#but then theyre like you know what that was necessary and i still want to stay by your side if you let me

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[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.” 

[roseworth]

what direction do you think they should have gone in with jason? as in where should he be now in terms of people and what he's doing

i think winick had it exactly right green arrow #69-72 and batman & robin #23-25. he was a villain but he had a Method and a Purpose. and usually that purpose was just to fuck with batman. i loooove it when hes a villain and hes very clearly doing bad things, but hes not just indiscriminately killing people. hes doing it for a reason, hes still doing the same thing he was doing in utrh by controlling the drug trade, and even when hes doing the right thing hes being an asshole about it

i especially love the ga issues because jason doesnt even talk to batman but bruce KNOWS what hes doing and he knows its about him. i love the bruce & jason post-utrh dynamic where they've both pretty much said everything they have to say and neither of them is changing their position, so now jason is just starting fires to get attention. "ok bruce you dont want to talk to me? thats fine. ill just follow you to star city then psychologically torture a teenage girl then blow her up in front of you" icon! i forgive him! i think its so fun when red hood is a member of batman's rogues gallery and bruce feels bad every time he fights him but also he kinda cant stand him since he knows jason is only doing it to mess with him and its working. but also jason is a Greater Good person so he DOES end up working with the bats sometimes just because theyre also working on the good side

anyways the ideal bruce & jason dynamic to me is "the love was there and it made everything so much worse" because jason is doing everything for bruces attention because he loves him and wants him to care about him but hes not willing to budge on his own morals and neither is bruce. and bruce loves jason so he doesnt want to arrest him or put him in danger but also hes killing people and doing terrible things and bruce is batman so he feels obligated to. yk. stop him. and as much as they both love each other they do not like each other at all

in my mind jason doesnt really care about any of the other bats besides dick & babs just because he knew them before he died so hes willing to hang out with them but they Do Not want to see him. like in brothers in blood when jason goes hiiiii dick <3 lets hang out <3333 and dick is constantly suppressing the cain instinct. he never really talks to babs pre52 i think theyre interactions would be very similar in that jason goes hey babs ur so cool <33 and she says jason get the fuck away from me or im activating the bomb in your helmet <3

but also with steph even though he didnt know her pre-death,, i think he would like her. i can imagine him doing something very similar to what he did with mia, basically finding her and going "quit your vigilante career. join my emo band" but i think she would end up being a lot more receptive to it than mia was ! like im thinking batgirl 2009 era steph so she would not be on board with the idea of joining him since things were going well with team batgirl, but i also think that any interaction between the two of them in that era would go well and end with them getting along :)

as for everyone else. i dont think he would care about any of them. theyre just kinda collateral damage in his war with bruce. like he gets involved with them sometimes just because of their proximity to bruce, or like i said earlier that he works with them sometimes because he cares about the greater good so is willing to help them when necessary. also honorable mention to aoifa's headcanon that jason doesnt actually know tims name because he just does not care. thats canon to me

so yeah in conclusion: he should be a morally grey villain that does what he does either for the greater good, or to fuck with batman, or both. and he has complicated relationships with all of them bc he likes bruce dick and babs but also kinda hates all of them and they like but also hate him too. and the rest of them he doesn't really give a shit about

[eightdoctor]

my eda recs :) for anyone interested in getting into this series

i am prefacing this post with the note that i am an avid completionist and generally dislike telling people to skip certain books unless it's a john peel novel or placebo effect. however i understand telling people to read 74 novels is not at all accessible and i need you all to read. these books. please. please

this post is going to be long as shit i know it so i'm putting it ↓ here. books that can be skipped because theyre a bit shit will be colored red, ones that you Can Skip but are good/have some important character or plot bits in will be orange, and ones that are sooo good and necessary and the best books ever will be green. unfortunately i think a lot of the ones colored orange should be colored green but i know restraint. i can stay my hand. kind of

also i should say that i primarily read these for the characters - the plots themselves come second. so lots of my opinions come from the standpoint of which books have good characterizations. basically some of the ones that i color green would probably be skippable if any normal person were reading them but i'm insane!! and this is my list so fuck you!!!

The Eight Doctors by Terrance Dicks: ah my color trichotomy has bitten me in the ass on the first book. because truth be told i still haven't finished this one (nor have i really felt the need to yet), yet it introduces the first companion in the series, sam jones, and contains some other entertaining parts like the doctor getting caught with cocaine. as far as introductory books go it's meh

Vampire Science by Kate Orman and Jonathan Blum: this book. i truly can't sing my praises any louder than i already have. orman & blum took the character of the eighth doctor as portrayed by paul mcgann in a few measly minutes of screen time into a fully fleshed out, compelling and complex character. if you're a fan of the eighth doctor but aren't interested in reading all of the EDAs you have to read this one at the Very Least. it begins, as all good stories do, in a gay bar. it features vampire squirrels, the doctor with kittens, and the doctor infodumping on the beauty of science in a speech? conversation? that still touches me to this day, four years after i first read it.

The Bodysnatchers by Mark Morris: this book is Gross, and i mean that positively. mark morris held nothing back when describing how disgusting and putrid london was in the 1800s (he's primarily a horror writer, and that comes through rather clearly in this book). i genuinely enjoyed this novel a lot, but i know it's not for everyone because again, it's quite gory and disgusting

Genocide by Paul Leonard: don't you just want to see the doctor in a sun hat? being tortured for weeks on end? don't you want to examine his morality in termsof what species he thinks needs to be saved or doomed? jo grant is there

War of the Daleks by John Peel: fuck john peel all my homies hate john peel. for some reason all his books in this range contain daleks and it’s like…why. get some creativity. everyone else did. bitch

Alien Bodies by Lawrence Miles: this novel is So Good. it introduces faction paradox, the war in heaven plotline, humanoid tardises, and a couple of the most interesting & fun side characters in the whole range (homunculette and marieeee <3 cousin justineeee… aaaaaaahh). I shan’t spoil the entire conceit of the story but just know it’s. insane and fucked up and so so funny

Kursaal by Peter Anghelides: this is just a solid doctor who story, really. i wouldn’t call it imperative to the overarching plot of the novels (as tenuous as it is early on), but it’s an enjoyable enough read. it’s about an ancient race of alien werewolves underneath a theme park. what more can i say

Option Lock by Justin Richards: i recall enjoying the doctor and sam’s characterization in this one, and the story is like doctor strangelove meets, well, doctor who. it’s skippable, but i had fun reading it, and that’s really all you can ask for

Longest Day by Michael Collier: this is the start of the arc where sam gets separated from the doctor. actually the most tense and stressed i’ve been reading the edas was reading this and the next three books. it’s so dire, but it’s so so good, with incredible character moments from sam and the doctor. plus you have anstaar, nashaad with his metal legs, and some really fucked up body horror involving Time messing with people’s existences and driving ppl mad and stuff. people tend to either love this one or hate it from what i’ve seen, and i’m solidly in the former category. would definitely recommend 

Legacy of the Daleks by John Peel: ughhhhhhhh… ughhhhjhhhhhh i guess you have to read this one. i guess you have to. it’s definitely an improvement on his last book but still. daleks again john? really? whateverrrrr.. some important stuff happens to susan is in this one though. and the master as well. so if you care about either of those characters you should read this i suppose

Dreamstone Moon by Paul Leonard: a general rule of the edas is paul leonard always writes excellent books (in my opinion, anyway), and this is not the exception. sam and the doctor are still separated, but they’re in the same place and keep missing each other and its like UGGHHHH!!! UGHHH!!! but you have interesting commentary on capitalism’s exploitation and effective revolutionary action and all that stuff. also aloisse is an incredible character and i love her

Seeing I by Kate Orman and Jonathan Blum: HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD LIRD!!!!!!!!!!! kate and jon do it again, those crazy bastards. you know how every author loves torturing the shit out of eight? these guys take that and run with it in the opposite direction, asking the question what if the worst thing the doctor could go through isn’t agonizing torture, but rather just a lack of enrichment in his enclosure? what if he had to stay locked up in one building for three years and couldn’t escape for the life of him? meanwhile sam, now a refugee with no social support (as she technically shouldn’t exist in this time and location), has to deal with homelessness, and has to decide whether it’s better to have a stable, yet soulless corporate job - or do something that’s meaningful and benefits society. she’s at her best in this book for sure

Placebo Effect by Gary Russell: throws up. don’t read this because it is actually rhe worst book in the whole range and i’m not joking. sorry gary you’re a nice guy but i thought the arguments against evolution that went on for like 3 pages were extremely egregious and also plain wrong. you may look at this book and think “oh cool! Stacy and ssard from the comics are in this one!” well they’re there for like a paragraph and don’t do shit. so

Vanderdeken's Children by Christopher Bulis: really fun novel that’s pretty much the epitome of the classic doctor who question “wouldn’t that be really fucked up and crazy?” it also established the fact that the doctor told sam his real name which is really fun and awesome

The Scarlet Empress by Paul Magrs: much like paul leonard, paul magrs Never disappoints. this book is just so fucking fun. in essence, it’s a road trip story. they drive across a planet listening to abba and visiting lots of kooky places and picking up lots of wacky characters. it also deconstructs gender and self-identity and what it means to be an individual. a cyborg and a giant spider get lesbian married. aewsome 👍

The Janus Conjunction by Trevor Baxendale: i really debated on making this one skippable, i did. because while it doesn’t continue any of the established plots or themes or whatever, it does show the doctor breaking the laws of time to save his companion’s life, and that’s really cool we love that. there’s a lot of fun body horror too if you go for that sort of thing. and more giant spiders but these ones are different 

Beltempest by Jim Mortimore: ok honestly? i didn’t vibe with this one. i know some people really liked it but i felt as if the characterization was Off. some wacky wild stuff happens to sam though

The Face-Eater by Simon Messingham: <-doesn’t remember much of this one cuz i was high while reading it. i think it was a solid story though? 

