests I was like ??? That doesn't matter- using my aforementioned supernatural example almost all their love interests die or get mind wiped because at the end of the day that's not what the story was about. So actually I think writers who act like that teacher need like 50 reality checks, and representation in stories isn't unimportant and also support indie writers you'll probably find more funky shit there then Disney anyway lmao.

And also even the asexual characters I DO see in media don't remind me at all of myself even if I appreciate the effort, but they never feel real or genuine and their sexuality doesn't get a lot of exploration so 🤷🏻‍♀️ I actually could use more media focused on characters that I can genuinely see my sexuality reflected in in a meaningful and narratively impactful way because I've got nothing.

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

contains: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise [gyu gets his soul sucked while he's reciting statistical models I mean what]

words of conviction from @highvern: Kim Mingyu, total asshole , 1-800-HOT N DUMB , THEYRE IN LOVE MINGYU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOSER , sick fucking freak , i know when you wrote this you put your head in your hands , OHHHM YW GOD

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

[a/n]: this fic is set in the same universe as @highvern's wonu fic endpoint [read here!!!], some insight for wonu's pov is included here as is some of Mingyu's pov in cam's fic if you'd like to see more about what happens in the gaps!!

I want to start by thanking everyone who chose to be part of this collab fic and for being the reason cam and I were able to open up @camandemstudios in the first place. everyone's been so kind and cooperative and I still cant believe we managed to convince such amazing writers to join us on this collab journey 🥹 I love u guys

Thanking my wife camothy @highvern for brainstorming with me since day one and for betaing for me. @seokgyuu and @miabebe for also looking over the doc and reassuring me. I'm for sure forgetting someone and I'm really sorry about that, know that I appreciate you just as much 🤍

on that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, im HELLA nervous for some reason so plsplspls remember to reblog and send me feedback on how you liked it, I will love you forever <333

masterlist

Monday

A normal person would’ve cried. Perhaps even sued the entire institution for all it was worth. Burn down the world, if it came to it. 

But as you stare at the tiny 37/100 on your screen, you feel…nothing. 

You could’ve said you saw it coming, which you did, but something about blaming someone else for an exam you took was beginning to feel a little manipulative. 

Clicking off the student portal, you huff loudly, five in the morning too early for you to begin breaking down over a grade that was completely unreflective of what you were taught. 

Or maybe it was, because as you count one, two, three hours till your dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, you can only hope you’ll hold back from spitting in your professor’s coffee. But alas, you can only shut your laptop harder than necessary for what it costs and push the grade out of your mind.

You were tired enough to sleep for a couple more hours, and you take it as an opportunity to spite the entire course by giving just as many fucks as your professor did.  

Which was little to none. 

That was a lie—on your part anyway. Because you continue to show up, and probably will until you can put this course and all of its trauma behind you. Even now as you feel the inclining beat of your pulse sitting in the white lecture hall, you know this is all but you versus the universe. 

Dr. Cho might as well have wheeled himself into the room on a skateboard with the way he struts into the room. 

He’s wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans of a matching finish that do not fit him properly. There’s pins in every last colour on this earth, littering the front of his jacket with sayings that toe the silver controversial lining. There was one that said Vote for John F. Kennedy, another plain black one with I Eat Kids, and of course, the blaring Cunt written in cursive, pink sparkly letters. 

This man that’s pushing into his 60s stands before his slightly wilted class in his crocs, hands on his hips as he heaves a long breath. 

“I have to say, not the turn out I was expecting on that last report.”

He’s talking about the report you coincidentally failed, the same one you were pushed into with little to no direction and a deadline tighter than any you’ve had to bully yourself through. 

“All I can say is to read through the feedback I’ve given and try a little harder next time.” His voice is somewhere bordering comical exasperation. Feedback that consisted of sparing ‘?’’s and ‘no’’s with zero further explanation. He could say more, but you’ve learned that he simply chooses to not. 

Besides the man that drones in the front of the room, there’s another person in the other corner of the lecture hall. He’s hunched over a giant pile of papers, sifting through each and every one with a pen in his other hand. 

The TA doing a mundane task is somehow more interesting than whatever seminars of disappointment your professor was giving. He’s crossing something out on every single leaf of paper that he flicks through, and you vaguely wonder if those were today’s worksheets. 

“...and post hoc tests last week, we can start on Bayesian today. Mingyu will be handing out the tutorial papers.”

The poor TA looks like he thought he’d have more time, snapping his head up to look at the professor with an expression of pure incredulousness. He staggers for a moment before he’s flicking past the pages even faster somehow, striking out what seems like the same instruction in the giant pile of papers meant for an entire lecture hall. There’s a rustle as about a hundred laptops are being pulled out and booted up, waiting for the worksheets to land on the desks. 

You hear the familiar warble of papers being passed out and you watch as the TA pulls chunks of sheets out of the giant stack in his arms to slam down onto the front tables. 

“Pass it down, please… pass it down, please…”

There’s a voice that calls from one of the front seats, “What formula is the sheet talking about?”

Mingyu looks startled as he snaps back to look at the blaring empty whiteboard. In the midst of passing papers, you watch him sprint to the rolling whiteboards, pulling one of the giant flats of white over to the other side, the mechanism slamming into place with a louder than comfortable slam. It reveals another whiteboard underneath with the detestably long formula already written (and the one you’d have to figure out yourself).

 The professor remains with his chin in his hands behind his laptop, unphased. 

By the time you’ve registered the foreign symbols on the board, one of the tutorial papers has made it into your hands.

Sure enough, there’s a quick line across one of the steps with a thick black marker. 

Blinking hard, you attempt to pull yourself into the zone, staring at the white sheet with words that are barely stringing themselves together. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially as you lift your head to find hunched shoulders and furrowed brows all around. 

There’s one person that’s zipping back and forth, just like there always is. 

You watch as Mingyu hunches over certain laptops and whispers in rapid explanation before moving on to the next, a looming sense of dizziness that trails behind him as he shoots up the stairs to the back rows to help someone else. 

There’s a brief consideration to raise your own hand to ask for help, but one look at his disoriented gaze and the amount of hands that shoot up by the second, you guess it wasn’t going to help.

Back you go, hunched over the same wretched paper as everyone else, and praying for some divine revelation. 

Tuesday

Divine revelation did not come to you, but the good sense to make use of office hours did. 

So here you are, a printed copy of your supposedly horrid assignment and a pack of multicolour pens in your tote, and determination in your stride, you make your way to the department building. 

You’ve double, triple, quadruple checked the times to ensure you don’t dip in at the wrong moment, swiping open your phone to re-check the room number yet again. 

Standing outside the door, you knock with mustered confidence, waiting for something akin to an affirmative from the other side of the door. 

Nothing. 

You knock again.

Silence. 

You glance around the empty hall before grasping onto the cool brass handle of the door, wrenching it open just a peep. Poking your head in, you find the room…empty.

The chairs and tables that usually buzz with discussing students lay barren as you step into the room. Moving to look at the front of the room, you inhale sharply as you realise the professor’s desk has been occupied this entire time. 

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor. 

Moving closer, you watch the way his back rises and falls ever so slowly, head resting on his arm as his hand hangs limp off the table. Whipping your head around with more attention this time, you attempt to find an explanation written on the walls. But there’s none, even in the papers that litter the table he rests his head on.

You don’t need to see his face to know it’s the TA. But as you stand in the empty room, clutching the straps of your tote, you aren’t quite sure what to do. 

Another glance around the table and you realise his laptop remains on, the screen yet to sleep. Before the obvious issue of a blatant invasion of privacy can befall you, you take a step forward to take a peek. 

It’s his schedule, a million colours blaring on the screen in a colour coded regard with barely any white spaces. It doesn’t take long to find his time slot for right now, red with importance. 

Glancing down, the man remains fast asleep, pen still in hand as it inks a faint line on the page. You look around the room for the nth time, taking constant glances back at his laptop that tells you he’s actively missing something right now. Clearing your throat, you hunch over a tad bit. 

“Um, excuse me.” He hardly moves. So you try a little louder, hunching over his sleeping form even further. “Excuse me.”

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 

Out of instinct, you bring a hand forward to his shoulder, shaking ever so slightly as you call for him again. “Excuse me!”

There’s a sharp inhale and he shoots up quicker than you can back away, ensuring you get an entire back’s worth of force as he bumps into you, hard.

“Wh–ow!” The noise is collective, yelps and thuds as you both back away from each other. 

“W–what’re you doing here?” he asks, hair still ruffled and eyes barely open as he stands at the table. There’s a bright yellow sticky note on his right cheek, ink scribbled on in something you can’t decipher.

“Um, it’s office—”

His eyes land on the same screen you were peering into just before and it looks like his life flashes before his eyes, widening at the sight as he slams around the table looking for something. 

“I have to go,” he announces, gripping onto an unstrapped watch as he registers the time, his other hand shoving his laptop and a few papers into a dark messenger bag. 

“Wait, isn’t it still office hours?” you call out as he whizzes past you. 

He’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and half tripping to the door as he calls out, “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it—” he pauses as he exhales loudly, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rub across his tired face. “I’ll double check. But it’s Wednesdays and Thursdays from now on. You can wait till I get back if you really want help.”

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door. 

“—long…” 

You’re left draped in silence yet again, the echoes of the slammed door ringing in your startled ears. It all happened too fast for you to process, blinking rapidly as you registered that you were now alone in the room. 

He said he’d be back, but left you with no indication as to when. By the looks of his god awful schedule, it looked like he had something else to attend to right after whatever it was he buggered off to right now. 

Fingers clenched into a fist, you consider your options. You could wait, sit on one of the desks and try to get some work done until he gets back. 

The universe gives you your answer as the door opens with a loud creak in the empty lecture hall. It’s another professor who looks quite startled to find an overenthusiastic student already present for class. 

She stares before craning to look at the room number outside the door, “Am I in the right room?”

“Uh, yes! I was just leaving,” you buffer out, moving to shuffle out immediately. 

You’re halfway out the door when you hear another call of an “Excuse me!”

“Are these your papers?” The professor’s full arms are up as she gestures to the still littered table. 

The No is ready on your lips. Until it isn’t. 

Later on, you’d consider how you left that room with an armful of papers that did not belong to you. How you’d ducked under the table to ensure you’d gotten everything, down to the leather strap watch with the cracked clock face. 

But as you stare at the stack of files and sheets that lay on your desk at home, you only know of the decent act that you’d committed.

And nothing of the hourglass you’d just turned over. 

Wednesday

In your Sent box are three emails sent on three separate days, all asking the same recurring question, all responding with the same recurring reply.

I wanted to confirm the days and times for office hours. I’m aware it’s on the portal but I’d like to reconfirm. 

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A. 

So there you were on a Wednesday afternoon, 3:59 PM sharp, outside the lecture hall where office hours have always been. With the same tote hung on your shoulders, with the same printed assignment and pack of multicolour pens, and a separated stack of files and folders, you wrench the door open with bated breath. 

The blended murmur of the usual hustle and bustle of the appointment reassures you first, the sight of scattered students of familiar faces reassures you second. And most of all, a conscious TA that sits at the professor’s desk, speaking to another student over a laptop screen. 

The man does nothing to acknowledge your arrival, continuing above the babble of students that occupy the chairs and the discussion. It isn’t too full, but considerably busy nonetheless despite how early you’ve swooped in. 

There’s a brief consideration whether this was in the TA’s job description at all, craning your neck to take a full sweep of the room to find a sparing glimpse of the man who should be here. The professor and his loud fashion choices are nowhere to be found. 

The sigh you let out is heavy and full of an emotion you cannot possibly begin to unpack, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs to slump against. Shoulders sagging, you feel every fibre of your being screaming against your better judgement to pull out some work and to be productive while you wait. Reading over your failed assignment for the nth time, the same one that seemed to be some sick form of rage bait. 

You pull a couple things out so as to not look awkward sitting and staring into nothing on an empty desk, uncapping your pen and pulling up your sleeves like there was business to be done. Which there was, but none of which you wished to entertain. 

People watching, you realise, is a lot easier when most of the room is preoccupied with whatever it is they’re doing, too busy to notice your blank stares. 

The faces are familiar, none of which are people you’ve interacted with before but classmates nonetheless. The room is full of shaking legs, spinning pens and hunched backs, not an un-scrunched brow in sight. There’s a particular gaggle of girls somewhere around the front, their tables suggesting a work environment but between the whispers, giggles and glances to the front of the room, you assume there’s one thing in common the both of you weren’t doing. 

Speaking of the front of the room, your matched glance finds you face to face with the student at the main table in the middle of pushing himself off his seat. Your reaction is immediate, hand coming over to slam against the flat of your bag to find the lost straps, moving out of your seat as you keep your eyes on the front of the room. 

Bad luck must be a lover, because you realise quickly that somebody’s already beat you to it. Before you even noticed the first’s intentions to. The student stands beside the chair ready to keep it warm as the previous occupant leaves. 

Slamming back down on your own seat, you realise very quickly that trying to get an audience with this TA was going to be harder than you anticipated. There’s multiple other sounds of frustration around the room, and you doubt the slowly increasing pool of students was going to help anyone’s time management. 

Realising you needed to be a little more tactical if you didn’t want to sit here for the next month and half, you find an empty spot near the gaggle of girls you’d noticed before. It was right up front, just enough for you to hear when the conversation would begin to conclude at the main table. 

Once again, the TA doesn’t seem to notice any of the hustle and bustle of the room as his mouth continues to move rapidly, eyes on the question as he invests himself in his explanation. 

It was unfortunate that the only remaining seat was right next to the louder than necessary group, but you take it as a blessing anyway. It’s then that the one right next to you turns to stage-whisper to you. 

“Are you here to see him?”

You don’t expect a conversation, ears straining to eavesdrop on the other conversation in front of you to find your cue. You snap to look at her in surprise. “Pardon?” 

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

“Uh—” Wasn’t everybody? “Yeah, I had a couple things I wanted to clear out.”

The revelation makes her shoulders drop as she lets out a loud sigh, “God, I can never get anything this professor says. I've been here nearly every week trying to figure it all out.”

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

“He’s unorthodox too.” She looks over to the main table towards the TA, chin in her hands as she gazes. “A face like that is rare.”

It wasn’t that she was wrong, it didn’t take more than a glance to convince yourself that Mingyu was possibly one of the more attractive people you’d meet in your lifetime. But the appeal lasted for all of five minutes for you, flitting away when you noticed that he dragged along a very…overwrought… suggestion wherever he went. 

It was clear he was stressed seemingly all year round, nearly just as relaxed as your professor seemed to be. 

But Mingyu was attractive. And you realise how much of a fool you’d sound if you admitted to anything other than such. 

“It is. His willpower’s somehow even rarer,” you add. “Don’t know how he does it.”

“God, tell me about it. Forget getting his number, trying to have more than a three sentence exchange with him without some statistical nonsense involved is near impossible.” Her face has fallen, a tight little frown on her face as she irritates herself with some other memory. 

Taking a glance down at her notes, you find the printed sheet littered with glitter gel pen ink lining the edges, doodles of stars and hearts and small anime characters next to p values and z scores. 

There’s a distinct sound of a chair screeching, and it’s like a large GAME OVER sign is hanging above your head. 

You jerk in your seat, like you could jump over the table and land in the emptying seat with some god-given stroke of luck, like the person already standing next to the chair wouldn’t hold a lifelong grudge against the insane girl with an unnatural acclimation to statistics. 

Although, nothing was more unnatural than the way this TA seemed to know more than the professor. Or you were just really behind. 

Alas, you don’t tumble over the table or kick back your chair, merely making a forceful motion in your seat, palms itching terribly as you watch the girl with her open laptop balanced in her arms move to take a seat. 

You were preoccupied, hence you do not notice that the TA has also noticed you. 

Suddenly, the girl looks startled as she’s told to wait. 

“She’s been waiting nearly a week, I really hope you don’t mind,” you hear him say, voice strained as you turn to look at him. His hands are outstretched to motion towards you a few feet across from him. 

For whatever reason, you had no thought that he might’ve remembered you. Something about his half asleep state when he’d spoken to you, perhaps he might’ve thought he dreamt it. Or he’d just forgotten it altogether. 

The girl glances at you, and her shoulders sag a little as she nods in formality. 

“Thank you.”

It comes out of both of you, snapping to look at each other hardly a moment as you go back to smiling at the retreating student. 

“You can come right after her,” he reassures, his own upturned mouth tired and fading. 

Never have you felt more awkward trying to come around the elongated student tables. 

You pause at first, staring at the table in front of you like it was worth trying to climb over or even crawl under it to get to the desk. Another moment of eye contact as he stares at your unmoving form with a blank look, and the heat pools your skin. 

