#he doesn’t use the whiteboard anyways

[alitteraladhdmess]

I’m spreading my turtle obsession

You can’t stop me EVIL LAUGH

And I figured out how to draw Mikey!! So proud of myself

Goober^

[suhkusa]

TO THE TOP.

PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Sakusa Kiyoomi was ranked #1 in his class. Was, at least until you came along. After this revelation, he makes it a (personal) challenge to overtake you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a genius at everything he does, but for once he finds it a challenge when it comes to you.

CW. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, rivals to lovers except kiyoomi is the only one competing, idiots in love (but theyre actually geniuses), high school setting, ~3k words

A/N. Got inspired from a tiktok and came up with this word vom hope u enjoy

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Academically, at least.

While all his classmates found themselves struggling to take tests or study, it was as natural as breathing for Kiyoomi. There were some cons to being as incredibly intelligent as him, but he found himself drowning in the gratification of being #1. 

At least until the 2nd semester of his third year. At least until you.

———

Class Rank: 2

Sakusa finds himself staring at the transcript in his hand, as if his ogling would have an effect in changing the number presented before him.

His eyes scan through his class history, looking for any clues as to how he might’ve dropped in ranking. But there was nothing. All A’s, and as many extra classes stuffed into each year as possible. 

Kiyoomi’s home room was rowdy as students caught up with one another, as winter break had just ended. While in his own little world, his ears catch onto a couple of words his classmates threw around.

“I heard Sakusa isn’t the top in our class anymore, is that true?”

“Woah, hasn’t he been the top of our class since the 1st year? I wonder who was able to catch up,”

His eye twitched a bit at that one.

“It was that new girl, Y/N,”

The paper crumbled slightly under his grasp. Y/N?

The ring of the bell, signifying the start of class, caused him to slightly jump in his seat. Kiyoomi crumbles his transcript before tossing it in his bag, it’s going to change soon anyways.

He would just have to step up his game.

———

It was ironic really. The world really loved to test Sakusa Kiyoomi, and not only at his school subjects. Of course, you were his desk partner in his math class. Only he had the amazing luck of being seated next to his new self-declared rival.

Kiyoomi knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t himself because you’re the number one student? You?!

Honestly, you don’t seem like the academic type. You seem too pretty to be caring about stuff like that. At first, he considers the fact that you could be using your looks to get people to do the dirty work for you. But he witnesses first-hand as you write down every math equation, answer every question correctly, and even check your work not once, but twice.

His hyperfixation on you is bad. So bad, he missed the whole introduction lesson and is trying to rapidly copy down what’s on the whiteboard as the teacher is erasing it. Fuck-

“Would you like to see my notes?”

Kiyoomi’s pencil comes to a halt as he looks back at you, your papers are being pushed towards him on the desk. He watches as your eyes widen, as if you suddenly became self conscious. 

“I-Is there something on my face? You were staring at me so I wasn’t sure…”

Shit. 

“No,” he tries to make up something, but what comes out of his mouth is stupid, “I was just looking past you,” it appears it’s sufficient though, as you nod in response.

“I see, well, did you want to see them?” you gestured to the notes between the two of you.

Kiyoomi tells himself that if you hadn’t offered, he wouldn’t have asked. But since you oh so kindly offered them up, who was he to say no? He doesn’t need them. He could always ask his cousin, though his handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than human writing.

“Sure,” he takes the papers and positions them in a way where he could just look between them and his own.

In his head, Kiyoomi is scolding himself over and over again for not paying attention. This cannot be a regular thing. If he was going to take back his rank, he needed to be on his A-Game. 

His pencil slaps against his desk as he finishes, quickly sliding your papers back towards you.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi offers.

He watches from his peripheral vision as you smile and give back an “Anytime,” before gathering your things and getting up to go to your next class.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it was about you, but he could tell he was going to need to up his game. This was war.

———

By the second week of sitting by you, he decides you’re annoying. More annoying than the people who talk while the teacher is talking. Which, in his book, is hard to beat.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he pinned you to be, since you kept helping Kiyoomi with his work when he did not need it. 

Though, you were only able to backseat his work because you somehow finished before him. He’s used to being the only one who sits back and relaxes as the rest of his class struggles to complete the practice problems. 

It’s weird though. Because as much as Sakusa hates your yapping, he doesn’t find himself putting an end to it. Instead your voice plays in the background as he completes his work.

He hates it, or at least that’s what he tells himself, the way you praise him like a little kid when he finally completes the work sheet. 

“Nice job!” you smile at him, “but, how come you don’t check your work to make sure you’re right?”

“Because I’m always right,” he replies with a slight roll of his eyes.

You laugh at that, I’m not joking, he thinks.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you tell him. 

Kiyoomi gives you a shrug, “Whatever,”

———

A month in, he begins to indulge in your shenanigans. But only because he had felt bad.

During the third week of sitting by each other, you had taken his short and dry responses personally. You halted your chatter and no longer offered to help like you usually did. The way the classroom felt quiet without your talking was eerie, so Sakusa reluctantly decided that he’d rather hear your voice instead of nothing at all. 

So a month in is when your friendship, or whatever you called it, began with him.

“Why do you use erasable pens? Just use a pencil,” he questions you, eyes peering down at your pen.

You look taken aback as you respond, “I don’t know, is there something wrong with it?” you examine your pen, “I just found it on the floor and stuck with it,”

First of all, gross, remind him not to touch you or your belongings ever. “It’s just a hassle, sometimes it doesn’t erase,”

“Well, it hasn’t given me any problems, so!” you exclaim as you get back to write on your practice quiz. “This is kind of challenging, huh?”

“Nah,” he lies, “You’re just stupid,”

You laugh in his face, “Rude,” Kiyoomi watches as you glimpse at his paper before going back to yours, “That’s why you got the first problem wrong and I didn’t say anything,” 

Sakusa can feel his eyebrows scrunch up, he’s quick as he glances at it and then yours. Fuck. He’s mumbling something under his breath and he begrudgingly erases the circle around his answer. 

“Told ya,” you smile before moving onto the last problem, “you know, we should hangout or something,”

“No,” he’s quick to cut you off, catching you by surprise.

“Whaaat, it doesn’t have to be like that, weirdo,” it seems like you’re going back on what you meant, “Like to study,”

“Still, no,”

“C’mon, don’t knock it till you try it,” you nudge at him, and to be honest, if you were anyone else he might’ve punched you, “please, just once,”

You’re annoying and pushy. But he supposes that if saying yes to you would get you to leave him alone, he’d say, “Fine, whatever, it has to be my house, though. Your house is probably messy,”

Kiyoomi watches as your face slowly brightens before silently celebrating to yourself as you get your way with him once again.

———

“Wow,” you’re amazed as you walk through Sakusa’s house, “your house is so nice, do you have a maid to keep it clean or something?”

“No, just me,” he says before leading you into his room, “please don’t make a mess,”

“I won’t, I won’t,” you say before settling down on his rug, playing with the soft threads, “Okay, I was hoping to review the practice quiz, I know the teacher said I got it right but I feel like there were some parts that had me second guessing myself,”

You’re quick to open up your textbook and blab about whatever problem you were having trouble with. You actually came over to study. Kiyoomi was under the impression that once you got over to his house you’d make him do whatever silly shit you usually have in mind. But no, you actually respected his wishes. Which in turn, earned you some respect from him as well.

“So you’re number one, huh?” He asks, looking up from his textbook to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s surprising that all my credits from my old school carried over,” you mindlessly say as you continue to write on your sheet of paper.

The sound of the pencils scribbling on paper fills the room before you interrupt it, “You were rank one before I came, right?”

His pencil stills, “Mhm,” It was a touchy subject, though he never thought he’d hear it from you.

“I’m sorry,” you surprised him, “When I found out I took your ranking spot, I was nervous because people are serious about that stuff. And then, when I got seated by you and you stared me down, I thought you hated my guts,”

Well, you had it down to the T, but he wouldn’t tell you that. 

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s out of your control,” you smile at his words.

“Thank you,”

It’s then, in his room, when he realizes he’s losing sight of his goal. To overtake your position. As he watched you look back down at your textbook, he found himself locking in as well. 

He needed to get serious, now.

———

These hangouts, or study dates, or study hangouts, whatever, became basically practice. Always at his house, though. Since he couldn’t fathom the idea of how dirty your room might be. 

“I don’t know how you balance volleyball and school, Omi,” you say from your position lying on his floor.

“Don’t call me that,”

You laugh before continuing, “All I do is school and I’m always exhausted. I had to quit my shifts at the cafe down the road because I would fall asleep before making it to my room,”

“Dangerous, Y/N,” he says, frantically writing down practice problem after practice problem. 

Picking yourself off the ground, “Wow, you’re serious about this final, huh, Omi,”

He glares at you, causing you to laugh again, “Sorry, sorry,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before he looks back at his paper, “but you know it’s okay to take a break, right, that’s all you’ve been doing. We haven’t even gotten to try to compete for today’s Wordle yet,”

“Mhm,” is all he offers you.

You sigh in response to that, “Boring, so boring,” you say as you lay back down

“You can go home if you’re bored,”

“Ugh, rude,” you roll around to make yourself comfortable, “I would but sadly I like being in your presence,”

“Whatever you say,”

“Do you like being in mine?” you question, causing Sakusa to hesitate on the problem he was on.

“You’re tolerable,”

You find yourself cheesing, “That’s a yes in my book,”

———

Finals are coming up. There’s so much on your mind, that you finally decide to let one of the thoughts that have been driving you crazy go. The fact that you like Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

It’s nerve wracking. Not only because you’re basically confessing your feelings, but also because he’s your only friend you’ve made since being here. A lot of people think he’s rude and condescending, but to you he’s different. 

He lets you talk your head off about whatever your brain decides fits best. And while he gives you short responses, they show you that he’s listening and observant. He’s on your level regarding academics and can keep up to your train of thought. He just cares.

And while you hope he might feel the same despite only knowing you for the past couple of months, you chalk it up to fate as to whether or not your intuition is correct.

As you approach the gymnasium, you slow and quiet your steps as you hear familiar voices by the entrance.

“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N quite a bit, huh, cous’? Your mom told mines,” you assume is Komori based on his words.