The Taint by Michael Collier: yayyyyyyyy fitz is hereeeee my babyboy… lots of people don’t vibe with this one but i do. because i love fitz and everything he’s in and him and the doctor are such bastards to each other in the beginning it’s great. their repartee is genuinely so entertaining and really elevates the book for me, even if the plot itself is a bit mediocre. either way even if you don’t like it you have to read it because it introduces fitz. so there

Demontage by Justin Richards: telling you to skip this one would be a disservice. because technically it Is skippable, but it has some absolutely hilarious moments that really drive home the fact that fitz is Cringe. they’re on a space casino called vega in the far future and fitz dresses in a (from everyone else's perspective) old-fashioned tuxedo. he smokes indoors and everyone gives him nasty looks because he’s in the future and no one smokes inside. he asks for his cocktails shaken not stirred and the bartender fucking hates him. and he also accidentally gets involved in an assassination plot. but i suppose if you must skip it then go ahead… 

Revolution Man by Paul Leonard: mr leonard does it again. this is an excellent novel for both companions that begins with sam and the doctor engaging in leftist discourse with an anarchist and ends with the world almost ending. it happens.

Dominion by Nick Walters: you have to read this one just for the doctor’s first gay kiss. sorry i don’t make the rules. also it  just features a neat concept imo and has a great moment where the doctor punches a pillow in frustration and then sadly apologizes to it

Unnatural History by Kate Orman and Jonathan Blum: this book is one that i think every doctor who fan who’s ever gotten mad about canon not making sense should be forced at gunpoint to read. it’s a novel that’s essentially one big metacommentary on doctor who canon & why it Doesn’t Matter At All, Actually; the doctor was birthed and he was loomed and both are equally true and untrue. also features the iconic paragraph calling the doctor a (verbatim) “backrub slut”, as well as wrapping up the ongoing arc with sam jones hinted at in alien bodies and a few other books in a way that’ll have you side eyeing moffat very suspiciously

Autumn Mist by David A. McIntee: this one’s pretty good and has a couple great moments (fitz calling himself james bond, for one), but is, i think, ultimately skippable unless youre a world war 2 buff

Interference Books 1 & 2 by Lawrence Miles: nothing i can say will adequately put into words what these two novels made me feel, you hear me? absolutely nothing. good fucking god. jesus christ. holy fuck.. if i sat here listsing all the important and iconic moments in these books we’d be here all shitting day and this post is already obscenely long. read these 2 books. then read them again. 

The Blue Angel by Paul Magrs: ok i know i just said this but HOOOOOO..WHOA NELLY! the blue angel is easily in my top 5 edas. it literally heavily features a canon domestic au wherein the doctor is a “middle-aged gay man”. fitz says he wants to get laid by the doctor. the doctor’s mother is a mermaid. there’s off-brand spirk. someone turns into a giant squid. literally this book is so good they wrote a screenplay adaptation of it and a spinoff short story that you should also read

The Taking of Planet 5 by Simon Bucher-Jones and Mark Clapham: you’re going to be hearing this a lot from me but we Are entering the part of the series where it really takes off and gets sooo fucking good. anyway this novel is sooo fucking good and quite important to the plot and establishes stuff about the war in heaven and gallifrey so. read it. also there's ELDRITCH BEASTS!

Frontier Worlds by Peter Anghelides: i can’t tell you to skip this one because it’s so good. fitz goes by the alias frank sinatra & also talks like him for a solid portion of the book. we get excellent compassion moments. great doctor moments (including that Hot and Sexy dream he has about the tardis!) and all in all it’s a wonderful story

Parallel 59 by Stephen Cole and Natalie Dallaire: lots of stuff happens in this one, especially to fitz. by that i mean it gets referenced quite a bit later so i would recommend if you want to catch all the references. also a woman worked on this one so you already know eight is going to be written phenomenally and very sensually. 

The Shadows of Avalon by Paul Cornell: rather important development happens to compassion in this book (understatement). but it’s also a really good story in general with lots of memorable bits - paul cornell wrote one EDA and did a great job and then vanished from the range. it also has the BRIGADIER and his ROMANCE with MAB the BIG BOSOMED CELTIC QUEEN so like.. read it?? 

The Fall of Yquatine by Nick Walters: a pretty important thing happens to compassion in this one too (another understatement). also withnail & i references galore, fitz has a bad time (has he had a Good time for the past few books? questionable!), and the doctor spends time with a gay baker/contraband parts dealer

Coldheart by Trevor Baxendale: you could skip this one but why would you even want to? it’s literally one of compassion’s best stories and has plenty of excellent doctor and companion moments. it’s just fun and engaging and an outstanding doctor who story. and, as always, fitz is effortlessly cringe as ever <3

The Space Age by Steve Lyons: this one’s just boring and kinda stupid. nothing big or important happens and you can tell steve lyons didn’t care for writing compassion at all. skip it

The Banquo Legacy by Andy Lane and Justin Richards: Big Plot Developments in this one - mostly in the beginning and end. also the only (?) mention of irving braxiatel in the whole run! it’s written from the POV of two Normal people not on the tardis so it’s interesting to see how they perceive the doctor and fitz, and how this contradicts the way they define themselves in other books where we’re privy to their internal monologue 

The Ancestor Cell by Peter Anghelides and Stephen Cole: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHH AAAAGHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU HFHOA8U8OIA AOUIY4P98 YT39 7UGHYIB3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this one drives me insane and there are parts of it i reread nearly every day. because i’m CRAZY. it’s a controversial novel in the doctor who fandom because of how it handles gallifrey and faction paradox lore but WHO FUCKING CARES? FATHER KREINER IS BACK BABY

The Burning by Justin Richards: this is the start of the Earth Arc, so it’s the first portrayal of the doctor stuck on earth without any of his memories. it’s a bit slow at the beginning, and as a normal doctor who story i would consider it subpar, but the characterization of the doctor really carries it i think. you see how losing his memory impacted his restraint with things such as hypnosis and Other Stuff I Shan’t Spoil

Casualties of War by Steve Emmerson: this has the first appearance of the Note, so it’s especially important for that reason. but it’s also just a neat story that has way more elements of a fantasy than a sci fi and again, seeing how the doctor acts now, stuck on earth without his memories, and juxtaposing that with how he acted before, super fun and neat

The Turing Test by Paul Leonard: if i could graft this book onto my DNA i would. i already KNEW the circumstances surrounding alan turing’s death and yet i still cried about it while reading this!! paul leonard’s portrayal of turing as both a gay and autistic man (though the latter is never explicitly stated) is INCREDIBLE and i really can’t recommend it enough just based on that. but the story itself is amazing and really delves into the doctor’s Differences and his desperation to leave earth after being stuck there for decades. 

Endgame by Terrance Dicks: people really like this one and i guess i had fun with it but i just can’t really get into terrence dicks’ writing style. that being said it features the doctor listless and just so sad and depressed so you kind of have to read it. if that’s not reason enough there’s a fat gay alcoholic spy who absolutely rocks

Father Time by Lance Parkin: i hate that this is green. i hate it. i hate this fucking book. i hate lance parkin also. but this is where miranda (the doctor’s adopted daughter) is introduced so alas, you must read it and imagine a version of this book thats infinitely better in your head. sorry! 

Escape Velocity by Colin Brake: this one’s mid but it’s the end of the earth arc and fitz and the doctor reunite and ANJI KAPOOR IS HERE!!!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!! so if you read this and get a lil bored just know it’s about to get so fucking good you guys

EarthWorld by Jacqueline Rayner: genuinely can’t say enough good things about this one. it’s funny. it’s angsty. it’s all in all just a really fun book. and it’s the shortest one i think so like you have no excuse to not read it

Fear Itself by Nick Wallace: this is technically a PDA because it was written after nine was announced, thereby making 8 technically a “past doctor”, but who give a shit. read this one are yoyu kidding me. read it read it read it read it READ IT. there’s a twist in it that rendered me absolutely catatonic for about a week 

Vanishing Point by Stephen Cole: don’t skip this one even though it’s orange. are you listening to me? don’t fucking skip it ok!!! steve cole is the #1 fitz/eight shipper and this really shines through here. also maybe i’m just easily entertained by reasonably accurate science in my doctor who books but i liked all the genetics references

Eater of Wasps by Trevor Baxendale: trevor you sly dog you did it again. you mad bastard. not only is the storyline in this one soo gripping and also Quite horrifying but the characterization?? hoooooo boy. this is the book where “you really love him, don’t you?” “well, i like to think we’re just good friends.” comes from and so even if it was dogshit you’d have to read it just for that like cmon

The Year of Intelligent Tigers by Kate Orman: holy. fucking. shit. good grief. the doctor has a boyfriend and they go on picnics and drink chocolate martinis together. the doctor becomes a catboy for a few months. this story takes place on a colony world whose culture is predominantly centered around music, so you have the doctor playing his violin (hot). you have scientifically accurate zoology/xenobiology. you have a Mysterious lost civilization. most importantly you have fitz’s song he wrote for the doctor

The Slow Empire by Dave Stone: this one’s just FUNNY okay. dave stone has such a characteristic way of writing prose it’s just kind of a joy to read. if you get the hard copy all of the bits from a side character’s pov is written in comic sans. while some of the characterization is a bit meh and anji didn’t Really live up to her full potential in a couple scenes i’d still recommend it. there’s footnotes

Dark Progeny by Steve Emmerson: this is another one i colored orange even though i whole-heartedly recommend it.. it’s a commentary on corporate apathy and greed and how it destroys entire planets and just a really engaging story besides. not to mention we get a “fitz fitz fitz fitz fitz!” bit from 8 <3

The City of the Dead by Lloyd Rose: i can’t even talk about this oine lest i lose my mind… not joking when i say lloyd rose writes some of the best and juiciest angst in the whole series like some of the scenes in there made me feel like i was being helplessly entrapped in flowing grain for a month

Grimm Reality by Simon Bucher-Jones and Kelly Hale: i really do sound like a broken record at this point but this is another one of those books i could never say enough positive things about. there are two novels in this series that genre-hop and this is one of them. the tardis lands on a world where everything runs on logic straight out of the brother’s grimm (hence the title). there’s magic cloaks and evil stepsisters and giants, and the doctor, fitz, and anji all have their own separate adventures so it’s super interesting to see how each character deals with being in a fairytale. not only that but there are parts of the book written in the style of those old fairytales and i really do get a good kick out of  gimmicky stuff like that 

The Adventuress of Henrietta Street by Lawrence Miles: buckle the fuck up everyone and get out your highlighters and sticky notes because this one is so fucking dense you’ll have no choice but to annotate and take notes, sorry! it’s written in the style of a historical nonfiction which occasionally falls flat (where’s the fucking works cited, lawrence???), but the story is fucking crazy. you got arcane rituals, prostitutes doing sex magic that summon great apes, sabbath is here, the doctor is weak and sickly (always awesome), sabbath is here, the doctor gets married so he can save the earth, sabbath is here,

Mad Dogs and Englishmen by Paul Leonard: this is the petplay book featuring multicolored poodles that have human hands. need i say more? 