Staggering for a moment, you end up moving past your chair and walking the way round anyway, the screeching of the chairs only nurturing the existing budding humiliation for no apparent reason. 

It only gets worse when you sit across from him finally, backside barely touching the plastic before realising you’d forgotten your bag in your seat. 

Mid smile in a timid greeting when you make a sound resembling something of an “Oh!” as you spring back up immediately. It’s easier to reach for your bag over the table you were sitting on, reaching across to grab it off your vacated seat. 

The girl you were sitting next to just before makes a motion like she’s trying to help and you have to remind yourself to smile at her as you retreat. 

Mingyu has the very beginnings of an amused expression on his face once you’ve finally made yourself comfortable across from him, clearing your throat just for something to do. 

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring out the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him. 

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, he blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page. 

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell. 

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he actually wanted to know. 

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer. 

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and presentation was off.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words. 

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. You don’t have an explanation, but it’s somehow easier to feel helpless in front of the man that’s meant to help you. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he has to say it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand. 

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger. 

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did. 

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered in a rainbow of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag. 

You only remember when you spot the segregated file of papers in your bag.

“I almost forgot,” you say, slipping the files and tidbits out and in front of him. 

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply, eyes widening as sees the familiar blue. 

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

Pausing, you wonder if you should make the next comment, the words tumbling out before you can make a decision. “Maybe don’t run out of rooms still half asleep.”

By the grace of God, he laughs, “No, you’re right. I should be careful.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he continues. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.” 

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

True to your punctual nature, you make yourself known at exactly 3:29 PM.

Mingyu is at the desk, conscious and on the phone, eyes closed as he rests his face on his fist.

“I don’t know if I can make time for that—no, I understand, sir,”

Another pause as the noise from his speakers fill his ears, his rubbing over his face a little harsher than you doubt he’s entirely comfortable with. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

His phone hits the table with a heartbreaking thud, both hands covering his face as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

“Light on your feet or something? I can never tell when you come in,” he startles when he notices you. 

Sheepish smile on your face, you move to sit down. “Sorry.”

You know it’s invasive, and you also know you might be asking him to break some unknown university code of conduct, but curiosity takes charge as you ask a casual question. “Important call?”

“Uh, yeah, um, just work stuff,” he states, shaking his head swiftly like he’s trying to shake the thought out of his mind. 

There’s a pause while you're slipping your papers and laptop out of your bag, during which he seems to have decided to divulge a little more. 

“It was Dr. Cho. More stuff for me to do,” he says. “As always.” 

“Does he do anything other than show up to class?” you ask through a snort. 

“Of course he does. He cusses out every article he doesn’t agree with, is anything but objective and…the occasional relay of blatant misinformation.” 

For the record, you’d never really heard Mingyu speak at all for the months he’d been TA-ing for the semester. It was small whispers of choice words in a vague voice, the distant murmur as he exchanged with the professor too far for you to hear. 

The voice of the seemingly quiet and diligent TA was never known to you, not until yesterday as he explained statistical models and the flaws of your data presentation. 

Passionately too. Incredulous for a discipline so dry and unapproachable. 

That being said, something about the grit in his voice as he positively sneered through his teeth, badmouthing his professor—it was something you couldn’t quite believe he was capable of. 

“I’m sorry you have to put up with him.”

Once again, by whatever stone of tolerance the universe bestowed in his heart, you watch him sigh and smile, “Anything for that recommendation. And the pay too, I suppose. Besides, he’s done a lot for the area, can’t discredit him entirely.”

With your eyebrows raised, he seems to catch your expression. He pants out a laugh, and your stomach lurches as you watch it reach his eyes, teeth on display, a lurch in his chest; a true laugh. 

Raising his hands in surrender, he responds, “I’m stuck.”

There’s nothing you can do to stop the smile that reaches your own face, turning your laptop screen towards him with the JASP software display. “I am too. Help.”

Help, he does.

Monday

Mingyu ended up giving you an entire hour on that Thursday. 

The thirty minutes before office hours began soared by like they were nothing, and you were ready to take your leave the minute students began to scatter in as the clock hit a swift four. Except he kept going, another 30 minutes in deep concentration as he retaught you nearly everything from scratch. 

Perhaps his proven determination to ensure you don’t tragically fail is what prompted you to do this, standing at the till of your regular coffee shop as you ask, “Make that two, please.”

It might also be important to mention the 7:30 AM on the dial on a bright Monday morning as you walked into your slightly less dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, knowing there would only be one other person insane enough to get to the lecture hall this early. 

Something isn’t right. 

Mingyu is in a position all too familiar to you and everyone else who shares this class, hunched over something or the other in deep focus. The sun pours in through the lifted blinds, the lights of the class turned off as natural light does more than enough of the job. 

It also shows you a blaring hot pink post-it note on his face, all too familiar to a previous interaction you’ve had with him. 

He notices you before you need to announce yourself, brows separating as he recognises you in the doorway. “‘Morning!” 

“...Morning.”

“You’re early,” he comments, straightening his back with a hand behind him for support as you approach. 

“Figured we both needed this,” you hand him a tray with his cup of coffee, eyes still trained on his lower cheek with the paper stuck to it. “It’s a latte with no sugar, but I added a couple packets on the side anyway. Just in case.”

“O–oh, thank you. And you’re right I did need this.”

Now that you’re closer, the scrawled writing on the post-it note is clearer. 

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

“You, um—” It’s alarmingly difficult for you to say it, despite the words being so simple. Hey! You got a lil’ something on your face.

But all you do is dumbly point to your own cheek, eyes trained on the loud piece of paper that tells more than he might like the world to know. 

There’s a loud slap of his hand on his own cheek as he crumples the paper in his hands, bringing it forward to see. “For fuck’s sake.”

“It’s okay! I wanna…shoot myself too sometimes.” 

What the fuck?

“I mean!” you correct louder than you anticipated, before covering with a laugh. “It’s okay, it happens. Good thing I caught it before someone else did.”

It’s all the more petrifying when your voice echoes across the blatantly empty lecture hall, reverberating like it was a punishment for you and your horrid lack of volume control. Meeting his eyes feels like a sin right now, so you keep them downcast and pray he doesn’t try to sabotage your education. 

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

“Anyways, I think I’m done with prepping for class. Do you wanna squeeze in twenty minutes of ANOVA?” 

“Have you seen the time?” 

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

“And yet it’s 7:40 on a Monday morning and you’re absurdly early.” His brows are raised as he pulls around the professor's chair to bring it to you. 

“Do you want the coffee or not?” you ask, watching as he drags another chair for himself. 

The both of you sit away from the professors table, coffees in hand as you watch Mingyu run a hand through his hair. 

He gives you a crooked grin,“I apologise.”

“To be fair,” he continues. “I’m not much of a morning person either.”

You narrow your eyes the slightest bit as Mingyu takes a sip of his unsweetened coffee, “I’m starting to think no money’s worth this job.”

Mingyu snorts, coffee suspended in his full cheeks. He swallows with much difficulty before answering, “You’re right. Not sure why I’m still here either. I could get an offer from another professor.”

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

Elbows on his knees, Mingyu swirls his capless coffee cup, the beige liquid moving in a growing tornado. “I like Dr. Cho.”

“You—”

“I know,” he laughs loud, a deep, echoing sound that shakes in your ears. “I know. I sound like a lunatic.”

“I don’t know about lunacy, but insanity can have its reasons.”

“Another would argue that insanity was the very absence of reason.” 

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, and you ask again, “No, but really. I can’t imagine this man having too many redeeming qualities as an educator.”

Mingyu lifts his chin as he presses his lips together. “When I was in my first year, there was this other class I had where we had to write a lab report for the first time.”

“PSYCH101?”

“That’s the one. I’d never written one before, but I liked statistics enough to do a little more digging than what the assignment called for. I ended up finding one of Dr. Cho’s studies, read the entire thing, word for word. I was up all night reading nearly everything he’d published, some of ‘em before any of us were even born.” 

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

“Everyone tells you to never meet your idols,” he snickers. “He’s done amazing things, but I guess he pays for it with his flawed personality.”

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” you half joke. 

Mingyu looks at you sheepishly, “That might also be my own fault.” 

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

“I might as well have. All my assignments referenced his work the most. I was always talking to him about upcoming research after class, and it was like he was a different person. Forget differing opinions, some of what he was saying was just…plain incorrect. He welcomed the argument though, and I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true. He was always emailing me extra resources which…I’m pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do. Only reason I did so well in his class was because I taught myself.” 

He sighs a loud sigh, straightening his back, “I guess he liked me more than I thought, because next thing I know I’m getting a call over the summer telling me I have a job.”

“Did he…have a TA when you were in his class?” 

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Two at a time. All of ‘em quit at some point. Said they didn’t want the recommendation or the pay.”

“Would he…not give you a recommendation anyway? You said he liked you.”

Mingyu shakes his head solemnly, “He’s a tough cookie, everyone in the field knows that. If you’ve impressed him, you’ve impressed everyone.”

You take a moment to really absorb everything you’ve just learned. “That’s a sucky position you’re in.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s okay. Three—three and a half more months to go? This isn’t even the worst of it, I’m just dreading study week when I’m gonna have to handle all the crying.”

You wince as he mentions something even remotely close to exam season, still barely at a stage where you can accept you’d be alright with this class. 

“I know you’re not nearly as qualified or experienced as him, but I think you could take over his class.”

“Ever heard of barriers to entry? I’d be ruined if I wanted a career in this.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “All I’m saying is I’ve learned more from you in barely a couple hours combined than the last two months I’ve spent cursing this very lecture hall.”

If you weren’t lying to yourself, you could’ve sworn you saw a blush creep up his face, and paired with his shy laugh and hand at the back of his neck, you can’t help but bite back your own smile. 

“If I can help you then it’s worth losing myself.”

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

“I’m glad when students tell me that,” he continues, utterly oblivious to the landslide happening in your digestive tract. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re—” you swallow thickly because you sound like a toad. “You’re doing more than just something right. You’re saving us therapy and an extra semester.”

He laughs at that, and you wish he’d let you breathe. 

“Feels like I’m doing something wrong sometimes,” he huffs. “My friend’s a TA too and he’s got himself a girlfriend on top of everything else he’s got going on.” 

He goes on, “Do you know how many times I need to ask people to quit twirling their hair? To look at the page and not my face? Asking for my number, I have an email for a reason, for fuck’s sake—”

Mingyu is cut off because you’re laughing, hand to mouth as your shoulders shake through your sniggering. “W–what?”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “It’s just…It sounds like you don’t know what you look like.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” he frowns.

“Nothing!” you exclaim. “But that’s the problem isn’t it.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem to buy it, even through your coaxing as you attempt to explain to him that he is, in fact, desirable.

“Can’t possibly be enough to distract people,” he huffs in earnest, still hung up on the students he can’t get through to. 

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

There’s a pause as he registers what you imply. 

After a few moments, he drops his head, opening his mouth, “Would… you also—”

There’s a loud creak of the door as you hear the immediate noises of shuffling feet and chattering mouths, as low and tired as they sounded. Turning back to look at Mingyu, he’s already jumped out of his seat, wrist to face as he checks the time on the same leather strap watch you returned. 

“That’s our cue,” you breathe, pushing your chair back behind the professor’s desk as you manoeuvre around Mingyu who’s suddenly frantic. 

Of course you realise there’s people other than just the two of you in the room, heightened in seats that are designed to ensure they can absorb every detail that goes on right where you stand in the front of the room.

But you feel the soft of Mingyu’s shirt over his wrist as you give him a gentle squeeze despite it all, barely enough pressure. Half your index finger brushes the skin of his hand, just enough to register how cold your fingertips are and how warm his body is. 

“Relax,” you whisper. “You’ll be better off without all the panic.”

You don’t see his face as you brush past him and up to your seat, looking up to see him disappear somewhere in the corner hunched over another stack of papers. The next time you see Mingyu’s face is when the professor arrives and has begun his regularly scheduled tomfoolery, and realise all the age that can accumulate in the span of five minutes. 

Thursday

Midterm season is nothing you’ve ever really had to worry about. 

Something about the halfway point did make it obvious that the clock was ticking, but danger was far enough away to prevent the ultimate breakdowns reserved for the peak seasons. 

Except this class isn’t ordinary, and it’s all you’re able to worry about all semester. And as Dr. Cho in his Thrasher vest announces the date for the in class midterm, the glass once half empty, suddenly looks very half full. 

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re more ready than anyone else in class.”

“How do you know that?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly, “If I don’t know that, then who else does?”

You have tears in your eyes, which is embarrassing enough since this is the second time you’ve teared up in front of him, but also because you’re in a library following Mingyu around like a lost duck because he insists on putting the books he borrowed back onto the shelves himself after registering the return. 

“But I don’t feel like I’m ready,” you whine, turning the corner as he searches for the last spot to place his final book. 

“You’ll realise just how ready you are when all those hieroglyphs on the page start to make sense to you,” he grunts the last bit out as he reaches on his tippy toes to shove the book back up. 

Dusting his hands off, he adjusts his shirt before turning to you, “You only feel that way because I’ve been giving you harder problems to work on. You’re past the level you need to be at right now. Trust me, you’re more than prepared.”

“But—”

“Listen,” he waves to the librarian as you both leave the library, your eyes still glistening as you fiddle with your sleeves. “It’s only the midterm—”

“Only the—”

“If this goes wrong, I’m just gonna have to work you harder for the real thing. Even though I know it won’t go wrong because I said so.”

You fall into silence as he walks you towards the coffee shop across the courtyard. 

“I’m assuming…” you start. 

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

“I’m assuming you can’t hint at what’s on the paper.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh of disbelief, “You assume correct. I’m not going through hell with this job just to lose it because of a paper leak.”

“But it’s just the midterm,” you mumble, not even close to remotely audible. 

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 

“Nothing,” you huff.

“You know, I’m a little offended you don’t trust me.”

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

There must be something written on your face, because as you pass Mingyu standing at the door he keeps open for you, entering into the coffee shop with fallen shoulders, he seems to change his mind. 

He brings you a coffee, sits you down, and gives you something else you need. “I made the paper. Every question. And I taught you. Every concept. So I definitely know you’re gonna be fine.”

In that moment, with the large glass walls of the warm coffee shop, the afternoon sun comfortably resting on every last object of the room, you don’t see it illuminate anything other than the man before you. 

Perhaps you're being dramatic at the revelation, but you don’t take anything into account as you note Mingyu’s eyes and how they sparkle like they were gifted from the centre of a flaming volcano, brown and polished more than any jewel or stone you’d ever seen. Reaching out to touch him, you know you’d feel nothing but smooth stone, the indentations only possible by a being beyond what you could comprehend. 

He’d given you more than just reassurance, and at times, his timing makes it feel like he was sent from the heavens itself, just for you. 

You sniffle. 

His hands brush over yours as he hands you a napkin, and even more so, cover your own as he takes your freezing fingertips into his own palm, the contact burning you like hot coal. 

You know he’s real. And you don’t know why quite just yet, but that reassurance is enough to give you calm.

Monday

You were alright, but it seems that Mingyu seemed to disintegrate right after he was done reassuring you to the moon and Saturn and Jupiter and back.

It’s midterm day, and as always on every Monday morning, you enter the empty lecture hall with two warm coffees in your hand, ready for whatever shitshow you’d have to perform for today.

It seems Mingyu must defect from at least one regular string of behaviour to remain as Mingyu, who on this occasion, stands before you in a baby blue polo sweater. 

Except you only know that because you can see the unique collar, but it might also be important that his back is turned towards you. 

“Morning, champ,” he gruffs, nothing encouraging about his voice in the slightest. 

Your breath hitches when you finally see his face, eyes sunken in and face pale. His lips are chapped and peeling, eyes half closed. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that, why has everyone been looking at me like that?” he huffs in one long, rapid question. 

“Um, I mean,” you stare at his shirt that’s backwards. And inside out. “I can’t tell if that’s a choice or a mistake.”

Looking down at his front, he looks back up, “What?”

“Your collar is…not at your collar, Mingyu. And your shirt’s inside out.”

Hand at his nape, he reaches his fingers down and finds the unmistakable starched planes of his collar, eyes closing at the realisation. He’s immediately pulling his arms out of the shirt with his eyes still closed like it’d all disappear if he keeps them like that. 

“Wait!” you exclaim before he strips entirely, scrambling to put your coffees down to push him out of the room towards the restrooms. “Do you wanna strip for the CCTVs?”

You only hear him sigh as he moves out and into the hall, doors closed behind him. 

You’ve nearly forgotten about the midterm at this point, your concern now growing in a completely different direction. By the time Mingyu returns, he’s blabbing about wondering why everyone he ran into since he left home was giving him the strangest looks, and then something about you always swooping in to save him before the real bout of disaster strikes. 

