#i have a shell script now

[synfy]

i am loading up the boop gun. some of u beloved mutuals are about to come under fire

[drurrito]

Night Drive (18+)

Summary: You get a new car

AN: 18+ only y'all--we're gonna pretend that there are plenty of other self-driving cars that aren't t*sla...I hope this makes up for me not putting out another part of AYTO yet! All mistakes are mine.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: cursing; reader has a dick; dom//powerbottom!Natasha; sub//top!reader

----------------

You sink lower into your seat as you rev the engine of your new car with the widest grin Natasha can't see. Natasha looks hardly impressed from your view beyond the barely-legal tint of the windows.

You decide to roll down your window and plead your case.

"Hey baby."

Natasha rolls her eyes. You already screw yourself coming right out the gate with pleasantries, Natasha knows you're desperate to get on her good side when you do that.

"So...what do you think?" You vaguely gesture to the rest of the car and Natasha scoffs.

"I think you were a finance bro in your past life," she crosses her arms, and you relent, "probably," you sing as you round the car to lean against the hood. The gun metal gray still holds a shine in the moonlight. This wasn't an impulse purchase, you had been talking about buying a new car for a while now. You would go on little rants about the specs of certain cars whenever you saw them on the road or on TV. It's not like you were waiting when you had the money, being an avenger was a pretty-paying gig. You were just waiting for the right one, at the right time--a method you mastered by the time Natasha came around.

"Wanna go for a joyride?" You offer, already leaning off the hood and spinning the key in your hand.

Natasha wants to keep giving you a hard time, but you look so damn good in front of your sleek, expensive, new backdrop. Your muscles bulge under your fitted black shirt, and you have the cockiest smile on your face, like you knew you were winning this race.

"And if we get pulled over?"

"With SHIELD plates? I'm not worried about it," it almost comes out like it's scripted. You're not above rehearsing a speech for Natasha if it means getting your way. You're pulling out all the stops, but Natasha wants to remind you who's really behind the wheel. Her eyes rake over you slowly, intensely--the same way fresh lava travels over earth. You're standing at attention and you don't even know it.

"You gonna open the door for me or just stand there like you forgot your manners?" Natasha watches in amusement as you fumble for the door handle. She slides onto the cool leather while you make your way into the driver's seat yet again. You wait patiently for her to get comfortable and buckle in.

It's only when you rev the engine with a wink that Natasha muses this might have been a bad idea on her part. You punch the gas pedal and she's quickly acquainted with the back of the cherry red bucket seat.

----------------

Natasha decides that she doesn't like going fast unless the fate of the world depends on it. She also decides this is the one exception when she sees the freeway system of veins in your forearms as you grip the steering wheel. Natasha feels like she's flying when she watches your triceps flex while you turn the wheel or do something as mundane as turning on her seat heater.

Natasha slides her seatbelt off in a way that doesn't set off the sensor--she didn't want this moment to be ruined by a lecture on why it's important to buckle-up. You're too distracted by the beat of your night drive playlist to notice her crawling closer to you.

You feel her lips on the shell of your ear, "eyes on the road, got it?"

"Yes ma'am," you try to say cooly, you don't dare chance a look over at her. She hums with satisfaction and rewards you with a kiss on the skin behind your ear and a nibble on your lobe that tightens the coil in your belly.

Natasha sucks and licks at your neck while her deft fingers work to undo your belt and zipper. Her hand explores the border of your waistband before dipping under and finding what it was looking for. You let out a whisper of a gasp when Natasha admires your full length and girth. Your grip on the wheel tightens, Natasha chuckles when she hears the leather under your fingers groan.

Natasha begins to stroke you slowly, agonizingly so, but that doesn't keep your hips from bucking up into her hand.

"Tash," that only elicits a rumble against your neck. Natasha's other hand curls around your neck and gives a light squeeze that makes your vision blur for a second. Her stroking picks up speed, you have to work impossibly hard to keep your foot off the brakes.

"Natasha, please."

"I like the way you say please, baby," she mumbles with your skin between her teeth.

"What did I tell you?"

"Eyes on the road, ma'am," you say with a quickness that makes the corner of her lips curl up in satisfaction.

"So smart," she praises before you helplessly watch her head lower until you feel her lips greet your cock with a sloppy kiss. You throw your head back against your seat with a pathetic moan.

"So desperate," Natasha teases, and your mind feels like it's going a million miles an hour--multitasking is usually your strong suit, but it seems damn near impossible now.

Natasha's tongue travels the length of you, your hips feebly buck into her mouth when she finally grants you entrance. You slow your speed to safely take a hand off the wheel and hold her hair back. She thanks you with a gentle squeeze on your thigh and the prettiest sounds you could have only ever imagined.

Your playlist is already repeating itself by the time Natasha comes up for air. She can barely hear it over your panting anyway. You're rock hard and right where she wants you.

"The car can drive itself, you know," you breathe out. Natasha's brow quirks with curiosity.

"Show me," it's a gentle command, but your fingers rush to press the right sequence of buttons. You ease the seat back with haste, and Natasha just lets you sit there for a few beats to take you in and also leave you in suspense.

Your fingers dumbly flex against your legs while you wait for further instruction from Natasha. She doesn't even try to hide her smirk when your eyes begin to dart between the road and her.

"You're not gonna let us crash right, dove?" Natasha's finger traces a feather-light trail down your arm. It's a genuine question, even though she knows you probably did some sizable research on the safety features of the car before you even entertained buying it.

"No ma'am, you're precious cargo," you give an easy smile and that's Natasha's cue to move and straddle your lap. You help her with your hands on her hips, your hands quickly retreating to your sides when she's situated over you.

Natasha swears your eyes are sparkling as you watch her slide her panties to the side with one hand and take your length in the other.

"Eyes on me, baby, just for a second," she coos and you obey. Natasha can't help but admire the striations of your muscles working overtime to restrain yourself. You've always been intoxicatingly obedient, even when it's downright painful. Your eyes are locked on Natasha's, you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan when she finally eases down onto your cock. She's already working her hips in a way that has your entire body buzzing. You can count on one hand how many cars have passed you by this whole time, just like you expected.

Your fingers dig into the leather of your seat, your eyes periodically glancing at the road to make sure it hasn't veered off course for whatever reason. Natasha steals a few sloppy kisses when she leans into you to get a better angle and bounce on your cock at a speed that should be illegal.

"Tash, I'm gonna-," you choke out between labored breaths.

"What was that baby?" she leans back and oh god, you wish you had the kind of self-control your car has right now. You feel like you're going to pass out watching Natasha ride your cock, you're too blissed out to realize that she's spelling out 'm-i-n-e-' with her hips.

"I'm gonna come so fast."

"I know baby."

That seals your fate. Your arm reaches back to brace yourself against the seat. With a long and drawn-out "fuck," Natasha feels you push deeper into her, filling her up with every last drop of you. You both fall into a sweaty, moaning heap against the seat. Your body trembling with aftershocks as Natasha scratches at the skin on the back of your neck. You only get to drink this feeling in for a few seconds until you see red and blue flashing lights in your rearview mirror.

"Shit," you sit up and Natasha freezes when she sees what you see. You feverishly check your speedometer, you're not speeding. You start rifling through your brain to see if you forgot to do something, insurance? Plates? Registration?

Your questions are answered when you watch the cop car speed off into the night. Natasha lets out a heavy sigh of relief that makes your dick twitch, reminding you both that you're still inside of her.

"Told you," you try not to sound so exasperated. Natasha just rolls her eyes before kissing your temple. Night drives might just become a regular thing now.

[pucksandpower]

Prove Them Wrong

Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader

Summary: when an invitation to your high school reunion arrives, you are ready to throw it in the garbage … but your husband convinces you to go and prove them wrong

Happy Charles Leclerc contract extension day to all who celebrate 🫶

The invitation arrives in the mail on a Tuesday morning. You’ve just finished your coffee and are clearing the breakfast dishes when you see it — that familiar crest imprinted on the thick, creamy stationary. Your five-year high school reunion.

Immediately, your stomach drops. You haven’t thought about high school in years, haven’t had any contact with your classmates in just as long. Those weren’t the easiest years for you. In fact, they were some of the hardest.

You were shy, quiet, a bit awkward. You never quite fit in with the popular crowd, though you longed to. Much of your time was spent alone, lost in books and music, wishing you could break out of your shell. The kids were cruel in their exclusion. You still remember the whispers, the laughter at your expense, the feeling of being an outsider looking in.

After graduation, you left it all behind without a backward glance. You built a new life, one where you finally found your place. You have a successful career, an amazing husband, a beautiful home. You’ve traveled the world, experienced things you could have never imagined as that geeky teen.

Yet holding the invitation in your hands, the old insecurities come flooding back. Could you really face those people again? The ones who looked through you like you were invisible? Who made you feel small?

You’re lost in thought when Charles comes into the kitchen. He kisses your cheek and asks what’s wrong. Wordlessly, you hand him the invitation.

He glances at it and understanding dawns on his face. “Ah, a reunion. I take it you’re not thrilled?”

You shake your head. “I hated high school. The kids were really mean. I don’t know if I can go back there and face them again.”

Charles pulls you into a hug. “I’m sorry you went through that, love. Kids can be terribly cruel.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “You know, this might be a good chance to show them how wrong they were about you.”

You give him a skeptical look and he continues. “Think about it — you’re not that shy girl anymore. You’ve accomplished so much, you have an amazing life. Maybe going back will give you some closure. A chance to prove to yourself and to them how far you’ve come.”

“I don’t know ...” you say uncertainly.

Charles grasps your shoulders, looking into your eyes. “You are an incredible woman. You have nothing to feel insecure about. I know it won’t be easy, but I think this could be good for you. Let them see the strong, successful person you’ve become. And I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. Maybe he’s right. This could be an opportunity to flip the script, to rewrite the ending to that difficult chapter of your life.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Let’s do it.”

Charles grins and pulls you in for a real embrace now. “That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Over the next few weeks, you have moments of confidence mixed with waves of doubt. Charles is a constant source of reassurance. The night before the reunion, your nerves are frayed.

“What if they’re still awful? What if all those old feelings come rushing back the moment I see them?” You fret as you get ready for bed.

Charles takes your hands, his gaze earnest. “I know you’re scared, chérie. But don’t forget — you’re not alone now. I’ll be by your side the whole time. And if anyone says one nasty thing, we’ll walk right out that door, okay?”

You smile gratefully at him. “Okay. Thank you, Charlie. I don’t know if I could do this without you.”

He kisses you softly. “You’ve got this. Get some rest, mon cœur.”

***

In the morning, you take extra care getting ready, donning an elegant dress and styling your hair just so. Looking in the mirror, you remind yourself that you belong in these clothes, in this life.

The reunion is at your old high school, in the gymnasium. As you walk in hand-in-hand with Charles, the smells hit you first — sweat and sneakers, just like you remember. There are balloons and streamers, a table of snacks and drinks. And clustered together, familiar faces you haven’t seen in five years.