Hope by Mark Clapham: not the best book but it’s got some pretty crucial anji moments in, and we all love love love anji so much so we’ll read mediocre novels just for her!! (but we also see the doctor struggle with only having one heart so that’s fun too)

Anachrophobia by Jonathan Morris: literally my top 3 book in the series EASY. it takes place on a planet ravaged by a time war (as in a war that fights with weapons that fuck with time. not like That time war), yet despite that particular futuristic conceit the entire atmosphere of the book feels like something out of the 40s or 50s  - almost like the aesthetics of fallout, but instead of nuclear radiation it’s Time. most of the story takes place in this sealed off bunker that’s doing experiments to try and develop time travel, and while they’re successful in going back in time the guinea pigs who volunteered for the trial develop an illness that fucks up their personal timelines so bad they literally turn into clock zombies. and it’s contagious. but no one can leave because theres fucked up time outside uh oh!!! if you liked the themes of war profiteering from boom in the new season you’ll LOVE this book

Trading Futures by Lance Parkin: fuck you lance parkin i can’t stand your ass! you can’t fucking write for shit!!! i’d recommend this book if you want to see anji referred to as ‘the asian woman’ more than her actual name :) and a southeast asian character with a name that might as well have been taken right out of a book written by  jk rowling. really the only good part of this book is when anji almost calls the doctor an otter-fucker

The Book of the Still by Paul Ebbs: this book is a WILD fucking ride. this book is fucking insane in the most positive of ways. paul ebbs writes an absolutely top tier eight that manages to encapsulate all the development he went through in the series as well as evoking the characterization from the 1996 movie

The Crooked World by Steve Lyons: this is the second book that does a genre-swap, but instead of fairytales this time the tardis lands on a planet dominated by saturday morning cartoon physics and logic. but the doctor & co being there begins to introduce Real Life concepts such as death and sex and swearing, so all these wacky cartoon characters who’ve spent their whole lives doing wacky cartoon things like blowing each other up with sticks of dynamite or hitting each other with big hammers suddenly find that these actions actually have very very serious consequences, which really kicks off when this story’s equivalent of tom rips off this story’s equivalent of jerry’s head, killing him instantly. idk i just watched a lot of saturday morning cartoons as a kid so seeing the parodies of wacky races and scooby doo was very enjoyable. to me

History 101 by Mags L Halliday: to put it simply this book is about leftist infighting. to put it more complexly this book is about the spanish civil war and how differing opinions and principles can alter one’s perception of history - and what happens when history actually starts being changed in accordance to these differing principles. there’s also the subplot featuring fitz’s homoerotic, yet very traumatizing, travels with a guy named sasha as they journey to guernica so they can watch it be bombed

Camera Obscura by Lloyd Rose: this is where sabbath and the doctor’s relationship really reaches it’s peak. this is The Esteemed Toxic Old Man Yaoi Novel. but also remember when i said lloyd rose writes the best angst? this holds especially true here. i won’t spoil it for you but Something Crazy Happens to the Doctor! haha. haha

Time Zero by Justine Richards: this is just quantum physics: the novel. while fitz goes on his doomed siberia expedition with the geologist boytoy george in the 19th century, the doctor investigates some strange readings in siberia like a hundred years later, and some crazy confusing hijinks ensue! the events in this book kick off the arc that’ll continue for the next few books until sometime never where the multiverse is collapsing and the doctor has to fix it. even though he doesn’t know how. ALSO TRIX INTRODUCTIONNNNNN!!!!!!!!

The Infinity Race by Simon Messingham: this one’s whatever. the sabbath characterization is wack but there are a few good moments. you think it’s going to be mostly about a cool boat race but sadly that comes secondary -_-

The Domino Effect by David Bishop: this book is ASS, both plot-wise and characterization-wise. it also just seems like the author was trying to be needlessly edgy when he developed the setting, and there are just some baffling moments where characters say and do things i frankly think they would never say 

Reckless Engineering by Nick Walters: the events in this one center around a tragedy that is fucking batshit insane. the universe this takes place in features a post-apocalyptic earth. i shan’t say what this apocalypse was because finding out what happened is all apart of the fun guys. i can’t spoil everything for you

The Last Resort by Paul Leonard: what if a corporation discovered TIME TRAVEL and set up RESORTS all across human history? what if there was a mcdonalds in ancient egypt and advertisements for microsoft in the original version of the bible? also what if something just soooo fucked up happens so many times <3

Timeless by Stephen Cole: anji’s last book. sobs.

Emotional Chemistry by Simon A. Forward: idk what it was but i just didn’t really vibe with this one. it’s not awful by any means and there’s a bit of plot carried in from the last novel that continues into the next but the actions that surround it don’t really matter i think. honestly i’d just read a summary of this one and continue on 

Sometime Never... by Justin Richards: the culmination of the multiverse stuff. i liked it - miranda makes a reappearance, and the fact she’s written by someone other than lance parkin is already a plus. my only qualm is i don’t really like how it handled sabbath but that’s sort of how i felt about all the books post camera obscura… sigh

Halflife by Mark Michalowski: ANOTHER EASY TOP 3. i’m simply obsessed with all of the concepts and tropes in this book, not to mention it’s where fitz’s infamous Ass Dream can be found. there’s commentary on racism, colonialism, and religion, and it also features cannibalism as a metaphor for love :D

The Tomorrow Windows by Jonathan Morris: another case of me coloring a book orange even though i think you should read it anyway. it’s positively saturated with so many interesting alien planets and creatures and societies you’d be missing out if you didn’t read this one tbh. it’s also the first novel ever to feature the ninth doctor!

The Sleep of Reason by Martin Day: this one ok. it’s another book written from the pov of an outsider and her insights into the doctor, fitz, and trix are interesting (and their characterization when they show up is outstanding!) but it feels like they’re rarely in it & this close to the end of the series i just want to see more of my guys you know...

The Deadstone Memorial by Trevor Baxendale: i loved the atmosphere in this one. it’s more of a ghost story with sci fi elements, and the stakes involved aren’t Bigger Than Ever like they tend to be nowadays, but instead surround the wellbeing of a family of a single mom and her two kids which i appreciate - the doctor isn’t saving the Whole Universe and World; just a family from a small town; it’s effective in getting the point across that the doctor thinks everyone’s important and worth saving 

To the Slaughter by Stephen Cole: this one’s fun and goofy and steve cole wrote it solely so he could fix an error from a fourth doctor serial in which the doctor got the number of jupiter’s moons wrong. that being said the reason it’s not colored orange is because the last book of the series is written by lance parkin and i want to help you procrastinate reading his godawful prose for as long as possible. your welcome

The Gallifrey Chronicles by Lance Parkin: fuck you lance parkin

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Skip My Pride - No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: What an amazing opportunity to use that gif. Takes place in Chapter 22. Title from Lay All Your Love On Me by ABBA.

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary/Warnings: You share some music with Ben over text. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, fluff

whjt is empty v 

What? 

annie and mm are talkinng avout empty v. wat is it. Ben frowned at his phone, watching the little bubbles appear and disappear, and added theyre foghting about something calld a reeahna  

The bubbles disappeared for half a second, and then- 

Ask MM how to spell that. 

Ben ahead of him, where MM and Annie were locked in an argument about something that sounded fucking stupid. 

“How the fuck do you spell that.” 

MM twisted, frowning at him. “Spell what.”

“That weird fucking word you said. The reeahna.” 

“Do you,” Annie paused, exchanging a weird fucking look with MM. “Do you mean Rihanna?” 

“Sure. How the fuck do you spell it.” 

Ben listened as Annie sounded every letter out—slowly, like he was fucking stupid—and entered them into the phone carefully. 

rihanna. 

The response was immediate. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben. 

wat 

She’s a singer. And you’re thinking of MTV. 

whats mtv 

MTV was launched in the 80s. You should know what MTV is. 

Ben paused, then typed, cabel channel 

Good work. I’m proud of you. 

shutt up. why is that shit still aroond 

People love music, celebrities, and drama, and MTV provides all three. 

od they still do thw msuic show 

VMAs?  

sure 

Yes, they do.  

music goood 

What???? 

is musac still good 

I’d say it is, but it’s an incredibly subjective medium. 

wat music do u liek tha most 

Ben knew what music She liked. He’d spent hours listening to all her fucking songs, over and over while she was gone. But the variety had almost killed him with whiplash, and he didn’t have the goddamn time to comb through the infinite amount of songs she seemed to enjoy. If She’d just spell out the best ones, he’d memorize them because he loved Her, and not bother with shit that wasn’t necessary.

The little bubbles had started up again, appearing and disappearing for several seconds before- 

Did you listen to the playlist? 

dont knoww how

Do you want help?

He sighed, glancing up at Annie and MM to ensure they wouldn’t reach back and grab his fucking phone from his hand, and looked back down. yes 

Yes… Please? 

dont puush it 

I’m not helping you if you don’t say please, Benjamin. 

Ben scowled at the screen. pleas 

Thank you. Open the app, go to playlists, and hit the one labeled Benjamin Music Education Initiative. 