It’s hard for you to listen to him when you’re more worried about him passing out, his face doing him no favours to reassure you that he wasn’t a breathing corpse. 

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

“Hm?” His eyes are glazed over and unfocused. 

“Sleep? Rest?”

“Oh,” he frowns. “Not really. I had emails coming in all night.”

“And you were replying?”

“It's the midterm today,” he responds flatly, like it should’ve been enough explanation. 

You almost don’t believe him. “Doesn’t mean you stay up to answer something that should’ve been cleared out beforehand!”

“Couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves,” he dramatises. 

“Yes, you could!” Your voice comes out louder than you expected, eyes wide as you realise what he’s doing to himself. “You barely look human and it’s only the midterm.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“I don’t know if this job is really worth as much as you think it is.”

Mingyu’s jaw is clenched, fists tight as he releases them to grip paper weight on the desk, knuckles white. “I can’t get anywhere if I don’t—”

“Mingyu, please. This isn’t good for you.”

He says your name. Declarative, almost like a warning. “If you think this job isn’t worth it then you just don’t know.”

“Mingyu—”

“No, you don’t, because I’ve seen how good of a job I’ve been doing.”

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

Mingyu’s own voice is raised, a hard impenetrable floor to the words he spills. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a corpse!”

And then he’s getting out of his chair with so much force it almost knocks it backwards, “Why on earth do you care so much? So what if I look like a corpse, if I‘m doing my job?” 

It might’ve been better if he knocked the chair right into you, your breath dissipating in your chest like it never existed. His face is morphed in an expression of exasperation your anxieties fear the most, every line on his face committed to irritation and anger. 

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you? 

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?” 

Mingyu only sighs, shoulders dropping and eyes closed. Like so many times before, you watch run a hand through his hair, except this time he yanks on the strands harder than ever before. 

His eyes are bloodshot. 

“I have to get the exam pack.”

Marching out the door in front of your own eyes, you’re left with a feeling that’s right in the back of your throat, curling and whirling into something you wish you could hack and gag out. Gripping the corner of the professor’s desk, you feel the peeling wood cut into your skin. 

There’s a draft, the delayed slam of the door has only hit its wind now, a delayed reaction. It’s like it registers in your mind as you feel strands of your hair shift, the clarity that comes with it.

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

Everything you’d subjected upon yourself. A whimsical fantasy between pages of logic and numbers, a story that simply didn’t fit where the laws wouldn’t allow it. 

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

Your favourite commonplace box, where your mother once placed all her most prized jewels, had a finicky latch. 

It wasn’t broken, simply worn in from years of opening and closing. It took a few tries to get it shut. Simply pressing down with pressure didn’t work; you had to open it again, press down on the individual elements of the latch and then try again. 

You were never satisfied until you heard the distinct click of the latch fixing itself, the box closed and ready for you to hook your lock through.

Earlier on in your undergraduate career, you remember a professor talking about the effects of external factors on the mind, how they can sometimes cause it to ‘shut down’ when overwhelmed or stressed. 

It’s happened to you on many a occasion; like when you stayed up too late on a school night to watch a documentary about the Stanford prison experiment, or when you’d neglect food or water on busier days, or when you’d stop paying attention in class because you were too preoccupied thinking about Taco Tuesday. 

Regardless, you’d found a way to recognise when your brain would fall into some strange kahoots with daydreams, or whatever was bothering you, and learned ways to give yourself a reset. 

Pressuring and forcing the attention wouldn’t work, just like how the latch wouldn’t fit when you’d do the same with your beloved old box. So you’d take a walk, drink something cold, spray yourself with a garden hose, or even take a nap altogether. Opening yourself up, so the latch can finally click. 

On the morning of your midterm, when you’d ensured your brain was in optimal condition for the exam you knew would be one of the worse ones you’ll have to take, you were sure the only external force that could ruin your vibe was from God himself. 

Having been so preoccupied with your mind and its functions, you’d seemed to have forgotten where your heart had wandered off to. 

Somebody else might consider it a minor disagreement; an anxious squabble if you will. But your breakfast in your throat was enough reason to deem what happened that morning much more than that. At least for you. 

“Pass it on, please…pass it on, please.”

The sound of his voice is tectonic. Rattling in your head like a superior force had slammed into your skull like a padded hammer to a gong. 

You hated it. You hated everything. You hated yourself. And as the midterm paper reaches you with your pen in your clawed fingers, the first three questions already making perfect sense, you realise you hated Kim Mingyu the most. 

That was a lie. You were lying to yourself, yet again. 

Because it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t hate him. 

As you drift past every question of conditional experiments and screenshots of data and tables on a software, you hardly remember what you circle and what you don’t. Hardly remember what words you picked for the short answers and labels. You hardly remember taking the steps down from your seat to the front of the room, where the professor sat scrolling through his Skateboarders [!MEN ONLY!] facebook group, placing your paper down and leaving the classroom. 

Throughout your years of living, you’d learned what you needed to get your brain out of its clouded muffle, to refocus when you needed it. 

Everything. You tried everything. 

But on that day, when it mattered most, your latch never clicked.

It’s Wednesday. 

You order lunch from the Italian place a few streets down. Ravioli; it’s safe and you know you’ll like it. 

Savouring it is easy in front of another true crime show. You pull a lone soft drink from your fridge, one that your friend left weeks ago. It tastes just as bad as the last time you tasted it from someone else’s cup, but you drink it anyway, the empty can now in your trash. 

It’s 3:30 PM, and you sit at your desk. It’s strange. It feels like you’re missing something, which in ways, you are. But as you pull your laptop from your nightstand instead of out of your bag, you slow your movements. 

The papers are the same. But you read them anyway. 

Parameter estimation: Make inferences on characteristics of the population, including distributions of the variables and the effect of one variable over another. 

It’s accursed the way the universe won’t let you live. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, estimation cannot be perfect. 

Estimation cannot be perfect. 

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

Hypothesis testing: Determine whether null hypothesis is rejected or not after data observation. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, no null hypothesis in bayesian approach!!

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

Latent means to have meaning but is yet to be manifested. The greek letters are placeholder values for values yet unknown. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue; values that you will find out

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

P(A|B) = [P(B|A)P(A)

              ——————

                     P(B)

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

 it gets less complicated

 promise :/ 

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM. 

You barely glance at the front of the room; swift turn to the left and right up the steps. Dr. Cho’s outfit almost goes unnoticed by you, tamer than most. Bright Barbie pink with large polka dots, untucked into too tight white jeans. His crocs are sparkly, at least that’s what the twinkle from up here looks like. 

He’s insulting another author, the man’s ProQuest journal article open for the world to see like a mediaeval scandal. 

There’s another person next to the whiteboards, back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. His hair is messy, shooting lasers into the carpet as he rocks the slightest bit, listening to the professor rip this author to shreds. 

An hour later, you’re staring into the JASP software like it was written in a different language. 

Glancing next to you, the boy in the spongebob hoodie is playing sharkboy and lavagirl by himself. On your other side, the girl has the same thing as you open on her laptop, her pen occupied with drawing about a hundred tiny gojos on a bright pink sticky note. 

Bright pink sticky note. 

You snap your gaze back to your screen quickly after that. 

9:58 AM. You start packing up, shoving everything into your bag. 

Dr. Cho doesn’t even notice you slip out of the room, hardly a minute to the end of the lecture.

In the hallway, you take your first real breath in two hours. 

It’s Tuesday.

You’ve come down with something, head heavy as you feel yourself burn up. Skipping class is easy when you sleep through your alarm and every phone call from a friend asking where you are. 

They drop by, armed with medicine and soup. You almost feel better. 

It’s silent after they leave, and you realise in that moment how much you hate it. 

Opening your laptop for the first time in over 24 hours, you turn on a random podcast to play in the background, needing something to fill the air before you lose it entirely. 

The screen lands right where you left on the incredulous data presentation, unsolved tutorial paper crumpled between the screen and keyboard like a wilted leaf. 

Hot, scalding tears sting your eyeballs when you realise there was nowhere to turn to.

It’s Wednesday.

After a long day of doing nothing, still sick from whatever plagued your body, you go to bed earlier than usual.

It’s Thursday. 

Walking out of class, your mind is empty. You’re still sniffling, still achey, but better than you were. The shawl wrapped around you is warm, and your hood covers the cold tips of your ears. 

This other class makes you feel better about yourself, especially when the content is digestible and so is the professor. The TA feels like a mere accessory in the room, something you’ve learned to appreciate. 

With your gaze lowered, you only see midriffs as you walk out the classroom into the busy hallway. 

It happens in an instant, the flash of a clenched hand as the owner walks by in quick stride. An unmistakable leather strap watch with a broken clock face on the wrist.

You freeze like you’ve been caught. 

The hard bump of someone coming out the room behind you is welcomed, the annoyed “Hey!” knocking you back to earth before you could even exit the dimension. 

You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 

It’s Monday.

“Midterm results are out Tuesday morning. If you have any questions I’ll be sitting at office hours on Wednesday and Thursday, four to six in the evening. Or you could send me an email, either’s fine.”

Dr. Cho isn’t here. Something you only found out when the pitt sank in your stomach as Mingyu cleared his throat at the full hour. 

You want to leave, not caring about how strange it’d look if you did. Not caring about how he would definitely notice if you did. You want him to shut up, to stop talking, for anything to halt the way his voice infiltrates your entire being, talking about things you don’t understand but more familiar than anything else. 

Mingyu’s voice is hoarse, and you loathe the way you can tell the difference. 

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

—  92/100

It’s Wednesday. 

4:10 PM. It’s almost too much for you. Almost. 

The screech of the door is loud, the slam of the handle’s rebound even more so. The room doesn’t so much as glance at you at the door, the half full seats preoccupied with more important things. 

The front desk perks up immediately, eyes shooting towards the door for the nth time that day, like he was expecting someone that never seemed to show up. 

It’s ironic, you think, how Mingyu never seemed to notice you walk into the room for the many months you’ve walked in just for him. And now, as you walk in fists clenched and jaw set, eyes wild and burning, he’s breaking away from a student to look at the door before you even come into view. 

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

“What?” he whispers. He seems to come around, glancing back before continuing, “Can we talk? Please.”

“Answer the question, Mingyu,” you snap. You don’t care there’s a confused student sitting right across from the both of you, his slot interrupted by your barge. “Did you feel so bad you had to give me something I didn’t earn?”

He’s stood up now, half confused. “Is this about the midterm—”

“I did not get a ninety two, I know I didn’t,” you grit. “Whatever happened before that stupid paper made sure I wouldn’t.”

Mingyu says your name and the sound makes you want to vomit. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I fucked up because of you?” you announce, louder than before. 

The world disappeared, your tunnel vision pointed at Mingyu’s face that wears an expression you cannot even begin to read. The unbecoming tears in your eyes are of a type of unadulterated rage you’ve felt only a few times before. Your heart is going about a million miles a breath, everything else only triggering an added bout of infuriated tremble in the forefront of your emotions. Nothing makes sense. 

Mingyu pushes back his chair in silence, stalking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. He shuffles around for a minute before returning. 

There’s a packet being thrust into your fists when he reaches you. He does not meet your eyes. 

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

“Here. It was all you, if you can’t believe me.”

It’s a careful mark, unmistakable lines and curves of the nine and the two. 

Reality is slow to sink in, but for some reason it’s only making you angrier. The paper curls under the pressure of your fingertips. You don’t open the packet. You refuse to flick through the pages. 

Because you know you’ve lost.

It’s Thursday. And it’s full of regret. 

There’s a sickness in you, from that dreaded day, something beyond what affects your body temperature and your energy. It’s in your mind, flooding the nerves that swim through every crevice and cave of your brain, a physical venom that does the opposite of kill but also the opposite of letting you live. 

There’s a feeling in you, that even if you were to open your mouth, unhinge your jaw, try to scream as loud as your throat would allow, there would be no sound. Something like a horrible dream, that you need to screw your eyes tight shut to fall out of. Except you aren’t waking up from this one. 

In a coffee shop, where Mingyu held your hand in a reassurance you now bleed for, you were sure he was real. Real like some deiform image; too good to be true. 

In your bed, dry tears on your face, midterm packet sifted through that showed you absolutely everything that you did right, thanks to him. He feels too real. Real like a cloud of obsidian that follows you everywhere, like the sad that’s been sleeping with you every night. 

If there was a way to hate someone more than a human limit, you’ve crossed it with the resentment you’ve now fostered for yourself. 

Barging into office hours like that, accusing him on a basis of nothing but your own dangerously stewed thoughts. If there was a hope of salvaged parts, you took a hammer to it in disregard; tearing it to ribbons that lay at your feet. 

It’s Friday.

At least it was. It bled into Saturday before you realised the 3:23 AM on the dial. 

Two weeks of no help and you already feel lightyears behind. The hour is getting to you, and you feel the frustration pool into tears, that turn into full fledged sobs. You’re crying over Bayesian inference and it’s somehow more pressing than any other emotion you’ve ever felt. 

Impossible numbers on your data sheets taunt you, not a single reference to if it was a button you clicked wrong or if you were playing a fool’s game altogether. 

Ding! You pick up your phone, the weight of it is enough gravity to pull you back to earth. 

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 

[Mingyu]: you’ve been pulling numbers from bF01

It’s immediate the way your eyes dart towards your lit screen, clicking off tables to get to the drop down menu you need. And there on the left, two tiny buttons, one clicked on bF01. 

With shaking fingers, you move your cursor to hover over the tiny bF10, anticipating. You click. It takes a moment for the numbers to change, but they do. The nominal values turn into something you can actually work with. 

Something akin to a tut leaves you, hidden in the breath of another sob. It’s stupid, unreasonable, absurd. Your fingers hover over your phone, shaking as tears drop onto the screen, faster than before. 

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

“I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true.”

Mingyu is a product of his personality. You can only imagine he’s helped because he saw you struggling in class, heard from someone else, or perhaps, he just knew the very thing you’d make blunders out of. 

The reasons come to you, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. Then why does it hurt? Why does it feel like the knife’s twisted a full 360, that despite the way you accused him of the thing that would strip him of everything he’s bruised himself for, he helps you. The very thing that caused this rift in the first place. 

There’s a reason for that, and it is again, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. 

It’s Saturday. 

Perhaps you relied on your olfactory senses to remain calm, because you always knew you could count on a coffee shop to forever and always smell the same. 

The universe seems to want to ruin that for you too. 

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

“We have a one plus one for the week! Would you like to receive another latte?” The lady taking your order looks no older than 17, a pep in her voice. 

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

She looks taken aback, a reasonable reaction to anyone turning down a free drink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to walk home with two cups in hand. 

You’re plucking a napkin from the pickup counter when you hear his name. 

“...that he manipulated her grade because they were hooking up.” 

“He has time to hook up?”

“I remember hearing about that! She barged in during office hours and asked why he fixed her grade or something.” 

“A ninety two? In that class? Oh, they were definitely fooling around with each other.”

“Whatever, at least we know he’ll entertain you if he likes you enough. I’m just glad those two are over so I can swoop in.”

There’s an eruption of giggles. You press your head down further. 

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

“All is forgiven when you’re born with a face like that.” 

Another explosion of giddy laughter, through which your drink is slid across the counter towards you, like it was waiting for you to hear the damning evidence before you could leave. You grab it anyway, grip tighter than usual. 

Turning around, your eyes search, finding a group of people that sit in smiles and in various states of trust-falls. 

There she is, the girl you sat with on the first day you attended office hours, the one with the glitter gel pen doodles on her notes and her blatant fawns over the TA you slipped under just as easily. 

She locks eyes with you and her face falls, eyes widening the slightest bit in recognition. 

Pressing your lips into a smile, you hope it doesn’t look as menacing as you feel. You don’t wait for a response before you walk out the large glass doors.

It’s Sunday.

It seems every sip of water you’ve taken during the week has been used up in all the tears you’ve seemed to be shedding. By the bucketload.

Alas, even blurry and puffy eyed, you pour over statistical formulas anyway, running on no energy and all antagonism. It’s another tutorial sheet left incomplete, a single question taking a pour that lasts in at least an hour of struggle. 

Reading the same question for the nth time, your palms press into your temples as you stare lasers into the paper, like the revelation would come to you if you stared it down hard enough. It doesn’t make sense, the commands you’ve toggled on and off identical to the instructions on the page. 

Hence the question begs why the data was coming out like someone pressed the ultimate on a number generator. 

With a heat of unreasonable embarrassment, you find yourself checking your selection in one of the drop down menus, switching to bF01 and back just to see the difference. It does nothing to help, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved it wasn’t that particular snag. 

The library is as silent as it could possibly be on a Sunday morning, near empty as you occupy the mostly vacant seats. The librarian is having her own day off, as you could swear she’s playing computer games behind the counter instead of actual work. 