Your heart begins to pound. Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs. Then you lift your chin and step forward to greet your past.

As you scan the room, you recognize faces that used to fill the halls of your high school. Some look familiar, unchanged by the passing years. Others you barely recognize at all.

You steel yourself as a group of giggling girls comes into view — the former popular clique. Lindsay, Heather, and Bethany. Once the queens of the school, rulers of all they surveyed.

Lindsay spots you first. Her overly plumped lips curl into a smirk. “Well, look who it is. Little Y/N Y/L/N.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand tighter as that old childhood instinct to shrink kicks in. But you lift your chin and meet Lindsay’s gaze head-on. “Lindsay. Hello.”

Her eyes flick dismissively over you before landing on Charles. They widen, lips parting. Of course she recognizes him — his face is rarely out of the public eye.

“Y/N!” Bethany exclaims with obviously fake delight. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

You allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. “Of course. This is my husband, Charles Leclerc.”

Charles gives them a polite nod. “Pleasure to meet you ladies.”

The mean girls’ jaws drop in unison. You can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the impressed once-overs they give Charles.

Heather recovers first, plastering on a sycophantic grin. “The pleasure’s all ours! What a lovely surprise.” She touches Charles’ arm lightly. “We would love to catch up and hear all about your life, Y/N.”

You catch Charles’ eye. His lips twitch, seeing right through them.

“That’s kind of you to offer,” you say smoothly. “If you’ll please excuse us, I see some other classmates I’d like to greet.”

You steer Charles away, leaving them sputtering. As soon as you’re out of earshot, he chuckles. “Well, they certainly changed their tune quickly.”

“Once they realized they could get something from me now,” you reply wryly.

You make small talk with a few classmates, keeping it surface-level. Charles’ presence by your side is bolstering. With him here, you’re reminded that you have nothing to prove to these people. Your worth isn’t defined by their approval.

After grabbing drinks, you scan the room again. Your stomach sinks as your eyes land on a familiar figure — Brad Collins. Handsome as ever, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.

Brad was your biggest crush all through high school. You pined for him secretly, knowing he was way out of your league. He never gave you the time of day — too focused on football, parties, and whichever popular girl caught his eye that week.

“Everything okay?” Charles asks, noticing your expression.

You nod tightly. “My old crush is here.”

Charles spots him and understanding crosses his face. He presses a kiss to your temple. “His loss, mon amour.”

At that moment, Brad looks up and notices you. His stare is cold, dismissive. He says something to his friends and they erupt in laughter, eyes cutting your way.

Your cheeks burn. Some things never change.

Charles’ jaw tightens. He takes your hand firmly and starts steering you toward Brad and his posse.

You glance at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going over to say hello,” he replies calmly.

“Charles, you don’t have to ...”

He silences you with a look. “Trust me.”

You swallow hard and nod. Brad watches you approach with that familiar cocky smirk.

“Well, look who it is,” he drawls as you come to stand before him. “Never thought I’d see you at one of these things, Y/L/N.”

You stare him down unwaveringly. “Yes, well, people can surprise you.”

Brad’s gaze slides to Charles, brows lifting. You can see him trying to place how he might know this handsome, expensively dressed man by your side.

“Brad, this is my husband, Charles Leclerc,” you say sweetly.

Brad’s smirk disappears. His friends gape between you and Charles.

“Husband, huh?” Brad says after a pause, regaining his bravado. “Well, congratulations. Didn’t know you had it in you to land a guy like this.”

Fury rises in you, but before you can respond, Charles steps forward. His voice is pleasant but his eyes are steel.

“Clearly you don’t know much about my wife at all. But that’s your loss. I’m the lucky one who gets to experience her incredible heart and mind every day.”

Brad flushes under Charles’ stare. An awkward beat passes.

Charles continues calmly, “I couldn’t ask for a better partner. I just hope you realize what an opportunity you missed out on back then. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

He turns, guiding you away and leaving Brad speechless behind you. Your eyes shine as you gaze up at Charles.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

He grins. “Feel free to tell me again. And I meant every word.” He nods over at Brad’s group, now whispering furiously. “Hopefully that wipes the smirk off his face.”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss Charles’ cheek. “This turned out to be good advice after all. Thank you for being here, for reminding me who I am now.”

The rest of the reunion passes uneventfully. You mingle, laugh, and share stories with classmates who weren’t part of the toxic popular crowd. They’re welcoming and kind. For the first time, you feel like you’re reconnecting with peers, not tormentors.

As you and Charles get into the car to drive home, you let out a long, satisfied breath. The demons of your past have been conquered for good. You faced your bullies and they’re the ones who were left lacking.

You squeeze Charles’ hand, your heart full of gratitude. “Let’s go home.”

***

The adrenaline rush from the reunion slowly fades as you and Charles drive to your hotel. You lean your head back against the leather seat, letting out a long exhale.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks, glancing your way.

You consider the question. “Good,” you realize with some surprise. “Really good actually.”

Charles smiles. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You shake your head slowly. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t go. Thank you for pushing me to face them. It was so empowering to see their reactions, to realize how little I care about their opinions now.”

“You did all the hard work,” he reminds you. “I just gave you a little nudge. I’m so proud of you, chérie.”

Warmth spreads through you at his words. Not for the first time, you feel a rush of gratitude that this man chose you, sees you, loves you exactly as you are.

Once in your suite, Charles makes you a cup of chamomile tea and you curl up together on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder, replaying the events of the night in your mind.

“Do you think they’ll actually learn anything from tonight?” You ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “All those kids who were so terrible — will seeing me change their perspectives at all?”

Charles considers this, running his fingers idly through your hair. “I’m not sure. Hopefully it gave them something to think about, but some people never grow out of that mindset. The important thing is that you held your head high and didn’t let them make you feel small.”

You nod slowly. “I think if I could go back and tell my teenage self that this night would come, it would have made those years a little more bearable. Knowing I would come through it stronger. That I would have you by my side.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll remind you as often as you need. Though for what it’s worth, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’ve always had an inner strength, even if it took time to fully embrace it. Those kids certainly didn’t put it there.”

You smile up at him. “Have I mentioned lately that you always know exactly what to say?”

He chuckles. “Once or twice.”

You talk softly as the evening winds down, the tea warming you from the inside out. Your reunion with the ghosts of high school is finally behind you. It’s time to let go of the last lingering traces they have over you.

Over the next week, life returns to its normal rhythm. You throw yourself back into work, energized by a new sense of confidence and peace. Every day the experience recedes further into the past.

Until the phone call comes.

You’re just sitting down to lunch when your cell lights up with an unfamiliar number. For a moment you simply stare at it, perplexed.

After a brief internal debate, you answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” Lindsay chirps in an overly bright voice. “How are you, hon?”

You hold the phone away from your ear, making a face at her faux familiarity. “I’m fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask evenly.

“Well, I was just calling to see if we could get together! You know, have a little reunion of our own. I’d love to catch up outside of that whole silly event.”

You nearly choke on your water. “You would?”

“Of course!” Lindsay laughs airily. “I barely got to talk to you. And I’d love to spend more time with that charming husband of yours ...”

Ah. There it is. You have to stifle an eye roll.

“That’s … kind of you to offer,” you say carefully. “But I’m afraid our schedules are pretty busy at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could find the time!” She presses. “I would love to take you two to dinner. My treat!”

Tempting as that is, you have zero desire to spend more time with this woman, despite her transparent new interest in you.

“Appreciate the invitation, but I’ll have to pass,” you say, your tone final. “Take care, Lindsay.”

You hang up before she can protest further. Shaking your head, you go back to your salad. Some things never change.

When Charles gets home, you regale him with the bizarre phone call. He looks equally astonished.

“She actually asked you to dinner? Just to get closer to me?” He gives an incredulous laugh.

You grin ruefully. “Yep. I guess you made more of an impression than we realized.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. Then his expression turns thoughtful.

“You know what? I think we should take her up on that offer after all.”

You stare at him. “What? Why?”

His eyes glint mischievously. “Because I’d like to make it very clear what I think of people who treat you so poorly. And a free dinner out sounds lovely.”

You can’t help but laugh at his unexpected scheming side. “Look at you, getting all protective and devious! I have to admit, it would be gratifying to knock her off her pedestal a bit more.”

Charles winks. “That’s what I was thinking.”

And so, despite your better judgment, you call Lindsay back and accept her invitation to dinner that weekend.

You take more care than usual getting ready, playing up your most striking features. Charles looks unfairly handsome in his designer suit, hair perfectly tousled just to annoy Lindsay further.

When you arrive at the trendy upscale restaurant she chose, Lindsay is already there waiting. She air-kisses your cheeks in greeting, fawning over you and Charles effusively.

As the meal begins, she dominates the conversation, barely letting you get a word in. She name-drops shamelessly, trying to impress Charles with all her supposed connections.

“Oh Charles, you simply must come stay at our villa in Positano sometime! I’d be happy to arrange it for you both. Anything for Y/N’s hubby!” She titters, touching his arm.

You and Charles exchange subtle amused looks across the table. When the waiter appears for your order, Charles gives him an easy smile.

“My wife will have the scallops and I’ll take the filet. Oh, and send over your most expensive bottle of champagne, please. My treat tonight.”

Lindsay’s smile freezes. You bite back a grin, catching his eye again. Message received.

As dinner winds down, Charles finally turns the tables on her. “So Lindsay, what have you been up to since high school? Y/N tells me you two were quite close.”

Lindsay flushes, flustered. “Oh … well, you know, this and that!” She forces a laugh. “I’m in between ventures at the moment. But I stay very busy with charity work and running in social circles.”

“How lovely for you,” Charles says neutrally. “And your husband? What does he do?”

“I’m, uh, not married,” she mumbles, clearly off-kilter now.

“I see. Well, I’m sure the right man will come along someday.” He smiles placidly. “Everyone deserves to feel that kind of love, don’t you agree?”

Lindsay just nods, face pinched. You stifle a satisfied smile behind your napkin.

Later in the car, Charles grins over at you. “That was entertaining.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Have I mentioned you’re the best husband ever?”

He laughs. “A few times. But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

[sweemmy]

“Remember, dear, the key to being an excellent broadcaster isn’t just having a pleasant voice, but knowing how to use it to capture and hold your audience’s attention. Speak to them as if you’re sharing an intimate secret, something only they should know. Make every word feel as though it’s meant solely for their ears.”

Alastor's voice flowed smoothly, weaving through the air like a hypnotic melody, and it took hold of you in a way that felt almost suffocating. His red eyes glimmered with a dark amusement, a twisted joy in watching your reaction. There had always been something unsettling about him, a danger lurking just beneath his charismatic exterior. But tonight, that danger felt closer, more present than ever before.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice dropped lower, no longer just instructive but now filled with an edge of menace, as if testing how much you could handle. His gaze bore into you, evaluating, judging.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press into you, constricting your breath. “Yes, Professor. I understand,” you managed to say, though your voice came out more fragile than you intended.