Ben rolled his eyes, but followed Her instructions, returning to the messages when he was done. now wat 

Listen to the music, dummy.  

i dont know theese songs 

That’s the point. There was a brief pause—Ben was really starting to hate these stupid fucking bubbles—before, There’s four songs per decade you missed. Three that are important for you to know, and one that I like. I also added some more familiar stuff that I thought you’d like, so you don’t listen to Toxic and explode.  

stuf i like 

Hughie said you like Steely Dan, so I went off of that. Ben grinned at the screen, even as the next message came through. Old fucking man music, by the way. You’re not doing yourself any favors in the “I’m not a goddamn dinosaur, Sunshine” department. 

He wasn’t a fucking dinosaur. Normally, Ben would’ve immediately typed that into the phone with a glare, but something in his chest was making him all fucking soft and fucking happy. He loved Her so fucking much, and it was making him a pussy, but Christ, he couldn’t bring himself to give a flying pig’s fuck. He could picture Her perfect face in a mock frown, almost hear Her voice dropped into that dogshit fucking impression of him as he read her words, and he did like Steely Dan. He had absolutely no memory of telling Hughie that, but Ben didn’t really fucking care if he’d mentioned it and forgotten, because now She knew. And She’d added a few of their songs to the stupid playlist, mixed in with a bunch of shit Ben didn’t recognize. 

doo i have to listeen now 

Do you not want to? 

i dont want to stoop talking to u 

There was a pause, and then, You can do both. They aren’t mutually exclusive. 

why 

Because two apps can run at once.  

Ben blinked, and went back to the playlist, hitting the button labeled play and almost dropping his phone as the music blasted through the car. 

“Shit!” MM turned around the glare at Ben as he smashed his thumb onto the screen, trying to stop the guitar splitting filling up the air. “Use fucking headphones, you asshole, not all of us want to listen to Nirvana right now!” 

“Nobody gave me headphone, you dicksack-“ 

“Here,” Annie threw a pair of thin white wires at Ben’s face, shrugging. “Those are my backups, they were like fifteen dollars. You can keep them.” 

Ben scowled at the alleged headphones. “This is fucking string.” 

“Goddammit,” MM muttered, snatching Ben’s phone and the wires from his hand and chucking them back into his lap, now somehow connected together. “You’re welcome, motherfucker. Go back to sulking about your separation anxiety and use those if you want to listen to music.” 

Ben didn’t know how to use them to listen to music. Headphones were big, and they went over your ears. These couldn’t go over fucking shit. 

how do u use wiires as headpones 

What? 

annie gav me string and said to use is to musicc 

Oh. Those are earbuds, you put them in your ears.  

Ben glanced down at the wires. There were little pieces on the end that looked bigger, and could maybe fit in his ears. 

They did. It felt really goddamn weird, but when he shook his head they didn’t fall out, and when he pressed play again it was like the music was being pushed into his brain.  

i got it 

Good work. 

shut the fhck up 

Rude. Do you like the music? 

its ok. loud 

I’ll take okay and loud. I did start with grunge, so it’ll get quieter.  

its not baad. didnt fuckinng expect it tho 

I have so many old man jokes. 

Ben rolled his eyes. brat 

Cunt. Wait until you get to the 2010s, you’re going to hate it. 

He might. Ben didn’t understand half the pop culture shit in the modern world, but She did, and he trusted her. He wasn’t listening to his music for himself, it was all for her. To find out what fucking music she deemed worthy of showing him, what stuff she loved, so he could love Her better. Maybe manage to understand her insane, genius fucking brain a little more. And he hadn’t been lying, the music wasn’t bad. A lot of it was weird as shit, but none of it made him want to rip off his ears.  

And it was making something inside of Ben all fucking soft and gooey, that She’d successfully figured out what music he liked. That she’d taken the time to do this, just for him. It was the Benjamin Music Education Initiative. This was for Ben, from Her. He fucking loved Her, and she cared about him enough to do this. He was going to memorize every single fucking song on this list, and maybe she’d do it again.  

He’d love Her no matter what. Even when she made old man jokes and called him a cunt, Ben would keep loving Her until it killed him. 

i thogt u hated romeo an juilet 

I do. Why? 

song 

Well, this version has a happy ending, and it’s an excellent fucking song. 

its fine 

It’s amazing. Do not disrespect that song, Pretty Boy. It’s blasphemy.

i said its fuckig fine 

I’m going to make you listen to the whole album. The entire discography. 

He could live with that. If it kept Her at his side, Ben would easily put up with listening to this twangy guitar for a million goddamn years. If it made Her smile, all the fucking better. wahtever 

Don’t test me. I’ll do it.

i no 

Know. 

fuckk off

No. You’re stuck with me. 

Ben could live with that as well.

End Note: Do you guys think Ben would be a swiftie. I feel like he would but he'd be like, angry about it.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

[fablepaint]

I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask anything here, but I wanted to know something. How is it like being a director of an animation? What’s your ideology when it comes to directing?

Messages anytime all the time

caffeinecaffeinecaffeine

body exhausted, enforces its own breaks

hard to go out, ever

STRESSSSS

MAAATHHH

wheredidmybraingo?

*smashed body part* thatll heal up finnnne. i dont have time for doctor!

ohgoddontfuckitup dontbeTHATguy ohfuckohshit

i love my partner i cant believe he puts up with this

hug every pet. theyre my emotional sponges.

manic creative spurts followed by sheepish anxiety.

PaPERWORK

hurry up and wait, times a thousand.

hope you like data sheets!

delegateDAMMIT

And thats when it's running smoothly!

otherwise my approach is to try and reflect the best examples of leadership and guidance IRL ive experienced. Mostly, from quality college professors Ive known. Tom Sito in particular exemplified a lot of what i strive to be. He was also formerly guild president and i think teaching your crew to view themselves as a collective that supports each other is vital to ensuring not just that they work together well, but also should anyone try to take advantage of them, they'll curbstomp them. I want them to be capable even in my absence, beyond the project, and able to run their own projects competently in the future.

i should be the one who guides and educates people into giving what's needed for the shot. Pain and blood are unwanted elements in that recipe. Theyre distractions and energysappers, red flags of a problem not a badge of honor.

Ideally, i barely have to do more than gently steer the work. And if ive communicated what im looking for effectively, theyre all plenty good at doing the work without me hovering over them.

if the work needs more guidance than that, then i roll up my sleeves and dive in as well. And figure out what the problem was, log it, and let that educate everyone else too (good documentation is essential).

i try to exhaust every option i have before blaming the person working on it for all the issues. Sometimes that is the problem, but even then i need to approach it neutrally and ask what human solution is required then. Do they need a break? was this not the right shot for them? is their way of processing the communication different than i expected? is there a translation problem?

in which case give people space to figure out some of that without judgement. Sometimes that means leaving for a bit, or permanently. But dont chase them. Just let them have their own life.

The only things i cant abide by are lack of communication that results in putting stress on the rest of the team. Consistent lying about availability and ball dropping despite constant outreach means someone has to pick up the slack without enough time or energy stocked up to take on the extra work. Anything that ends up exacerbating stress makes me upset.

But even then, it's still my job to spot the signs of this and make necessary adjustments before it becomes a problem. Including identifying where I made a miscalculation in hiring.

The buck always ALWAYS stops with me. I have the power to adjust the system to make it better, which means i gotta have a good grasp on that system.

[moonselune]

I am SOOO loving your work right now it's all so so good :))) can I request the ladies comforting Tav after they went too far when "interrogating" someone for information? Like Tav came back to camp and the ladies just knew something was off so they go to comfort tav and the only thing Tav can say is "I made them talk" but theyre very clearly distraught about it? No worries if not it is a bit of a darker subject (is this idea also ripped straight from The Last of Us Part 2? Yes lol)

Ahhh thank you so much, I love this and omg The Last of Us <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering glow over the gathering of your party. The day’s events had been intense, culminating in a harsh interrogation of an enemy captive. Although the information gained was valuable, the process had left you feeling unsettled and emotionally drained.

You sat on the edge of the camp, away from the others, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort of what you had done. Your thoughts were a tangled mess of guilt and regret. The fire’s warmth did little to soothe the cold knot of remorse that had settled in your chest.

Karlach, ever perceptive, noticed your distant demeanor. She approached quietly, her footsteps muffled by the grass, and sat down beside you. Her usual fiery energy was tempered by a concerned softness as she studied you.

“Hey babe,” she began gently, her voice low and comforting. “I see something’s bothering you. You’ve been distant ever since we got back. What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, trying to dismiss her concern. “It’s nothing, Karlach. Just… tired, I guess.”

Karlach’s eyes narrowed with concern, not buying your attempt to brush it off. She reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “Don’t shut me out. I can tell something’s eating at you. Talk to me.”

Your throat tightened, and despite your best efforts, tears began to well up in your eyes. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, but the emotional weight was too much. Karlach’s presence was a gentle balm against the storm of your feelings, but you still struggled to find the right words.

Karlach’s expression softened further, her eyes filled with empathy. She moved closer, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into a comforting embrace. Her strength was a steady anchor, and you leaned into her, finding solace in her warmth.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soothing and steady. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. You don’t have to be alone with this.”

The tears finally spilled over, and you found yourself unable to hold back the sobs that wracked your body. You clung to Karlach, her presence a refuge from the guilt that had consumed you.

Through your tears, you choked out the words, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I made them talk. I went too far. I don’t know if I should have done it that way.”

Karlach’s grip tightened around you, her embrace firm and reassuring. She stroked your back gently, offering comfort without judgment. “You did what you felt was necessary in the moment. Sometimes, the weight of what we do can be heavy, and it’s okay to feel this way. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong or bad.”

She pulled back slightly, her hands gently cupping your face as she looked into your eyes. “You have a heart that cares deeply. That’s why this bothers you. It means you’re not numb to the consequences of your actions. And that’s a good thing.”