The only noise in the room is your own breathing, and that seems to be enough to mess with your concentration. You’re going cross eyed staring at the page for so long, the words doubling and  disappearing before going back to normal. 

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait. 

It’s like you can see it in front of your eyes right now, the scribble of someone else’s dark blue on your notes.

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

Bayesian approaches don’t use null hypotheses. And z scores are in…

“Oh my god, this is a t test,” you whisper to yourself in disbelief. Immediately, you’re scrambling to shake your laptop out of its sleep, switching over to a t test to redo everything, following the instructions on the same data set. 

And there it was…a clear 0.067 under the p value. 

In a moment of questioning, you laugh out a breathy sound, the absurdity of it all becoming too real. T tests were the first thing you learned, the foundation to all your statistical knowledge. Coming so far, and it took you days to realise the instructions under a Bayesian approach were for a different realm entirely. 

It was stupid of you. But in this difficult aftermath you can’t help but feel victorious. Laughing to yourself quietly in this empty library. 

When the initial adrenaline fades and you’ve double, triple checked to ensure you were right, you can only stare at the tiny mail button in your shortcuts on the screen. It was clearly an error, one that was given out to nearly a hundred students. 

The first step was clicking, your inbox coming to life as you drift towards the big blue button with the readily available NEW MAIL. So you click. 

There’s an attached file in the email you draft. 

The tutorial paper has titled t test instructions as a Bayesian approach. Just wanted to point it out and ask if I could receive a corrected version. 

Regards, YN

It’s almost like you’re trying to remember how it feels like when you type an experimental m in the To bar. His name pops up immediately, email address typed out in full, full name clear on top as a regular contact. 

You don’t need a suggestion to remember, his email came easier to you than your own. 

But you don’t email him, backspacing till it’s empty once again. 

Dr. Cho’s email sits in that place instead, a first for you. 

SEND.

You don’t expect him to reply on a Sunday, in fact, you aren’t sure if he’s going to respond at all. You’ve already shut your laptop, half out of your seat in an attempt to pack up. You’re forced to consider. 

Would it be terrible to go back and cc him as well? 

A spiteful part of you might find joy in correcting him for a change. The rational part of you wants to actually finish the tutorial before tomorrow’s class when you’d have to tackle another beast for the rest of the week. 

Sitting back down, you move without thinking. Your mind is still cooking up possibilities as you swing your screen open once again, still weighing as you click back into your inbox. 

There’s a new email in your sent box after you’re done, a copy of the one you sent your professor, the same attachment and the same question; word for word. The only difference, a more familiar name in the address bar. 

Before you can chicken out, you slam your laptop shut for the actual last time, shoving everything into your bag before the speeding thoughts can infiltrate your mind's barrier. You’re out the door before you know it, ready to be done with this. 

You’re afraid if you put a hand to your stomach it’d be met with kicks and punches, especially with the way you feel the aggressive cartwheels slashing away at your insides. The butterflies are making it to the end of your food pipe, and you briefly wonder if you need to break into a sprint to make it to a safe throwing up zone. Your entire being jolts as you feel a buzz in your hands, a loud click that signifies a new email in your inbox. 

Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, you stop. 

The grip you have on your phone is unyielding, your fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. There’s no way to tell if you’re shaking or not, but you bring your phone to your face anyway. The screen flips on, a lone notification on the screen. 

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you sent that email, the library still in sight from where you stand. At the same time, it’s almost funny you expected any different from him. 

The kicks and punches in your stomach halt, the cartwheels have calmed, the butterflies have fallen asleep. The grip on your phone has loosened, and it’s like every nerve in your body went from on fire to serenity in a whiplash inducing shift. 

Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 

Noted. I have another tutorial sheet for you if you want it. I’ll be in the room where office hours are held for the rest of the morning.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

There was no way he didn’t have a softcopy he could send you in less than a minute, and you’re sure he knew you’d realise that too. You should scoff, be upset, roll your eyes. 

But instead, you find your feet making a 180, turning around to go right back to where you came from. You walk, eyes still half trained on the email, reading and rereading as you walk back onto campus, towards the building you’d once considered a second home. 

You walk, and walk and walk, in through the doors, up the stairs and then another set of them, you take a left and look up. The hallway is empty, the door on the right coming into view as you slow your steps significantly. 

Closer and closer, you realise the light surrounding it is brighter than usual. The door is open, and you can see the empty rows of tables and chairs, set neatly against one another. It’s strange, you’ve never seen it wide open before. 

Walking even closer, you can see the beginnings of the professor’s desk come into view, and it only takes you one more step forward. 

Standing in the doorway now, you find yourself in the direct path of the sun that pours in through the open windows. It’s warm, but just enough to combat the cooling weather. 

The desk up front is occupied, as it always is. 

Mingyu is only in a t-shirt and trousers, glasses perched on his nose as he scrawls away on the paper in front of him. His laptop is turned on, screen facing the door where you stand, his inbox open and available even on the weekend. 

It wasn’t that you were waiting for him to notice, but you found yourself inadvertently taking your time looking at him. Every other situation, you’d done your absolute best to avoid your eyes grazing over him at all costs, hardly drifting over his form before flitting away. You never did it on purpose, but it was more like you were unconsciously protecting yourself.

 Like looking at him would only make the ache in your heart worse.

If that was the case, you would’ve been right. There’s a tug in your chest, and in that moment, it all comes flooding in like a gate destroyed. 

Mingyu looks up and sees you in the doorway, standing immobile. He sets his pen down, taking his glasses off. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he greets you, “‘Morning.”

You take it as your cue to move forward, stepping foot into the patch of sun slowly. “‘Morning.”

You reach the desk, standing in front of him, the only thing blocking you being the littered table with files, papers and stationary; the trench between you both. 

It’s so silent it tears at your insides, gripping the strap of your bag to have something to do. 

“I, uh, double checked when I saw the email. You were right, nobody noticed in class either.” There’s an airiness in his voice, like he might be struggling just as much as you are right now. 

He clears his throat when you don’t respond, looking back down at his workspace like he was looking for something. He finds a paper from some stack, handing it over to you. 

“Thanks,” you hoarse. It’s the same tutorial you had, except the instructions had been crossed out, replaced by a list of handwritten instructions instead, detailed in their annotation. You recognise it, because of course you’d recognise his handwriting. 

“I didn’t have time to print one out right now. I’ll probably send a corrected copy to everyone tonight,” he explains. 

“That’s alright.” You look up, lips pressed together, eyebrows forced into a regular position on your face. Nodding, you thank him once again. “Thanks again. I’ll…get going.” 

Every fibre in your body screams at you to turn back around, hollering profanities at your inability to deal with this. You’re already halfway to the door though, and your pride’s already deemed it too late. 

Please stop me, please stop me, please stop me, please just say something and stop me—

There it is. Your name, from his mouth, in his beautiful voice. 

Turning back around is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Mingyu has stood up from his seat, out from behind the desk. He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to turn back. “Can we talk?” 

And then he’s pulling out the chair he was sitting on, presenting it like a piece offering. If you heard correctly, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice break the slightest bit when he pressed, “Please?”

So there you were, in a position all too familiar as you sit across from the man that’s haunted you for the past weeks, trying to keep your chest from falling in. 

“I guess I should start with an apology,” he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. “I don’t need to give you excuses about stress or exhaustion because…”

He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You were only trying to help and I was too preoccupied with myself to notice. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that when you didn’t deserve it.” 

For about the millionth time, you realise you’re tearing up again. He continues. “And then…right before the midterm too. You were right, I did feel horrible. But I swear that grade was all you, I didn’t touch those numbers.”

He really didn’t, because the papers he had thrust into your hands on that fateful day in this very room proved that you earned that mark. You wince regardless.

“I thought I could apologise before the exam started but I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone right after. I didn’t text or call because I was sure I’d fucked it all up.” 

“I’m sorry too. For barging in in front of everyone and basically accusing you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You look up from your lap, wet lashes and all. “I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble.” 

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I promise I didn’t.” He locked eyes with you when he said that, hoping you’d believe him. You nod slowly. 

“It wasn’t even that bad, what you said,” you sniffled. 

He scoffs at that, “I’d beg to differ.”

“I would’ve gotten over it,” you continue, bracing yourself to admit to something you’ve had trouble admitting to yourself. “I should’ve gotten over it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, why watching you walk out felt so horrible. But I haven’t been acting like normal ever since, and I’m sorry for stretching this whole fiasco out into something that didn’t need to turn into…this!”

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

“People have said worse things to me. And you were practically a zombie, I should’ve just left it for another time. It was a little bit my fault too. But…yeah.”

There’s a silence as you try to remind yourself to breathe. You speak up again. “I just want us to go back to normal. I’ve missed you. Alot.”

“Me too. The go back to normal bit. And the…missed you bit.”

Mingyu’s half smiling when you look up, biting your lip hard as you try to keep a smile of your own at bay. “I’d thought if I gave up and admitted I was struggling that day, that’d be admitting defeat. That you’d think I…couldn’t do it.” 

Why on earth do you care so much? It rings in your ears. 

You sound light when you say it though, knowing now it wasn’t what he meant.“Since when are we on caring terms?” 

Mingyu cringes. "We are. I am, at least, if you aren't anymore, which is fine. I care about you. A lot."

It’s hard to not let out a laugh. He looks half constipated as he tries to navigate his words. 

“Oh well I’d hope you’d care, since you’re my TA and all.”

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?” 

“No.”

You both know you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you aren’t sure why. Maybe you just like to watch him squirm. 

“You know what?” he rasps. 

“What?”

Your answer comes in the form of Mingyu lurching to grab the legs of your chair, pulling the wheels to crash into him where he sits. You’re not expecting it, the clashing legs causing you to swerve forward, hands on Mingyu’s lap. 

And then his hand is on the back of your neck, and his lips placed on your own. 

You’re stiff as a board, brain computing the fact that Mingyu is kissing you in a classroom. 

It’s short, hardly a few moments before he pulls away. “Does that clear things up?”

There’s nothing you can do but blink at him, the reality of it all settles in. “Hm.”

He laughs at your half dazed state. It’s a purely instinctual part of you that speaks after this. “Maybe one more time. To make sure.”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait to laugh again as he wastes no time, putting his mouth on yours properly this time. There’s more of a drive in you this time, moving your mouth against his and he keeps your head close. 

The ecstasy is slow but sure to build in your stomach. Mingyu is kissing you. Mingyu is sitting with you and kissing you so good you’re already half faint. 

His mouth tastes like coffee and remnants of berry, a combination you can’t believe you could enjoy this much. Licking into his mouth, you let your tongue drag over his, like the tactile would convince you this wasn’t some too vivid fever dream. 

He pulls away for a moment, but hardly so as his lips remain pressed onto yours. 

“For the record,” he pants. “I love that you care. And I hope you’ll keep caring. Because I don’t think I can handle it if you walk away after this.”

Mouth back on his own, you decide there’s only one way to convince him you weren’t going anywhere without dragging him with you. 

MINGYU'S APARTMENT IS CLEANER than you expected. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps more mad scientist than anything else. But the most you find is a mug and plate in the sink, and a moderately crowded study desk, which is to be expected. 

Mingyu decided to abandon his work for the day to spend it with you, to which you contest that it was Sunday anyway. His response is making you change into something comfortable of his so you could laze on his couch. 

Like you would run away if he didn’t, Mingyu keeps his arms around you in a tight hold, fingers curling around your shoulders as you lay on top of him. Your head rests directly over his heart, his cheek and lips taking turns to occupy the top of your head.  

You fill him in on everything, and realise the most eventful weeks you’ve spent were actually quite uneventful in hindsight. He feels up your cheek and forehead when you tell him you got sick at one point, to which you have to reassure him it was either something going around or stress that you subjected on yourself. 

“I went to a frat party,” Mingyu mumbles into your forehead. “For Halloween.”

The information has you shifting to look up at him in bewilderment, “You went to a frat party?”

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

“Oh my god,” you voice in mild horror. “Do I wanna know?” 

“Wonwoo and I matched,” he hums as he pulls out his phone, scrolling his gallery to look for pictures. “I was Mario, he was Luigi.”

“How adorable.”

He only gives you a look and shoves the phone in your face. By some grace of god they aren’t wearing moustaches, but the distinct red and green outfits are enough to give you enough recognition. 

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 were also possible contenders,” he informs. 

“That might’ve been a little better.”

“What’s wrong with Mario?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing. But I do hope you weren’t sporting an Italian accent throughout that.” 

“I was,” he pushes. “A horrible one too.”

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 

“You could’ve gone as Peach. We could’ve matched.” 

“I don’t know if I’d wanna wear any available Peach costumes during Halloween time.” You crinkle your nose as you think of all the racy costumes that unearth every October. 

“Maybe in private,” he says with an insufferable smile on his face. 

Placing your hands flat on his chest, you rest your chin and look up at him. “I’m not sure I want to interrupt whatever you two have going on.” 

“Who?”

“You and Wonwoo, you’re practically married.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, and you can feel the rumble in his chest against your hands, his body moving against your own that’s stuck to him. “Not with whatever he has going on with his girl.”

“Oh right,” you frown in remembrance. “What happened to not understanding how he does it?” 

“Hm?”

“He’s a TA too. Probably just as busy as you. You said you didn’t know how he could juggle a relationship and his job at the same time.”

His eyes spark in remembrance, pausing for a moment. “I may owe him an apology.”

“Do you?”

Mingyu frowns, “Actually no I don’t. I don’t think he and his lady are doing too well right now. He’s been insufferable lately.”

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

“I never know with those two,” he sighs.

There’s silence once again, in the midst of which Mingyu leans over to kiss you a few times, soft and lingering. Like he’s trying to familiarise himself with the shape of your mouth, the tactile feeling of kissing you. 

“Do you…know about us?” There’s hesitancy in the way you ask. But you can’t help but ask anyway.

Mingyu thinks for a moment, and it has your heart beating out of your chest. “I know that I want us to be concrete. That I wanna work around whatever life throws at us. You can decide what to call it, but I know I’m in it for the long run.”

“I’m glad you’re smarter than your husband,” you smile.

He only rolls his eyes, “He’s only good at one kind of chemistry.” 

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he assures. “They’re just going through a…rough patch.”

“Like we did?”

“If you’re asking me, I’d say they’re being a little more stupid about it.”

The snort that leaves you is unanimous with his own. He continues, “They’ll be okay though.”

“I hope so. I’d like to go on double dates with my boyfriend’s husband’s girlfriend.” You start giggling in the middle of your sentence, too ridiculous even for you to voice. 

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 

You only hum against his mouth, “Do I have to take your husband's blessing before we can move forward?”

“For fuck’s sake.” 

You’re both laughing again, a sound that comes from your stomachs, true and uncontrollable. For a moment, you can’t help but be conscious of how light you feel, how happy you feel with his scent infiltrating your nostrils, his presence known where his fingertips touch you. 

“I did the sticky note thing again too,” Mingyu says into the silence, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the fit of giggles that erupt all over again. 

“Said something worse this time,” he continues as you laugh into his chest. “Accept that you’ll die alone or some other shit like that.” 

There’s comfort in this moment. In your giggles and in your tears, in his voice and in his affection. His lips are another sanctuary you’ve found, and perhaps even another way to make your dreaded latch click. 

Nose nuzzled in his cheek, the feeling of his skin so soft against yours, fingers at his chin where a slight stubble grows, you relax in ways you cannot comprehend. 

MINGYU'S LIPS BECOME A feeling you’ve grown dangerously accustomed to. 

It isn’t that he has them on you too much, regardless of what an outsider might suggest; to you they simply aren’t on you enough. 

The following Monday went as usual, for you anyway. You weren’t avoiding Mingyu this time, and you were grateful for it. It was two hours of following him with your eyes as he darted around the room. You could hardly constitute it as not paying attention when Dr. Cho was preoccupied with explaining every reason he hates JASP over SPSS, but also ultimately, hates them both. 

You don’t even notice his loud outfit (overalls and a neon green sweater underneath), happy to watch Mingyu flit about and whisper incoherent explanations to students. 

The tutorial paper is barely looked at by you, because you know your boyfriend will be happy to help you out later at his place. 

You’re barely through the door that night when he gets a hold of you, tight grip across your waist as you’re catapulted into his arms, door slammed shut behind you. 

Bag still on your shoulders and your shoes still on, Mingyu’s slammed his mouth onto yours before you can take a proper breath. You stumble, squealing through the kiss as you realise you aren’t escaping the iron grip he’s got on your face. 

Somehow between it all, you manage to slip your bag off to let it drop to the floor of his doorway, shoes kicked off one after the other as he leads you inside, littering the way. 