Alastor’s smile deepened, predatory, as he closed the distance between you with slow, measured steps. Each one made your heart beat a little faster, the tension building as his shadow loomed larger. Though he stood only inches away, it felt as though his very presence consumed the room, suffocating any sense of control you thought you had.

“Good,” he purred, his voice a whisper laced with satisfaction. “Then let’s test that understanding, shall we?” He handed you a script, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment, leaving a trail of warmth that lingered far too long. “But this time, I want you to read it as though you’re speaking directly to me, as if every word is a whisper meant only for my ears.”

You took the script with trembling hands, the paper feeling heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of the moment. Your eyes skimmed the words, but focusing was difficult with him so close. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat radiating off his body like an invisible force that seemed to pull you in. You could feel the breath of his words still clinging to your skin, each syllable echoing in your mind like a spell.

“Slower,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, making it hard to concentrate on the script in your hands. “Take your time. Control the rhythm of your words, just as you would control an audience. Let them hang on every syllable, every pause.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your voice faltering as you read. But it wasn’t just the words that were slipping from your grasp—it was your own control. You could feel his presence everywhere, an invisible hand guiding you, pushing you further into the depths of something you couldn’t fully understand.

Alastor’s hand slid down your arm, so light it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a spark through you. His touch was both comforting and threatening, a duality that left you frozen in place. You knew you should resist, should step back, but instead, you found yourself leaning into him, letting his energy consume you.

“Better,” he said softly, though his tone was still thick with dominance. “But you’re holding back. I want more.” His fingers trailed down your spine, and every inch he touched ignited a fire under your skin. “You’re trying to control your voice, but you need to let go. Surrender yourself to the moment, to the power of your words.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came to rest on your waist, a subtle but unmistakable claim. He was testing you, not just your voice, but your will. And the worst part was that you could feel your own resolve crumbling, your body betraying you as it leaned further into his control.

“I... I don’t think I can,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His laugh was low, almost sinister, as he tilted his head, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Oh, but you can, darling. You just don’t realize it yet.” His voice wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every breath you took. “You’re not here to think. You’re here to feel, to experience the raw power of your own voice... and mine.”

Without warning, he plucked the script from your hands and tossed it aside, his actions deliberate and dismissive. “Enough of the formalities,” he said, his tone dropping to something far more intimate, more dangerous. “Now, I want you to speak from here.” His fingers brushed over your chest, just above your heart, and then moved downward, tracing a path that left your skin burning in their wake. “From your soul.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the room growing hotter, more oppressive. His hand rested on your hip, pulling you gently but firmly toward him, and despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t resist. You didn’t want to. Alastor’s gaze was magnetic, a dark promise of pleasure and pain that made your knees weak.

“Control isn’t about restraint, my dear,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “It’s about knowing when to let go. To let someone else take the reins.”

Before you could react, his lips met yours, and the world seemed to stop. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was consuming, filled with a hunger that felt centuries old, as though he was devouring a part of you. And you... you gave it willingly. His hands moved with expert precision, tracing the curve of your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every touch.

Your mind screamed that you should stop, that this was wrong, that he was playing you like a puppet on a string. But your body, traitorous as it was, responded to his every command, melting under his touch.

“Alastor...” you gasped between kisses, but he silenced you with a look, his eyes burning with that same dangerous glint you had seen earlier.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice dark and velvety. “Now is not the time for words. It’s the time for surrender.”

His hands slid under your shirt, the cool air meeting your heated skin as he pushed the fabric away. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, as though he was savoring the moment. His fingers danced across your skin, making you arch against him, seeking more of his touch.

“You see?” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is what true control feels like. You think you’re helpless, but in reality, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. In my hands.”

You tried to speak, to regain some sense of control, but the words died in your throat as his lips found yours again. This kiss was different—slower, more intense, as if he was drawing out the pleasure, savoring every second of your surrender.

The world around you seemed to blur, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his touch, the sound of his voice in your ear, promising both salvation and damnation.

And in that moment, as his hands moved with precision, as his words wrapped around you like chains, you realized the truth: you were his. Entirely, utterly his. And there was no turning back.

[01zfan]

rotten valentine | p. wb

wonbin x reader | 4.5k words

happy (late) valentines day!

contains: friends with benefits situation, red flag wonbin, he’s kinda toxic, this is like the evil version of necklace

the fourteenth day in the month of february came and went for you each year. it wasn’t always a normal day in your life—it used to be an event. writing every single one of your classmates names on a note with candy attached and receiving what seemed like thousands back. the excitement and magic of the day devolved from elementary school, turning into the occasional candy gram you would get from your friends in junior high. by the time you got to college, valentine’s day had just become another day. 

you were well into adult life now, and your life was drained of all romance. you forgot what it was like to kiss someone you were dating and your last serious relationship felt like a distant memory. it felt like romance was make believe, something manufactured in movie studios to make profit. you had suitors and you had the dating apps, but nothing sparked that same feeling you found yourself chasing late at night.

wonbin was someone you yearned for. he came into your life like a meteor, crashing on the surface of your mind and killing all potential thoughts you had of finding someone else. 

you saw him first at a party, the dimly lit room failed to hide the way he looked at you. his gaze pierced through the sea of people and you found yourself thinking about the scenes in the movies. this was the part where wonbin came up to you and cracked jokes with you all night, woo’ing you and calling you pretty. you rationalized that wonbin didn’t have his script when he unceremoniously came up to you, pulling your attention way from your friends. you followed him like a moth to a flame deeper to the dance floor, where the music was so loud you could barely hear him. he took a sip from his cup, letting it rest in his hand. you barely had wonbin’s attention as he leaned over to request a song to the dj.

after making the request wonbin leaned against the wall and continued to drink. the previously muted yellow light that made you feel like the party was shot on film turned to a deep red. it felt almost choreographed as as wonbin’s eyes raked down your body. in any other instance you would’ve been disgusted by a man looking at you with so much lust. but you felt proud that you had piqued his interest. you didn’t want to lose him. 

the music changed to the song wonbin requested and he smirked. you found that he donned that look anytime someone did what he wanted, so smug like he knew no one could deny him. it was the same smugness that made his eyes stay on your chest as he took another sip of his drink.

“did you come alone?” wonbin asked.

you looked behind to your friends that kept a careful eye on you. you’re shocked wonbin didn’t notice them. maybe he was too caught up in you to notice.

“i came with my friends.” you said.

the lights started flashing red, making the party around you feel like a nightclub. people started dancing to the song more frantically than before, moving from gentle sways to jumping on the makeshift dance floor. some people bumped into you, making the drink in your cup raise over the rim and splash on your hand. wonbin remained untouched on the wall a look of amusement on his face as he looked at the partygoers have fun because of his song suggestion. the dj gave him a nod of acknowledgement and you could see it go directly to his head. the confidence made you dizzy just like his perfume did when he beckoned you to come to his corner. you placed a hand on the wall to steady yourself and wonbin brought a hand to your hip. his hand was comforting just like the smell of aged spice that flooded your nose. wonbin looked at you for a moment before leaning to your ear.

“wanna ditch your friends?” he asked. 

his amusing smile didn’t waiver, his curled up lips so close to your face you felt it on the shell of your ear. you knew he knew your answer. you didn’t even have to nod as you turned around to get through the dancing crowd. your mind was buzzing with alcohol as the beautiful man followed behind you. your friends had joined the cluster of partygoers as you walked up the stairs. they couldn’t even see you through the haze of smoke clouds and flashing lights. if you were in your right mind you would’ve joined them, squeezing your sweaty body through everyone till you made it to your group. but nothing else mattered to you except for getting wonbin alone, and wonbin’s hand on your ass was guiding you there.

wonbin’s collision with you that night wiped away all common sense you had in regards to him. if you had half a mind you would’ve told him you don’t fuck strangers at parties or fuck on beds that aren’t your own. but any rational thought was out the window when it came to wonbin. anything to feel the euphoria of being pressed into the sheets and hearing him moan because of you. his sloppy passion from his tipsy state paired with his precise thrusts made your throat raw from your cries. you had never felt that way in your life. that’s why each time he hit you with his late night messages you responded. it always started with a text, so non assuming and casual it made your head hurt.

you up?

you hated that your life had come to this, chasing after someone so bad for you. it had gotten to the point that you couldn’t bring wonbin up anymore in your friend’s presence, visible aggravation showing on their faces. you vividly remember when your friend gave you a wake up call. you should’ve listened, she wasn’t wrong when she told you about wonbin. he was hot and cold, only reached out to you when he needed to feel something wrapped around him, and took advantage of your lonliness. you nodded your head and felt the sting of tears as she comforted you through acceptance. 

the intervention was no use; you went back to him that night. you held strong for an hour, until wonbin attached an i need u to the end of his initial text. you couldn’t resist going back to wonbin when he said he needed you. you had gotten so used to seeing people kiss in movies that you started thinking kisses tasted like stale popcorn and artificial sweetener. but wonbin’s kisses tasted like vanilla and his lips felt like clouds. how could you not go back to him?

it didn’t help that wonbin knew it was wrong to play with your emotions. he wasn’t a bad person by any means, just someone who needed constant temporary company. he did all he could for the girls he had sex with and communicated what he was looking for before the arrangements started. but you were different. you were innocent and naive, still believing that the romance in movies was something obtainable. wonbin liked that about you, he believed the fact that you were a hopeless romantic made you better in bed. it made you ride him even if your legs were burning and it made you relax your throat and let your tongue go limp so you could take all of him. it also made you come back to him over and over again. it was almost too easy getting you to make the late night drive to his apartment. 

wonbin tried to ween himself off of you for your own sake, but you didn’t let it last long. it was usually wonbin to text you first, and he thought that you would just move on with your life if he never reached out to you again. so when the time came around that wonbin would send the infamous text, he just masturbated to get sex off his mind and went to bed. but while he was sleeping soundly you were tossing and turning, checking your phone every ten minutes waiting for your bat signal. 

you hated to admit it felt like you were at your lowest those three days you had no contact with wonbin. holding out and not texting him was the last bit of power you had in your dynamic with him. your mind rationalized that as long as it was wonbin texting you, you had some semblance of control. but you willingly tipped the scale on day three, telling wonbin you wanted to see him. the way he read your message immediately made your heart swell, the three bubbles in the gray text made you regret everything. it was like you were taking the biggest risk of your life waiting for a response from him. 

you were lucky that your risk played out well for you that night. you relinquished the last authority you had to wonbin by telling you that you needed him, but he made it up to you when you showed up at his door. the way he moaned your name and marked your neck made you truly believe that you were his. wonbin fucking you into the mattress made you believe that romance movies and couples holding hands had nothing on this.

when you woke up next to wonbin the next morning, nothing had changed. he was still uninterested in getting involved romantically, only offering you a tired goodbye as you got up from his bed. 

after that, you knew you had nothing else to gain from your relationship with wonbin. it never stopped you from putting on your coat and driving over to him, or knocking on his door. but that didn’t stop you from opening your phone when he sent you his text.

sorry for going ghost

busy week at work.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes like you didn’t miss him. atleast he had the decency to try and explain the situation. you knew that it was the truth—wonbin didn’t care enough to lie to you.

couldn’t stop thinking about my favorite girl though

you just wish wonbin wasn’t so fucking awful. you wish he didn’t know it either. he knew how awful he was for calling you his favorite girl even though you were on his backburner all the time. he knew how awful he was for hitting all your spots just right, for knowing your body so well within a few minutes. and he was so fucking rotten for knowing how to get you to show up at his door late at night.

you walked up the stairs to his apartment after he buzzed you in. you wish you could say you weren’t tingling with excitement going up the stairs. knowing that wonbin wanted to spend time with you regardless of the circumstance made you happy. it was hard to not believe you weren’t the most important person in wonbin’s life when he looked at you that way when he answered the door.

the view before you was shocking—wonbin stopped trying to be sweet about your hookups a long time ago. he had ditched the casual clothes and started answering in just his boxers and a white tee to let you know what his intentions were. he stopped leading you to the couch to uselessly chat you up and ask questions he didn’t care to hear the answers to. now all wonbin did was answer the door and immediately lead you to the bedroom, expecting you to ditch your clothes on the way. but this wonbin answered with a gummy smile and kissed you passionately in the hallway of closed apartment doors.