You took a shuddering breath, her words a small comfort amidst the turmoil. “I just… I wish it didn’t feel like this. I wanted to get the information, but I didn’t want to hurt them like that.”

Karlach’s eyes were filled with understanding as she wiped away your tears with her thumbs. “It’s normal to feel conflicted. It’s not an easy task. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always..”

The comfort of her words and the strength of her embrace began to ease some of the burden you carried. You stayed in her arms, letting the warmth of her presence gradually soothe the ache in your heart. Her reassurance and empathy were a balm to the guilt you felt, and though it would take time to fully come to terms with your actions, Karlach’s support made the burden feel a little lighter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The night had settled over the camp, its darkness broken only by the flickering light of the campfire. The other members of your party were engaged in their own activities, but you found yourself on the fringes, feeling the weight of the day’s events more acutely than you had expected.

The interrogation you conducted had been intense, and while it had yielded crucial information, the process had left you feeling deeply unsettled. You had pushed the boundaries further than you intended, and the emotional aftermath was beginning to take its toll.

Minthara, ever observant and attuned to the subtleties of yourself, noticed your troubled demeanor. She approached you quietly, her presence both commanding and comforting as she sat down beside you.

“You seem troubled, my love.” Minthara said, her voice low and perceptive. “Tell me, what is weighing on your mind?”

You hesitated, trying to mask your inner turmoil with a forced nonchalance. “It’s nothing, Minthara. Just tired from the day. I’ll be fine.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed slightly, not entirely convinced by your dismissal. She reached out, her hand resting firmly on your arm. “You are not fine. I can see that something is wrong. Do not shut me out. What happened?”

You tried to brush her off again, but the effort was half-hearted and she could tell, so she continued to press you on the matter. The weight of your emotions was becoming increasingly difficult to manage. Her probing only intensified the internal conflict you were struggling to suppress, and the pressure finally caused you to snap.

“I made them talk!” you exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and guilt. “I went too far.”

Minthara’s expression shifted to one of confusion, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand your distress. “I don’t see why that is a problem. You did what was necessary to achieve the desired outcome. You achieved the results we needed.”

You shook your head, the frustration and guilt bubbling over. “It wasn’t necessary. I pushed them beyond what was needed. I— I don’t like how it made me feel. I feel… wrong about it.”

The admission came out in a rush, the weight of your actions pressing heavily on your conscience. Minthara’s confusion slowly gave way to understanding as she saw the depth of your discomfort.

“You’re troubled because you crossed a line,” she said softly, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re not accustomed to pushing yourself to such extremes, and it’s affecting you deeply.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt them like that. I wanted the information, but not at the cost of my own sense of right and wrong. It’s eating at me.”

Minthara’s expression softened further, and she reached out to take your hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “It’s important that you recognize the impact of your actions. It’s not easy to face the consequences of pushing beyond your own limits.”

She guided you to sit closer, her presence a steady anchor in the midst of your emotional storm. “You are not alone in this. I understand the complexities of these situations. It is normal to feel conflicted. What matters is how you handle these feelings moving forward.”

Her words were a balm to your frayed emotions, and you allowed yourself to lean into her support, taking comfort in her presence.

As you sat together by the fire, Minthara wrapped her arms around you, her touch a grounding force. She offered soft reassurances and occasional words of comfort, helping you navigate the emotional fallout of your actions. Although she could not fully understand your guilt, she understood that you were upset, and she would be there to help you, to make you feel better, be the strength that she knew you were.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The interrogation of an enemy had been harsh and intense, and though it had yielded valuable information, you couldn’t shake the lingering discomfort from pushing the boundaries.

As you sat by the edge of the camp, trying to gather your thoughts, Lae’zel, ever observant and perceptive, noticed your distracted and troubled demeanor. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and she approached you with her usual directness but a hint of concern in her otherwise impassive expression. She settled down next to you, her presence both commanding and comforting.

“You seem troubled,” she said, her tone direct but not unkind. “What is wrong?”

You hesitated, struggling to articulate the swirl of emotions inside you. The guilt and discomfort were hard to voice, but the words finally escaped your lips, tinged with frustration. “I made them talk.”

Lae’zel’s brows furrowed slightly, her expression thoughtful as she considered your words. She sat down beside you, her strong, calloused hand resting gently on your shoulder, providing a sense of grounded support. Her touch was firm but not harsh.

“A warrior must sometimes push beyond the boundaries to achieve their goals,” Lae’zel began, her voice calm and measured. “It is understandable that this would weigh on you. However, it is also important to recognize when you have exceeded your own limits.”

You looked at her, your eyes filled with a mix of relief and residual guilt. “I didn’t want to hurt them like that. I wanted the information, but I went too far. It’s hard to reconcile that with my own sense of right and wrong.”

Lae’zel’s gaze softened, and she leaned closer, her presence a steady anchor amidst your turbulent emotions. “It is good to know when you have crossed a line. Your distress is an indication of your integrity and self-awareness. It shows that you are not numb to the consequences of your actions.”

She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her touch both firm and comforting. “A true warrior understands the cost of their actions and is capable of reflection. The fact that you feel troubled by this means you are capable of growth and self-discipline.”

You took a deep breath, her words providing a measure of comfort. Lae’zel’s straightforward approach was strangely soothing, and her acceptance of your distress helped ease some of the guilt that had been weighing on you. Her support, though unadorned with excessive empathy, was grounded in a deep understanding of the warrior’s path.

“It’s a difficult balance to strike,” she continued, her voice steady. “Recognizing when you’ve gone too far is as important as knowing when to strike decisively. Both are marks of a skilled and thoughtful warrior.”

You nodded, feeling a semblance of relief as Lae’zel’s words resonated with you. The night’s quiet and her comforting presence created a space where you could begin to process the day’s events without the burden of isolation.

In the stillness of the night, Lae’zel’s support helped to temper the harsh edges of your internal struggle, allowing you to find some measure of peace and understanding amidst the emotional aftermath of your interrogation.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The night had fallen over the camp, a blanket of darkness occasionally broken by the flickering light of the fire. The conversations around the campfire were subdued, the weight of the day’s events lingering in the air. You sat apart from the others, lost in your thoughts, struggling with the aftermath of the interrogation you had conducted earlier. Though the information you had extracted was valuable, you felt a deep sense of unease over the methods you had employed.

Shadowheart noticed your troubled form. As she moved quietly through the camp, her gaze settled on you, sensing that something was wrong. With a grace that matched her usual composed demeanor, she approached and sat down beside you.

Her presence was calming, a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling inside you. Shadowheart studied you with concern as she took in your distant expression.

“You seem troubled, love,” she said softly, her voice gentle and soothing. “Is something bothering you?”

You hesitated, struggling to articulate the pain inside. Finally, the words came out, tinged with guilt and frustration. “I made them talk.”

Shadowheart’s eyes softened with understanding as she listened. She did not press you for more details, sensing that you were already overwhelmed. Instead, she responded with quiet empathy, reaching out to you. Though she could not remember it exactly, she remembered feeling this way when she was younger, in the Sharran cloister. There she had no one to soothe her, and it was painful, she would not allow you to go through the same thing. So, without a word, she moved closer and gently wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

The contact was tender and reassuring, her warmth enveloping you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into her embrace, finding solace in the simple act of being held. Her touch was gentle yet firm, a grounding presence amidst the swirling emotions that had taken hold of you.

“It’s alright,” Shadowheart murmured into your ear, her voice soft and calming. “Sometimes, the weight of what we do can be heavy. It’s natural to feel conflicted.”

You clung to her, the comfort of her presence helping to ease some of the emotional strain. The embrace was a sweet refuge, a place where the harshness of the day could be softened by her quiet support.

“You don’t have to explain further,” she continued softly. “I can see that this weighs on you. It’s important to acknowledge how you feel. I’m here for you.”

Her words, combined with her gentle touch, helped to soothe the sharp edges of your guilt. The night’s quiet and the warmth of her embrace allowed you to breathe more easily, if only for a moment. Shadowheart’s comfort was a reminder that, despite the difficulties of your actions, you were not alone in facing them.

As you rested in her arms, the firelight flickered softly in the background, casting a warm glow on the both of you. In the cocoon of her embrace, you began to find a semblance of peace, her comforting presence a testament to the depth of her understanding and love for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The camp was quiet under the darkening sky, the warmth of the fire flickering softly against the encroaching night. The aftermath of the day’s events hung heavy in the air. The interrogation you had conducted earlier had been intense, and while the information extracted was crucial, you felt a gnawing discomfort about the methods you had employed. You had pushed the boundaries further than you intended, and the weight of that decision was starting to press on you.

You had retreated to the edge of the camp, sitting apart from the others. The conversations and laughter of your companions seemed distant, their voices muffled by the turmoil inside you. Jaheira noticed your withdrawal and the pained expression on your face, immediately. With a graceful and measured approach, she made her way to where you sat.

Her presence was a soothing balm, a contrast to the internal storm you were experiencing. As she sat down beside you, her eyes were filled with a mix of concern and understanding.

“You look troubled, dearest” she said softly, her voice carrying the depth of her care. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to dismiss her concern, not quite ready to delve into the emotions roiling within you. “It’s nothing,” you said, your voice lacking conviction. “Just… tired.”

Jaheira’s eyes narrowed slightly, her intuition telling her that there was more beneath the surface. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, her touch warm and grounding.

“You can try, but you can’t hide from me,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “I can see that something is troubling you. Please, talk to me.”

The weight of your emotions was too much to bear, and the truth slipped out with a mix of guilt and frustration. “I made them talk.”

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she moved closer, her presence offering a much-needed sense of comfort. She took your hand in hers, her grip firm but tender, and offered a reassuring squeeze.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “It’s difficult when you feel you’ve pushed beyond your own limits.”

Her touch was soothing, and her words were a balm to your troubled mind. You looked at her, tears beginning to well up, feeling the weight of your actions more acutely in her compassionate presence. Jaheira’s gaze held a deep understanding as she continued, her voice filled with empathy.