“You aren’t actually paying attention in class anyway,” he breathes against your mouth before kissing you again. “So why don’t you sit in the back where you don’t distract me.”

“Who says I’m not paying attention.” You open your as your back lands on the couch, looking at him as he looms overhead. 

“You’re paying attention to me.”

“It was in my job description when I signed up for the girlfriend position.”

He’s all over you now, hands at your sides, mouth underneath your earlobes as he husks, “Was letting me take you in front of the entire class also a clause? Because if this goes on I might have to take up on that.”

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he’d been possessed, everything about his behaviour screaming the opposite of the well behaved, restrained man you’ve been accustomed to. The fact that he’s whispering directly into your ears isn’t helping either, a conspicuous shiver dragging across your spine. 

It lands with precision, right at your core. You’re too hot to tell, but there isn’t a doubt you’ve begun to pool. 

There’s a ding in the background. 

He’s suckling underneath your ear, his hands roaming in ways that would smear your reputation altogether. 

Another ding. 

He’s reached your mouth once again, groping your right breast lightly. Like he’s testing the waters.

Ding. 

Mingyu makes a noise of annoyance, the other hand trailing underneath your shirt. 

His ringtone blares throughout the room, whoever the caller was having reached wit’s end. 

“Gyu…” you whisper. 

“Ignore it,” he growls. The ringing has stopped. 

He ducks underneath to kiss at your stomach, lifting your shirt oh so slowly. He goes higher, and higher and higher, leaving a trail of kisses at the skin, taking deep breaths as he drags his mouth over your torso. 

His phone begins to ring again. 

Your head is spinning, your senses overcome. If you weren’t sure before, the air of wetness between your legs is definitely obvious now. 

He brings a hand to your centre, pushing inwards at your jean clad core. You exhale sharply yet shakily. 

The ringing stops. 

Mingyu makes a gumbled sound that you can’t quite make out, too preoccupied with the way your shirt is now up past your bra, at which Mingyu has taken to leaving open mouthed kisses to your cleavage. 

There’s a ding. 

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he curses, rearing his head like an interrupted animal, wet mouthed and bleary eyed. He looks at his buzzing phone on the floor in an accusatory glare, like he wants to chuck it out the window and go right back to burrowing into your chest. 

“You should answer.” 

He looks irritated as he takes his phone in his hands, and you find a flash of Dr. Cho’s name on the screen. “It’s eleven O’clock.” 

“It might be important.”

“The last time he did this he asked where his peacock feather pen was,” he grunts as he silences his phone. 

You laugh, running a soothing hand through Mingyu’s hair, a tiny attempt to calm him down. Pulling your shirt down, you attempt to sit up. 

Mingyu makes a noise of denial, attempting to stick his face into your now clothed chest, knocking you back down, “Nooooo, I’m gonna ignore him.”

“He’s not going to leave you alone,” you sing quietly, running your nails across his scalp lightly, holding his head to your chest. You place your cheek on his head, playing with his ear. 

As if to prove your point, Mingyu’s phone begins to ring again, and he groans at the prospect. 

“Go on.”

He swipes to answer it. A loud sigh and then a tired, “Hello?”

His volume is bumped up enough for you to make out what’s being said on the other line. “Where have you been?”

“It’s nearly eleven, sir. I was in bed.”

“My flash drive won’t open up on my computer.”

You have to stifle a snort. 

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

“Did you download something off the internet onto it?”

“Hardly matters, I need the attendance sheet on it!”

Your fingers are massaging Mingyu’s temples as you feel him tense on top of you. 

“Your attendance sheet is on the teacher’s portal,” Mingyu grits before adding, “sir.”

“...I have other things on there too.”

Mingyu exhales ever so quietly and you tighten your hold on him a smidge. “This sounds like something tech support could help with.”

“Why can’t you help?” he asks sharply. 

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

There’s a noise of indignation from the other end, and you can’t help but keep from laughing. 

Mingyu sighs into the phone, this time doing nothing to hide it. “I’ll take it to tech support for you tomorrow. And I’ll send you a direct link for the attendance sheet for Monday and Tuesday’s classes.”

The line beeps shut. Mingyu brings the phone for you both to see the professor’s hung up as soon as the words left Mingyu’s mouth. 

“Wow,” you whisper into the silence, the weight of Mingyu’s head heavier on your chest. “Not even a thank you.”

“Absent father behaviour,” Mingyu grumbles as he moves his face to burrow into your shirt. 

It’s a bad joke, but you laugh anyway. 

“Will I be an asshole if I say I’m not in the mood anymore?” he murmurs. 

“Absolutely not. Everything sucked right back in the minute I heard his voice on the line.”

“Gross,” he comments, but he’s laughing too. 

“Should we call it a night?” he asks, rearing his head. 

Nodding, you rise with him. By the time you’ve reached the bedroom, you’ve already begun taking off your accessories, fiddling with your bracelet as you voice. 

“I need a shower.”

Mingyu throws you a towel and a t-shirt, which you catch and move towards the bathroom. Halfway through the door, you sneak a look at him fiddling with his belt. 

“Do you wanna come in too?” 

Mingyu looks at you peering through the door frame. You’ve never seen anyone leap across the room as quickly as in that moment. 

THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE just as eventful as that phone call, Mingyu running around as the midterm low passed and the line creeped up towards finals season. 

Perhaps it was better that you stopped attending office hours, because the room seems to become increasingly packed as the days progressed. 

You only ever saw Mingyu in the wee hours of the night at his place, where he begged you to camp out till the end of the semester so he “doesn’t move to insanity”. It might even be better for you, going about your day as usual, without the usual added distraction of a partner.

Coming home to him was easier, where he could clear up your doubts while in ratty pyjamas and starfished across the bed, where you could find solace in Mingyu’s chest without prying eyes when the information became like filling an already stuffed junk drawer. 

It was a Friday night, you’re alone at Mingyu’s place sitting cross legged on the floor. The table in front of you is pouring over the final question of this week’s tutorial paper, everything seemingly whizzing right past the top of your head. 

Despite that, as Mingyu stumbles inside past eleven, you know you shouldn’t ask him for a thing. 

Tired was a look on Mingyu you’d gotten quite used to, so you’ve learned to not comment and simply let him fall into the couch cushions with all his weight. 

His face is parallel to yours as he closes his eyes with a light groan in greeting. Moving forward, you kiss the flutter of his eyelids softly, down to the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. 

Your fingers run through his tangled and distressed hair as he mumbles against your mouth. “Did you finish the tutorial paper?”

You huff in mild annoyance, that despite his state he still thinks about work. “Not yet. One last question and I’m done.”

He hums and waits a moment before reopening his eyes. With a loud groan he’s pushing himself off the couch, sliding off of it to sit with you on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

“You would’ve been done by now if you could,” he answers. It’s annoying that he says it but he’s also right. 

Mingyu holds the paper a mere inch from his eyes, the sight almost comical if he also didn’t look an inch from passing out. 

He mumbles the question as he reads, “It’s nothing, just worded weird. Toggle this off and move this to mixed factors and you’re done.”

The toggles are done for you, and Mingyu takes the liberty crossing he question off with a pen he finds on the table. 

“Did you get everything else?” he asks in earnest. 

“Hm? I think so.” 

“Good.” And then he’s throwing his head back to rest it on the couch cushions behind him, breathing slowly. 

He’s in a navy sweater, collar of his undershirt peeking through the top. Your gaze leads up further, to the exposed area of his throat—clean, tan and naked. You realise this might not be a good time, but it’s only natural your mind cooks up other ways to translate your helplessness as you watch your boyfriend push himself to the brink. Release is never a bad idea. 

Besides, it’s a Friday night. No reason to not. 

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 

Lolling his head to look over at you, he answers in a small voice, “Yeah?” 

You put on the guiltiest face you can muster, complete with darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “D’you think…d’you think you can go over post hoc tests again?”

“Post hoc?” He furrowed his eyebrows. You bite the inside of your cheek, having blurted the first plausible model you could think of to ask him. It’s an older bit of the syllabus, something you should already be well versed in. 

Not that you care what he thinks right now, he’d figure out why you were asking anyway. 

“Post hoc, um,” he rubs a hand over his face as if to jog his memory. 

Shifting forward, you plaster you front onto his side. He thinks nothing of it. 

“Analysis tool after you’ve already run the data,” he begins. 

Placing your chin on his shoulder, you let your nose nuzzle against his cheek. Trailing up, your lips find the shell of his ear. 

“Results have to be…they have to be…” He falters when your hand reaches his front, running across the expanse of his clothes stomach, nails digging ever so slightly as you reach his abdomen. You continue to place open mouthed kisses at the space of neck you can reach. 

“Hm? Has to be what?”

“Statistically significant,” he breathes when your palms reach the tops of his thighs. “To run a post hoc test.”

His trousers are less barrier inducing than regular jeans, something you’re both grateful for as you begin to palm his clothed bulge. “Results of what, baby?”

“For the love of—”

“Go on,” you whisper in his ear. “Please.”

One flick and his trousers are unbutton, pulling them aside as the zipper pulls open. You're pushing down his boxers when he answers you. “ANOVA.” 

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.” 

You hum against the column of his throat at that, his half hard member in your hands. Light touches, that’s all they are, running the pads of your fingers across the pulsing length, coaxing him into full length. 

“What’s it for though? We already got our results.” Bending forward, you stick your tongue to kitten lick at his tip. Mingyu hisses, hips shifting. Your tongue swirls around the tip, pushing into the skin on the head where he’s most sensitive. 

“Ugh, fuck, for um,” he falters as you begin to suck at his head, tongue running over each hollow of your cheeks. 

“For…for…” His chest is moving up and down in quick breathes, every sound from his mouth coming from a deep rumble in his stomach. 

Letting go of his cock, you continue to pump him with your hand as you gaze up at him from your position. “For? Keep talking, baby.”

“For…To identify groups,” he grunts out. He lets out a louder moan when you place your mouth back on him, going past his tip and taking as much as you can of him into your mouth. “Identify…the differences, shit, hmph.”

He takes a loud breath before speeding through it again, “Identify which groups actually differ, oh my god.”

The bit of him that you can’t fit on your mouth is being pumped by your hands, fingers pushing into him like you were trying to indent them on the base of his cock. A glance upwards and you find his head thrown back, hands coming to tangle in your hair. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek.

“How many groups?” you ask, before diving back in. 

“Three,” he chokes out. “Three or more, oh I’m gonna cum, fuck don’t stop, holy shit.”

Both of his hands are at your head, guiding you as you suck him harder, faster, more tongue digging into his slit. You hum against his dick on purpose, making sure it’s coarse enough to get the reaction you want. 

You succeed, because immediately after you hear Mingyu rip out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard, his grip on your strands harder than ever. He cums into your mouth, hips stuttering as you place your entire weight on him to keep him in place. 

You let some of it dribble out your mouth and back over his softening dick like a hot coating, sucking him through shooting spurts of cum that land on your tongue. 

When you emerge from underneath, Mingyu looks like he got the soul sucked out of him; eyes closed, stuttered breaths raking through his entire body, a light sheen of the beginnings of sweat that glisten in the low light of the room. 

Reaching for the tissue box and water bottle on the table, you soak the napkins and bring them to clean him up. He whines when the cold tissues touch him where he’s most sensitive right now, you want to kiss him but account for the cum that is actively stuck to the walls of your mouth. 

You leave for a few minutes, much to Mingyu’s hoarse protests. He’s almost on all fours, hands on the floors as you promise to be back. By the time you’ve hauled his tired ass into bed, you’re just as ready to knock out as the half asleep man beside you. 

Mingyu’s face is plastered into your neck, arms and legs thrown over your form as he hugs you close to him. 

“I might love you,” he says into the darkness. A secret, just for you and the walls to hear. 

You hide the way your heart absolutely leaps, conceal the way your hands tighten around his form into an affectionate caress, hold your breath to prevent the inevitable hitch. 

I might love you too. 

You hide that as well. For now. 

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early 

[Mingyu]: be there in 5 

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

[You]: kim did u end class early to come home

Your response comes in the form of the front door lock jiggling loudly. You’d stayed the night at his place, knowing you didn’t have anything to do but study by yourself. Sickly as you were, you doubt you could sit through two hours of even more statistics. 

He’d left you in bed with a kiss, needing to be extra early since Dr. Cho decided to dump the last crucial few weeks leading up to finals season entirely on his TA. As much as there was on Mingyu’s already overflowing plate now, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling of your attendance being taken care of regardless of whether you show up to class or not. 

A very real violation, but no one truly notes one skipped student in the midst of hundreds. Besides, the bag under Mingyu’s pretty eyes might be enough for anyone to have mercy and let the supposed mistake slide.

As Mingyu walks into the room, shoes flying and back dumped on the floor, he finds you still half clothed with leftover sleep in your eyes, standing in the middle of the living space like you were lost. 

He drops his things to come and drown you in his arms, loud kisses all over your face as you talk. “You’re getting too comfortable with this job.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t possibly expect me to teach a bunch of half asleep idiots when my woman is all alone at home, sickly and cold without me.”

You grumble wordlessly as you feel him check your temperature with the back of his hand. “How’s the congestion?”

“Bad,” you respond nasally. “I can’t find my Afrin.”

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

Still wrapped in his hold, Mingyu begins to take steps forward that lead towards the bed, pushing you to walk backwards.

“I’m not awake enough to navigate,” you sniff.

“I’ve got you,” he lowtones, pushing backwards slowly. 

The back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back into the unmade sheets. You crawl back under the covers as Mingyu navigates between used tissues, water bottles and pills on the bedside table. But no sign of your nasal spray. 

You have to breathe through your mouth and you hate it, but you send a remark his way anyway. “Told you.”

Mingyu bends down and emerges with a familiar red capped bottle. He stares at you while you stare at it, choosing to simply snatch it from his presenting hands and be done with it. 

“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 

“Shut up.”

He leaps over your form to claim the spot in bed right next to you, still fully clothed as he burrows under the covers next to you.

There’s nothing flattering about the way you stick the nozzle up your nostrils and sniff hard, but the gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes might as well suggest you were trying to get him to look at you like that. 

“Are you gonna keep doing this till finals?” you ask throatily, shifting under the covers. 

“Teaching during class time is just extended office hours, I’m gonna go insane if I keep going like this. Probably just today. Or…once more if I feel it.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna extend office hours to Fridays too?” 

Mingyu moulded himself against you, giving warmth to your shivering body even under thick blankets. 

It seems throughout the course of your relationship, your time with Mingyu is either spent laying down or in the process of doing so. Not that you mind, you’ve found that remaining horizontal was what worked best for someone like Mingyu who seemed to want to fuse with your very being whenever you were together.

“Ugh, not this week. Do not have the patience.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say, eyes closed, already on the highway to dreamland. 

“Thank you, I do think I’ve been very brave.” Even while slipping into dreamland, you find the good sense to find his nipple through his sweater and give it a hard pinch. He jerks away in a yelp, clutching his chest. 

“What’s that for?!”

You ignore him and simply run your hand over the area you just attacked. “You’ve gotten better at knowing when to slow down. I’m proud of you.”

You’re too far gone to make out what he answers you with, but with the hot breath against your already warm forehead, you decide it's more than enough for you. 

MINGYU DOES IT FOR the fourth time, but this time round he’s smart enough to not tell you. 

It’s the Friday before finals week officially begins, and you remain in your own place for once to crack down on the last bits of syllabus you want to go over, away from your extremely distracting boyfriend. 

There’s a text when you check your phone after a couple hours of hyperfocus, and you narrow your eyes at the notification. 

It’s Wonwoo’s (actual) girlfriend, and she’s sent you nothing but a picture of both of your men on Wonwoo’s living room floor, thoroughly occupied with the floored expanse of sheets, pillows and cushions. 

It’s a pillow fort.

Your boyfriend is building a pillow fort in his not-husband’s living room mere days before the final exam for the most dreaded course of the semester. All while he’s actively meant to be available for office hours.

You want to laugh. The man that stayed up multiple nights to answer stupid questions in emails, is now less than concerned about the pandemonium that is probably ensuing in the department building. It isn’t that you’re upset, because this was what you wanted from him. To learn to take a break when it was needed. But you would also prefer he’d time them a little better. 

Inevitably, you text him, but not before sending an encouraging text to your girlfriend-in-law for putting up with the both of them all by herself. 

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

[You]: are u and ur husband conducting them under a pillow fort in his house

You imagine him sending Wonwoo’s girlfriend a betrayed look. Perhaps even throw a frilled throw pillow in her unassuming direction. 

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

You let him suffer in your silence, clicking your phone off and leaving it somewhere you won’t be tempted to look. 

Besides, it wasn’t long before there was an incessant banging at your door that you ended up needing to get up to open. He looks so timid, the face of an innocent perpetrator that waltzes into your space. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins, following you to your desk like a lost duckling. 