“Yes. It’s not like that, though,” you recognize as Sakusa. 

You assume he might be fronting since it is his cousin, and feelings are embarrassing at times.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t like her, she’s like one of the prettiest girls in class and she’s smart. So like, your type,” Komori pushes. And while part of you likes that he said that, you soon take it back after Kiyoomi’s words.

“I don’t like her. I only put up with her because she’s so pushy and always hovers over me while I try to do my work. Plus, she took my ranking spot,”

The world feels silent for a second, the only sound audible to you is the sound of your heart slowly breaking.

“She’s just a nuance, honestly,”

Your feet are moving before you realize. Slowly backing away before running the opposite direction.

He doesn’t like you? You were right that he hates you because you’re number one? He let you into his house but only because you pushed him? Your thoughts are running faster than your own legs, you don’t even realize the drips of water slowly running down your cheeks. 

If number one was what he wanted, then you were going to give it to him.

———

Kiyoomi finds it weird. Finds you weird. Well, he’s always found you weird, but particularly as of recent. But only because you’re quiet. And have been for the past couple of days. 

At first, he assumes it’s because the finals had finally arrived and you wanted to focus on your work. Which, respect, because it also allowed him to focus on his own. 

But even after the finals had passed, you were still quiet. You opted for doodling in your notebook instead of talking to him about a new video game you’ve hyper fixated on or this new show you started to watch. 

It’s even weirder when the teacher is going around passing out the graded math finals, that he stops by your desk, letting out a whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” 

Kiyoomi hears, and it calls his attention towards your paper before even his own. His eyes widened.

A big, fat, red 0 marked at the top of your quiz.

“Y/N-”

“Are you happy now, Number 1?” you ask, still looking down at your paper.

He’s about to ask you what the hell you’re talking about before the bells conveniently cut him off, allowing you to take off without a second glance back at him.

His mind is caught up on your words, Number 1. Kiyoomi has never brought up his disdain regarding the rankings to you, ever. Yes, it bothered him at first. But eventually he didn’t mind it, since the only person he’d ever allow to be above him is you. 

Kiyoomi thinks back on any time he’s ever mentioned it before he remembers the one time he had ever verbally brought it up to anyone. But there was no way… unless.

Fuck, Sakusa thinks as the bright red 100 on his paper stares back at him. It mocked him, poking at his head uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he crumbles the paper before stuffing it into his bag. Kiyoomi had finally gotten back what he’s been working for this whole time, so why does he feel empty?

Kiyoomi realizes then that while you may have lost your Rank 1 position, he was the true loser. Because he didn’t have you.

———

He finds himself at your door before he even knows it. He’s giving an excuse of “she left her notebook,” to your parents as they direct him to where your room is. 

When he finally walks in, he’s shocked. Your room is clean. 

Even as you lay in your bed so peacefully, the space around you is clean, and he feels like it’s safe to walk in. 

“Y/N,” is his first attempt at waking you up, before he’s walking closer to your bed, crouching down a bit to pat your back, “Y/N,” again.

It’s by the fourth or fifth time that he calls your name that you finally look up at him, and you look heavenly.

He’s always known you were pretty, but even more so now you were gorgeous, hair messy, eyes droopy with sleepiness. You were perfect.

Your eyes blink a couple times before you look like you’ve processed who is standing before you. Quickly sitting up, hands moving every which way to fix your appearance, “Omi- I mean Sakusa what are- what do you want?”

Ouch.

“You need to leave, I-I don’t want to see you,” your voice is beginning to tremble and it hurts him, “You finally got what you wanted, I don’t know what more you want,”

“You, I want you,”

Your face drops in disbelief, “No, you don’t. I heard you, what you said,”

“Y/N-”

“No, you hurt me, Kiyoomi. I like you,” you cry, “You can’t just say all of that and then show up out of nowhere claiming otherwise,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he’s kneeling now, allowing him to be the same height as you as you sit in your bed, weeping, “I-I’m sorry,”

His rough thumb smoothes away your tears as they fall, “I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated- and that’s no excuse for what I said, I fucked up really bad,” with every word another sob breaks loose from you, “And I’m sorry,”

“At first, all I ever wanted was to be rank #1, but then you came along and changed everything… Then I realized that it wasn’t being #1 I wanted, it was you,” he continues, “and that’s scary, because my ranking was all I’ve known all these years,”

“But even so, you made it okay. I was okay with being #2, I was so caught up in you that I forgot I ever wanted to be #1 in the first place,” your eyes finally meet behind the thick tears in your lashes, “I like you, Y/N,”

He can tell you’re at a loss for words. And for once he can finally say he has out-talked you. 

Until finally, you decide words aren’t sufficient in this situation. Before he knows it, you’re leaning forward, and your lips are on his. The kiss is short, but definitely more than a peck. But it felt infinite to Kiyoomi. He never wanted the moment to end, and found himself sad as you finally pulled away.

You stared him down for a brief second before tackling him down to the ground in a big hug, “I hate you, Omi,” you laugh angrily.

“Sure,” he smugly replies, watching as you smile into his shirt.

“My number one,” you sarcastically mutter as you fake pout at him.

He cringes, “Ugh, don’t. I feel guilty, why would you even do that? You’re crazy,”

“Because I don’t care about the ranking. I never did. Plus it somehow only dropped me to #2 since the rest of our class failed and I’ve taken too many extra classes,” you say, “I only cared about you,” 

Kiyoomi smiles at you before crushing you in his hug. 

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Especially now, his feelings for you.

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[mechahero]

some more items in lambda’s house

[hysteria-things]

hello again !! i know you just posted my last request but i have another idea !

• SMUTTY PLSZ

• matt/chris x teacher!reader

So basically, chris/matt are in senior year or any year in college and he has a teacher(reader) who's quite young and closer to their age but is still older and knowing men, she's already very popular in their school y'know y'know?

ALSO if you're gonna make the other students be a big part of the story too or add more plot, pls don't make the girls of the school hate her. it just feels unrealistic since in our school, it's mostly the girls that simp for the hot female teacher lmao

This idea was based on their video "truth or eat" i think(i forget everything) where he was asked if he's ever had a crush on a teacher and he answered yes w no hesitation and also the song "Teacher's Pet" by Melanie Martinez but switched genders.

i just think the male being the teacher and the female being the student felt overused/overdone(?)

Only if you're comfortable w this idea tho !!

TEACHER'S PET (part one)

read part two here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x teacher!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt asks for extra help after class (even though he knows exactly what he’s doing)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing, making out, oral (male receiving), throat fucking, p in v, unprotected sex (nuh uh!), degradation, cheating (cheat on tests, not people), hair pulling, spanking, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,236

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: shoutout any of you in college i dropped out after a month i give you guys so much credit that shit’s hard😔

for @skadltmf :)

matt and his college friends sit at the round table in the food court. they’re at the home stretch of senior year with the spring semester starting tomorrow.

“i got that hot professor for one of my morning classes.” one of his friends brags. “she’s so fine.”

“who?” matt asks, and the two sitting with him stare at him like he should know this.

“professor l/n.” the other one starts. “literally everybody is obsessed with her. she’s only twenty-five; three years older than us.”

“there’s no way she doesn’t let students fuck her to get a good grade.” they both laugh, but matt stays quiet. his friends are in their conversation about you while matt thinks to himself.

he has you for a class too but at 6 PM.

you stand at the front of the class, teaching like a normal teacher should. half of the class never pays attention, anyway, but you still have to do your job.

they may not know, but you listen. you listen to what they say about you, and to be honest it boosts your ego.

one student in particular actually pays attention and takes notes, like what he’s doing right now. you couldn’t help but stare at him from time to time, and he’ll already be staring at you when you do.

you’re grading papers on your desk as your students work independently for the last fifteen minutes of class. you feel a presence, and you look up to see him there, fiddling with his worksheet.

you smile at him. “hello, matt. do you need help with something?”

“kind of. will i be able to stay after class?”

your phone lights up, and he glances at the lock screen. it’s a photo of you, your husband, and your son. “of course you can.”

he nods, going back to his seat.

the last fifteen minutes went by in a breeze, and all of the students left. except for one, of course.

you stand up and go over to the whiteboard, grabbing a marker just in case you need to explain something. “so, matt. what is it that you needed help with?”

“this question,” he says, stepping closer to you and pointing at the paper. you look at it confused because he already answered it. flawlessly.

“matt.” you chuckle. “you’ve got the problem right and showed your work perfectly. are you sure that’s the right one?”

his cheeks flush as he grabs your face, kissing you passionately. you pull away from his hold, weirdly sad that you did.

this is a first. you know the rumors that go around saying that you fuck students for an A+ but it’s not true. hell, you’ll lose your job.

he doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you, and you stare back. what you did next was a completely new person.

you go back in, his tongue inserting your mouth and swirling inside. this is so fucking wrong, but it feels so… right?

whining into the kiss, you move your hands down to his belt to unbuckle it. he chuckles, pulling away and pushing your head so you get on your knees.

he takes off his undergarments, revealing his—

your eyes widen. oh, god.

his red tip slides against your lips before you open, pushing himself into your wet mouth. “fuck.” he whispers.

grabbing onto your hair, he guides your head up and down his cock. he groans, leaning over and rutting his hips further into your mouth. your gagging fills the empty classroom, and spit starts to spill from your mouth.

it clicks in your head what you’re doing. you have a husband and child at home, for christ’s sake. you place your hands on his thighs and try to push your head back, but his grip is far too strong.

he slowly pulls out to watch his dick move past your lips, and slams back in. “take it, sweetheart. just like that.”

you keep gagging around him, your eyes becoming glassy as your mascara starts to smudge.

your lashes flutter each time he thrusts to the back of your throat before he stops. “s-shit.” he whimpers, but he doesn’t want to cum just yet. he closes his eyes to ignore the throbbing, pulling out of your sweet mouth. you cough, your lips swollen.

“bend over for me, yeah?” he smirks when you scramble to your feet. he grabs your waist, pushing your back so your stomach lays flat on your desk.

he lifts your skirt, moving your soaked underwear to the side. he wraps a finger around them and lets go, the elastic snapping against your core. you yelp at the sudden pain.