“Hey, it is a good thing that you are upset,” she said softly. “It shows that you have a heart, that you are not numb to the consequences of your actions. It means you care deeply about the impact of what you’ve done.”

You nodded, her words resonating with the inner conflict you were experiencing. Jaheira’s understanding and acceptance of your distress helped to ease some of the guilt that had been weighing on you. Her embrace, gentle and reassuring, offered a moment of solace amidst the turmoil. She guided you into a comforting hug, her arms encircling you with a warmth that was both steady and tender.

“You are not alone in this,” she murmured, her voice a calming whisper as she pressed a kiss to your temple. “We all face moments where our actions weigh heavily on us. It’s a part of life. What matters is how we learn and grow from these experiences.”

You leaned into her, finding comfort in the strength of her embrace. Jaheira’s support was a reminder that, even in moments of guilt and self-doubt, there was someone who understood and cared deeply for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I love our ladies being soft for reader it is just so wholesome, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[alchemistc]

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀PLEASE

also

🌹🌹🌹

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

(to whoever mentioned that Chim should be Foggy, you weren't WRONG but my brain went other places)

"Oh no," Howie says, as Tommy lowers his hand from the door thats just swung open. "Oh, come on," he mutters, taking in the tableau of Tommy and Evan. "Seriously, Tommy?"

Evan being here is a non-negotiable and they both know it. Hes seen Tommy bruised, bleeding, angry enough at some dumb kid to lose his shit at the mere thought of Evan Buckley in danger.

Tommy hadn't mentioned that the safe house was more for Evan than for him. He didn't really think it was necessary. Evan is as much a part of Tommy as his trigger finger.

"Well. C'mon in, I guess," he says, and Tommy only feels a small lick of shame when Evan immediately rolls an arm over Tommy's waist to take some of the weight he'd let the frame of the door bear while Tommy knocked furiously.

Tommy's used to abandoned warehouses and studios in the bad part of the bad parts of town, but he doesn't think he's lost enough blood to be hallucinating the twinkling lights in the corner.

Christmas.

Its five days to Christmas.

Immediately the shame washes back over him. If he'd just kept a closer eye on things, if he'd been paying enough attention to the absolute shit-storm Evan was dead set on miring himself in -

"Where's the first aid kit?" Evan asks, and Howie takes a moment to assess him, hand on hip and head cocked like now that the shock of an unexpected guest has passed, he's getting a kick out of this.

"Hi, I'm Chim-." he starts, and Evan huffs. Tommy realizes he's sort of leaning into Evans hold, now, and tries to readjust only to get a pissy look in response.

"I know who you are, but I'd really like to check the knife wound thats still bleeding before we exchange friendship bracelets."

Oh. He's mad mad.

Tommy always forgets that beneath that shiny happy exterior there's a fucking pitty just raring to attack the moment he's prompted.

"Great," Howie intones, the scowl already curling over his features. "Always such a joy to meet Tommy's friends. Bathroom, down the hall to your left."

Tommy's usually particularly good at ignoring shit he doesn't want to acknowledge, but there's always been something incredibly specific about Howie that makes him want to snap back. He can't help it.

"Name one friend of mine," he snarks, even as Evan shifts both of their weight in an attempt to aim them towards the hall. Tommy's flagging. He can feel it. If he doesn't let up on the urge to argue with Howie theyre gonna be carrying his ass to the bathroom.

He tucks his forehead up against Evan's shoulder and doesn't think about the display of vulnerability. Howie knows the worst of it, anyway. Howie's the only one who knows the full extent of what Tommy would do for Evan Buckley.

🌹🌹🌹

The tone change here gave me whiplash, jsyk

Tommy signs the last page with a flourish and grins up at Buck, and Buck can't quite hide the joy bubbling up in his own expression.

"Thanks for the divorce," Tommy says, wry, and Evan thinks of the ring box tucked under the book on the likelihood of mushroom zombies that neither one of them is actually interested in reading. (Much, on Buck's part.)

[only-omo]

characters who "dont wet".

and by that i mean characters who always have enough bladder control that even when they are past their limit and urine is slowly dribbling down their legs, thats all it ever is. no forceful wetting, no "loss of control", not completely. just leaking every few minutes until they can hold it again. sometimes big leaks that immediately give them away (or dont, but now they cant move without being caught so), throwing those around them into a panic; sometimes smaller leaks that are easier to hide in terms of damage, but so much harder in terms of the strain it puts on their bladder to only let out so little

and it really is something special, because it can get to a point where their pants are notably soaked to the hems, maybe even a small puddle or two depending on if theyve been walking around, and theyre still squirming like mad, or trying not to, because this is damage that happened over the course of nearly an hour or more.

eventually if theyre with people someones gonna ask why they dont just give up already, theyve already fully wet themselves in terms of damage, and doing it this way is really doing nothing but causing way more damage than necessary. because at this point even if they wanted to hide it still - i mean, it is horribly embarrasing to consistently wet yourself over the span of an hour (or more) i think - its painfully obvious every time they leak, their clothes too soaked to absorb it quick enough, unavoidably leading to small-to-incredibly-messy puddles each time.

whether theyre able to answer the person or just stutter and get out not much more than "i dont know", they cant bring themselves to intentionally stop holding, despite the risks, and the only way to fully empty their bladder not at a toilet would be to intentionally choose to wet. so they keep "holding".

from here it will go one of two ways, either they finally get access to a bathroom, where they will likely suffer latch-key incontinence and finally fully lose control on the way from the door to the toilet, likely not able to do anything but maybe sit down to try to minimize mess, otherwise just staring as urine re-soaks their pants and gathers on the floor underneath them (and its obvious they re-wet, so they cant pretend they made it, potentially leading to comments from someone about why they bothered so hard just to not make it anyway, to their utter embarrassment). or they dont find a bathroom, and theres nothing they can do but keep trying to hold it.

now i know from experience that around this point you really do start to feel sick, but its in an exhilaratingly horrible way. your body starts to fight itself to the point where it actually changes your thought pattern. and not in the typical "ohmygodohmygodineedtopee" type of way that some people arent susceptible to, but in a strange way where the most logical thing in existence at that moment is that they should not be holding their pee, regardless of location, as if societal standards didnt exist, as if it truly didnt matter where they peed or what they were wearing when they did it. the way their bladder is so confused it cant do much but dully ache, no longer sharp or threatening leaks, but still the most pressing thing on their mind.

their bladder will actually shut their brain down, reverting them to basic instinct, and theres a good chance at some point their bladder will contract, and the only thing they can physically do is not only just let it out, but actively push it out as hard as they can, and if they could think it would feel intentional, the way their muscles are locked forcefully contracting as if almost by choice, completely negating the previous struggle of eventually regaining control; but they arent thinking, and that choice is more "dont die" than it is "wet myself".

obviously, its messy. its messy and its sudden, as they likely started to go despondent as the sickly feeling hit. its sudden, and its messy, and its loud. theyre not only just wetting themself, but pushing as if the urine was burning their bladder, and they have to get it out (not too far from the truth). trying not only to get out every last drop, but to get out the last drop as soon as possible. and there isnt any relief until a good minute or so after they finish, so theyre wetting with that full force, as if their bladder were still full, the entire time - which is likely a good minute or two, as despite everything theyve lost until now, their bladder was still mostly full - until it suddenly cuts off. it will get everywhere, and itll have everyones attention, and then itll be silent, aside from the light pattering of stray urine that hasnt yet reached the floor.

the most common response would likely be speechlessness, people arent used to bladders that can cause that much of an issue, even incontinent people usually just wet and get it over with.

and the wetters brain will only kick back on after theyre empty, though still in an almost daze of all the sensations and emotions. theyve been sitting in their slowly growing shame for at least an hour at this point so the social repercussions arent really hitting them (though they definitely will as the adrenaline drops), and theyre mostly focused on the stressful feeling of knowing that this must be horribly unhealthy, to end up feeling that way, and to just be primarily aware of the fact that they just totally pissed themself; more than they are anything that means, aside from that theyre soaked.

[crushedsweets]

Can you draw or talk more about Toby and Eyeless Jack or even the X-Virus?

YESSSS i can. heres a lil doodle to get me started.

OKKKK the little concept in my head has slender's MAIN GOAL being to prevent any paranormal/supernatural stuff coming out to the general public. hence his proxies being made to get rid of tapes, evidence, and kill if Necessary. sometimes slender makes paranormal/supernatural ppl help out his human proxies "as payment for refuge" in his forest. SO that sorta explains how toby and jack know each other and why jack helps at all. he can't rlly go out to the public so he's stuck with these assholes. it's not really supposed to be a 'mansion' trope, moreso random cabins and shelters littered about the forest, but it could work in the mansion au too

Imma ramble abt toby n jacks friendship (in my head) under the cut + a random x virus doodle

as for toby and jack specifically. toby is impulsive, aggressive, can't feel pain, and doesn't know what's good for him, so he's forced to get help from jack a good bit. for a long while there was hella tension between them since, again, jack isn't helping these guys out of the goodness of his heart. he's helping them bc the forest their boss resides in is the only place he's relatively safe. jack has a weird mix of a inferiority and superiority complex, since he envies toby's humanity but also feels like he's 'better' due to toby's own . . violent habits. toby thinks jack is pretty cool from the get-go ('wooow ur grey..') but he gets pissed off with jack's questions and demands of 'DONT RIP UR FUCKING STITCHES' and 'u have a concussion don't fucking scroll on your phone for 5 hours a day'.

toby has no idea if these demands come from actual concern or annoyance, and frankly, neither does jack. regardless, toby's with jack a decent bit. partially since jack makes a lot of people really uncomfortable so it's easy to go hang out with jack when he doesnt wanna deal with anyone else but still wants company. eventually theyre capable of some decent banter and conversations. theyre both mamas boys so thats a very weird touchy topic that they kinda dance around but both feel very deeply and know the other relates. THEY MISS THEIR MOMS SO BADLY.. :( mayhaps one year toby helps drop off flowers to jack's moms house for mothers day. jacks way too ashamed to even get within a 10 mile radius of his mom. that's kinda the moment things really shift between them and they actually become friends.