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.” 

You snort as you sift through tutorial sheets, “Might wanna take that up to the poor hopeless student that thought you were their last hope.”

Mingyu’s head sinks to your shoulder where you sit at your desk. “God.”

“Him too.”

In another few moments, his arms have come around to cage you into your desk where you’re sat, hands placed on the table as he towers over the top of your head, mouth to crown. 

“Rumour has it,” he starts. 

You make a face. “Now you’ve joined in on gossip? Maybe I have steered you wrong.”

He ignores you valiantly as his mouth drops lower, down to the beginnings of the tips of your ears. You can smell him. He smells good. 

“That a textbook recitation is all it takes to get you all bothered down there.”

Lifting your head from its craned position over your papers, you stare straight ahead. Blank and unassuming. 

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

NO MATTER HOW FAKE annoyed you were at your boyfriend, you cannot possibly credit anyone else for how smooth your finals had gone. 

Not a single tear, hack or whine. Your meals were on time, your sleep schedule the healthiest it’s been for months. You even managed a movie night break in the midst of it all. A record for you. 

The very first thing you do after walking out of the exam hall, stretching and sighing, you find Mingyu waiting with nervous eyes. 

“Well?” he asks, eyes wide and lips pulled into his teeth. 

You merely grab for his hand and pull him out of the crowded hall and past a few familiar turns. 

“For the record I didn’t want some of the questions on there,” he yaps as he follows behind your stalks. “Hard ones weren’t mine. I promise I’m not a sadist.”

Then, in an un-CCTV’d corner, marked by the broken, empty vending machine, you round up on him. In seconds you’ve pulled him down to meet your lips in an eager, full kiss. 

In the moments your lips remain intact, you can feel all the horrid statistical knowledge you’d gathered over the months slip out the cracks and crevices, relieving you. 

Mingyu is careful to let you pull away first, eyes sticky to open when you do. There’s a smile on your face. “It went great.”

A strong tug against your waist and you’re suddenly pressed into Mingyu’s all too familiar hold, so everloving tight you can hardly breathe. His lips are smacking and pressing into your skin, all over your face, neck and hands. Anywhere he could possibly reach. 

There wasn’t much he could do standing in a huddled corner at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, where anyone could pass by and question what in the high school was going on. But there was more than enough Mingyu could do behind closed doors. 

In true Mingyu fashion, he’s begun to grope in every way you love the minute the lock clicks shut of his apartment, every fibre of both of your beings giddy and jumpy, giggles erupting from your tired mouths. You haven’t been touched in ages, always too tired to do anything even when you would find the time. 

It isn’t remotely strange that you're wet from only a few kisses and hot breaths against your neck. Although Mingyu’s hands haven’t been modest either, already reaching your clothed cunt as you fall into bed. 

He says it was your reward, for doing so good, his illustrious mouth suctioned onto your naked core, moving and grinding in ways you can more than just appreciate.

His tongue is nothing below made for you, like he knows exactly when to flick his tongue, graze his teeth and all but suck the daylights out of you. It’s marvellous, even more so as you realise he won’t stop. One, two, three mind blowing orgasms later, your legs still shake around his head as you cry out for him to stop. 

Not that he was going to listen, as he did not the last fifteen times you tried, simply pushing a finger into your abused hole to chuck you into yet another climax. You’re sobbing, trembling, sweating; but also half hearted in your attempts to stop him. 

By the time he’s relented, you’re sure you won’t feel a thing down there for at least a week. If Mingyu will even let you go untouched for that long. 

But as you’re finally able to catch your long lost breath in bed, and Mingyu has curled up right beside you, like he always does, you let the finality of it all sink in. You were done. And so was he. And you could now begin to experience a Mingyu that wasn’t exhausted, stressed or tired. Even now, the long indented layers of fatigue begin to melt away, revealing a less strained man. 

Mingyu was beautiful either way. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you, his fingers tracing your features. 

The pads of his fingers glide across your eyelids, down the slope of your nose, tracing the outline of your lips. You kiss his fingers as they reach you there, hand coming up to hold his wrists. You kiss the tips of his fingers, down to the palm of his hand. Eyes closed, you keep your lips there. 

“More than okay,” you mumble. 

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

Stretching unceremoniously, you drape yourself over his naked form, head on his shoulder. “You’re not losing me. Not after being the sole reason I pass this devil’s module.”

“Is that all it takes? Make sure you don’t fail?”

“And give head like that.” It’s a half joke. “But also be Kim Mingyu comma TA.”

He mimics you between a breathy laugh, “Comma TA. Not anymore, I guess.”

“How happy are you?”

“Still have to grade the last set of papers. But I got what I wanted.”

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

“That, and not having to be in Dr. Cho’s presence every other day. And you.”

You kiss his shoulder. “Look at you. All grown up with your big boy grad school on the horizon.”

“Not just yet.”

“You’ll get there too. If you can power through this hellsent semester, you can power through anything grad school applications throw.”

Mingyu shifts where he lays, taking a turn to lie on his side to face you. The afternoon sun peeks from behind his form, his outline made of pure gold. His breath is in your face as he talks, and there’s comfort in the air it penetrates.

“I only powered through this because of you. I hope you know that.” He’s smiling. 

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 

“I mean it. I knew I was walking into disaster with how this stupid job was going, all that work was just a distraction. I didn’t wanna believe this was a bad idea. And then you walked in.”

You cup his face and pout, “Oh, my damsel in distress.”

“Hm, my knight in shining armour,” he giggles. “Galloped in and saved me from myself.”

“You saved me too. From the world and its horrible creations.” 

“I’ll start talking in formulas if this keeps up.” 

You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 

“I’m glad I asked you to come in early that day,” he says.

“I’m glad I was a good samaritan and gathered all your stuff that day.” You grin.

Mingyu leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, slow, and drips of the romance he’s trying to bring into the conversation. His lips are bliss, the feeling of him is bliss. 

It’s almost scary how easily you’ve been able to give yourself to him. How quickly he’s placed himself in every nook and cranny of your heart. With his tired eyes and stronger than himself smile, the hand he extended in ways beyond you could ever explain to him. It’s terrifying when you realise what remains on the tip of your tongue, ready and bursting. 

But it’s true, and you can only pray it remains that way. Because in that moment, naked and tangled between Mingyu’s limbs, his heart in your ears, your hands on his being, you just know. 

“I think I might love you too.” 

[thatdeadaquarius]

imagine if reader is given an ancient scripture from around the time humanity founded out how to write and do the alphabet (somehow it was preserved so well that you can still see the words with no issue)

and it's the most heart wrenching, soul crushing, tear inducing, hyperventilating, sanity disappearing angst, misunderstandings, hurt/no comfort, it gets worse but never better, major character death, unrequited love story to have ever existed in teyvat.

and after reader goes through the whole thing, they can barely talk or breathe properly with how much they're crying.

(even better, it was smut not angst and reader is staring ar the scripture, jaw dropped to the floor with shaking hands.)

STOP- I avoid fanfics like that at all costs 😭 id stop reading it after the first angsty event LMAO

Im like... too emotionally affected by fanfics, esp angst ones 💀

Its just, ppl who write closer to my generation or just very psychologically honestly, are like fucking deadly writers. Got my day ruined and shit w/just fanfics 😭

LMAO THE GIF IS JUST YOU ON THE SPOT NOT EVEN HALFWAY THRU-

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Short! Headcanons-ish

Stars: my first of the Fontians!! Fontainianes? Fontainains?? u get it

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: sobbing, discussion of vague smut/NSFW book at the end, okay for Teen/Mature audiences, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

no but it’d be hilarious if u got this crazy like hand-width deep tablet for each “page” of the book, like how every novel or info in genshin is like one page at a time 😭

Sumeru and other international academics are literally constantly harassing politely requesting your translation of these and sending them to you in whichever country you’re visiting at the moment

Fontaine was even more complex and pretty in real life than it could ever be in game and i can def see you at like Neuvillette’s office or a nice french fontaine cafe and just WHAM

huge ass tablet bc as much as the fic tortures you, you have to know what the fuck happens to these miserable idiots

Neuvillette, Clorinde, and Lynette are all the type to immediately try and dissuade you from reading it again, bc from their point of view you just pull out this huge old rock and start sobbing quietly about 10 mins into the read every time 😭😭

(unsurprisingly, Neuvillette would even go so far as to get the Marechaussee Phantom to sneakily steal ur most recent tablets of the story to hide them, which sucks for you LMAO)

Freminet, Wriothesley, Navia, Lyney, and Furina,all frantically try to distract you, and also theyre in order of who would be the most dramatic w/it lmao

NO BC I JUST HAD THE THOUGHT-

Ur tears absolutely are top priority to Neuvillette and Furina so when they inevitably find the memories in them (and the traveler too maybe)

of what the story is about, except its like all the feelings and stuff, so like its the best “translation” they get of the book so far, u best believe it rains for a week straight

it started out as a light drizzle, but as Neuvillette “read on” in ur tear’s memories if got worse HAHA

mans is out here trying to convince himself like, “this is a classic tragedy from eons ago, its about a human romance, im definitely unaffected, though im glad i could figure out what ails My Majesty so”

meanwhile the story gets worse and its just like that meme “ohHHhhhHH its got a little kiicckkk”

Neuvillette nearly floods the streets by chapter 5 when the miscommunication happens and then they cant get in contact with each other to fix it lmao

LMAO I JUST HAD A VISIONNN

ur in fontaine and while yes drinks were popular (like obv fonta)

business is rlly booming bc now everyone you know (like the Vision-users or archons Neuvill, etc) all have develop this habit of having a water bottle or drink on them to offer you when u start reading to rehydrate you 😭😭😭

Navia, Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney, Lynette all have a handkerchief on them at all times too 😭😭

Good God-

the moment you translate the now instant Shakespearean-level tragedy classic, it is a known tear-jerker thruout all of Teyvat,

like theres trigger warnings and age limits and shit 💀

◇

on another note,

if its smut,

ur desperately combing thru all the tablets and wall carvings and cave paintings to try and lowkey cover it up LMAO

and its not like a story with a smut scene either, its like what anon said,

just fully like the ao3 tag “Porn What Plot/Porn With Plot”

STOP

not u yanking the tablets out of Neuvillette’s hands when he curiously picks them up one time lmao

(he is now invested in getting these translated too bc of ur reaction lol)

☆

consider supporting me with an iced coffee? :0

Spooky Season! Spooky Season!! Spooky Season!!!

still not dead btw

just got hired at my new job so ive been training and busy!! :)

im a host at Olive Garden lol its weird and kinda hard, my feet hurt a lot and i havent had a full shift yet ;-; its a brand new one so it opens the 23rd

dw that eldritch one shot is still coming btw, just talking with betas and editing it now lol

hope if you read this you have a great upcoming weekend!!

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

☆

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657

[reyesranch]

I feel like atp even if there were plans to make bvddie canon theyre gone now. if tim minear is even half as petty as I am he would see that reaction and go u know what fuck you u actually don't get what you want now cause ur acting so goddamn entitled. like when tarlos fans got mad about the deleted scenes instead of appreciating them being released and his reaction was to say "okay fine then I just won't release deleted scenes anymore" (like I'm sure it was mostly a marketing decision but part of me thinks they intentionally released a scene about bucktommy just to prove a point.) idk man it's just really upsetting as a bi man to see the absolutely vile shit bvddie stans are saying and even tho I love the ship I now never want it to go canon cause they've fuckin ruined it

hey anon, at first let me agree with the fact that i do in fact also love bvddie a lot and i still love reading fics for them, the edits of them are fantastic and the fanart is S tier. it’s a great pairing with a lot of potential there IF the writers decided to ever go there but…

huge answer below

yeah, i agree. i honestly think before tommy was introduced again in 7x03 and the kiss in 7x04 that in my brain, bvddie was the most logical endgame for buck until it wasn’t.

i came into the show shipping bvddie much like a lot of new fans to the show but instead of hopping onto the tommy anti express hate train i found myself falling in love with buck and tommy together. at first i was still on board with bvddie still being endgame but as each episode aired after 7x04 i became faced with the reality of the situation (at least the way i see it) that bvddie might always be fanon and that’s ok because fandom keeps ships alive whether they’re canon or not. some of the biggest ships EVER are non-canon (i mean, cmon spirk? one of the OG MM ships?) so it didn’t really deter me from enjoying bvddie to this day. what HAS deterred me from interacting with bvddie content is toxic bvddies. i don’t like using the lil nicknames, idc if other ppl do, whatever, but i prefer just referring to certain kinds as just toxic plain and simple.

toxic shippers have made it difficult for anyone who multiships to interact with bvddie content. while there are incredibly nice & welcoming bvddie endgamers out there, it doesn’t overshadow the hateful ones in my online experience at least. i’ve blocked so many ppl over this ship discourse, which ive never had to do with any other fandom before the extent i have with 911. everyday i still find new ppl to block, you go under almost any comment section on the 911 insta and its filled with nasty comments abt tommy and only caring abt whether bvddie will be canon in s8. people projecting their hatred of tommy/lou onto the cast/crew of the show when it’s be said and proven time and time again that it’s quite the opposite. now im certain there’s bad apples in the bucktommy side as well, but from what ive seen online so far it is not nearly to the caliber of the bvddie side. ive blocked maybe a handful of bucktommy’s for being hateful towards eddie or being toxic overall, but ive probably blocked over 100+ toxic bvddies. i can only imagine it’d be worse if i was active on 911 twt which i’m not (thank god) but i have ventured into the tags before on there and let me tell you, it’s fucking horrifying how gross ppl are over there. twt is a cesspool for fandom anyways tho, the fucking asshole of fandom, it’s a septic tank really.

now im my own opinion which could be completely untrue of course, but just basing my thoughts on what i’ve seen online and interviews and such, tim seems to be really happy about bucktommy and idk how ppl believe otherwise. tim has expressed he loves LFJ and wanted him back on the show. tim showed up on set for the kiss scene. tim posting an entire youtube vibe abt bucktommy being soulmates that touches on the invisible string theory and explains how they accidentally found buck’s perfect match. tim sharing the deleted tommy scene is also huge but im waiting to see if he releases more (because i remember seen somewhere that he said there’d be more?) and if he does then great but it’s also still pretty telling to me after the whole karaoke fiasco.

oliver has said nothing but praises towards buck’s queer storyline. he quite literally said if you dont like it then watch something else. despite ppl saying he’s never interacted with bucktommy content online, that’s a lie because he has liked fanart of them.

aisha, kenneth & tracie have all expressed how they like tommy/lou and love working with him.

jlh said she loved bvddie before but is excited to see where buck and tommy go and then on an insta live said she doesn’t think bvddie is happening and was bombarded by toxic fans to the point of ending the live early.

ppl think it’s all some ruse to make it seem like bvddie is never happening so when it does happen it’s a “surprise” ……..

the nasty hate comments are doing nothing but exposing these types of ppl for who they are and that honestly to them, 911 is just the bvddie show to them. the people who run these social media accs for 911 are looking at these comments and cringing, they aren’t running to tim and abc being like “we must give these crazies what they want!” they’re mostly likely being ignored or honestly, as you said, being looked at and just reinforcing their decision to most likely make tommy buck’s endgame so as long as his schedule is open for filming.

what gets me the most about the hate these types of shippers spew online is how they aren’t embarrassed because they are so sooo convinced they will be right one day and therefore their insane, nasty behavior online will be justified. oliver stark literally left twt because of fans like this, people act like he was joking around, that he was shooting the shit probably because “he’s british and british people just have that kind of humor” which yes to a certain extent but let me just add these posts to set an example to why if oliver were still on twt he absolutely would not be happy with the way toxic bvddies are acting right now.

oliver (and ryan&other cast too) being positive abt bvddie never meant it was going to be canon of become canon one day. they do not decide these things, whether they believe it should or not. a lot of bvddie shippers come from previous fandoms where queerbaiting was there, where they were made fun of by actors of their ships, by the creators of the show! so i understand the frustration but oliver is not queerbaiting and buck is not a queerbait character when he quite literally is now confirmed bisexual and in a relationship with a man.

he’s just not the “correct” queer to these people. despite headcanons (hell even i hc eddie as queer!!) eddie so far, in canon, is not queer. by the end s7 he is still shown to not be over shannon and ruins his relationship with his son over this. ryan has stated in interviews he sees eddie as heterosexual, possibly pushing this because of the influx of ship discourse, and he’s glad to see a vulnerable and deep friendship that buck and eddie can have as a straight man and a queer man and how important he thinks it is.

every single thing that points to bvddie never going canon is like they’re being shot point blank in the chest. i get it, your ship not becoming canon sucks, but again, that is what fandom is for! shipping has never been about how canon smth is, there is 20k fics out there for bvddie and they aren’t canon. they can turn that into 40k, 100k, 1M if they really wanted to! instead they use their time and energy posting death threats, wishing death upon a gay character, bullying ppl online for enjoying a ship.

meanwhile from what ive seen bucktommys are rolling with goofy ass spy tommy theories created by antis and making jokes for our own fun.

so yes, i agree overall. they truly don’t deserve what they think they do. we didn’t whine and scream for a deleted scene. they did. we got ours without even expecting it and are having fun.

maybe if they behaved better i wouldn’t be so petty abt it. it’s a shame because of how much potential it has, unfortunately it is just not going that way atm. and even if it does one day, it is not because they paraded online with hate, it is because that’s the story tim and the others wanted to write and abc approved it.