“such a slut.” he groans, inserting his tip into your folds but staying still. “letting one of your students shove his dick down your throat.”

he moves his tip out, but then puts it back in, thrusting it in and out teasingly. “bet you were thinking about this the whole lecture. i saw the way you were looking at me.”

you pathetically whine and nod. then, he grabs your hair so the upper half of your body is lifted from the wood. your hips dig into the edge of the desk as he starts entering you.

the stretch hurts, but it feels too good. your eyes flutter back, but a hand landing on your ass gets you out of your trance. he chuckles, taking the hand that’s not on your head and covering your mouth with it. “don’t be too loud, baby. don’t want the people outside that door knowing what a whore you are for me.”

he slides in deeper, a moan leaving your lips that’s muffled by his hand. he starts rutting his hips, going faster when you fit around him. “m-matt.” you gasp.

“so fucking tight around my cock.” he breathes out. your pleasurable cries and squelching of your pussy fill the room, along with his thighs slapping against your ass.

he removes his hand from your mouth, honestly forgetting that there are probably people around. all he’s focused on is pounding the daylights out of you. his teacher, mind you.

you grip the desk for support, moaning louder than any other time when his tip starts brushing against your cervix. “holy— shit.” you hoarsely scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

he lets go of your hair, your head immediately falling between your shoulders. “i’m gonna cum!” you warn, whimpering when he moves more mercilessly. both your thoughts and guts are getting scrambled at once.

“i wonder how disappointed your husband will be if he saw you like this.” he grunts and thrusts a few more times before continuing. “clenching around my dick, so badly wanting my cum inside you.”

you moan at his words. he feels so fucking good. you hate to admit it, but this is the best sex you’ve had in years.

“want me to fuck my baby inside you, you filthy whore?”

“y-yes, please,” you whine, repeating yourself over and over again.

you cum around him at the same time he stops deep, spreading your legs wider to finish inside. you moan one last time before becoming a rag doll, the bruises forming on your hips from them banging against the desk.

he moves your underwear back over your freshly bred pussy, kissing your shoulder and neck before whispering into your ear. “i’ll let you know when i need help again, professor l/n.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @idkhowtosleep @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[cloudypariah]

How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.

- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)

Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.

Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.

Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !

Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist

Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.

He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.

It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.

And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.

No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.

More specifically, how to keep you.

The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.

John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.

It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.

Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).

He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.

He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.

Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”

John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent. 

He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)

The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.

His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”

“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.

John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room. 

Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.

Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.

Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.

Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.

Two deers in headlights.

The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?

There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…

… except for you, of course.

You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”

Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.

You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?

They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.

Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.

Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”

Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”

Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”

Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.

Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.

Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.

“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”

There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.

“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”

Surely not…

And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.

They managed to erase your name.

… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.

 A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”

Four hands shoot up.

Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”

[erimeows]

Burnt Out

Working at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital is brutal, to say the least. As the head of the cardiology department and a member of Gregory House’s diagnostic team, your job is not only hectic but also underappreciated. You spend most of your days cycling between helping your patients, helping your coworker’s patients, pouring over paperwork, being scolded by Cuddy, and being shat on by House, who insists that you stay on his team while constantly dismissing your ideas and implying that you’re an idiot like he does with damn-near everyone else he works with.

So, yeah. Life is great.

Currently, you’re sitting in the diagnostics conference room at the corner of the table. Chase, Cameron, Foreman, and Wilson are also sitting with you. Meanwhile, House is standing at the whiteboard, bouncing his tennis ball with one hand and using the other to write down your most recent patient’s symptoms.

“Eleven year old caucasian female, admitted two days ago after falling unconscious during her first ever track meet. Her family’s medical history is totally clean from what we can tell and she’s had no problems prior to this, though they seem to be way behind on taking her and themselves to the doctor for regular visits. However, since being admitted, she’s only displayed more symptoms and seems to be getting worse,” House explains, seemingly unenthused. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already figured it out. He likes to do that- to pretend that he has no idea what the patient’s affliction is and then rag on everyone else for not being able to figure it out. “So far, we’re dealing with high blood pressure, a one hundred one degree fever that refuses to break, hives, bloodshot eyes, and swelling across her entire body.”

“Rheumatoid arthritis?” Cameron suggests, eager to be the first one to get at the new case. “I know she’s young, but she could’ve developed it early and had it go undiagnosed.”

“Before we start discussing the possibility of chronic diseases, shouldn’t we test for strep and scarlet fever?” Chase questions. “If her parents are so bad about getting her medical care, it could have just been a minor illness that’s developed into this.”

“What about you two? (y/n), Foreman?” House pipes up, calling the two of you out since you’ve been totally silent since he started. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t do the same to Wilson, who hasn’t said anything either. “Nothing to say?”

Foreman shrugs.

“This isn’t my ballpark. I’ll let you figure it out, House. I’m sure you’re just playing with us anyway. Compared to the last few cases, this seems like child’s play.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, House turns to you.

“And you?”

“Kawasaki disease? She has some of the symptoms,” You half-heartedly answer.

“Just because you’re a cardiologist doesn’t mean that every patient that comes through these doors has a heart disease, you know,” House scoffs with a roll of his icy blue eyes. “And she only has some of the symptoms for that. She doesn’t fit into the main demographic for it either. That’s the worst answer I’ve gotten out of you for a case all month. Are you even trying anymore?”

When House first hired you, you were excited- always trying your best and working after your already long hours to solve cases. As the years have gone by, though, you’ve lost your enthusiasm and frequently find yourself dreading the mornings where you and House’s paths have to collide. You know he’s only so cruel because he has problems of his own and because he has a motive (just like he has a motive for every other crazy thing he likes to do), but the fact that he picks on you so often when all you’re doing is trying your best gets under your skin.

A couple years ago, you might’ve tried to argue back with him. Now, all you can do is avert your eyes and stare at the table as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. You’re praying for a hole to just appear underneath you and suck you into the vacuum of space- or at least for everyone to continue chatting until the embarrassing situation is long forgotten- but instead, Cameron pipes up to defend you. 

“Dr. House, was that really unnecessary? They’re trying their best and you’re being needlessly cruel.”

“What, are you jealous that I’m paying more attention to them than I am to you?” House snarks back at her. You hold your head in your hands and sigh. “Because next time, I can include you, too. Now do any of you have any better ideas than the crap you’ve just given me or am I going to be handling this case by myself?”

With that, the meeting continues. House ends up deciding that he’s going to order labs to see if the patient has strep or scarlet fever before doing anything else, leaving you to finish out your work day. 

You rush out of the office the moment he dismisses you all. Cameron tries to catch up to you to ask if you’re okay, but much to your relief, Chase stops her and tells her that you probably just need your space. You rush to your office, shut the door, sit down in your chair, and- for the first time in a long time- bawl your eyes out. 

House being a dick to you is typical, but on top of everything else that you have to deal with at your job, it pushes you over the edge. With the ungrateful patients, admin, and coworkers, the long hours, the physically and mentally draining work, and all of the drama that happens in the hospital, it’s almost impossible to keep going. The only thing- or, person- that makes it somewhat worth the turmoil is your partner, James Wilson, who you’ve been dating for some months now.

He’s a great comfort to you, and he’s always kind, unlike a lot of the people you find yourself surrounded by at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Your relationship is surprisingly healthy despite the amount of problems between the two of you. You don’t want to miss out on more time with him than you already do, though, so you find it hard to quit or even ask to be moved off of the diagnostics team. 

Conflicted and tired, you bury your head in your arms and cry even harder, glad that the walls are soundproof until you hear the sound of your doorknob turning.

And that’s when you realize that you forgot to lock the door.

You pop your head up, tears still covering your cheeks and welling up in your eyes. You probably look like shit and your partner has just walked in to see said display.

There, right in front of you, in the entryway of your office, stands James Wilson, looking at you like a deer caught in the headlights. The worst part is that you’re sure you’re looking at him the same way. The happy expression he walked in with has fallen completely.

“Did I come at a bad time?” He tentatively asks.

“No, sorry,” You answer and rush to wipe your tears away. You try to make yourself look presentable, probably to no avail considering the look of disbelief that James shoots your way. “What do you need?”

“Are you sure? I can leave if you want-” James starts and steps back towards the door.

“Don’t,” You interject, shaking your head. “Please. I know we’re at work right now, but…”

James sighs, then shuts and locks the door behind you. He quickly approaches your desk and sits on the edge of it, facing you.

“House really got to you today, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess he did,” You shrug. “I don’t even know what to do about it anymore, James… I’m considering just quitting and going somewhere else. I feel so burnt out. It’s not even just House, it’s everything else, too. He’s the least of it.”

James nods.

“...I understand.”

“Do you really?”

“Well, maybe not in the exact same way. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice that House is a little less harsh on me than he is on the rest of you, but him and I have been friends for a long time. He knows what I’m capable of. The only reason he pushes your buttons so much is because he’s testing to see what your limits are. In a weird sort of way, he’s trying to get to know you,” James explains, though both of you know that isn’t much of a comfort to you. “I’m sure things have been difficult for you lately. You do a lot, and it goes unappreciated, but I promise you that you’re doing a good job and that there are people who appreciate what you do.”

At that, you smile. You don’t feel completely better, but the weight on your shoulders does feel a little lighter.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“I love you,” James says.

“I love you too.”

Hours pass. You work on paperwork while James responds to patient emails for you. The two of you knock out most of what’s been piling up on your end, much to your relief. You try not to think about the fact that James has probably neglected a lot of his day’s duties to help you out with this. 

“Should we head out?” You ask, looking at the clock.

“Probably… It is getting pretty late.”

Just then, the doorknob turns, only to go back since James had locked it just moments before. A second later, you hear obnoxiously loud knocking. Wilson goes to open it. Standing there is House, who’s holding a stack of papers.

“All the other tests came back negative. You were right,” House admits, looking straight at you. “It’s Kawasaki disease. Good job.”

Then, as fast as he came by your office, House leaves, just as elusive as ever- and all you and James can do is laugh.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 3.4 - What Not to Wear

VLAD

Up on the second floor, Vlad runs into his cousin, Mandy. She eyes him suspiciously in the hall and then makes a rude gesture before stomping downstairs. 