”i missed you.” wonbin said sweetly when he pulled away.

you were too busy staring at him with wide eyes to answer. he pulled you into his small apartment, closing the door and locking it. wonbin took in. your shocked expression and laughed—he was so fucking awful.

you hated that wonbin’s apartment was tidy. you believed that if you could find just one disgusting thing about him you would be able to take off the rose tinted glasses, but his apartment was even cleaner than yours. it was always dimly lit but you could make out the decorations and see the color palette he was trying to achieve. you could tell a musician lived here, from the edited sheet music that laid on the coffee table and his guitar resting on the couch. you had dreams of him leading you to the living room and playing you a song that made him think of you. but you had to settle for wonbin leading you to his bedroom.

wonbin walked to the edge of his bed while you took off your shoes and jacket. usually guests take them off at the front door, but you weren’t given the privilege to put your things on the coat rack or your shoes by the front door. you had to settle for throwing your jacket on the back of his chair and your shoes by the door. you don’t know wonbin was like that, but you’re sure finding out would’ve only made you feel awful.

after taking off your coat and shoes, you walked around wonbin’s bed to him. his head followed you all the way from his door, watching you with careful eyes.

you stood in front of him, playing with the ends of his hair. wonbin wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your stomach. it was hard to not feel somber in these moments, with him being so touchy. you had seen wonbin in the mornings when you’d sneak away, hair splayed out on the pillow as the sun caught on his eyelashes. he looked so pure in those moments, nothing like the man that put you through emotional hell. his lips were soft even in the morning. even though wonbin was the devil in some aspects you couldn’t deny he wasn’t an angel, especially in the morning when his face was the first thing you woke up to. he was rotten but also so sweet, awful but so good. he was an enigma in your life, and it was a shame he didn’t want to be yours. but maybe if you sucked his dick good enough you’d change his mind.

wonbin continued to look at you as you got on your knees before him, slotting yourself between his legs. wonbin lifted his hips off the bed to take off his boxers, letting them pool at his ankles. his dick was hard and heavy in your hand. you rested your head on his thigh, bringing his tip to touch your tongue. wonbin propped himself up on his arms after taking a look at you, he knew you knew what to do. he ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh when you took in as much as you could, using your hand to occupy the space you couldn’t reach.

you head still rests on his thigh when he brings himself upright again to look at you. you want to make sure he’s watching when you relax your throat and touch your nose to his stomach. wonbin grunts now, bucking his hips up in the slightest way to make you gag.

you take wonbin from your mouth to try and regain your composure. the hold he has on your hair tilts your head up. wonbin looks at your teary eyes and swollen lips. his dick pulses in your hand as he looks at how ruined you are. inside and out, all because of him.

“you’re so fucking pretty.” wonbin says.

you whimper at his compliment and take him back into your mouth after licking a long strip down the shaft that makes wonbin hiss. he’s cruel and enjoyes withholding the sounds he truly wants to make. he believes it makes you work harder. when he hits the back of your throat he lets you hear a whimper and when your throat vibrates as you gag on him he moans. 

“so good,” wonbin whispers. “almost there.”

and you are so good. wonbin has hands in your hair is just for show. he doesn’t have to push your head or buck into your mouth to get what he needs to cum down your throat. you just do it because you like him more than you should. the premise of being close also gives you the vigor to continue, ignoring the pain in your knees from kneeling on the ground and the soreness of your jaw. it makes you flick your tongue over wonbin’s tip, and when his hand suddenly tightens in your hair he cums without warning. wonbin’s legs stiffen under your palms, and he lifts his hips up slightly to meet your lips.

the only time your defiant is when it comes to swallowing wonbin’s cum. you never turn down eating it but each time your eyes switch from lust to disgust. you take it all because wonbin wants you to, but each time you stick out your tongue and make a bleugh sound.

“you need to drink some fucking water,” you grimace. “your cum tastes like toxic waste.”

that’s the only peak of your strong personality that wonbin gets to see. any other time you are so docile and pliant, saying your yes’s and please’s and thank you’s. you are more mysterious than him sometimes, the way you successfully hide so much of your personality from wonbin. maybe he just doesn’t care enough to pick more at your surface to find out. but maybe if you knew how to use the mysteriousness to your advantage wonbin would be more intrigued by you. regardless, you always go back to the same docile fuck buddy when wonbin lifts your chin up to look at him.

“you like eating it though, don’t you?” wonbin says simply.

you mindlessly nod you head and your eyes are filled with the same look of adoration before he came in your mouth. it makes wonbin equal parts turned on and smug, his limp dick already working back up to a semi.

wonbin moves back on the bed and you get up from the floor to follow him. you stumble onto the sheets, doing everything in your power to not show how stiff your knees are. you crawl towards wonbin sitting against the headboard with that stupid smirk on his face. he looks down at your chest. the way your breasts hang freely makes him want to put them in his mouth, or hold them tightly until you squirm.

when you’re leaning against the headboard wonbin hands you a water bottle resting on his bedside table. the bottle has collapsed in on itself slightly and had condensation inside. you thank him anyway for the room temperature water—it’s just what you need because wonbin is the one who gave it to you. you finish the bottle, but the taste of him still remains on your tongue.

“thank you.” you say

wonbin still looks at you as you place the water on the other bedside table. he smiles at how shy you suddenly are, waiting for him to initiate the next part of the night. something about you makes his libido increase tenfold. his dick is already hard and straining against his lower stomach.

“how do you want it? want me to be romantic?” wonbin said sarcastically.

you looked at him in confusion, not sure where the second comment came from. did you let something slip again in the heat of the moment? did he pay attention to your instagram story that was indirecting him?

whatever wonbin meant, it was long forgotten when he leaned into you to kiss you again. it was sick how good he was at kissing, even more sick that passionate kisses meant nothing to him. someone should only kiss their lovers the way wonbin was kissing you. he was so gentle pressing his open mouth against yours, pressing his tongue against yours so gently. you have never been kissed this way you’re entire life, it was twisted that wonbin expected you to not catch feelings by the way he carefully touched your face and didn’t pull away from you until you lost your breath.

he was rotten for treating you like glass. when you had sex with other men, they would tear off your clothes impatiently to fuck you as soon as possible, but wonbin always took his time. he would pull down the waistband of your sweatpants while still kissing you, all you had to do was lift your hips. he never took off your panties with your pants either, always giving your under garments extra care. he knew how to take off your bra with one hand and shimmy you out of your panties with the other, pulling away from your lips to sigh contently when you were completely naked for him.

“so gorgeous.” wonbin said, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

wonbin guided your body to straddle his hips, letting your pussy rest on his hard dick. he enjoyed this part the most, being able to feel how wet you were without being inside. he liked how shy you got sitting on top of him, swiveling your hips to spread your slick on his shaft. wonbin liked that you were just as dirty as he was and that you were able to adapt to what he wanted so quickly. he looked down to where you two were almost connected then looked up to you. wonbin liked the glint you had in your eyes, like you were waiting for him to say something.

“wanna ride me?” wonbin asked.

you nodded and lifted your hips up. wonbin maintained eye contact as he grabbed his tip and used the knuckle of his finger to rub down your folds, until he found your entrance. he let go of his dick and his hands found your hips. wonbin looked to you, waiting for you to give him permission to slowly pull you down to him. but you took matters into your own hands, sliding your body down his shaft slowly.

wonbin couldn’t stop his moan from coming out, and you could only look down at his face for a moment before feeling heat creep on your face. you let out a tiny moan and collapsed your body down to tuck your face into wonbin’s neck. you also gave up trying to ride him, making him thurst up into you.

“so cute.” wonbin said breathlessly.

he pressed your lips to his absentmindedly while he continued to fuck up into you. you don’t know why wonbin kept craning his neck awkwardly to see your face that rested on his shoulder. you don’t know why he was making himself uncomfortable just to see your face contort in pleasure. you had spent so many other times having sex with wonbin while your face stayed buried in his neck. this was to personal, especially when he used his hand that was holding your ass down to tilt your head up. it felt like wonbin’s blown out eyes were looking straight into your soul, watching you be consumed by him completely.

seeing wonbin so enthralled by you was what brought you to your peak. your moans pierced through your throat, and wonbin finally let you go to your safe place in his neck. while your body went stiff from pleasure, his slow speed increased significantly. the sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room and your hands on his shoulder dug into his skin for stability. he was awful for letting the pain from your nails only spur him on. he didn’t stop while you clenched around him uncontrollably, or when your moans turned into babbles and cries. wonbin wrapped an arm around you and held you close, still thrusting up into you.