🫳🎤

[nyxi-pixie]

Hiiiii.

Sorry to bother you, I wanted to know if you had any fic recs? Your writing is so good and your tastes are immaculate, and I am starving for any kind of good content. Please?

its not possible to bother me love dw <3

NOW. i dont actually read all that much anymore bc i am horrendously picky but this does give me an excuse to hype up the few authors that have satisfied my unreasonably specific tastes 🤩.

so. a few bsd recs for you (except theyre 99% skk because im horribly predictable forever). everyone go read all of these and tell the authors how wonderful they are in the comments please <3

anything @booksandpaperss has ever written is genius work and everyone should read it. could talk abt all of their stuff for hours (and i have🤩 they put up w so much of me bothering them godbless). also our brains do some accidental crazy mind melding shit whenever either of us write fic so if you like any of my stuff you will like theirs. thats the rules. <3

like twin stars in the dark (we collide)- dead apple skk porn as a vehicle for 22skk analysis. makes me salivate i have read it so many times. they get 22skk better than anyone🙏

my lies are for you to keep (my love for you to lose) - the only take on beastskk that matters to me ever. you can actually see me losing my mind in the comment i wrote on this fic bc of how fucking insane every single line made me. theres SO much packed into this thing its fucking crazy i NEEEEED everyone to read it. thats all <3

till death, I'll give you my breath - dazai death timeloop. this fic terrifies me so much i await every update with my teeth chattering and my heart pulsing so rapidly i should be hospitalised. the first scene of chapter 2 genuinely had me on the verge of tears im unwell about it.

(elli also has some jjk stuff thats REALLYREALLY good and if ur into jjk u should check that out too.)

NOW. aside from being a propaganda machine for my fav writer ever. Heres some other stuff i love.

the second perspective by @wildflowerteas. murder mystery/detective noir stuff w some time fuckery. the au of all time. mashes aspects of beast, canon, and some extra special niko sauce into a mixing bowl and goes crazy w it. just Such a genuinely impressive piece of writing. i could talk abt the technical brilliance of it for hours but i will stop myself. you gotta commit to this thing because it WILL make u crazy. also i loveee the sskk. its like if we had the beast first meeting sskk forever. SOSO GOOD!!!!

did fate guide the gun or did you? by @kanetheo. i read this pretty soon after chapter 109 and it genuinely fried my brain for months. the writing style is beautiful (as for everything they write AUGHH!!!) and the angst is delectable. the way it intersperses more fun silly skk moments with just. complete misery. GOD. it just hits. ive reread it quite a few times and it never fails to make me go crazy. srsly cannot rec this enough.

the decomposition of dazai osamu by @hella1975 this shot several bullets through my brain and i still havent recovered. i keep thinking 'oh i should reread that' and then i dont bc some part of my brain still concerns itself w maintaining whats left of my sanity. BUT its crazy good and everyone should read it and suffer at least once. EVERYONE LOVES YOU OSAMU!!!! EVERYONE EATS YOU!!! line of all time lets all kill ourselves.

smoke held conversations by feralrookie - i havent reread this in a while but it does cool stuff with nlh and the skkisms are really good in this too. ppl often write teen chuuya as less intelligent than he actually is. hes very observant, esp of dazai, and this fic gave me that 🙏

i called your name til the fever broke by forest_raccoon - vampire chuuya. biting is involved. i blacked out reading it. enough said.

[pumpkinsy0]

tldr: @buddyaldridge is a 30 year old weirdo proshipper who talks shit about ppl behind their backs, block em and report if you can/want to

just wanna let everyone know theres a omegaverse mpreg dallyboy writer whos been an all around WEIRDOOOOO cause their brain is LITERALLY porn rotted and they cannot fathom ppl actually having fun at all, their @ is @buddyaldridge aka @pelopsides previously known as @madelynprior

in 2020-2022 the outsiders tumblr they used to be @madelynprior and theyre a hardcore dallyboy stan which is already fucking weird, but on top of that, they would make teen pregnancy omegaverse smut fics which??? and im not gonna give you the ss, nigga im givin yall the LINKKK to see it with your own eyes so you know im not crazy

how ik its them is bc on their acc RIGHT before they switched to their buddyaldridge acc, and before that acc was named “pelopides”, they used to go by “madeleinepryor”, how ik its the same person is bc on a good chunk of their post, theyd tag it as “#madeleinepryor dispatches” on top of that, they just straight up linked their ao3 acc😭😭

heres what the link goes to, they linked their ao3 acc, they just changed their username on ao3 as well from madeleinepryor to greasers

now me calling them a proshipper isnt me talking out of my ass, they say it themselves like ughhhhjjj

as for them talking about other ppl, i wont share ALL the screenshots bc idk if the ppl theyre talking bad about would rlly feel comfortable w those being posted, if they know, they can feel free to post it on their own accord, so like i said, wont share, but i HAVE seen some and i can conform that they have done it, its ABSOLUTELY NOT above them

for now ill post the ss i CAN post rn which just proves my point

now ignoring that theyre talking smack, theyre just so odd and obviously didnt rlly think this through bc 1967 is ALREADY IMPLIED in the 60s, youre just incapable of reading things that arent about teen boys getting it on w each other PLEASE get a grip on reality😭😭

theyve talked about 14 year olds and their post on their acc just to shit on them, once again, GROWN ASS PERSON TWEAKIN OVER THE IDEAS OF A 14 YEAR OLD🗣️🗣️

NOW maybe your asking “how do you know the discord user and the tumblr user are the same person” AND I WILL ADMIT, while i DO have strong feelings they are the same person, its not 100% proven, HOWEVER buddyaldridge DOES go by buddy and that discord users name is buddy, so while its not concrete, the link IS there, once again, feel free to come to whatever conclusion you wanna come to about that

but what ISNT disputable is the fact that theyre a proshitter

additionally just this??? reblog from them????

on its own, not MUCH, bit considering the fics they make this is SO weird like??????

and finally, ive heard that theyve specifically came for me about my haitian shepards and maybe even my heritage, saying that they hated race hcs??????like using me as an example, they ss my acc and talked shit, someone contacted me about it and they dont have ss of it specifically, but they can vouch for it, and im not just gonna dismiss that, bc while they dont have ss, they do have ss and proof of everything else, so i do believe them, and theyve said if they find it they would show them to me, do what you wanna with this info

ANYWAYS buddy, your brain is unironically pornrotted, ur being a lil baby who cant do anything but cry and moan online on discord of all places and ur doing all this as a 30+ year old, and its CRAZIER bc youre doing all this while having “minors dni” in your pinned post, while also writing about minors, in a fandom MOSTLY OF MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!!!! (aka minors!!! ik age is hard for you to grasp) on top of that, literally ANY and ALL race hcs is way more believable and enjoyable than any “ideas” you’ve been cooking up in that odd demented, shriveled up pea brain of urs

anyways yea, that all i have to say, and im speaking for myself here, but i mean this with every fiber of my being, i dont know how you function in life but i DO NOT want you to go any farther, and i think others would/DO feel the same, ive seen what makes you cheer and i am PROUUUDDD to make you BOOOOO, you shouldnt be near minors at all, fictional or non fictional, you should BARELY be near other adults

plus if you go onto their acc rn, notice how when anon called them out, buddy aint even say they were wrong?? JUST SAYIN🗣️🗣️

im tagging everything i can tag bc i DO NOTTTT want mfs interacting w their blog, and want as many ppl as possible to be aware, dont say anything to them, dont give them attention bc obviously they’ll think this is funny and post it on their shitty discord server or whatever and giggle like they arent a grown ass nigga w bills to pay, trying so hard to cling onto their high school days, making fics about a canon middle schooler getting banged and pregnant, pls block and report do whatever u wanna do, just plssss dont let this proshitter on this damn sight near kidssss😭😭

dont take this as me WANTING drama, i dont, i just dont want ppl coming in this fandom thinking posting this shit and doing this is ok, youre bullying ppl for doing harmless things meanwhile your just making straight porn about a weird ship left n right, thinking YOUUUUU of all ppl have the place to talk about anyone or anything like your opinion on anything is valid😭😭

you NEED stones thrown at you

if anyone has anymore ss send em to mmeeeeee, but in the mean time ill be doin my own thing wooooo‼️‼️🔥🔥

[casually-slips-into-coma]

spoilers for iwtv s2e5!!!

initial thoughts throughout:

dubai armand in this ep specifically seems a lot happier than normal. very smiley and kind of excited? like more energy than usual. mans was ready to eat

this fucking turtleneck

loumand library dates

hypnotized security as one does

i like that armand likes to hunt his kills. thought it was a cool detail

made me think of when armand tells daniel to run in the book

daniel was there for gay sex the drugs were just a bonus

he barely registered the coffin. he was like ok ig

the zodiac killer lol

daniel struggling to get the tape out of the plastic lmao

some coke for the gums just in case

you were lonely louis (gagged him)

the extreme change in vibe from daniel shitting himself about louis being a vampire to him laughing along while louis complains about his ex

book quotes!!

daniel validating louis complaining about lestat. theyre just gossiping at this point

BIG time asshole

daniel making A Point and then going sorry and louis saying no,,,,,that🫵was astute🗣🗣

“can u do the fang thing again? i love that, man” hes just like me fr

dangerously unstable psyche ((clocked))

im kinda with her get off that bench brother😭 [about claudia leaving]

jacob the actor you are

ok this whole argument between louis and armand was insane and i replayed it like a million times

kinda love louis coked tf out

being called boring fucking hurts thats a wild argument

he called you a soft beige pillow suffocating him girl u gotta stand up

armand really locked on to the word fascinating

louis said lick my boots😝

gremlin sighting👀

“chop my hands off”👀👀👀👀

picking LINT❓❓off the sofa⁉️ ⁉️

armand mocking him “oh its so hard to be me, its so hard to kill humans, i can feel her feelings as i drain her, louis de point du lac, everyone i know wronged me!”

imitating each others accents

my vampire daddy groomed me into a little bitch holy fuck when they go low i go lower

THE NAME!! the name!! unuttered in our home for 23 years said over and over again until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer!!!!

assad deserves every award my man was actiiiinnggg

she didnt love you/i know

louis :(((

“can u hear her? shes calling me…” ok what if i kms

and then louis runs into the sunlight🙃

hello loml: practical effects

sidestep the big picture get the story straight first daniel said lets lock the fuck in rn we gotta focus

“you said the worst things youve ever said to me” hes just a sopping wet cat

hes fine youre fine this is fine youre all fine

finally seeing unhinged armand ive prayed for times like these

i stand by my cancelled wife btw

small detail of different memories: in louis’ version he apologizes to armand and armand says “meaningless word” and then moves on to talk about the slanted floor. in daniel’s version he remembers the dead guy and the same scene plays out except armand explains he killed the neighbor in between “meaningless word” and how the floor is slanted

vibrating eyes

LOVING how this episode is shot. all the different angles and the camerawork and the fucking MUSIC

canon that louis fucks guys and then kills them fic writers get to it

“128 boys hes brought here—“ “he said it was 5🥺”

daniel basically saying look man ill suck ur dick if u let me go

and then armand making him kneel

armand so unnerving <3

i know its kinda dumb to point out but i love small details of vamp power. specifically how armand picked up that table like it weighed nothing and when he picked up louis

love the idea of louis being like ok just put your feet in the rocks itll help

sopping wet cat armand!!!

but also he really let louis suffer for days instead of just giving him blood to ease the pain😬

lestats voice caught me off guard genuinely

interesting that armand knows where lestat is. i wonder how the show is gonna go about it. is he in the ground??

and refusing to pass along the i love you message……….theres layers here

u left me for death :((

have i atoned for my part of paris👀👀

the armand daniel bite was very do u know what it means to be loved by death

itty bitty armand fangs

need him alive as a testament to our companionship wtf are we even talking about anymore

arun/maitre😵‍💫

the fucking sunglasses im pissing😭😭

he got that shit on tho

welcome back trinity from the matrix

also just the fact that armand came back like yum i had so much fun on that hunt😁 anyway what are you two up to😇☺️

and louis and daniel just had a harrowing 2 hours trying to recover lost memories and coming to the realization that theyve been mega gaslit for decades

armand saying exactly what louis told daniel word for word

a hunch🫢

i love this show

im so excited for next weeks episode this story is unfolding so beautifully. im even more curious now about why and how this second interview is happening. ((also am very confused/curious about what looks like a protest in the promo??))

[quodekash]

I didnt get enough sleep last night but its not my fault qtoey fuckin kissed

hes literally the most babygirl in this entire show

HIM FRANTICALLY CLEANING UP I LOVE HIM SM

I love this more than I can ever possibly describe

it's so silly

so goofy

HES SO GOOFY

they should kiss again I think

babes your voice just got three octaves higher, do better at lying next time

who the FUCK is this guy and why is he being introduced in episode 7 of 16 (apparently 16??? it's wild that this show is supposed to be 16 episodes long (according to mdl?) cos we're not even halfway through the show and 2 out of 4 of the main couples have officially kissed, and 1 is officially together. which is insane when you think about how msp is 12 episodes long and tinngun didnt properly kiss til thE END OF THE LAST FUCKING EPISODE)

(no im never getting over this, they COULD have counted 67 FUCKING TIMES throughout the show and they fucking DIDNT)

anyway this guy is probably gonna be a main part of the drama that's gonna go down in order to keep this show long enough 😭

why cant we just keep the light and fluffy show as it is and keep spreading joy and dopamine straight to my bones

two adorable little munchkins standing next to each other

theyre my sons

THAT LITTLE GIGGLE I CANT

whAT rEAlLY???

he asked if he could hit on you, then asked if he could KISS you, AND THEN YALL FUCKIN MADE OUT IN A HAUNTED HOUSE

AND THEN WHEN YOU SAW HIM TODAY, HE MADE SILLY KISSY LIPS AT YOU

so I suggest you all give up on this "plan", and change to this real plan: march up to him, ask him out, plant a kiss on his cheek, take your fuckin artist easels and canvases to a fuckin beach at sunset, paint and make out

oml pun's an astrology girlie

HOLY FUCK ITS HAPPENING

what the fuck no why does it look like its gonna get angsty, I cant do this :(

dont make me watch toey sob, I dont want that, I want them to make out again :((

im so confused dude why is he so angry

I genuinely dont get it

I mean im watching at 2x speed so I can get through this quickly so I might've missed some dialogue somewhere or smth, but still

why's he angry

idk why he's angry but I do know one thing: satang is too fucking good at portraying anguish

im too tired to process words so im not entirely sure what he means but I think it sounds poetic so we're gonna go with that

(ahem) THATS SO BEAUTIFUL WTF

WHAT THE FUCK

brb just gonna rip my fucking SOUL out

"its like im sitting in a vast grassy field with a gentle breeze under a bright sky" OKAY WTF ARE THE GMM WRITERS READING MY TUMBLR POSTS OR SMTH

THATS LITERALLY HOW I DESCRIBED THE WAY WIN PROBABLY FEELS ABOUT SOUND

its why his heart doesnt beat fast for sound, he just doesnt have that kind of crush, its more of a relaxing crush, like a gentle breeze

ill fucking find the post if I can

I literally wrote an extended metaphor poem combined with a fic about it

what the fuck dude

if they're watching my posts then why havent they given us my satang and perth siblings agenda yet

and where is the markford series

gmm I know you're looking at this, answer my fucking questions guys

I LOVE THEIR FRIEND GROUP SO FUCKING MUCH DUDE

they all just make me so happy 😭😭😭

okay but he didnt know you were milk frappe boy when hE FUCKING MADE OUT WITH YOU IN A HAUNTED HOUSE

theyre holdin hansssss

is what I think and want to happen about to happen

that wasnt grammar but its fine

THEYF CYKING END IT THERE??

BUT HES ALL PUCKERED UP

HES READY

ALSO THEYRE IN A SCHOOL HALLWAY AND IT WOULD BE REALLY FUNNY

WTF

I HAVE TO WAIT A FUCKING WEEK TO FEEL JOY????