He slips into his grandparents’ bedroom and begins stripping off his clothes. Below him, he can hear Mandy begging for cereal and his grandmother telling her to eat the eggs she cooked or “fuck off.” He already knows Mandy will veto the eggs and head to his mother’s house to see what she has to offer.

Jokes on her, it’s eggs. 

He savors the feel of the suit on his skin as he stares at himself in the mirror. 

“You probably don’t need to let the hem out. I used to be your height back when I wore it,” Bubba explains. It’s the only warning Vlad has that he’s in the room. Even at his advanced age, the man moves like a cat. “Custom pockets on the inside for throwing knives,” he holds Vlad’s gaze in the mirror. “Not that this is that kind of occasion.”

“It isn’t,” Vlad replies softly, dashing away a tear. He’s never been able to control his crying. It’s just something that washes out of the static haze inside him. Strong feelings are so rare he’s learned not to fight them, even if he can’t always decipher them or understand why they’ve appeared. “I can’t wear this, Bubba. She’ll think I’m a complete psychopath.”

His grandfather snorts. “You are.”

“Rude,” Vlad chastizes. “Last I checked, you’re not a licensed therapist.”

Bubba shrugs, “Like calls to like. Now, do you want to keep this in case the right occasion ever pops up?”

Vlad thanks him and dashes across the yard to his house and carefully hangs the suit in his closet before grabbing his wallet and heading back out. 

He spots his father loading the truck and feels a wave of fury wash over him. The Strauds have one vehicle, and accommodating eight adults is difficult, which is why they have a system. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Vlad shouts, “You know I have class. I need to get to the train station.”

“I’m not kidding,” his father says, “Now do you want to be a little shit, or do you want a ride? I got things to do.”

Idiotic things. Things to piss Vlad off. Things that require ignoring the whiteboard in the kitchen and taking the damn truck anyway. Vlad works his jaw but doesn’t make a move for the door.

His father leans against the truck and folds his arms. “Fine. You want to tell me what’s wrong, or is this the ghost of your teenage years sent to haunt me as punishment?”

Vlad glares. 

Josef looks up at the sky as if praying for patience. “Wear your dark blue button-down and your purple jeans. My brown boots are by my bed; I already shined them. Blue matches your skin tone, and the purple jeans are your most worn-in, so you’ll be comfortable.”

Vlad realizes that all the tension he’s holding disappears. He takes a deep breath and nods. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re welcome; I love you,” his father says, “But watcher help me, Vladislaus; if you’re not out here in fifteen minutes, I’m leaving, and you can walk your ass to the train station.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 4 of 4)

[paintingwhiteceilings]

Can you do Male Reader X EXO?

So, its basically when either Male reader or an EXO member is struggling with his homework.

❃EXO and helping with your school/uni work ❃

A/N: Heyyy, I am so sorry this took as long as it did. I had to take some time off of posting on Tumblr as I am about to start my graduation process for my RMA. In a way, it was super cathartic to write this prompt so it became a bit of a mix between school and uni work, I hope you don't mind :')

Regarding male x-readers: I try to keep my prompt as gender-neutral as possible, mostly so anyone can insert themselves regardless of whether they identify as male, female, non-binary, etc. However, I am totally open to doing any LGBTQIA+-specific prompts, so feel free to do so!

Xiumin/Minseok:

✾ Considering this man is rumoured to have a PhD (although not specified in what), you would think that he would be an amazing person to have around when you are struggling through your homework/coursework. However, being smart doesn’t always equate to being able to offer understandable explanations.

✾ His brain skips so many steps when he is tackling a problem or working on an essay. He knows why something is right or wrong, but he can’t really explain how he got to his answers. It comes so naturally to him that he struggles to dissect his thought processes and convey them to someone else.

✾ Ultimately, he will convince you to email your teacher/professor; they can explain it much better than he can, anyway. After having corresponded so often with professors during his own studies, he is more than capable of helping you with formulating your email in such a way that they would agree to help you out.

✾ Still, after having studied as much as he has, he understands the struggle of keeping up with homework/coursework. Considering he got his degrees whilst being an idol, he is incredible at planning his work efficiently. Thus, he instead offers to help you with creating a schedule, giving you a more healthy work-life balance.

Suho/Junmyeon:

✾ Well, considering that he has an MA in Cultural Management and talked at Stanford (plus it has been proven time and time again that Suho is incredibly intelligent), he is one of the best members to go to if you ever struggle with your homework/coursework. He strikes me as someone who, although they are incredibly smart, can explain his inner thoughts very well.

✾ Give him a whiteboard, and he will shine. Don’t ask me why, but I can totally imagine him being one of those people that is convinced that “you have to visualize things. Write it down to have more space in your head to think.” Does that work? Maybe. Is it annoying to be told time and time again to “just draw it”? Yes.

✾ If he isn’t familiar with the topic/class that you are struggling with, he will take time out of his busy schedule to familiarize himself with it. He will find a couple of sources or a handbook so that he can read up on it.

✾ A part of him enjoys studying and learning together, smiling the entire time as you do so. Despite your own stress on why you can’t seem to work through the problem/assignment, you can’t help but return his quiet enthusiasm.

Baekhyun:

✾ Another member who went to university to get his degree (although I can’t find out whether he has a BA or MA, sources are so incredibly vague) and is probably used to studying whilst being unbelievably busy. Furthermore, Suho has said before that although Baekhyun tends to be the mood maker of EXO on camera, Baekhyun is a deep thinker and has many philosophical conversations with him in private. Therefore, I can imagine him being another member who would be good at conveying his thoughts very well, offering you a coherent explanation.

✾ He would be an expert on making studying fun. Instead of having to cram a bunch of facts or read a long dry article for your next class, he would find a way to gamify it, turning it from a long boring study session into a fun competition. Although he might not be a huge help regarding the content of your class, he would help you to keep your motivation while studying.

✾ At the same time, I can totally see Baekyhun being a massive distraction while studying. You will be trying to solve a problem or work on that lengthy essay, and Baekhyun keeps trying to get you to pay attention to him, as he is too restless to sit still and study. He strikes me as someone who tries to convince you to do it tomorrow instead.

Chen/Jongdae:

✾ He has an MA in Media Advertisement so you can bet that he can sell a story. I am pretty sure Media Advertisement falls under either business or communication studies, so he will probably be not too shabby at statistics either. He will, therefore, not only sell you on why studying this particular subject is fun, but he will also be able to help you actually study the contents of most math-based subjects.

✾ Chen probably is too busy to delve deeply into the subject matter that you are trying to grasp, though. He will try, nonetheless, to work through it with you. He will sit next to you as you try to solve equations, and although he might not have mastered the theory himself, he will try to learn it with you, giving you a fresh set of eyes.

✾ I think rather than being incredible at explaining stuff, he would be an amazing person for emotional support. I can see him prioritize calming you down first and having you take a step back from studying to clear your head. He would make sure that you stay hydrated and fed while studying, preparing a bunch of snacks beforehand that he will hand out as a reward for making it through another chapter.

Chanyeol:

✾ Am I tired of repeating myself and saying “This member is smart because they got their degree”? Yes. Am I insanely impressed with most of EXO going to university whilst balancing their studies with a full-time idol career? Yes, and I will never shut up about it. Anyway, yeah Chanyeol went to university bla bla, making him, not just smart, bla  bla, but also hard-working, bla bla. You know the drill.

✾ Regardless of whether Chanyeol is well-studied in the field you are struggling in, nothing will stop him from becoming an expert. He is reading up on it as if his life depended on it, driven by his strong dislike of being bad at something. It doesn't matter whether you tell him it is okay and that you can always ask a fellow student or your teacher/lecturer; he is having none of it.

✾ At this point, he is more frustrated about not grasping a particular part of the theory than you. Even after you two manage to work through your homework/coursework, he will continue to read up on the topic until he fully understands it.

✾ He might be an overachiever and perfectionist who could’ve very well used the time that he spent on a piece of information he will never ever use again more wisely, but if anyone ever needs to know more about that specific theory, he can tell them everything.

D.O./Kyungsoo:

✾ Listen, I love him with every fibre in my body, and I will continue to do so until I turn to dust, but Kyungsoo has admitted, on several occasions, that he is not a big fan of studying. Sure, he got his degree, just like the others, and got his culinary license, indicating that he is more than capable of retaining a ton of information and working through difficult assignments/problems. But, does he enjoy studying? No, not really; he got it over with and seems glad to be done.

✾ So, when you ask him to help you with your homework/coursework, he will remind you, at least seven times, that he isn’t too good at studying and that there are better people to ask for help instead. He will try his best, albeit reluctantly, reminding you continuously to lower your expectations.

✾ In the end, he will try to help out in a different way, either by supplying you with a ton of study snacks or recounting how he worked through tough assignments back when he was in university, with the hope that maybe it works for you as it did for him. He makes sure that you are as comfortable as you can be, convinced he can’t do much more than that.  

Kai/Jongin:

✾ Listen, don’t get me wrong, I adore Kai. However, I have to say that he is not the brightest when it comes to academia (at least compared to the rest of EXO) or, like, his common sense. Yes, he had his moments of genius in New World, and I am sure that when it comes to memorizing dance and lyrics, he is insanely good. However, give him a math problem, and he will cry.

✾ Kai strikes me as someone who was exhilarated to be done with school, not seeing the point of going to university like the rest of his members. When you ask him to help you out with your home/coursework, something inside of him dies as he knows nothing that will be leaving his mouth will be helpful. He is too sweet to say no and will try his hardest to help you with whatever you are struggling with. Nevertheless, he is even more lost than you upon reading your assignment, confused by all the fancy words the assignment seems to be using.  

✾ Nevertheless, Kai would be an amazing person if you need someone to talk to without necessarily needing any advice/answers, just to get your own ideas out of your head. He knows exactly when to nod and say “hmhm”,  aware that you don’t necessarily want to get his input, only needing him to work through your thoughts and ideas on your own.

✾ Honestly, he gets an A for effort for me. Kai is good vibes only, and he would give you a hug for support.

Sehun:

✾ Another one who is glad he finished school and never has to go back. Again, don’t get me wrong, I love Sehun, but you can’t deny that he isn’t the smartest person in the room. As Suho said during EXO Ladder, “I think, they (the beluga whales) have the same IQ as Sehun” after noting they have an IQ of 60-90.