“take it baby—fuckkkkk.” wonbin groaned.

you could feel the sudden heat inside of you and wonbin pulling you even closer. his hips stilled and you milked him, both of you basking in the heat and electricity of the moment. it was you pulling away from wonbin now, looking into his face that he pressed against the pillows. you raised your hips up before gliding back down, feeling white molten lava seeping out of you. wonbin got whiny almost immediately, wincing from the overstimulation and the feeling of you still seizing around him. you loved this part the most, seeing him completely at your mercy. you basked in the thought of his other girls walking in and seeing you two like this. like you were the dominant one, the one cooing at him that it’s okay. but you were reminded who called the shots when wonbin used his strength to still your hips and pull himself of of you. 

you rolled off of him and caught your breath, wonbin did the same but took significantly longer than usual. the next time you inevitably end up on top of him you’ll have to do the same thing again.

while wonbin composed himself you walked to the bathroom and peed, cleaning up the wet patch on your thighs when wonbin pulled out. the worst part was after everything when you were in the bathroom alone, contemplating if your relationship with wonbin had changed. fuck buddies didn’t fuck like that you would always think to yourself. but then wonbin would come in and have that same smug look from the party. you were reminded who you were and who wonbin was and what your relationship was. it was painful, but it was necessary. you got up from the toilet wordlessly and flushed so wonbin could do the same.

you go back to his room to put your clothes on and head for the door. you’re sure wonbin would come out of the bathroom and not spare a second thought about the empty space on his bed. it was for the better. you decided in that moment you would leave his apartment and never come back—this time you were serious. maybe you would make something of your day tomorrow to celebrate your freedom. you thought that rotting in your bed and regretting your decision about wonbin seemed way more appealing than going on a walk or watching a movie. when you turned the doorknob to get out you heard wonbin’s sink turn off and the sound of him speed walking through his apartment.

you looked at the wonbin, eyes flitting to his marked neck and bed head. he still had sleep in his eyes when he took your head in his hands. you gave into him completely as he bent your head down. he pressed his warm lips to your forehead. it caught you by surprise the sudden affection. it kept you frozen in place as he pinched your cheeks, smiling as he opened the door.

“happy valentines day.” wonbin said while opening the door fully.

you are frozen at his door as he kisses your knuckles. you had forgotten what day it was and that the fourteenth of february was supposed to mean something. you wordlessly walk out his door and wonbin closes it behind you, walking back to his bedroom to go back to sleep.

[nqmonarch]

Blade in Yandere Fanfics

Content Warning: Talk about Yanderes, so mentions of violence against reader and kidnapping

The fanfics I read of Blade are few and far between for a few reasons. The biggest one being a lot of the story I read is yandere themed and man why do they always make Blade out to be such a violent guy, like yes he is, but I feel like there's more to explore?? Violent yandere Blade will always have a place in the world but where is the desperate Blade who has genuinely no idea of why he likes his partner so much but knows he needs to do anything to get them to stay with him.

Desperate Yandere Blade who at first threatens you to stay with him but can't handle the way you recoil in fear. He has no idea why one reaction from you has him in shambles but he doesn't want that to happen again. Like he is beyond terrified of you leaving him for any reason. Sure, he could break your legs but what if you end up hating him so much you find a way to die or end up becoming a shell of your former self.

You relieve his mara because whenever he's with you, you're all he can think about. You have no ties to his past. And when he's with you he forgets all about what happened on the Xianzhou. You wouldn't leave him in pain alone, would you? You're not that cruel. He probably wouldn't guilt trip you, instead that comes from Kafka. After all you just made her job a lot easier, and it's in the script you should stay with Blade, if you want the best ending for all of the universe.

Yandere Blade is fucking desperate. Sometimes his emotions get the best of him, he may squeeze onto you a bit too tight and cause bruises but after seeing them that panic stricken fear returns to him and he feels afraid to even touch you. He doesn't want to scare you, he's just a scary guy.

It'd be like having a big dog, except this big dog is a wanted Stellaron Hunter and a lot more deadly. He would tank hits for you if your life was ever in danger. He'll live no matter what, you on the other hand? You're fragile. Would overstress about you getting hurt and watch you just to make sure you don't, an added benefit is whenever he sees you he feels more calm.

But if you end up trying to be with someone else? Yeah, good luck. When you first mention someone else he acts indifferent, maybe he'll watch you a bit more, make sure this person is really safe. But the moment it continues he'll be trying to bargain to get you back to spending all of your time with him, if needed he'd probably beg albeit flustered, and if none of that works he'll just hug you and won't let go.

No, this isn't kidnapping he's just keeping you still. That is until Kafka comes, and she's nice enough to make sure nothing gets in the way of your and Blade's relationship!

And why is he doing all of this?

Because he loves you, of course.

Kafka is an enabler lmao

I saw one small post on how Blade might be desperate once and I was like this is my life now. I can get behind desperate Blade. Then I ended up accidentally making the post about Yandere Blade because Yandere content is about all I consume (didn't plan to write any though tbh). Oopsies?

[ivanttakethis]

More color theory stuff that’s been on my mind…

Mizi and Ivan are both wearing black in their first rounds:

Here, the color black represents stability and the status quo. They go along with what is laid out for them.

Round 1 and Round 3 proceed mostly as they’re expected to. Nothing out of the ordinary (for the audience, not the contestants).

Then everything goes to hell in Round 5 and Round 6 when they transition to wearing white.

The color white represents a loss of control, both internal and external.

Mizi loses control and attacks Luka during Round 5. Ivan loses control and throws his round when he likely would have won.

But the aliens also lose control of their pets. Mizi is quite literally out of their control because she was rescued by the rebels, and Ivan — the ever obedient one of the group — purposefully broke the competition’s rules to save Till.

However, you could also view this as Mizi and Ivan taking back some small amount of control over their lives and actions from the aliens.

This interpretation works with Sua as well. She took control over her life by choosing to sacrifice herself for Mizi.

Sua was the catalyst for everything that came after. Every deviation from the norm was because of what she did.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that her death, while wearing white, signaled a shift in the story and that each major shift that occurred after was instigated by a character wearing white.

Her only being depicted in white and not black says to me that she knew she was going to take back control of her life before Round 1 even started.

She was never going to play by the rules.

Unlike Mizi and Ivan, Till’s transition happens in reverse:

In Round 2, he’s is loud and rebellious while wearing white.

He goes off script, not allowing his opponent to sing, and smashes Freddy to pieces in front of everyone.

The aliens can’t lose control of Till because they never had it in the first place. He’s always fought to keep a piece of himself.

But that all changes after Round 5.

Mizi is gone. Possibly dead.

The aliens have broken him down and hollowed him out into a shell of his former self. He submits more and more, no longer wanting to fight. Having nothing to fight for.

They’ve finally tamed him.

Till is far more subdued in Round 6, from his voice to his demeanor to his outfit.

He’s wearing black. The bright red from his Round 2 outfit is also darker this time, and less prominent.

Everything about his image is dulled, like a light has been dimmed. The transition from white to black exemplifies this as well.

He’s giving into the status quo that the color black represents.

By darkening Till’s image, the aliens are suppressing who he is as a person. They’ve sucked out all of the light and life within him.

Now Till has a choice: Continue down the path the aliens have laid out for him, or follow in the footsteps of his friends?

[stagark]

Warmth Amidst Dust

Gender-neutral Reader & Jiyan Comfort

Minors DNI - this blog writes dark and sexual content.

Content warnings: Panic/anxiety/ptsd attacks, left vague but reader experiences extreme dissociation and derealization and struggles to breathe due to anxious thoughts. Mentions of minor character death, paranoia on reader’s part. Basically, reader has a panic attack and Jiyan holds you while you breathe. Please be aware of the tags and do not read if these topics may trigger you.

Can be interpreted as romantic or platonic! You are a soldier under General Jiyan who has pushed yourself too hard recently, causing panic attacks. General Jiyan noticed and offered a shoulder to hold while you relearn how to breathe.

Word count: 1.5k - Also read on Ao3

You never once thought you would ever thank the dust of Norfall Barrens. As a rookie soldier you had grimaced through it, determined to protect the city you loved despite the discomforts and hardship of enlisting in the Midnight Rangers.

But now, three years later, it was a welcome respite from the sharp, biting winds. The particles stuck to your sweat-slick skin, a grimy but effective layer that allowed you to fight the abominations with a shield from the bone-chilling wind streams. The icy breeze got to you over time, seeming to attack your skin at every opportunity, leaving your limbs tender and your bones brittle.

Unexpectedly, what relieved the wind chill the most was another gale, one scripted by your trusted general, Jiyan. He moved like a deadly dancer guided by a loong dragon’s spirit. It was clear your sentinel itself chose Jinzhou’s general, his unwavering sense of justice an arrowhead directing the war against the Lament’s effects.

A composed man who overflowed with warmth and care at his core, he warmed every space he ever entered both with his aero resonance and his very spirit. The medic turned leader was almost universally beloved, a man who faught alongside his soldiers, a voice of strength and reason so desperately needed in and out of the battle field. His mere presence strengthened resolve against the Lament’s corruption, igniting and directing soldiers’ will to fight for their home like the strong tendrils of wind that uplift gentle embers into roaring and ferocious wildfires. His guidance inspired you and so many others, and you worked hard to earn your place in a unit directly below him.

The call of your name by one of your companions shook you out of your thoughts. In the relative safety of your camp you were able to let your mind float following your shifts on watch. You tended to do that more often these days. Only in battle was your mind sharp; otherwise you were simply a shell of a human, no different from a golden echo on the field. Warmth graced your hands in the form of a bowl of hot soup, the scent of spices wafted into your nose, a very welcome surprise. Such commodities were rare these days, perking up even your dulled senses.

“Come on, I know you’re tired from your shift but we have a feast prepared today!” a new fellow you fought alongside with today called at you with a smile. You managed to offer one back. A feast in these parts meant warm food and extra proteins, and spices it seemed, this time. A welcome blessing in this hell. While you’re sure you would be glad, truly, your soul never stirred in celebrating any longer. Years of war had stolen your life force, only your determination and spite sustaining you. But it was easy to wear a mask of normalcy, falling into habits to alleviate your mind of a little bit of stress, letting your consciousness float and watch your body acting from above you, a spectator instead of a player.

The warmth of the bowl certainly sang to your body, blood pumping heartily from the sustenance. But your mind was as barren as the lands you camped on, a floating ghost devoid of nearly everything, that only came to life with skill and sharpness gifted to you in battle by adrenaline.

That very familiar chemical rushed through your veins, releasing your body from its cold prison and igniting your muscles to tense, ready for action. A foreign sound had resonated around you, causing the adrenaline to release. The call was loud at first, a deep bellow sounded, followed by quick, breathless exhales of mirth and an echo of the very sound by vaguely familiar voices. It occurred to you then: laughter. The noise was laughter. You shifted your gaze around the camp, finding the young soldier who handed you a bowl howling heartily with some senior officers. How long had it been since you had heard laughter for it to sound so foreign to you?

You truly didn’t know.

It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was a disruption to your routine that allowed the voices in your head to rise louder, your mind waking to make sense of the new occasion.

What was the joke, why was your comrade so happy? asked your mind. Mild annoyance traipsed through your thoughts, uncharacteristic, but an understandable ally. This was not a place for disruptions. Anything could happen here.

What if there were TDs creeping up on the camp right now? What if they had heard the ring of joy and legions of them were gathering to snuff it out, racing here in ground-shaking gallops like horsemen of the apocalypse. You had seen so many of your allies, your friends, fall to those beasts. Resounding memories of their cheers of camaraderie in the early days echo throughout your mind, cruelly juxtaposed with visuals of their brutal deaths. The monsters taunted you, holding your loved ones’ image captive and jeering at you while they poisoned your world, your beloved city, your home.