COME ON MAN

oh fuck yes next week theyre goi g to a volunteer camp

volunteer camp episodes are always comfort episodes so thjis is gonna be GOOD

PUN DID IT BC HE WANTS QTOEY TO SPEND TIME TOGETHER??? BRO HE'STHE WINGMAN OF ALL TIME

well anyway I just wanna see qtoey kiss again :(

ill rewatch that one scene in the meantime

buhbye for now my friends, see yous next week

[leincendiaire]

anyways salty thoughts. dont expect me to be nice

this is the one problem not exclusive to the finale, god ed's character arc just. didnt do it for me at all. I excused it before cuz I thought it would pay off as the season went on but nope. he never had a genuine apology moment, just that youtuber apology like gag and the cat collar joke. like they literally show us how the crew was completely scarred by his actions but theyre later just completely fine with him on board???? and stede keeps being his biggest stan when I think he would have been like hey what the fuck!! im sorry I hurt you but I am not responsible for your actions and you hurt my crew whom I hold very dear!! I love ed but Fuck he really went too far those first episodes and he never makes up for it. they only ever focus on His Own self journey, not how he hurt and traumatized practically every other character.

"well, I think narratively izzy's death made sense but—" no!! no it fucking didnt!! im sorry but it was just lazy writing!! they didnt know what to do with him so whoops he gets shot in the dumbest way possible. like, this aint my first rodeo, it aint the first time ive seen a character start off on their character journey to happiness only for writers to give up on it and kill them off. it's a tiring fucking trope tbh and I really wish they hadnt fallen into this trap. like his death scene wasnt good either, if youre gonna do it at least focus on his relationship with the crew, you know, the people he came to accept as family? not the man Who Shot Off His Fucking Leg And Almost Killed Him? I know they had an important relationship but that shit should have been talked about way beforehand, it deserved closure. they should have acknowledged they werent good for each other and made peace with it. izzy deserved a death with people who actually made him happy. ALSO THEY BURY HIM ON FUCKING LAND?????? he spent his life at sea!!!! he is the most devoted out of everyone to being a pirate and you bury him next to your fucking inn???? fucking twats istg

lastly I swear they forgot stede is the main character. they forgot literally everything about how to write him. he gets No Focus in the finale, and every scene he is in is bullshit. I actually wanted to punch my screen every time there was a joke about him being incompetent or whatever. like, hello??? thought we left that shit in s1??? he had Multiple Episodes about learning to be a pirate and adjusting to his new life and gaining more skills but no. he is just silly old loserboy for his cool war criminal boyfriend now. literally no skills or experience whatsoever. ok sure yea thats totally how he acted the rest of the season. also the fuck is it with him staying behind to run the inn with ed?? wasnt the whole conflict last episode their different desires out of life, with ed wanting to start a normal life and stede wanting to be a pirate?? when the Fuck did he change his mind. who are you and have you done with my boy

honestly I feel bad because jenkins is actually a good writer and the whole fandom really expected a lot from a man making his second show, and I think there were a lot of budget cuts and production issues so I can see why it turned out this way. he is probably mad about this too, I bet the cast also, like even the acting in this episode didnt feel passionate, and thats saying a lot since these actors really love this show. im just frustrated. man. time to write fics ig

[bright-and-burning]

✨✨positivity chain! tag some of your favorite creators (artists, gif makers, writers, etc) and say what you love about them. Share with as many people as you’d like✨✨

oh man. doing this off the top of my head is so much pressure... any friends left off this list it is wildly unintentional and i am so sorry <3 this is gonna be super landoscar & co heavy. u kno how it is.

writers... well can i say everyone? truly. off the top of my head... @freeuselandonorris for the ability to get me interested in (or at least reading) Anything, @monacotrophywife for the funniest craziest concepts that spin out into deliciousness every single time, @vroombeams for the guaranteed gut punch no matter the length, im going to run out of unique ways to compliment my friends' porn i cant lie. @ocontraire who wrote THEEEE comfort fic of all time 2 me (little renaissance my fucking beloved),

@glasscushion and @strawberry-daiquiris who BOTH span the gamut of making my brain turn into sludge and also making me tear up abt being in love w ur best friend at christmas (what an odd venn diagram overlap), @foggieststars whose burning up fic i have (according to ao3 history) read 23 times (and who matches my freak like no other), @wanderingblindly for the sheer variety, @miamimaiden for the incredible aus,

@piastriachios for the bonkers-inducing markoscar, @chelemlem (dynamics that make u crazy fr). ok im cutting myself off. wait actually for some not-as-landoscar-centric writers i love: @leclercenjoyer (technically. Yet.), @userkritaaay (manifested jack's seat w the french-australian diplomacy project fic series and i am only half joking), @wormeo-and-juliette (funny and hot fic. queen of ensembles and large casts),

@landoisokay (whew. WHEWWWW. norrussell legend but also in general fic that leaves me dumbstruck), @wewentcarracing (lance expert and also prose expert), @alxalb (porn and awkward feelings alike that have had me face plant into my bed to recover). many many more that i am sure i am forgetting, i feel like im giving an oscars speech and theyre trying to play me off

artists!!

@dumbf1sketches (who i could not for the life of me remember the url of. tumblr should know who @.brid is), @udonli (drew me in w '''poorly''' drawn piastri on stats notes and now has me hooked for life, something so incredibly apt 2 me abt oscar drawn on grid paper), @roosterhouse (COMICS OF ALL TIME. theeee narrative artist to me like im beyond obsessed), @unknownaster (very warm art of my fave guys!!), @kichona-s (the lemon landoscar lives RENT FREEEEE the little x faces omg. cutest little guys on the planet).

for the more graphics-y artists, you cannot go wrong w @argentinagp (gifs also!!!!) and @alpinelogy <3 coolest posters on the internet honestly.

gif makers:

@insideparcferme (excellent compilation-y gifposts), @cuthechicane (always capturing moments i miss on broadcasts), @blueballsracing (variety act!), @oscarcito (always ready to provide oscar in 4k), more that i am for sure forgetting but these r people whose urls i remember seeing next to gifs in the last day!!

renaissance people:

@piastrisms gifs and fic both god tier!!! magical realism and tenderhorny pwp (occasionally w plot!) what more could u want from a writer. and @mecachrome THE triple threat of all time... art that feels like summer, gifs that feel like a cool + refreshing drink, fic that feels like the perfect sweet treat!!

i am so so sorry to whoever i have forgotten (or if ive forgotten you also make x but i only have you under y, my memory is full of holes), i am so lucky to know so many cool people but that makes it so much harder to list everyone off!!!!

[choconotfound]

this is so random and very late to the discussion from the other day: if youre a lurker/someone who wants to get Into Dtblr but you dont know where to start, speaking from experience (aka someone who lurked april 2021 -> june 2022) the Number One best way to Break In (imo) is through tags.

posting art or writing fics are also great ways, but not all of us are built like that 😭😭 and massive MASSIVE kudos to those who are (I definitely am NOT). writers and artists keep fandoms alive, so if you want to start, start now!

howeverr tags are so fucking essential and often extremely underrated! they give life to your reblogs!! they give your followers insight into your personality, interests, humour, etc. otherwise your URL will just be another undifferentiated note in a post* plus!!! not only do tags show up in the OP’s activity, anyone can poke around a post’s notes and read the tags. I definitely look at them, dtblr is funny af! sometimes if i see a funny or poignant tag in someone else’s notes, ill check out their blog and give them a follow!

not to mention some of the funniest, most poetic and wholesome posts on dtblr have been anon asks or submissions. so i know you guys have it in you!!!! if youre thinking about it, just do it. it might feel super weird to start posting or rbing out of the blue .. but all you really need is a pinned post (state your interests, the CCs you like, etc) and then its go time!

*im not saying you dont have a personality if you dont write in the tags 😭 but its objectively harder to get to know someone’s style of blogging without knowing What They Think, especially if theyre just starting out

[jennilah]

i woke up and chose violence today

rant below!! an actual soapbox rant about some shit that annoys tf out of me

but still under a cut and unrebloggable bc im still a coward just an annoyed coward

"_ fandom is dead"

"the tumblr/twitter fandom is dead"

"any variation of a fandom being dead"

Im about to be under your bed

Is it really dead?

well considering im still following some moots of over 10+ years that still regularly reblog new art and fics for fandoms Ive seen called "dead" many times in the past, fandoms that havent had new content in years, it's probably not

also, the older the fandom, consider how much more ridiculous your claim is. if the media is from fucking 20 years ago and still getting art and fic in any capacity, I dont wanna hear shit about shit being "dead" because there was a slow month of content on tumblr.com

What is really happening?

well if its for an ongoing fandom and there's a noticeable slow period, ask yourself... are we in-between episodes? in-between movies? in-between games? the fandom is not dead, sheesh. everything naturally slows down a while after canon content stops being made. doesn't mean it's dead.

what is happening is that artists and fic writers and other fandom enjoyers that are still out here making plenty of "content" for you (to absorb in 2 seconds and then demand more like they're machines, btw) see your dumb little comment and look around like ???

like ok what am I, chopped liver? I'm still out here making plenty of content, am i dead to you?

what are you doing to keep the active community alive and motivated? are you actually liking and sharing their art? reading their fics and leaving nice comments?

orrrrrrrr do you only care when its your favorite artists making content?

its like. very obvious when its the biggest artists who arent making art anymore cause they moved to a new fandom or whatever and suddenly here come the "the fandom is dead" posts

i know from experience that it just makes everyone else feel like they dont "count." theyre just the backup "favorite" artists when the real "favorite" artists are away, because you don't have a choice anymore.

it feels so god damn disrespectful and dismissive. like thank god i will draw whatever tf i want whether it gets 1 like or 3000 but whenever i see that kind of comment I cant help but go "well the fandom is dead apparently so I guess I'll just throw my ideas and wips away huh???"

and most people are kind. i dont think those big artists would be very happy to hear you're dismissing an entire fandom's worth of creativity just because they havent drawn for it in a while

i keep saying artist but this goes for anyone who contributes to fandom in any way. even just posting headcanons and stuff is participation. and those fics need people to read them, after all.

ive yet to see any fandom actually die. but you will kill your creators' motivation if you keep saying its dead

[lazaruspiss]

sladedicktalia??????? i am LISTENING

there's like. 5 fics. im so starved. i think theyre so hot and funny together!! im obsessed. also this got long so im adding a readmore. whoops.

SlaDick: classic enemies to lovers. they may try to kill each other half the time but they respect each other more than anyone else. OBSESSED with each other, Slade knows he's weird about Dick and couldn't care less but Dick is so in denial about it. they could both give explicit consent but be so antagonistic about it that it becomes unclear if "yes i want to have sex with you" is actually code for "die right now" and i think that's beautiful.

SladeTalia: they fucked! in canon! there was some bullshit plotline where Talia tried to give Slade Damian and pretend he was his son instead! ex fuck buddies who show up just to make each other's lives harder bc they wanna fuck so bad it makes them have stupid brain. also they're both hot as hell. i'm weak for big strong milf/dilf idk idk.

DickTalia: LISTEN TO ME. TALIA WOULD TREAT HIM RIGHT. THEY BOTH KNOW HOW EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATING IT IS TO LOVE BRUCE. LISTEN TO M- ok aside from that. Talia is someone who tried so hard to be good, to choose to be kind. She loved Bruce because she saw how hard he tried to do good in the world. Her character has gotten considerably colder over time, in huge part due to a certain writer writing about her despite knowing nothing about her, but in universe i try and rationalize it as a growing cynicism stemming from both her father's gradually increasing cruelty and Bruce's failure to support her or commit to her or to even just respect her. She hasn't been shown to have very many people in her life who she can really trust and be close to. She used to have a good relationship with Ra's, she used to have Bruce, she's even lost Damian at this point. She feels like such a lonely character to me. And I think Dick would be able to see that, be able to understand it better than most. He's always had people who loved him, people he could turn to, but he's also ended up perpetually isolated for one reason or another. Dick and Talia both feel to me like characters who are so lonely the further they get in their lives. I could see a silent understanding there. The kind of people who would be able to find solace in simply sharing a space with each other. Neither of them like to talk about what they've been through, I think they'd like to have someone who just gets it. Trauma for trauma, you know?

SlaDickTalia: several angles available here.

1) Dick deserves some sexy older lovers who would wine and dine him and also rail him within an inch of his life and also kill for him. i am not immune to the aesthetics!! to the allure of a hot older duo double teaming their young spitfire partner!!!

2) corruption arc. u know u wanna.

3) Dick's fear of abandonment x the 2 most devoted people on the planet. if they were dating nothing bad would happen to Dick again, Slade and Talia just wouldn't allow that. smth smth, couldn't get rid of them if he tried <3

4) Bruce would hate it and that's always fun :3 not that that's hard tho, Babs is like the only one of Dick's partners that Bruce liked and that's bc he wants to keep it in the family.

5) healing.... sobs...... esp when it comes to feelings around parenthood. Those three have shit to work out and i think having some company would help.

6) They all need more people time but 2/3 of them don't get along with anybody so they're kinda stuck with Dick. that kid will forgive anybody if u bat ur eyelashes and behave well enough. He's also more likely to still see them as people despite everything they've been through, and when you're a military experiment and a semi immortal daughter of an immortal terrorist... It can be hard to find someone who looks at you like you still have a chance at humanity.

7) Slade and Talia playing a Cat Vs Dog type game with Dick in the middle. I think it's funny.

[floodonthefloor]

i’ve been meaning to say something for ages now, but have only just gotten around to it because i know if i start typing words i’m just going to start spewing alllll my thoughts, so i’m locked in right now!! (edit: this is so long i’m so sorry)

firstly, i want to say that i’m obsessed with your love affair with italics. like hi WHAT—you have SUCH a flair, voice to your writing i think i could pick out your writing from a mile away. it’s always so distinct and full of love. you imbue your stories, your characters with so much love sometimes they don’t even know where to put it all. i don’t even know how to take in and cope with how rich your storytelling is.

you’re so so fucking good at dialogue—like immensely gifted. call it practice, call it skill, but it’s clear you understand people. you understand what makes people flawed, what makes them tick, what makes them hurt in a way not many writers do. the way they sound so real and every word means something. there’s not a single line that doesn’t serve a purpose to the narrative. like in the recent chapter of ‘less of a stranger’, alicent says “Get up, Aegon, get the fuck up!”—it’s so fucking raw—like that entire scene fucked me right up!! i mean every scene you write is a surprise and delight, but something about this one, one where we really get to see aegon and alicent face each other is gorgeous. i’ve been trying to figure out how to convey what your writing feels like, and i think it’s just come to me. it feels so cinematic. there are colors and body and this feeling that everything is larger than life.

just a silly side note, as a writer and screenwriter, what you’re doing is so so admirable because the fics youre writing would all be beautiful as films. theyre so emotion heavy and equally character and plot driven that they would work so beautifully as scripts as well. like RAHHH i’m just so fascinated by your thought process and ability to COOK. thank you thank you for the delicious fucking food!! thank you for writing and sharing<3 it’s a true pleasure and privilege to be able to read such phenomenal works of art!! also this was so surface level but i literally have no notes or lines saved that i loved because im always far too engrossed in every chapter to stop and type something down sofjksdk—so if there’s anything you ever want specific thoughts on i would absolutely be willing to write some thinky thoughts down!! sending love and good vibes :))

okay first of all

second of all

third of all this is so thoughtful and i can't stress enough how much messages like yours means to me. it's one thing to have people read the things you write (baring your soul is scary etc etc etc even if it's in the form of fanfic) but then to have ppl like yourself put so much time and thought and energy into a message like this is another thing entirely. like actually it's unbelievable how much of a difference it can make in my entire day my goodness. thank you so much

[geminibsworld]

i’ve put in lots of these but i have been dying to ask this, i would write it but im not up to your impeccable standards.

tom reacting to his pop star girlfriend writing an intensely sexual and explicit song about him by fucking her senseless, like doing each and every thing that the song describes, you can decide the rest. (i just love this idea and the trope actor x singer)

AH you’re so fucking sweet i love you. send in whatever you want anytime babes. PLEASE.

i screenshotted this, and i absolutely love this idea. i’ll start on it tonight, and i’ll have it out sometime tomorrow(im working all day tomorrow so i don’t know what time i’ll be off BUT) i’m gonna do some research, and see how it goes.

this would be so spicy, and i love songs abt sex(IDK WHY THEYRE ALWAYS SO GOOD) so i can definitely get down with this.

also i’m sure you’re a good writer, i wrote some really bad one direction fics 14-15 on wattpad so nothing can be worse than that HAHAHHAA

but thank you really for your support it means so so so much to me. like really genuinely, makes me all warm and fuzzy. 🩷