✾ Where Kai still tries to help out, he flat-out refuses. What do you mean you need his help finishing your work? He is so unapologetic about it too and slightly offended; why did you have to remind him about the horror that is school? He left that behind him and under no circumstances will he ever be dragged back in. He is rich, and he needs no degree.

✾ Such a bad influence on you as he tries to keep you from doing your work. “Well, if you are struggling with your homework you might as well take a break and go to the convenience store with me.” Funnily enough, it actually helps to clear your head. Sometimes the best thing to do is to step away and try again with a clearer mind. Sehun maintains that it was his plan all along; you doubt it.

✾ He will end up asking one of his members to assist you with your homework, calling in a favour with, for instance, Suho. They are all down bad for him, so you end up with the best tutors EXO has to offer.

Masterlist

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

hii I have a community question so I thought I'd reference your encyclopedia

are there any references to music that abed listens to? I know they do it for other characters sometimes (like I'm pretty sure britta said she liked the pixies but maybe I made that up) anyway I'm trying to make a playlist about him

thanks<333

hey! thanks for the ask 💯

after sitting here and scanning my brain’s database (and searching the internet) unfortunately I haven’t come up with much… I did remember about this:

which is part of the whiteboard Abed had set up in 1x21 Contemporary American Poultry, on which he says he likes banjo music lmfao

the only other things I can think of are probably not very helpful at all, but I’m writing them down anyway lmao. he participated in defending The Barenaked Ladies from Jeff’s criticism (although, the entire group does that, and it probably doesn’t speak much to abed’s specific music taste), and maybe there’s a song he put into one of his documentaries or something? although, I’m pretty sure most of, if not all, the scoring for those is the same as the scoring for the actual show itself. he also dances to Roxanne by The Police in Remedial Chaos Theory, but, again, the whole group does, and everyone knows that song. also, at the end of 1x14 Interpretive Dance, he is shown tapdancing, and Merry Happy by Kate Nash is playing. but, I don’t think he put on the song himself— in fact I don’t think he can hear it at all, I think it’s just score. so, again, probably doesn’t speak to his actual music taste. but, in my personal opinion, that kind of music fits him the best, so I might look more into Kate Nash and related artists if I was making an Abed playlist.

so, yeah… his pop culture references don’t really seem to include music lol. there’s a chance he listens to movie soundtracks sometimes? movies like Back to the Future have some more commercialized songs on their soundtracks, so maybe he’s into that. looking more into soundtracks from classic 80’s films might help you a bit.

I did find this on his twitter (if you don’t know about the twitter character accounts lmk that’s a whole other can of worms that I am happy to open with you all) so obviously he has music he listens to, but I scrolled through all his tweets and he never mentions any specific artists or songs. lame

but yeah. sorry that this was all I could do, dude. I’m gonna open the floor to anyone who has any Vital Information™ that I missed, or for anyone who just has some headcannons or opinions on what they think Abed might listen to. thanks again for the ask and I hope this was at least semi helpful o7

(also, you’re right about Britta liking Pixies! she has a poster up in her room in the cold open of the season 2 premiere, and also there’s this Jeff quote from Digital Estate Planning: “this place is twenty cat turds and a Pixies poster away from being your apartment.” she also likes Natalie is Freezing, but they only exist in the Community universe unfortunately lol. but at least those two things give us a handle on what music Britta likes. Abed remains an enigma lmao)

[djdangerlove]

To Say It Better, Although We’ve Said It Before

 Eddie takes care of Buck during his recovery from the lightning strike. 

Buddie Fic | Words: 2K | AO3 Link

There’s a telenovela playing on the TV mounted just above the whiteboard on the opposite side of the room, volume turned so low that only the bass line of dramatic music bleeds into the ambient whir of air conditioning blowing a few degrees too low to be comfortable and the steady beep of the heart monitor ticking away beside the bed. Buck has no idea what’s playing out on the screen considering he doesn’t feel well enough to look given his current state of health, but he can see the theatrical glow flicker across Eddie’s face as he slouches uncomfortably in a plastic chair.

“Your back is gonna feel like shit if you keep sitting like that,” he attempts to say but his voice cracks around vowels and a dry mouth as he buries half his face in the blanket curled over his fists trying to chase away a chill.

Eddie’s sneakers squeak against the tile as his chair nearly tips over in his efforts to right himself too fast, the bed railing separating the two of them the only thing keeping him from spilling out onto the floor. He leans against it, smile soft and skin the perfect shade of sheepish despite the dimmed fluorescents and Buck tries to commit the memory of it passed the haze of muscle relaxers making him woozy.

“I thought you were still asleep,” Eddie says, voice kept low around a yawn as he ducks his head towards the TV and searches blindly for the remote on the bedside table. “Is it bothering you? I can turn it off.”

“Nah, ’s fine,” Buck assures, fingers unfolding from the edge of his hospital blanket to wave off the concern sitting dark and heavy under Eddie’s eyes. The sound goes to mute anyway as Eddie’s hand snakes through the bedrails to prevent him from tearing at the highlighter yellow bracelet declaring him a fall risk and maybe he falls asleep to the slow swoop of the other man’s fingers against his forearm because the next thing he knows he’s blinking awake to gentle pats against his face.

“There he is,” Eddie’s voice curves around a smile and warms the room. Buck feels his face melt into the happiness swirling up above him even while a nurse pokes and prods him and asks the same ten questions as every time before. “Hear that, Bud? You’re still the unluckiest person in the LAFD.”

“She didn’t say that,” Buck protests on the back of a laugh that tugs uncomfortably around his ribs.

“Didn’t have to. Your hospital rap sheet speaks for itself.”

Buck rubs at his eyes in an attempt to bring the nurse with the wrong conclusions into focus, hissing when it just makes his head hurt worse.

“Actually,” she cuts in before anything more can be said on her behalf, clutching her clipboard to her chest with a shrug. “I was just reminding Mr. Diaz here that our frequent flyer program sucks so maybe the two of you could find a new vacation spot next time, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie nods with a little half-hearted salute that Buck tries to mimic but pokes himself in the nose instead. The fall risk bracelet makes a lot more sense given his lack of coordination at the moment.

“Mr. Buckley, do you need anything while I’m here?”

His hospital room tilts off its axis just a bit when he opens his eyes and he can’t quite get the fingers of his left hand to curl tight enough to make a fist, but Eddie is cresting his thumb over Buck’s wrist bone and despite how every part of him aches he finds himself believing it when he answers, “ ‘m okay.”

The nurse starts for the door, pausing just long enough to remind him to, “Press the call button whenever you need to use the restroom so someone can assist you or Mr. Diaz can help you if that’s more comfortable.”

She’s gone in the span of a few flickers of TV light, silence settling in between the beeps of the heart monitor and the soft snick of the aglets of Eddie’s shoelaces tapping against the floor with the anxious bounce of his knee. He feels sleep folding back over his senses, lulling him into nothingness except for the warm, steady pressure against his wrist when a need hits him hard.

“Shit.”

Worry stills Eddie’s fingers, his shadow blocking the TV light when he leans forward in his chair. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotta piss.”

——————

It takes a few minutes for Buck to find himself steadily perched on the side of his hospital bed and detached from the monitors. Despite the world being blurry at the edges, there’s a dull ache across his body that’s not going away any time soon and Eddie seems set on apologizing for it every few seconds as he tries to maneuver fuzzy, pickle green socks with rubber stops on the bottom onto Buck’s feet.

“This is quite the outfit,” he mumbles, picking at the hem of the hospital gown keeping his knees from splaying wide and wishing someone would be kind enough to bring him a change of clothes.

“You make it to the bathroom in one piece, there’s a pair of sweats by the sink,” Eddie says as if Buck had spoken the request out loud. Maybe he did. “We’re gonna take it slow, okay?”

Buck nods even though Eddie’s still focused on adjusting the socks comfortably around his ankles, smiles when he feels a gentle hand around his calf stopping just before the pressure becomes too intimate.

“Hey. You with me? You look far too happy for someone in a backless gown.”

“ Jus’ thinking how that’s our specialty,” Bucks says around the way his tongue sort of sticks to the roof of his mouth. “Takin’ things slow.”

He realizes a touch too late that it’s an unfair thing to say. Eddie has been the one to put in the work, to find himself in a place where he can reach for the things that make him happy and hold them in his hands. Buck just…hadn’t been able to meet him there, couldn’t figure out how to reach back with the steady grip Eddie deserves.

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie agrees as he stands to hover at Buck’s elbow, fingers gentle as he helps him stand. “Easy. Let’s focus on one thing at a time, yeah?”

Buck takes the first tentative step towards the ensuite with the comforting heat of Eddie’s hand at his back and takes another three before he has to stop to let world spin by, right hand wrinkling Eddie’s shirt from where he grips it too tight, his left shaking uselessly.

“Okay?” Eddie asks after a moment, his thumb counting the seconds with a comforting stroke just above Buck’s hip.

He starts moving forward at a snail’s pace rather than try to steady his breath enough to respond, but Eddie follows him seamlessly until they’re standing in front of the toilet and Buck realizes a little belatedly he’s going to have to sit down just to piss.

“Hey,” Eddie nudges him so that he starts to turn around. “Remember the sponge baths you definitely did not give me?”

Buck laughs into Eddie’s shoulder remembering the exact shade of embarrassment that colored Eddie’s face during that stretch of his recovery while trying to shimmy out of his boxers enough to sit. It’s an awkward shuffle, but eventually he gets seated with as much privacy as he’s going to get from the gown and Eddie hovering back near the doorway.

The TV from the room isn’t loud enough to supply him with audible cover so he decides to supply his own. “Did you know that King George II died on the toilet?”

He’s able to flush before Eddie stops laughing and feels a little easier about letting his best friend help him stand again and get his boxers back in place under the residual amusement coloring both their faces.

“I did not know that,” Eddie says just loud enough that Buck can feel the words in the oily curls at the crown of his head when he has to hug himself to Eddie for balance. Patient hands track the knobs of Buck’s spine through the slit of his gown, stopping just before the points of the Lichtenberg figures fade into the skin of his shoulder. Eddie’s breath is warm against his scalp, cresting over the dull ache in his temples like a slow tide taking sand back out to sea. Buck thinks he could stand here forever if only he had the strength. “I’ve got you,” Eddie promises like he could anyway.