The world around you seemed to distort at the thought, the sky dropping. You were caged in by some invisible force, and noisy panic bubbled in your chest. Air began to feel denser, a newly elusive substance your lungs had to chase. The very thing you began craving seemed to mock you, seeming to grip your ribs and crush them inwards while refusing to let you draw in a breath. Your chest stuttered and attempted to heave before being yanked back by your achingly empty lungs as you began hiccuping for breath. Only when your airways started to sting and your face began to numb did you realize your situation and manage to gasp for breath.

You didn’t know how long had passed after you wheezed the sound of panic. You felt nothing until the bowl you were clutching was removed from your lap. A large hand came to rest on your shoulder, replacing its warmth. A scent so familiar that it unconsciously calmed you followed its motion: a fresh forest breeze tinged with the sharp sting of metal. The air began to flow in smoothly, enriching your body. A cooperative ally once more.

“Breathe, soldier,” the strong voice rumbled.

General Jiyan. Your general, Jiyan. The air once again blessed your bloodstream, feeding every inch of your body and once again giving you the gift of life. You had begun to breathe slowly and deeply, just as you had learned in training. In for four, hold for four, out for four. The familiar timings of the count served to calm both your body and mind.

The presence of safety, of your general’s strength near you, was a very welcomed gift. You sighed from your chest once the world had returned to clarity and life size in your vision and you once again heard the murmur of celebration around you. Unfortunately, your reaction was not unfamiliar to you. The toll of seemingly endless battle drew on your very soul, leaving your body weak and weary. And yet, after dozens of times, not even a decorated soldier under the great General Jiyan could manage to snap yourself out of the hell on Earth that was your own mind, not on your own, not in a way that left you sane.

“I’m sorry, general. I let my head get the best of me. Thank you for-“

The hand on your shoulder squeezed gently but firmly, a message to stop talking. As you looked up to gaze in the golden eyes of your general, you were met with pure gentle care. His understanding smile reached his eyes.

You caved to your pure exhaustion. Wordlessly, he let you relax into him, your head coming to rest against the front of his shoulder. You sighed once more, lungs filling to capacity and deflating equally in rhythmic undulation as your spirit came back to inhabit your body, bit by bit. Your general was so warm, so caring, so safe. Eyes closing against his form, your breathing slowed even without your measured counting. One steady hand gripped your side while the other came to rest along your shoulder blade, forearm resting comfortingly against your tired back. He rubbed gentle circles firm into your spine, grounding and soothing the ache in your muscles.

“Don’t speak. Ive seen you pick up extra shifts, push yourself hard. It is the most worthy of causes, no one here faults you, least of all me. But your work is done today, soldier. Rest.”

There was no hint of a waver in his voice, no false sympathy or concern. This was General Jiyan. This was safe. You nodded into his chest, accepting the help you so desperately needed. Jiyan hummed his approval as he continued to soothe your back. You could feel him brush away the dusr, replacing its tentative shield with his own unrelenting one. Your very bones seemed to breathe again, and your thoughts wandered not to the chaos and havoc of the war, but to the warmth and comfort of your general’s presence as you were surrounded by a joyful camp, grounding you instead of letting you dissociate. This was safe, and so, you breathed.

[ssrleona]

homecoming (I)

pairing: leona kingscholar x fem!reader

warnings: slight angst, allusions to childhood mistreatment

word count: 1.5k

s: at your insistence, you finally visit the afterglow savannah and meet Leona's family

a/n: this was written before the tamashna muina event released. and since I haven't read the trans yet, how I describe the savannah and its culture may not be the same as it was described in game. I'm East African, and since the lion king was essentially a mishmash of East African culture (mostly Kenya, Ethiopia, and for some reason some stuff from W. Africa), most of what I describe comes from my own cultural background + light research. enjoy!

It starts with a letter.

It’s not unusual for Night Raven College to be overrun by its unruly student body, but the coming summer holiday brings a new level of restlessness that hums through the walls. Hasty stops at the school store, last minute assignments, bittersweet goodbyes. Even the faculty seem on edge and ready to end the semester.

Ruggie all but collapses at your feet when he spots you in the hall of mirrors, heaving a woven basket twice his size. It’s filled to the brim with an assortment of different packages; mailers, bags, miniature boxes wrapped in newspaper clippings and assorted wrapping paper. A neat ivory envelope tied with a golden ribbon at the very top.

He gives it to you. “Could you hand this off to Leona? I have enough on my plate as it is.”

“Is it usually this bad?” You ask, eyeing the precarious stack that’s leaning just a little too close to the floor. You turn the envelope in your hands. The words on the front are written in a script you can’t make out, only recognizing ‘Leona Kingscholar’ in the far left corner. It’s bulky, like someone crammed multiple letters inside, but doesn’t take away the luxurious quality of the paper. It’s silk between your fingertips.

“It’s from his family, so I doubt he’d read it anyways,” Ruggie comments. He hefts the basket from the floor, “Throw it out if you want.”

His family.

Besides bitter remarks thrown in passing, Leona never speaks of them. Or his home. What you’re holding in your hands is the only piece of the other Kingscholar’s you’ve ever gotten so close to. The letter is tucked away before you give the suggestion a second thought. 

“You came all this way, I might as well.” 

“You just wanna read it, huh?” 

“And you wouldn’t?”

Ruggie laughs at that, turning to the door with a shake of his head. “There’s a reason curiosity killed the cat. Something’s I’d rather not know.”

______________________________________________________________________________

“Took you long enough.”

Warm arms circle your waist as you enter the room, dragging you backwards until you hit the plushness of his sheets. He’s practically on top of you. Flush against him, back to chest. His head finds its way to the crook of your neck and you can feel the sigh he releases on the wisps of your hair. The softness of his tail curling around your ankle.

Leona’s tone is scalding, but the delicate possessiveness of his actions tell you otherwise.

You turn your head. Heavy olive irises sharpen as you place the letter between the both of you. “I got caught up.”

Groaning, he’s quick to toss it on the nightstand before burrowing himself further into your neck. With you two so close, sheets ballooned around you, a drowsy warmth fills you. It’s hard not to fall into it.

“That’s the last thing I need right now.” He huffs.

You raise a brow. “You haven’t even read it.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the same old shtick. Naggin’ me to come for break.” 

He sighs. “If it was up to me I’d just stay here.”

“Aw, you’d miss me that much?” You tease, yelping as he pinches your side. The laugh pulled from his lips ease into a yawn.

“In your dreams.” Leona exhales. His breath evens out, warm against the shell of your ear as he’s lulled into sleep. 

And that was that.

In your position on the bed, you have a perfect view of the nightstand, eyes catching the glimmer of gold ribbon in the dim light.

Coming to Twisted Wonderland, you’ve constantly been thrusted into the most asinine of situations all while being told to keep your head down and leave things where they lie.

But you're a curious sort by nature. It’s a hunger, insatiable in its pursuit to pick everything apart, examine every crack and rough edge, feel the grain against the pad of your fingers, piece by piece. You’ve disrupted the debased philosophies of Night Raven College’s elite because you’re always pushing for more, not settling for less.

This is not something you are ashamed of.

Yet, as you stare at the envelope in front of you, you can’t help but feel hesitant.

Leona is an enigma, an ever changing labyrinth. The moment you think you have him figured out, the layout changes and you’re back at square one. And it leaves you starved.

You want to know him, yearn to trace his patterns like the dips in the back of your hand; know where each curve started, why it ends, and swallow it whole to keep wherever you go.

 You also know this: if you push too far Leona will close himself away and never let you see these parts of him ever again. And you’ve grown greedy.

(Something’s I’d rather not know)

You grab the envelope.

The ribbon gives easily enough, and you’re met with letter after letter, all scrawled in messy print. You realize these were written by Cheka– asking his uncle how he’s doing, when he’s coming to visit, and what he’s been up to at the palace since the last time Leona saw him. On the bottom of some of the pages were crayon drawings: portraits of his parents and scenes of Leona and him together, exploring the palace or traveling through the city. 

As you sift through, a paper falls into your lap. 

It’s a photograph of Cheka and who you’d assume to be his parents. The man in the photo is laughing, light smile lines gracing his face. Cheka’s in his arms, and the woman beside them looks at the sight with fondness. The background is flooded with the country’s namesake- an assortment of orange, yellow, and pinks kaleidoscopes together in a painting of the setting sun. It looks homey, tender and inviting, and you can’t help the smile that curls around your lips.

You’d love to be there, surrounded in that warmth.

 Leona’s scoff makes you jump, looking over at him, and his bleary eyes meet your stare. His expression was mostly hidden in the depth of your shoulder but he didn’t look pleased. You didn’t realize you said the words aloud, or that your movements woke him.

“Go be a comedian if you wanna start telling jokes.” He grunts. You turn yourself in his grasp to face him fully and his arms tighten their hold. His hair is mused with sleep, blanketing the pillows beneath. Your hands itch to touch it.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” You insisted. He scowls at this, tail shifting back and forth beneath the sheets. “ I want to see the Afterglow Savannah, the palace, your family. It'd be nice to know where you grew up.”

The message is quiet. You do not tell me enough.

Leona grows silent. Contemplative. He knows when you get like this, stuck on an idea that overrules your every action, close to nothing can convince you otherwise. 

He told you once that’s a trait he liked about you in the best of times. 

( ‘But half the time it just makes you hard headed’ he said, and snickered at your glare.)

Leona knows you well, too well. Usually this would bring a coy flush to your face, but you couldn’t help but grimace at the thought.

“I just want to know more about you.” You admit. 

“You could just ask.”

“Like you’d tell me.”

He says nothing, looking through you, deep in thought. Leona doesn’t seem annoyed by your probing, but something about the furrow in his brows looks resigned. Bitter.

“There’s nothing worth seeing.” He bites out. “It’s a bunch of royals too stuck up to see past their ivory towers.”

The photo; the honest smiles and laughter.

“I’m sure there’s more than that.” You contend.

Something bubbles forth in him. A dark quality you haven't seen before. He growls deep in his throat. It’s too low for your ears to catch, but you feel it reverberate through the bed and into your chest. 

“ Yeah, the stupid age old rules they hide behind–and they're sure to ostracize anyone who steps outside it.”  He meets your gaze.“Birth order is the only thing that matters. If you’re not first then you’re nothing.”

 The vitriol in his tone catches you off guard, and the words fall away from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Do you hate the Afterglow Savannah?” 

Instead of the eruption of anger you expected, the brewing storm leaves him sullen.

You regret it as soon as it passed through your lips

“You really don’t let up do you?” He sighs. Leona’s voice is oddly gentle. You wait for the other shoe to drop; anger, arrogance–anything. But it never comes. His arms move you so you’re in your original position, back to chest, as if the conversation never happened. Except this time, he curls himself into you– his body hiding you away, swallowing you whole.

“Stop worrying about it.” He mumbles. “Hurry up and sleep.”

You don’t. You spend that afternoon staring at the photo, tracing over their juvenile smiles.

Leona’s was not one of them.

TBC

[ylangelegy]

the loser and lover both die at the end ꩜ yeonjun.