toby also asks abt university. lyra was at community college until she passed, and toby never considered college as an option, so he gets curious on what he missed out on. he also likes to share stuff abt lyra and their old shenanigans. tim and brian have used his childhood against him multiple times before, and it's not like he's gonna trust ben or jeff with that information. jacks sort of like a void he could talk into. jack feels uneasy talking about his life before the sacrifice, since he misses it so unbelievably bad, but toby accidentally got him to talk about it while treating a burn before.

ok and to top this fucking essay off heres xvirus. i had no idea he existed until this year and someone sent me an ask about his updated design, so he's some scribbles for him :9 his concepts super cool tho so maybe ill get more into him later on

[fnlbeautifca]

its getting close to my birthday and i have brainrot soo DOL LIs when its your birthday!!

if not specified, it will assume highest love :3c for some (great hawk specifically T_T) im not 100% sure on, so im sorry if its not accurate to the character… i did my best…

alex: most likely forgets about it until they check the calendar for today while making breakfast. i think they would make pancakes with a heart shape drawn on the top :3c the day is the same as any other, except by the end of it they give you a gift that is of your imagination ^^

avery: i feel like they might take you on a date, but actually ask for preference this time. it really depends on how much they like you… miiiight get you some flowers or maybe some nice jewlery

black wolf: doesnt really understand. but happy to spend the day with you anyway ^^ theyre just a little guy dont fault them here..!! maybe theyll bring you a dead deer or something

eden: probably got your birthday info from bailey, and makes you their best attempt at a cake. im not sure how good at cooking/baking they are, i hc them as being good at making edible, necessary foods like stew (but thats off topic!) i think they would make their best attempt at a small cake, and of course youd spend the day together. MIGHT indulge a night on the town if you ask really nicely and they like you a lot

great hawk: brings you nice little trinkets as a gift and maybe somehow steals a sweet treat from a [convenient place]… maybe flies you around a little. very romantic

kylar: obviously already knows its your birthday whether you told them or not; gives you a gift tailored to your exact interest/or needs at the moment + flowers and a cute card. insists that you spend the day out with them… please go out with them. they will be sad T_T

robin: gives you a handmade gift + card… if able to, they might buy you something small (cheap stuffed toy or maybe a book you mentioned to want)… they would like to spend the day with you and would be overjoyed if you invited them out on a birthday outing :3c

sydney: (p!syd idk how c!syd acts im sorry…) depending on their love, as a friend theyd get you a card and small gift. with higher love, theyd still get you a gift and a card and maybe some flowers… they also want to spend the day with you, and if you want to go out with them on your special day, theyd be over the moon :3!!! i imagine a romantic stroll on the beach…

whitney: last but not least!!!! depending on their love they might not know or care. if they know its your birthday and theyre at low love and high dom, theyd probably make you go out and do some mischief with them. with high love, i can see them getting you a cheap gift (probably a stuffed animal tbh) and flowers IF theyre feeling especially nice today. what are you looking at them for? its no big deal. they dont even care about you. they just felt like it today. for no particular reason. :3c (still makes you go out with them for a birthday date. if its a rainy day i can see it as a romantic walk in the park with a couple of milkshakes. simple! but thats okay :3c)

[semisolidmind]

How does the Modern Reincarnation AU work in the Twice as Bad AU? Especially with MK and everything? I know it would probably be completely unlikely that Peaches would get the opportunity to die with her two monkey hubbies always around her, but what if her dying happened on the journey? Like her death was something that happened while the monkey demons were restrained and couldn't do anything about it, causing them to wait the couple hundred years until she pops up again?

(Also, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for your creativity and art! You're awesome. Hope you have a great day! 💙)

oh man oh boy (also thank you skye, you're making my day :))

(so both monkeys have wrist and ankle cuffs in this au, and the cuffs work like a less harmful version of the circlets. anytime reader says a certain command, they throw the demon wearing them to the ground. i imagine that the moment reader dies, the cuffs fall off.)

it's utterly silent when they hit the ground.

the boys are distraught. they're inconsolable. theyre angry. whatever demon caused reader's death will be torn apart peice by peice, tortured until death. and then...

...nothing. the monkey demons shut down beyond an occasional terse word. they're still technically bound to the journey by the circlets and the bodhisattva's command, and so they continue on. they only speak to their companions when necessary. macaque spends most of his time in the shadows, and wukong walks behind the group. they take out their sadness and rage on the myriad demons that get in their way. the journey concludes with wukong and macaque denying their enlightenment and going home to flower fruit mountain.

their conquests become especially brutal for the next couple hundred years.

–––

centuries later, mk comes into the world. wukong finds him wandering the mountain, and adopts him as his own. macaque is an uncle figure to the boy, helping in his training and teaching a different worldview. mk grows up knowing very little about humans beyond what his monkey family tells him. regardless, he's curious and wants to know more.

the two elder monkey demons are jaded, and their resentment for the celestial realm and humanity has only grown. though, they'll both slip into wistfulnesss occasionally, telling mk about reader and what she was like. he heard plenty of stories about her growing up, and he always finds himself wishing he could have met her. it's the only time mk will hear his caretakers speak positively about a human.

when mk asks to go into the city, wukong refuses. he doesn't want his son around any mortals, and were it not for his "infinite mercy," that wretched city would be dust by now. it's only when macaque agrees to go with mk that wukong relents. macaque, who's somewhat more knowledgeable about modern humans than his brother, tells mk what he knows about how the mortal world works. mk doesn't get the chance to make his friends until later in this au, when he's allowed to make short solo excursions into the city to buy groceries.

he's taking too long on a run when it happens.

mk has encountered mei, and thinking the dragon heir was trying to start a fight (given the monkey demons' history with dragons), mk battles her. while the two have their brawl that eventually ends in tentative friendship, macaque waits at a rendezvous point.

when mk doesn't show after twenty minutes, macaque lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets out across the roof tops and alleyways to search for him. the kid, for all his strengths, has never been good at time management. after a while, macaque is able to track him to a little noodle shop in the downtown area.

the dark-furred simian watches from a nearby rooftop as mk and...a disguised dragon? girl? go inside the shop. macaque melds into the shadows, following them in through the half-shuttered doorway. the shop isn't anything to write home about; simple decor, simple noodles, a suspiciously familiar pig demon manning the kitchen, a woman managing the register—

macaque stops cold.

it only takes a second for macaque to get a read on the woman's soul. and upon closer inspection, she looks familiar too.

heartbreakingly familiar. same hair, same eyes... same smile, aimed at mk as she welcomes him. this woman—she's their reader, reincarnated. she has to be. mk makes a joke, something about monkeying around, and the girl laughs; the same joyful sound he remembers from all those centuries ago. it's the same. she's the same.

a shadowy tear makes its way down his incorporeal face. she's here. alive.

he has to tell wukong.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hiiii

Can you write a hero x villain snippet where theyre negotiating? :)

“Oh.” Despite the interjection, the villain did not seem surprised. Not even their raised eyebrow displayed genuine astonishment. Somehow, that angered the hero. “Lover.”

The word sounded soft in the villain’s mouth. Softer than it should have been and yet, the distance between them was greater than ever. Another thing the hero didn’t like but it was their fault after all.

“We are not lovers,” the hero reminded them. Not anymore.

“Well, you never broke up with me.”

“I didn’t think that would be necessary after what you did. Killing the mayor and taking over the city…” The villain smiled softly and looked down at their desk. With a stinging in their heart, the hero saw the snowglobe they had bought on vacation together. It was foolish, truly foolish given the circumstances that their feelings wouldn’t stay dead. Over and over again, the villain managed to conjure them.

“I assume you didn’t like that?” They looked up at the hero who was still cuffed and held between the two guards. Their eyes were — as always — impossible to ignore. Wherever they were, the villain’s mere presence demanded attention, craved it and got it without fail from people. How they looked at others, how they moved…the villain was mesmerising, no matter if they were fighting or buying groceries.

When they had dated, it had bothered the hero. Everyone seemed to be in love with the villain.

But now, it was insufferable.

“No, I did not.”

“You complained a lot about the mayor in my arms,” the villain said.

“Yes, I disagreed with a lot but I didn’t want them dead.” The villain’s expression changed and this time it was surprise. Oh god, the hero didn’t want to believe that this was a huge misunderstanding, that this was actually their own fault. And then again, thinking about the implications this had, what this one action revealed about the villain’s feelings towards them and about how much power they truly had…the hero didn’t want to think about that.

They watched the villain swallow. Then, they cleared their throat.

“Anyway…you wanted to see me so bad, what do you want?” The hero couldn’t help but laugh humourlessly. Their face got hot and they couldn’t really control their voice when their attention was pinned on the villain.

“I cannot believe you took over an entire city because I complained a few times about politics.”

“That wasn’t my question. What do you want?” The villain was a master at hiding their own feelings. However, the hero knew them. They knew that their ears got hot when they were embarrassed and right now, they were basically glowing.

“I wanted to negotiate,” the hero admitted. They looked at their ex-lover, well, technically lover. The villain was right. The hero hadn’t told them they weren’t a couple anymore.

Maybe that wasn’t right either. Maybe that was the coward’s way out. But still, killing the mayor because the hero was annoyed by them? Jesus Christ.

“Negotiation?” The villain looked up. “That should be easy. You know what I want. You know what I’ve always wanted.”

“Me?” The villain tilted their head.

“Is that what you want?”

“There are worse deals,” the hero said. And they were right. The villain was a fantastic lover and if they were eager to go this far, there were surely worse outcomes. Maybe the hero could fix this. Maybe they could convince the villain to fix this. “And you don’t want money, you don’t care about power. You do what you want because you get away with it. Because it’s fun. It’s a hobby. And you like me because I challenge you. Well, you love me.”

After a moment of contemplation, the villain answered.

“Okay, fine. Get on your knees.” Once again, the hero’s cheeks filled up with heat. They stared at the villain in front of them.