Time trickles by at an odd pace these days, Buck unable to keep track of it much less anything else. His thoughts are jumbled at best, a lingering side effect that most likely will resolve itself with time whenever that evens out, too.

It’s why he asks, “Did Maddie bring by some of my clothes?” after Eddie’s already helped him into a pair of sweatpants that fall a bit too short around his ankles. “Or…your clothes?”

The answer is soothed into his side, Eddie rubbing a hand there as he says, “No, not yet. You’re really not supposed to be out of the gown, but I cleared it with the nurse for the night because you’ve been cold today.”

“Oh,” Buck nods, the memory of Eddie asking that during his regular scheduled noon checkup feeling clunky between his ears. “I…I remember now. Thanks.”

“Of course. You ready to get back in bed?”

“Did I wash my hands?”

Eddie’s fingers ruffle the greasy tufts of hair at Buck’s forehead, replying around a patient smile, “Yeah, bud. You did. Can’t say the same for your hair though.” “There’s only so much Maddie can do with dry shampoo,” Buck groans, tugging Eddie into motion back towards the hospital bed. “When I bust out of here-“

“Carla’s already got it worked out for you to wash your hair whenever you want and Chris helped her pick out the right products for the curls. It’s all in the shower cubby at home,” Eddie assures while waiting to press the call button until Buck’s tucked back in comfortably. He tells the answering nurse Buck’s ready to be hooked back up to the monitors and moves to the opposite side of the bed so he’s not in the way.

Once the heart monitor is keeping track of the only kind of time that matters again, Eddie perches himself on the side of the bed and Buck feels his hand run through his hair in tempo with the slow blinks of sleep tugging at his eyelids.

“Tomorrow,” he says, voice quiet and content in the silence around just the two of them, “I’ll get Maddie to convince the docs you’re ready for soap and water, okay?”

Buck grins enough it dimples his cheek. “I love you.”

Sleep evaporates with a quick little blip of the heart monitor and if Buck hadn’t literally been struck by lightning he’d think that’s what letting this little bit of information slip feels like. Damage control is slow and incoherent off his tongue with a “No… no, no. Wasn’t supposed to say it like that.”

He thinks he can hear Eddie laughing again, but his heart is too loud where it beats in his stomach, his ears, his toes. “How were you supposed to say it?”

“I..” and Buck doesn’t really remember, knows he almost didn’t get to say it at all, but thinks he’d rather not have said after sitting down to pee.

“Well, sure. There are more romantic ways to say it than that,” and shit. Buck really hopes his brain to mouth filter starts working within the next five seconds, that’d be great. “But you’re acting like we’ve never said it at all.”

“What?”

Even with dark circles of sleepless nights and days old stubble, Eddie is beautiful when a peaceful sort of happiness washes over his face. “I think we’ve been saying it for a while now, maybe just in a roundabout way. A little guarded, so I’ve been told.”

Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, curling his fingers as much as he can to hold it but when it’s not enough he decides to trace the ridges of his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I…I want to keep saying it. Saying it better though, because…you deserve to hear it. To feel it.”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes his name as he falls forward enough to rest his forehead over the pounding of Buck’s heart in his chest. “Your love is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard and when I…when I thought I couldn’t feel anything…I still felt that.”

“I love you,” Buck says, with purpose this time and a gentle kiss to the crown of Eddie’s head and just because he can.

“And I love you.”

[generalized-incompetence]

“Hey, Dirk,” says Tina, sniggering, “you ever heard of this movie Goncharov?”

Dirk drops a stack of five plates.

“Oh, no,” he says.

(Read on AO3 here)

Tina runs for the nearest broom as Dirk runs for the nearest computer. By the time the plate shards are swept up, Dirk has opened about sixty tabs. “This can’t be happening,” he says, clicking on five more links. “It’s not possible.”

“Mm,” says Tina, “seems around you, just about anything’s possible.”

“But Goncharov,” says Dirk, desperately. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Well, duh,” Tina shrugs. “It’s an internet joke. Crowdsourcing a made-up movie. There’s a pret-ty hot love triangle, too - wanna see?”

“No!” says Dirk, flinging up his hands. “It does exist, it just - it shouldn’t. It can’t, not anymore. I already solved that one.”

Tina stops looking for fanart. “Wait,” she says, “Goncharov is a case?”

—

“The mind wipe,” Dirk announces, half an hour later, “has failed.”

Tina, Farah, and Todd blink at him. “What mind wipe?” says Todd finally.

“The Goncharov mind wipe,” says Dirk. “It’s wearing off. Oh, I told Thor it wouldn’t last!”

“Thor?” says Farah.

“Wearing off?” says Todd.

“Wait, so there’s real footage of the hot love triangle?” says Tina.

“Focus!” says Dirk. “This is important! Clearly, the repressed memories are already bleeding through - if this spreads, who knows what will happen!”

“Not us,” says Todd, “since you haven’t told us anything about it.”

Dirk glares at him. “It’s very simple,” he says. “Loki, god of mischief, weaseled his way into a theatrical re-release of Martin Scorsese’s most famous mafia movie, in an attempt to spread his mind-controlling message to a wider audience - and also possibly for a chance to star alongside famed actor Robert DeNiro, though I have to say, Loki’s acting chops were nowhere near as professional –”

“Loki is in Goncharov?” says Tina, bouncing up and down. “Who is he? Not Andrey? Oh - Katya?”

“Er,” says Dirk, “frozen… Steve?”

“Ice pick Joe?!” says Tina.

“Wait - back up,” says Farah, getting off the couch and heading for one of the six whiteboards scattered around the agency (Dirk refuses to erase any “essential records,” which includes Mona’s doodles, Farah’s grocery lists, Todd’s drunk-after-midnight song lyrics, and Dirk’s confusing string walls, so in lieu of reuse, they just keep buying more). “Mind-controlling message? About - what, exactly?”

“World domination,” says Dirk. “What else?”

“What, like, make way for our mythological Norse overlords?” says Todd.

“Todd,” says Dirk, “the art of mind control is that of subtle insinuation. The smallest nudge to a person’s most seemingly innocuous impulse might one day bring about Ragnarok itself. The pathways of the human brain are far beyond any of us to begin to fathom.”

Todd exchanges glances with Tina. “So…” he says.

“So “Make way for our mythological Norse overlords” was embedded in the credits, yes,” says Dirk.

Farah pauses halfway through busily scribbling a semi-coherent list of Dirk’s far-from-coherent retelling. “If it’s just the credits,” she says, “couldn’t you replace that segment? Instead of mind-wiping the entire human race?”

“Yeah, who watches the credits, anyway?” says Tina. “Farah, you don’t count, no one else cares about the back-up apprentice costume designer.”

“Yes, that was my suggestion,” says Dirk, “but I was, er, overruled. Thor doesn’t generally go in for half-measures, in my experience.”

“And how extensive is that experience?” says Tina.

“We’re getting off-track,” says Dirk quickly. “The important thing is, the mind-wipe wore off. And if everyone suddenly remembers Goncharov, they’ll also remember the credits. And if they remember the credits…”

“Make way for Loki,” says Todd gloomily.

Everyone stares at the whiteboard.

“Okay,” says Farah, clapping her hands together, “so all we have to do is find Thor, find the mind-wipe technology, debug the mind-wipe technology so it works this time, figure out how to deploy it correctly, and get Thor to mind-wipe the entire human race a second time, before everyone remembers Goncharov and Loki comes back. If he’s not back already.”

Everyone stares at Farah.

The doorbell rings, and then the door bursts open. “DIRK GENTLY!” roars a voice. “Hail and well met!”

—

“You broke the mind wipe box?” says Dirk, aghast.

Thor squirms on the couch. Thor is the only one on the couch, because he takes up most of the couch. Farah is still by the whiteboard, and Todd and Tina are standing by Dirk, completely failing not to stare.

“I didn’t break it!” Thor protests. “I simply - misplaced it. Onto a chair. Which I then sat on. Which was, honestly, far worse for me than for that box, given all the unpleasantly sharp components.”

Todd shakes his head and wishes Thor didn’t sound so much like Dirk, with a deeper voice and a slightly different accent. It’s hurting his brain. He tries and fails to stop looking at Thor’s bare arms. They take up an unfair amount of his field of view.

“Thor,” says Dirk, putting his hands on his hips, “we’ve talked about this. You must be more careful where you sit.”

“Again,” says Thor, “I did not know that hat was valuable.”

“It was cursed!” Dirk squawks.

“Can everyone focus!” says Farah. “Thor, do you have the box with you?”

Thor shifts slightly and pulls out a mangled cube. It looks like a movie prop that, well, someone has sat on. The translucent blue sides are faded and dusty, and wires are poking out of the middle.

“...Sorry,” says Thor.

Tina squints at the box. “You’re tellin’ me this thing is why I forgot the boat scene?” she says. “I dressed up as the boat scene for Halloween!”

“...You were a boat?” says Todd.

“I was six,” says Tina, “and in retrospect, the homoerotic overtones went way over my head. Cool costume, though.”

Farah, meanwhile, examines the box. “This isn’t too bad,” she says. “It should definitely be fixable. Probably. Almost certainly.”

“If only we still had Patrick’s lab,” Dirk sighs.

Farah’s eyes twitch sideways. “Well…” she says.

The door opens again. “Farah!” yells Lydia. “Have you heard of this movie Goncharov?”

—

“Of course I can fix it,” says Lydia.

Everyone sits forward on their respective couch, couch armrests, chairs, or, in Dirk’s case, table. “You can?” says Thor.

“Yeah,” Lydia shrugs. “This is all 80s tech - it’s built to last. These transistors are comically huge. If you want, I can swap it out for new stuff - might take a little longer, but it’d be, like, credit card sized.”

“Could you really?” says Dirk. “Is this one of those Boring Law things?”

“Whatever’s fastest,” says Farah, before Dirk can fall down another endless hole of knowledge he’ll forget till his next case. “Lydia, do you have everything you need here?”