── .✦ 💌 inspired by adam silvera's they both die at the end, major character death, alternate universe: non-idol, [heavy] angst, grief/mourning, last day on earth, platonic relationships, slice of life, [possibly] unrequited love.

── .✦ 🚏 this is the last of my non-svt/skz fanfiction for now! first published on ao3... at a time where i was admittedly very obsessed with yeonjun's watermelon sugar x blow dance cover (lol). this is thematically heavy, so please look out for yourself. it's also my first ever kpop fic (whew!) and so my writing style isn't like this anymore, but it's a good time capsule of some sorts.

── .✦ 📟 wc: 12,000+

On the day that he’s supposed to die, Choi Yeonjun learns what it means to be alive.

Choi Yeonjun was in the locker room when he got the call.

It was cruel, really. Everything had been so perfect until then. The cold noodles he had for breakfast were divine. There wasn’t any traffic on the way to the dance studio. And it took him only three hours to film his dance cover of Watermelon Sugar, as opposed to his other routines that usually ate up his whole day.

He had ducked into the locker room to send the group chat a quick text about their dinner plans when his phone started ringing. It was an unregistered number, which Yeonjun wouldn’t usually have bothered to answer— but he was in such a good mood, and how could anything go wrong on a day like this? 

“Yeonjun speaking,” he chirped, using his free hand to sift through the mess of his locker. He was pretty sure he’d packed an extra pair of clothes somewhere. “Who’s this?” 

“Hello. I’m calling from Death-cast.”

A beat.

“Could you please confirm that you are Choi Yeonjun, born September 13, 1999?” the monotone voice on the other end of the line asked.

It wasn’t until later that Yeonjun would realize how standard the entire spiel was. He’d already mentioned his name on the get-go; this stranger was just calmly reading off a script as if it weren’t the worst call of Yeonjun’s life.

“Hello, Yeonjun? Are you there?” 

“Yes,” Yeonjun said quickly. Pulling away from his locker, he slumped down onto the nearest bench. “Yes, this is Choi Yeonjun.” 

“Thank you, Yeonjun. I regret to inform you that sometime in the next 24 hours, you will be meeting an untimely death.” The caller paused, as if to let the information sink in. 

“On behalf of Death-cast, we are sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest, okay?” 

“Okay,” Yeonjun responded dazedly. Then, more out of habit than anything, he weakly added, “Thank you.” 

The call cut without another word.

Yeonjun sat in his seat for what felt like an eternity, staring at his phone log. Three minutes. His entire conversation with the Death-cast had lasted only three minutes. 

This had happened to him before. He’d be having a Good Day, but then something small would come around and trip him up.

Maybe the master CD would refuse to play. Maybe Soobin nicked the kimbap he’d been saving. There was always something.

Beomgyu jokingly called them hiccups, and Yeonjun found himself waiting for them; holding his breath for whatever might take away his day’s joy.

The Death-cast call was today’s hiccup. The worst hiccup he’d ever gotten.

His phone pinged, snapping him out of his shell-shocked state. It was Soobin. 

do u still need a ride? 

Ping. Another text from Soobin. 

reply asap i wont hv time 2 make a uturn if u dont reply NOW 

Despite himself, Yeonjun chuckled. What did Soobin know about not having time?

As he keyed in his response, he contemplated skipping out on dinner. Maybe he could just disappear. No one would ever have to know he was dying, and they’d also never know when he died. 

I’ll meet you there, Yeonjun responded instead.

Ping. 

suit urself!!!! dnt b late yeonttomeok ~

The stupid nickname. Yeonjun grimaced at the sight of it. Then, his expression softened, because he realized that he couldn’t do it.

Yeonjun couldn’t run from Soobin or the rest of the boys. If he was going to spend his last day with anyone, he was going to do it with them. 

He left the dance studio half an hour later. He emptied out his locker first, then he walked around for a bit to take it all in. On his way out, he tacked a note on the studio’s student corkboard. 

It would take a few days for anyone to notice. The grieving custodian is the one who finds it; a neon orange Post-It, hiding in plain sight among a sea of reminders and ID pictures. 

Thank you, he’d written. For everything. -YJ. 09/16/21

“You should try some of my pizza,” Hueningkai said enthusiastically, shoving a slice onto everyone’s plates. “It’s to die for!”

Yeonjun choked on his drink. 

On Yeonjun’s right, Beomgyu burst into peals of laughter, mimicking Yeonjun’s hacking coughs. Soobin, on the left, was tapping Yeonjun’s back sympathetically— though also visibly holding back his own grin.

As Yeonjun tried to clear the blockage in his throat, he fleetingly thought that this was it. He was going to drop dead in the booth of an American fast food chain, right before he could even tell his friends that he was on borrowed time.

But then the cola went down, and Hueningkai’s incessant apologies started sounding louder than the fears in his head, and Yeonjun quietly thanked God that his cause of death was not as lame as he thought it’d be.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Yeonjun sighed, looking around the table. A sneer for Beomgyu. A smile of reassurance for Soobin and Hueningkai. And for Taehyun… 

There was an odd look on Taehyun’s face that knocked the wind out of Yeonjun. 

It was almost like Taehyun knew. How could he, though?

Yeonjun held the other boy’s gaze, the two of them staring each other down intently. 

“Earth to Yeonjun,” Beomgyu sing-songed, waving his hand in front of Yeonjun’s face.

Taehyun looked temporarily startled by the intrusion before his expression quickly shifted into something more pleasant. Despite both of them breaking into a smile, Yeonjun couldn’t help but still feel a bit unsettled. 

“You’re extra sunny today,” Yeonjun sarcastically told Beomgyu. The latter smiled cheekily and shrugged. 

“What can I say? I love the first Friday of each month,” the younger boy said. As he turned away from Yeonjun to shove some fries into his mouth, it occurred to Yeonjun that this would be their last first Friday.

The five of them had been close friends since 2019. It started off as a small group that enjoyed playing computer games with each other, but then Taehyun quit gaming to focus on his studies and Hueningkai decided he wanted to spend his money on collecting plush toys.

It was Soobin who insisted that they meet up even if it meant not going to internet cafes anymore. That unassuming evening marked the start of a two-year tradition of meeting up every first Friday of the month. 

They still met up outside of those Fridays, of course. Soobin and Yeonjun actually moved in to be roommates half a year ago, and Beomgyu liked to still play video games with Yeonjun every now and then.

But first Fridays were sacred. No one missed out on them, come storms or break-ups. Their Fridays were the glue that kept the five of them together. 

“Sorry. Give me a second.” 

It didn’t immediately register to Yeonjun that Taehyun had excused himself from the table. Only when Hueningkai made an offhand comment about Taehyun taking his time, only then did the feeling of dread settle at the pit of Yeonjun’s stomach. 

“I’ll check on him,” he volunteered immediately, hastily climbing over Soobin’s legs to get out of the suffocating booth.

As he speedily walked away, he could hear Beomgyu cracking a joke to the remaining two boys. Yeonjun missed out on the rest of the story as he ducked into the men’s bathroom.

The overwhelming stench of bile was the first thing that hit Yeonjun; instinctively, he covered his nose with his hand.

From a barely closed stall, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone retching. Trying his best not to gag, Yeonjun took a few tentative steps towards the source. 

From where he was standing, he could recognize Taehyun’s Adidas shoes. 

Yeonjun couldn’t come any closer. 

Taehyun, from inside the stall, finally stopped convulsing. A brief moment passed before he flushed and stumbled out. Head bent, Taehyun mumbled apologies before stopping in his tracks at the sight of Yeonjun. For the second time that night, the two carefully regarded each other. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Taehyun made an annoyed tsk sound. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned up at the older boy.

“You too, huh?” he asked quietly. 

To Yeonjun, it felt like the punch line to the world’s worst joke. 

They decided to tell the rest of the boys after footing the bill. 

It was unceremonious at best and merciless at worst, for Taehyun and Yeonjun to break the news outside Hueningkai’s favorite restaurant. And Beomgyu made it so easy, too, by kidding about it as they headed out.

“What are you two so nice for? Don’t tell me you’re dying,” he teased, and Taehyun and Yeonjun shared a look as if to say, Well, now that you’ve mentioned it… 

Even though they talked it over in the bathroom, actually telling the rest turned out to be quite hard. At first, Beomgyu thought they were messing with him; that they’d colluded the whole plot while they were both gone.

As he screeched at Taehyun and Yeonjun that it wasn’t funny, Yeonjun pulled out his phone to show off his last received call. Taehyun did the same. 

Beomgyu got dreadfully quiet after that.

Soobin, ever the soft one, burst into quiet tears. Hueningkai held on to him, looking as though he might pass out if he wasn’t clutching on to something. Taehyun approached the two and whispered words of comfort that Yeonjun caught only bits and pieces of. 

“Have each other… Accepted our fate… Be okay…” 

Lies, the eldest of them found himself thinking angrily. All lies. 

No longer able to handle it, Yeonjun stalked over to Beomgyu. The younger boy was crouched near the sidewalk corner with no discernible expression on his face. His silence spoke volumes to Yeonjun; it was comforting to share, so much that Yeonjun felt a bit disappointed when Beomgyu spoke up. 

“What now?” 

“What now?” Yeonjun repeated.

“Are you just gonna lay down and die?” Beomgyu asked brazenly. Momentarily floored by Beomgyu’s audacity, Yeonjun looked at him like it was his first time seeing him. 

It was a silly notion, honestly. They saw each other practically every day. Next to Soobin, Beomgyu was the one closest to him. Admittedly, though, Beomgyu was also the one who irritated him the most. 

But not today. 

“I’ve always loved how shameless you can be,” Yeonjun blurted out, the heat immediately rushing to his cheeks at the sudden confession. If Beomgyu was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he answered with a faint smirk. “Anyway, back to my question. What now? Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully?” 

“But it’s 8 PM,” Yeonjun said dumbly. Beomgyu promptly smacked him on the back of the head, making Yeonjun yell with indignation. 

“You’re dying and you’re thinking about curfew?” Beomgyu bellowed. “Do you understand just how stupid that sounds?”

“I swear, you’ll be the one that kills me,” Yeonjun grumbled, rubbing the spot Beomgyu hit. 

The younger boy barrelled on. “We don’t know how or when exactly you’re going to die. You and Tae can’t sit around and just wait. There’s so much that you can do in 24 hours!”

“Less than 24 hours.” 

“With all due respect, Junnie—I don’t give a fuck.” 

Yeonjun let out a disbelieving chuckle. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Beomgyu was right. It’d be a waste to spend his last day in fearful anticipation of the inevitable.

“Do you have a marker on you?” Yeonjun asked suddenly. 

Between the five of them, Beomgyu was the only one who was skilled at drawing. He sometimes carried the most random of art materials around with him and that night was no exception. “Just a blue one,” he said after sifting through his backpack. No questions asked, he passed it over to Yeonjun.