“Pardon?”

“Leave us,” the villain said to the guards, then they turned towards the hero. “And you get on your knees. Beg me to take you back. Because, yes, you’re the only thing that’s standing between me and this city. I need to see how much this means to you.”

And the hero wondered if their lover meant the city or themselves.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can we possibly have platonic fluff scenario with the bishops and a kid reader

Like one of their followers have or found a kid and they helped look after them and realized they generally like being a parental/sibling figure It generally depends on who

bishops x kid!reader (platonic)

shorter post since my hands arent cooperating with typing right now RAAAAHRAAAAAH!!! notes: reader is gn and age isnt specified but its written with a younger kid in mind, can be seen as any animal cws: none

LESHY

more like a brother than a father to you- does not have the guidance or experience necessary to raise a kid, though he will still try to put you on the right path

plays light pranks on you- if this were a human au he would be the type to wake you up for school on a saturday

the type to feed you shredded cheese as a meal/hj, does not know what kids eat or like to eat

not reckless with you but its clear that his methods are a little... all over the place

HEKET

mix of big sister and mom vibes, it really depends on whats going on in the moment

wont fight a kid who bullies you but boy is she going to give the parents the biggest stink eye

doesnt spoil you like kallamar, but shes not going to be strict with you

lets you go with her to her temple, for whatever duties she needs to get done... answers any questions you may have about what exactly she does as a bishop- dont let her short or gruff responses fool you! shes proud of her work and enjoys that you think shes cool!

KALLAMAR

he spoils you, cannot say no to you- youre also the best dressed kid in the cult, decked out with the newest robes and crystals

worries about you a lot though, treats every scraped knee like you need an amputation

keeps those feelings to himself though, because he doesnt want to freak you out, truly one of the last things he wants

has experience as a sibling but shamura did a lot of the support and upbringing with the other three, so kallamar is learning as he goes- sometimes asks shamura for some advice

SHAMURA

god it brings back some memories and feelings from when their siblings were younger- already has the experience needed to take care of a child

so gentle with you, though theyre firm to make sure you dont get into any trouble

always save some time at the end of the day to check on you before you go to sleep

speaking of i can see them reading stories to you- sure they may not be all that interesting to someone your age but they like making sure youre learning at least something.. more than thrilled if you seem interested in the stories and info they tell

[kingshovelbug]

Hii what is your best advice to younger adults trying to make it independently and make a living? In art, savings or anything you think of. Thank you in advance!

dont be too hard on yourself. its tough out there right now in regards to like everything regardless of what old people say. also this is going to be a lot so im slapping a read more on here

⭐️ first thing id recommend for anyone is to start figuring out a budget. figure out how much youre making monthly. keep all your food receipts for a month or two to see what youre spending on food. find out what youre paying for thats necessary like utilities and whats not

the goal for a budget (or at least mine) is to find a good balance of earning vs spending. im paying off my credit card right now because i ran through all my savings after we had to move last year but my goal used to be to save 1/4 of what i earned after bills and putting money into an emergency fund (usually an emergency fund is 3 months worth of expenses). but it depends on how much you can comfortably put away. if you can put more away do it. but if you never spend money and deprive yourself of joy youre going to burn yourself out regardless of what your job is

⭐️ if youre not already buy store brand for as much shit as you can. if its an ingredient i promise as someone who cooks and bakes you probably wont notice the difference. if its an actual snack it depends. again both from a money perspective and to boycott pro-isreal companies we get a lot of snacks from aldis and theyre awesome. i dont miss anything from mars, oreos etc when i have my chocolate coconut wafers

⭐️ if you have any subscriptions and you need to get rid of something you can probably cancel them. for *most* things theres some kind of free alternative. but again just like with a budget. there are going to be some subscriptions that make your life easier and while youd save money without them it would lead to extra work and burning out. ex willow has kofi gold because it has really cool extra features that help with running the shop. but for streaming services? im going to be so honest. both to save money and with how cheeky streaming companies (in a bad way) have been getting… you can find whatever you want to watch online for free

if you need to use anything from the microsoft office suite, but youre not required by youre job to specifically use microsoft, libreoffice is a free alternative that i actually like better. its what i use to help willow run their shop and its free

for art programs. if you still have photoshop switch. not just for money reasons. adobe is getting bold with what they can claim as their content and use from what people produce in their program. the switch isnt the easiest but there are a bunch of alternatives. some free some like csp offer one time licenses which are so much better than subscriptions. will has spent almost $2k on photoshop and after effects from using it as long as they have. when csp is $50 and they like csp better anyways. i also know of krita and fire alpaca which are free

⭐️ also theres stuff about being an adult that i thought you had to pay for but you dont? like for car insurance i went through an independent insurance agent and they found me a cheaper plan than i could find myself. i didnt pay the guy. they get a cut from the insurance company for finding them another customer. some banks or credit cards offer financial advising sessions to users. its boring but if you can get a copy of your health insurance see if they have any free shit on there thats available for you. my brother gets free doctor finding? like i can call them, tell them what specialist he needs and instead of me calling around to find one that can take him, they connect me with someone. my work offers 3 free therapy sessions (better than nothing) and free food that i take advantage of

⭐️ i think one of the biggest things that makes an impact for us is researching before buying stuff. sounds like a no brainer but you dont just want to find the cheapest deal. you want to find the best bargain, the best bang for your buck. whats the best quality thing you can get that you can also afford? itll prevent your from having to replace stuff all the time and by extension spending more than you need to. we have nonstick pots and pans that are scratched and starting to peel (which apparently can cause cancer??) that were cheap because of being on sale. now after looking into what makes quality cookware i know i should of just slowly bought stainless steel

⭐️ last big one. credit cards. unfortunately we need them so find one with a low apr and that offers decent cash back. use it up to like 20% of your limit and pay it off every month. focus on using it on things that will get you cash back so you can essentially get free money

im sure i could ramble more but this is already super long

[malwaredykes]

the untapped Enemy Of The State Potential is one of boones best funniest traits tbh like ok since im in charge of Awesome Flawless FNV Remake Available Exclusively On My Beautiful Mind im rewriting boones personal #journey arc primarily by expanding on it because i mean yeah fatalistic thinking and the question of agency vs authority and having to live with having done something inexcusable and The Denying Of Closure are good themes but to me theyre not enough here. that lack of closure about something that really intrinsically can never entertain the idea of closure is all well and good, but... lets keep going lets put a pin in that. lets turn once again to boones potential for becoming wanted by the ncr government. boone i know you want to go apeshit. its time to admit that its always been about the system youd been conditioned into never questioning and which you continued to mentally cling to as you felt there was no other purpose or direction to your existence in the wake of all the disastrous events in your life. but its time to develop a grasp on your agency as a human being boone. and yes some of that is going to make you feel worse because, Well. The Complicity. bitter springs. but you know what, it is also freeing and the right thing to do. release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin. youre already there just look around you. youve cut the ropes that held you back, now its time to rip and shred the ropes that still are wrapped around you. its there. youve physically gotten out. and its time to evolve. "now if iiiiii were to assassinate the president 🤔" i know you want to. im not saying you should but i know youve thought about it before. "guess that settler was well-connected" yes isnt that fucked up i know you think thats fucked up. and oh your friend the courier just did something fucked up at mccarran and all these ncr soldiers and staff are trying to shoot them? of course its the courier youre defending when faced with the immediate choice i mean if its between "fuck the ncr. die" and "fuck the person im ride or die for because theyre a force of destiny that entered my life to change it one way or another and now i care about them deeply. die" well of course youre choosing the path of Leave My FACKING FRIEND Alone You Beasts. but of course the situation doesnt have to be this immediately dire. it doesnt have to stem from an immediate danger to your new object of loyalty. we dont have to let it go down this particular route. no need to have something this drastic happen. you can reach this conclusion simply by giving into the desire youve repressed for years to go apeshit at the ncr government and every arm of its hegemony. that bubbling rage? that "if i let this fester inside me im gonna do a fucking murder-suicide about it"? that in a certain timeline you do in fact end up doing a murder-suicide about? thats not just hateful desperation. thats a feeling, hitherto bottled up and unrefined and volatile, that you should allow to breathe and photosynthesize and grow into something beautiful and true and let it blossom and bear fruit. boone, there is no need to feel alone and helpless and directionless in your unfulfilled desire to cut the umbilical cord.

so. enough rationalizing things as rotten spots and necessary burdens in an otherwise inevitable righteous system, you knowwwww thats pure bullshit. my advice, do some reading. reading is fundamental, and luckily for you, you literally know a very literate anarcho-communist. i can guarantee you that you could walk up to arcade and be like "👉👈 hi gannon soooo i want to get into critiques of capitalism and of the military, and into anarchism and other leftist theory. i want to know about Other Ways to run things. could you give me some recommendations? for books and essays and so on. thanks" and he would be like "boone, yes. Absolutely. yes. i will prepare a reading list for you. gosh." and youll be given a stack of books, with notes and a directory. however, if you two are currently on really bad terms to the point where he doesnt wanna talk to you at all, hey, theres other followers of the apocalypse that would be happy to help. providing education is literally one of their main things. either way, youll finally feel vindicated about things that used to make you feel like you were just going insane. boone you werent going insane you were in fact being onto something. baby that time you saw an ncr military police on the strip facing away from you and there was a loose brick on the ground and it was calling to you like the green goblin mask? that time you were at camp forlorn hope and folks kept saying shit like "that red beret is looking good soldier" and you didnt respond or even look at them because you were focused on containing the urge to grab them by the shoulders and start shrieking? well you see those are actually instincts that tell us you have potential. you have the power to end these patterns. you want to. you need to. thats where you should go. theres a world of ideas waiting for you to tap into and be liberated by. you have nothing to lose but your pitiful pension (you can even keep the beret like who cares). there is so much you can do. its not about allegiance or moral debt or soothing personal guilt, its about doing the right thing. there are so many paths in front of you. also youre trans. like, that one also isnt just you going insane, its real and its right and its you, you are transgender