“Yeah, it’s all at my bench. Give me a sec.”

Lydia takes off towards the workbench Farah set up two months into Lydia’s Belize stay, and the rest of them sit back to wait. Dirk hums something under his breath. Farah goes back to writing on the whiteboard.

“So,” says Tina to Thor, after a moment of silence, “did you two ever…”

“I’ll order a pizza,” says Todd, shooting up.

—

Todd barely gets back off the phone before Lydia returns with the repaired device.

“That’s it?” says Tina, frowning at the cube.

“It’s an ancient artifact of my people,” says Thor.

“Which you sat on,” says Dirk.

“Something I learned from my dad,” says Lydia, “is that sometimes the smallest things cause the most problems. Even when the tech is ancient. Maybe especially then.”

She sets the cube on the table and taps something on the side. A blue glow creeps up the sides. The cube begins to pulse faintly, seeming to draw space in around it. It’s mesmerizing, in an unsettling sort of way.

“...Yeah, I hate that,” says Tina.

Dirk shudders. “Thor, can you…” he says.

Thor places one large hand over the cube, cutting off the hypnotic light. “I shall need a higher vantage point,” he says. “Wait for my signal.” He’s out the door before anyone can say anything else, to possibly everyone’s relief. A second later, there’s a flash of lightning, and a resounding boom of thunder, and everyone jumps as though they’ve been shocked.

“Well!” says Dirk, shaking himself and standing up. “That was… a thing.”

“Wait - that’s it?” says Todd. “We met Thor, and now he’s just… gone?”

“Yes, that’s how he generally operates,” says Dirk over his shoulder. “It’s part of the reason we… well.”

“Part of the reason you what?” says Tina.

“Popcorn, anyone?” says Dirk.

“Popcorn?” says Farah. “Why?”

“Why, for the movie, of course,” says Dirk, then pauses. “Er. I think.”

“No, there was a movie,” says Todd. “Wasn’t there? Something about - um - shit.”

Tina props her legs up on the table. “Hey, Far,” she says, “what’s up with your handwriting today? That whiteboard’s a mess.”

Farah looks at the whiteboard, where a whole square of notes has gotten completely smudged. “...Huh,” she says. “Must’ve slipped.”

“Pizza’s here,” says Lydia from the doorway, where none of them heard a knock.

“Pizza!” exclaims Dirk, and everyone entirely forgets what they were ever worried about.

(And somewhere, deep underground, Loki sighs and logs offline, thwarted again from his latest and nearly successful plan to escape at last.)

[koirian]

Lazy Evenings

Tw: Angst, Crying (Tell me if I miss anything!!!!)

Word Count: 824

A nice lazy evening, no work to be done, no recruits to train, just relaxing. S7-11 sighed in relief as he lays down on his bed…..

“3..2..1” the door slams open

“Oh L.T!! S7-77 walks through the door with a plate of puff pastries in hand. A delicious scent fills the room as she sets the plate down on his desk. She throws the curtains open letting the sun flood into the room

S7-11 groans as he sits back up in bed“Don’t you have something better to be doing than bothering me, sergeant” he gives her a deadpan look “Like training or maybe paperwork”

S7-77 squawks “Well I guess I’ll take the pastries I so kindly made for you and give them to the recruits” She tries to keep the offended face up, grabbing the plate again. S7-11 snatches the plate away from her before lifting his mask and shoving one in his mouth. It’s sweet, almost overwhelmingly sweet and of course her signature fresh peaches. “Could use less sugar” he licks his fingers clean.

“Noted” S7-77 responds as she flops across his lap “anyways I’m bored” she complains

“Then go do something, idiot” S7-11 sighs “Stop bothering me you dumbass”

“But there’s nothing to doooo” S7-77 groans dramatically “I’ve finished all my paperwork AND reports. I trained for a good 2 hours today, bothered the Commander, baked, cooked, etc”

“Alright how about this” He leans closer to her and whispers “I’ll try to get you on an easy solo mission to keep you busy” She brightens at the idea and nods. A big grin paints her face.

S7-11 leans away “Good. Good. Now get out of my room , Sergeant” she laughs as she gets up and starts walking out of his room a bounce in her step “Oh and Sergeant” S7-77’s face falls shaking her head “5 laps”. She groans loudly before closing the door

—————————————————————————

“S7-77 do you copy! Lucky, answer me! For fucks sake! Sand…..” Alarms ring in S7-11’s ears as Commander Graves voice fades away. The radio is deathly silent. No response from S7-77, not even a peep. Just a few seconds ago she was still rambling about the best method to raise cattle and now….fuck.

It supposed to be a simple mission, a get in get out. Now a blaring word sits in front of him. Almost taunting him.

—————————————————————————

S7-11 walks through the quiet hallways. His steps echoing loudly. It’s strangely cold for a spring evening. He stops in front of a door, obvious to who it belongs to with the whiteboard with encouraging words written on it….the words haven’t been change yet. He erases the board again before picking up a marker. He thinks for a bit before sighing and putting it back down. It doesn’t feel right and S7-11 doesn’t know if it ever will be right again.

S7-11 grabs the handle, taking a deep breath and twisting it open.

The stale scent of the barrack rooms and…peach.

He takes a few minutes to just observe the room. The curtains open allowing the evening sun to bathe the room in a warm glow. Everything about her just need to be warm didn’t it. He chuckles. Her bed was unmade, her desk littered with trinkets, but what he was looking for was in her nightstand. S7-11 walks forward grabbing the picture. It was a framed picture of the day she got promoted. Tears of joy in her eyes and a Massive smile on her face. He can feel his own stinging in his eyes. He took that picture.

He pulls the chair from the desk. Sitting in front of the picture as L.T Jr struts into the room and jumps into his lap.

“Sergeant…no…Sandy” The nickname fills him with a sense of relief warmth and guilt as he looks at the picture “it’s been a week since you went missing” he feels the part of his mask under his eyes get a bit wet “We’ve been doing…as well as we can. The Commander is doing everything to get you back” He pets L.T Jr’s fur “L.T Jr is doing good, I’ve been feeding him everyday just like how you taught me…He stands outside of your room everyday for hours…just waiting.” He looks down at the floor not being able to look at the picture for any longer “The peach tree in the court yard is wilting slightly. You never taught anyone to take care of it yet and we have t had the heart to call your parents yet.” More tears fall from his face “Just…Please Sandy, come bother me again. Slam my door open to get me to try your latest peach recipe. Throw the curtains open all you want. I’ll even wear that pink sparkly mask you croqueted me…” His voice was cracking now. His mask damp from tears.

“Cmon little Liz”

“Don’t make us bury an empty casket”

————————————————————————-

S7-11 belongs to @pampanope

S7-77 belongs to meeee :3333

[ratsoh-writes]

They got cursed with speaking backward for a week. Gold, Fellswap, Outertale, Farmtale, Seatale

Wine: he just speaks in sign language, or uses a whiteboard to communicate with customers for the week. Wine passes it off as allowing one of his witch interns to curse him for a research project. So he’s seen as the good teaching figure that he is for the week lol

Coffee: ugh, this blows. Well he can still text at least so that’s what he does. Coffee only communicates digitally, and spends a bit too much time playing online when he should be working on commissions. Oops. Now he has to play catch up

Lord: he’s fuming and will still attempt to speak anyways with increasingly embarrassing results. It doesn’t help that his friends keep goading him into talking lol. He almost considers allowing mutt to hunt down whoever cursed him

Mutt: he’s not having this. After a through day of hunting with the help of coffee, mutt manually ends the curse by taking out the source~

Pluto: this is very inconvenient, and his wrist is cramping from writing all day. So Pluto somehow teaches himself to intentionally speak backwards, thus forcing his words to come out normal canceling out the curse. Every one is not surprised, just impressed it took this long.

Jupiter: he’s being harassed!!! His friends keep ruling him up to hear him shout his backward insults lol. To be honest, Jupiter is finding this rather funny as well. No harm done

Peaches: he doesn’t need to talk to tend to his trees does he? Nope! Then in that case peaches will be just fine

Rancher: it’s a good thing he uses hand signals when training his animals or else they’d have no idea what he’s ordering lol. Rancher applauds his foresight mentally patting himself on the back all week

Fisher: he jokingly pretends he’s prophesying when he speaks backwards, and it works for about a day until Jasper and his roommates catch on and realize he’s just been cursed lol

Jasper: he’s furious and will rant for hours trying to overcome the curse out of sheer persistence. All it earns him is a sore throat. Jasper sulks and mumbles (backwards) for the rest of the week lol

[stay-mon-army]

A Little Bit of Chemistry

Warning(s): embarrassment, self-consciousness

Word Count: 2,417 words

Pairing: Gaon x Gender Neutral!Reader

It wasn’t that you were bad at chemistry. You wanted to get that clear right off the bat. You were fine at chemistry; it was just that this professor was an absolute asshole. All he did was complain that his students kept failing his exams, but he wasn’t ever teaching you what to do. You would go to class, you would take notes, you would study said notes, and somehow you always failed his quizzes because none of the content was anywhere in your notes.

You hated to admit defeat and go to a tutor. You weren’t stupid, you were just a victim of bad teaching. But finally, you realized that if you didn’t get someone else’s input (preferably from someone who had passed the class), you were going to have to take the class again, and you just couldn’t do that. You refused to sit through another semester of this professors horrible test-making.

You had asked the professor if he could recommend you a past student who might be willing to help you with studying and he had been quick to mention a boy named Jiseok who had passed the class next semester. He gave you his school email address and seemed very excited that a student was working towards passing his course. Whatever, he was the one who made everyone fail anyway.

You had emailed him last week and he had quickly agreed to help you study for the chemistry class. Apparently he was a chem major and was always excited to talk about his passion and help others understand the arguably difficult topic. You agreed on a time and place to meet up to begin working.

Before you know it, it’s the day you are meeting with this mystery boy at the library. You grab your chem stuff and begin the trek up to the large building. You wait in the entryway for a moment, realizing you didn’t ask where in the building you were going to meet. He had said he would book out a study room for you both to have a bit of privacy, but you don’t know which one he had booked.

As you stand there, looking around for the boy that you’ve never seen before, you feel a hand tap against your shoulder. You turn around to come face-to-face with a smiling boy with shoulder-length black hair, his eyes crinkled up with his grin.

“You must be (Y/N), right? I’m Jiseok!” His voice is lilting and upbeat, exactly as you would have expected based off his happy demeanor. He looks like a happy puppy, excited and bouncing with energy. “I got us a study room so we can go work on your studying!” He points towards the back of the library, where the study rooms and computers are located.

He begins to walk in that direction, smiling back over his shoulder as he checks that you’re following along with his stride. You quickly start after him, taking long strides to catch up with him so you weren’t following at some uncomfortable distance. As you reach the study room, Jiseok pulls out a key and unlocks the door, stepping inside to hold it open for you. Inside is a small table with three chairs around it. On one wall is a whiteboard with markers and an eraser so that students can work together.

You slip past him through the doorway, thanking him as you set your stuff down onto one of the chairs. He closes the door and plops himself down onto the edge of the table, crossing his leg under the other that’s dangling over the edge.

“So, what exactly are you learning right now?”

You spent the whole two hour session letting him know where you are content-wise in the class. You tell him your problems so far and how everyone seems to be struggling but that you think the professor doesn’t want to change anything even though he’s obviously the reason you’re failing. You let him know what you know and that in every previous test had nothing gone over in class. At this, Jiseok laughs.

“Oh yeah, Mr. Donaghue is horrible at making tests that actually meet with what he’s teaching. That happened with my class too. Since your class is still on the periodic table stuff, your next test will likely be on atomic structure. He somehow always assumes that students make that next jump on their own, and they never do.” He quickly pulls out papers and his laptop, flipping it open quickly and typing hectically on the keyboard right away.

You sit and stare at the boy before you, blinking for a moment before you chuckle softly to yourself.

He doesn’t pause his typing, but he looks up at you with a small smile. “What?”

“You’re kinda amazing.” You laugh, shaking your head. “You just remember all of this and know exactly how to help. What are the chances I found the only person who could manage to help me ace this class with just a simple question to Mr Donaghue?”

Jiseok smiles even wider, his eyes sparkling at you obvious content at him as a tutor already.

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” He grins, ducking his head back behind his laptop as he keeps searching. Finally, he turns his screen around so that you can see it as he shows you some sort of powerpoint presentation. “So, I’ll go over some of the basics, and then I have some worksheets and problems to see how much more detail I need to give you.”

~~~

You ended up loving to spend time with Jiseok. You liked chemistry before, but the way he taught it made it feel so much more fun. He always made jokes to help some content stick, or he would create problems that had impossible situations or ideas hidden within them. He smiled every time he saw you and always wished you an amazing day when you two went your separate ways after a study session. You could almost call him a friend; you never hung out outside of your study sessions, but you looked forward to your study sessions, and part of you was interested in interacting with him in a more relaxed and fun environment.

So, one day, you decided to invite him to hang out with your friends. You were throwing a small party, which was just a couple people having food and watching stupid movies, but you thought he might be interested. He was always laughing and making jokes with you, and he hadn’t been shy when you first met each other. You were hoping he would respond positively, even if he might be a little unsure at first.

What you weren’t expecting was to watch his face drop. He had been smiling, ready to start talking about the newest topic after you passed your last exam, when you’d interrupted to extend the offer. His smile slid from his face, almost comically, and his eyes visually shuttered. He paused for a moment, his mouth hanging open, before he snapped back to a smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have to study for an exam the next day, so I’ll be busy. Maybe next time though!” He grins at you, throwing in a sheepish shrug when you really look at him for a second.

You try not to think too much of it and you smile back, although your eyebrows stay furrowed as you look down at your notebook as you flip to a blank page to prepare to take notes on what he teaches you today.

It doesn’t hit you until you get back to your dorm that you hadn’t gotten to tell him the date of the party, so he didn’t even know when you were inviting him over.

~~~

The next time you began to raise your eyebrows at Jiseok’s behavior was when you managed to run into him on campus. Before that, you hadn’t seen him anywhere on campus; you almost thought that he wasn’t really a student. You were always on campus with friends, doing work, or just getting some exercise, and you had never seen him anywhere. However, the day before a major test, you were walking around campus to destress from studying on your own in your dorm and you saw Jiseok sitting with a few people you assume are his friends.

At first, you weren’t going to approach, because you thought he might want to spend time with his friends and you didn’t want to bother him. But then you remembered that you wanted to get to know him, and you thought that this would be a nice way to break the ice between you two and your study-only relationship. So you took a breath to calm yourself and you stepped up to their table, smiling down at Jiseok.

“Hey, Jiseok! How are you?” You try to sound chipper and surprised to see him. His head whips around to look at you, mouth opening and closing for a second as his eyes nearly bulge from his head.

“Um, hey.” He says, turning and looking at his friends quickly, obviously awkward about the situation. You stand there for a moment, looking at his friends. One is looking at him with a look of disapproval, another is chuckling behind his hand, while the last is looking at you, pityingly and kind.

You stand for what feels like an eternity with Jiseok not looking at you. Finally you clear your throat, mumbling a “goodbye”, and rushing off, holding your notebooks closer to your chest as you turn away.

You can’t believe you made such a fool of yourself. You wanted to be mad at Jiseok for treating you like he had never seen you before. You wanted to scream and cry about how he let you flounder there in front of his friends when all you did was say hello. You wanted to be so angry about his dismissal of you like he didn’t want to recognize that he knew you when you so obviously knew him. But instead of all that, you hated yourself for thinking that it was a good idea to approach him. That he would accept your random friendship when you were just some stupid student who needed help with chemistry. You weren’t friends. You didn’t really know each other. You felt absolutely idiotic for thinking that this was a good idea. You never wanted to show your face on campus ever again. You never wanted to see Jiseok again.

But you had a study session with him tomorrow.

~~~

You almost cancelled your session. You almost texted him and told him not to worry about meeting. That you would just figure out the last two months of class on your own. That you weren’t worried anymore and that he had helped plenty, thank you, you were finally a chemistry master.

But you knew that wasn’t going to help anything. While you were tired just thinking about having to interact with Jiseok after that super awkward interaction with his friends, you needed his help. Another quiz was coming up in a couple weeks and you needed to practice what only he knew was on it.

You arrived just on time to your session, in the same room as you always meet in. Jiseok was sitting in the room already, his laptop and notebook open before him, texting vigorously on his phone. As you open the door, he quickly locks his phone and places it face down on the table. He looks up to you with a wide smile on his face.

“Hey, (Y/N)! How have you been?” He’s got that giant smile on his face that always makes you feel like the coolest person in the world— like you had done something amazing by just existing.

And that smile alone destroyed your mental fortitude.

You drop your backpack onto the table and cross your arms. How dare he. Acting like he didn’t complete embarrass you in front of his friends yesterday, like it wasn’t the worst possible option from the interaction, like he didn’t act like he didn’t know you when you were out in public. You hadn’t done anything to him, so you needed to know why he felt the need to treat you the way he did.

“Why did you treat me like that?” You ask, voice coming out much smaller than you meant it. His smile falls from his face, his eyes wide, mouth agape.

He gulps and blinks at you. “What?”

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with your stupid little tutor case? Is that what happened? All I did was say hello. Do you not want to be seen with me? Huh?” He stares at you as your voice rises, you can feel your face getting hot, but you don’t care. You need to get this off your chest. You need to know. He doesn’t respond and you repeat yourself. “Are you embarrassed to be with me?”

You finally stop, breathing heavily as you feel the emotions boiling in your blood. When Jiseok doesn’t respond at first, you groan loudly, spinning to face away from him and dragging your hands over your face. You hear him shift, but you don’t look at him. You can’t, because if he keeps looking at you with those sad, scared eyes, you might just combust into anger again, and you want to compose yourself again.

“I’m not embarrassed by you. I was embarrassed- I am embarrassed about how I feel when we are together, and I- I was afraid...” His voice is quiet, gentle, soft, you almost don’t hear him. You pause, back straightening at the response you weren’t expecting.

“A-about... how you feel?” You whisper back, staring at the wall before you, afraid to turn around and scare him off. Maybe, if you don’t look at him, he might continue to confess to you, explain what happened.

“I’m afraid others will know. That they’ll figure it out because I’m not sure if I’m ready to do anything about it. I like how our little tutor sessions are. I’m not ready to change anything about that yet. Because, I’m such a coward, and I’m afraid.” He sounds choked off and you turn quickly, throwing caution to the wind.

His eyes are staring at his hands in his lap, like he knew you were looking at him and he couldn’t meet your eyes. His hands wrung in his lap, his body shaking lightly like he was afraid of something. Afraid of you learning this about him.

“What do you feel, Jiseok?” You don’t know why your voice won’t get louder than a whisper, like you were afraid that he would run away or shut down if you spoke too loud.

He raises his eyes to yours, shining and wide like a sad puppy. He blinks, takes a deep breath, exhales, and opens his mouth. “I think I like you.”

You blink back, having had a suspicion that was where he was going, but not totally expecting him to say it. “I-”

“We can pretend I didn’t say anything. Like I said, I don’t think I’m ready for anything to change. But I don’t want you thinking I don’t like you or that- that I’m embarrassed about knowing you.” He’s looking back at his hands, twisting them tightly around each other like the pressure will take away the embarrassment you know he feels.

“Let’s meet for dinner later.” You say, standing still and holding your breath.

“What?” His head snaps to you, eyes shining now with something new, something deeper.

“Let’s meet for dinner tonight. We have our study session right now, like normal. And then later, we get dinner together. It can be at the cafe or the dining hall or wherever you want. We hang out as friends. We get to know each other. We see how things go.” You sit down on the seat across from Jiseok, feeling tense and self-conscious. You don’t really know what’s come over you, but you know that this is what you want.

Weren’t you feeling bad because he didn’t seem to want to be around you? Didn’t you invite him out because you wanted to spend time with him outside of the tutoring session? You didn’t know if you liked him, but you wouldn’t mind getting to know him better to figure it out.

His eyes flicker across your face, looking for something. He must decide he likes whatever he sees, because his mouth splits into a wide smile.

“We see how things go.” He says, holding out his hand. You smile back and shake his hand.

You were excited to see how things go.