Looking around, Yeonjun zeroed in on the restaurant’s painted wall. It was in a pristine shade of white. Perfect. 

“Cover for me,” he commanded Beomgyu. The latter did as he was told, shielding Yeonjun from the street’s view. 

After a minute or two, Beomgyu was no longer able to contain his curiosity. “What are you doing?” he piped up, obviously trying to mask his interest. 

The impatience made Yeonjun laugh. 

“You can look now,” he said. 

Beomgyu turned to face Yeonjun.

On the restaurant’s shop front, Yeonjun had left yet another small thing to be remembered by. Along with a doodle of a pizza and a cola was a scrawled note, a note: YJ’s last supper. 09/16/21. 

If it had been any other day, Beomgyu might have commented on the abysmal state of Yeonjun’s drawings or the chicken scratch quality of his handwriting. That night, though, he wordlessly reached out for the marker.

Quickly, he sketched what seemed to be chibi versions of the two of them. 

“Always stealing my thunder,” Yeonjun jeered, though the taunt was softened significantly by the astonishment beneath his tone. Beomgyu’s rendition of them was uncanny. Finishing up, he wrote: Gyu was here too! 

Beomgyu looked up at Yeonjun, and Yeonjun smiled at him in response.

An iPhone note found in Choi Yeonjun’s phone, dated September 16, 2021. Last edited: 8:34 PM. 

☑ Commit vandalism 

☑ Have a good meal 

▢ Film and post a dance video

▢ Play Overwatch

▢ Go to a thrift shop and buy Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin better clothes

▢ Go on a date 

▢ Write my last will and testament 

▢ Say goodbye to mom and dad

▢ Take photos to leave for Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin

“You’re seriously going to waste time on Overwatch? On your last day ever?” Beomgyu complained.

Yeonjun angled his phone away from Beomgyu’s view. “It’s my bucket list. Not yours.” 

“Stop fighting,” Soobin said. His eyes were rimmed with red from his non-stop crying. It made Yeonjun’s heart ache. 

The three of them were in the back of a cab, heading to Yeonjun’s family home in Bundang. Though it was the last on his bucket list, it was the first thing he wanted off his chest.

He didn’t intend to tell his parents over the phone. He wasn’t even sure if he should even tell his parents at all. 

Half an hour ago, Taehyun and Yeonjun agreed to not wallow over their impending death. They had individual businesses that they first had to deal with but they made plans to meet up after so the five of them could be complete.

Hueningkai stuck with Taehyun while Beomgyu and Soobin decided to accompany Yeonjun. 

“I’m just saying, you could be spending your time a little wiser than losing to me and Soobin,” Beomgyu quipped. 

Sighing dramatically, Yeonjun removed the goal from his list. 

Before he could hit Beomgyu with another wisecrack, their ride came to a screeching halt. Thankfully, Soobin was strict on always wearing seatbelts; the safety device kept them from launching forward, though Beomgyu’s forehead did collide with the driver’s headrest. 

Beomgyu howled with pain as the driver profusely apologized. “A stray cat bolted in front of us as I was pulling in to park,” the driver explained. “I didn’t notice.” 

Yeonjun exhaled, one hand clutching his chest. 

The three of them slid out of the backseat and onto the Seongnam sidewalk. “You alright?” Soobin asked quietly as Beomgyu went to pay for the ride. 

The honest answer: Yeonjun was a little shaken.

Each step felt like there might be a minefield beneath his feet. He kept imagining a bunch of different scenarios on how it would happen, who would be there with him when it did. He didn’t want it to be any of the three boys, but they were insistent on keeping him and Taehyun company. 

No one seemed like they were ready to let go. 

Instead, what Yeonjun said: “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Beomgyu returned, another unreadable expression on his face. “The driver wouldn’t let me pay,” he reported, shaking his head. “He eavesdropped on us a bit, I think, because he—” A pause. 

The hard-to-read look suddenly became clear to Yeonjun. It was the same look of when Beomgyu polaroids came out all wrong, or when he miscalculated a toy’s position in a claw game. It was a mix of annoyance, and disappointment—and a little bit of sadness. 

“He what?” Soobin prompted.

Beomgyu looked directly at Yeonjun, opening and closing his mouth as though considering how to tell him. Finally, he choked out the rest of his sentence. 

“He sends his condolences.” 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to a parent is to have their child leave this Earth before them.”

Those were the only words that Yeonjun committed to memory. The conversation he had with his parents was not so much a conversation as much as it was groveling, sobbing, cursing.

There was anger. There was sadness. There was all the love they could offer each other. 

Though it broke his heart, Yeonjun begged his parents to let him go for the simple reason that he couldn’t bear the thought of passing away in their presence. He promised to call, if he could. He swore to have Beomgyu and Soobin at his side, at all times, to call them if he couldn’t. 

Then his father told him about the worst thing that could happen—how it was already happening—, and he hugged Yeonjun with a finality that didn’t need any spoken goodbye, and Yeonjun damn near reconsidered throwing it all away to spend his final hours with them.

Holding on to his pride, he hugged his father back. He gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. 

He asked that they both smile so his last image of them would be “not all that sad.”

And, just like that, the Chois let go of their only son. 

The cab ride back to Hueningkai and Taehyun was a solemn one. Yeonjun was thankful that neither Beomgyu nor Soobin felt the need to speak. They had waited outside Yeonjun’s home while he was saying his goodbyes to his parents, and they had let him take the window seat where he could stare listlessly out at the highway. This is the last time I’ll see this strip of road, Yeonjun numbly thought to himself. It was tiring to think in lasts. It was all he could seem to do as the minutes ticked by.

Ping. 

Hueningkai, whose Instagram account previously had zero photos, had just uploaded a photo of him posing with Taehyun. Lotte World all to ourselves!!!~ , the caption said.

“That’s new,” Beomgyu mumbled, looking at the post over Yeonjun’s shoulder.

“We saw each other practically every day for the past two years,” Soobin interjected, voice hollow. He was staring at Hueningkai’s post on his own phone. “Hyuka never saw the point in posting about us, because it wasn’t like we were going anywhere.”

The implication of Soobin’s words weighed heavy in the air. Now that two of us are dying, Hueningkai wants to capture whatever we have left. 

“I’m just glad to finally be Instagram official,” Beomgyu blurted out.

Both Soobin and Yeonjun shook their head, but Yeonjun was secretly glad to have an excuse to laugh. 

By the time they got to Lotte World, Hueningkai and Taehyun were already donning ridiculous animal headbands and sharing some honey butter chips.

“I got you guys headbands, too!” Hueningkai said. He pulled three out of his bag and proceeded to pass Beomgyu and Soobin theirs. Hueningkai asked Yeonjun to bend down so he could put it on himself.

“A fox?” Yeonjun asked, skeptically eyeing his reflection in a nearby shop mirror.

“Don’t you look like one?” Hueningkai shot back.

“How am I a bear?” Beomgyu whined, pinching the brown ears of his own headband.

Soobin quickly retorted, “Because you’re un-bear-able!”

It was a terrible pun but all the boys chuckled a bit nonetheless. Beomgyu yelled “Yah!”, reaching out to hit Soobin— who swiftly dodged, which meant Beomgyu’s slap landed on the small of Taehyun’s back. The chase that ensued had Soobin, Hueningkai, and Yeonjun doubling over in laughter.

“By the way,” Yeonjun mused out loud as they started strolling down the amusement park’s mostly empty avenues. “Why are we here after hours? Lotte World should be closed.”

Hueningkai’s face fell, and Yeonjun suddenly wished that he never asked.

“Lotte World is tied in with Death-cast,” Beomgyu answered instead. He and Taehyun had caught up to the rest, done with their chase. The latter looked a little out of breath; Yeonjun concernedly glanced over at him, to which Taehyun responded with a thumbs up and a gesture to keep listening to Beomgyu. “They allot their after-hours to people who might want to spend their last day here.”

Not wanting to dampen the mood any further, Yeonjun forced on a smirk. He threw an arm around Hueningkai’s shoulders and gave him a light shove forward

“Let’s make the most out of it then!” Yeonjun said resolutely. “Come on, Hyuka. We’ll go wherever you pick!”

That made Hueningkai light up like a Christmas tree. For the first time that night, Yeonjun felt like he’d done something right.

And go wherever Hueningkai picked they did. After around an hour or so, Soobin was already calling for something less exciting. “I don’t think my heart can take any more of this,” he cried dramatically.

“How about there?” Hueningkai said excitedly. Four pairs of eyes followed to see where he was pointing: A photobooth.

 “Perfect,” Yeonjun said. “I’ve been meaning to take some photos.”

 “Why don’t we go first, hyung?”

The other boys fell quiet when Taehyun addressed Yeonjun. Taehyun was smiling delicately, face flushed from the consecutive high-stakes rides. In one hand, he held a squirrel stuffed toy that Beomgyu had won him at a shooting game.

Taehyun looked so serene. So alive, Yeonjun thought in awe.

Yeonjun grinned back at his friend. “I’d like that.”

The two slid into the booth as Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin looked at costumes for themselves.

“This is part of my bucket list,” Yeonjun shared as he started loading the coins into its slot. “I wanted to give them photos of us, for them to remember.”

“That’s smart,” Taehyun responded. “We won’t have enough photos of each other to go by.”

Yeonjun swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to look directly at Taehyun. Outside the booth, they could hear the sounds of Hueningkai and Soobin arguing over a plastic mustache.

If they tried really hard, they could pretend that it was just like any other day—and shouldn’t it be like that anyway, Yeonjun contemplated. He debated about asking Taehyun whether he thought this was for the best; knowing they’d pass within 24 hours.

As if sensing Yeonjun’s internal conflict, Taehyun reached out to push the last few coins into their slot. The photobooth roared to life, a woman’s voice welcoming them and instructing them on what to click next. Neither of the two tapped on anything on the screen.

But then Taehyun shrugged. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Let’s leave them with good-looking photos of us.”

Before the two could pose properly, though, Beomgyu burst through the curtains of the photo booth. “Cheese!” he screeched, throwing himself over Taehyun and Yeonjun’s legs.

“Hey!” Yeonjun protested, trying to shove Beomgyu off his lap. Meanwhile, Taehyun started giggling and making room for Beomgyu on the bench.

Click. Click. Click.

“Why must you ruin everything?” Yeonjun groaned as the photo strips printed out. In the first two photos, he and Taehyun looked fine; the remaining four were extremely chaotic with Beomgyu’s unexpected entrance.

“You look best here, don’t you think?” Beomgyu said innocently, pointing out the picture where Yeonjun was mid-yell. The older boy raised his hand as if to smack Beomgyu, who promptly ducked behind Hueningkai for protection.

“We can take more,” Taehyun assured. Despite his tousled hair and the beads of sweat trailing down his face, he shone brighter than he ever had. There was a reassuring smile on his face, one that had found comfort in an inevitable fate. 

When all is said and done, that is how Yeonjun chooses to remember Taehyun; the healthy, happy Taehyun of this moment.

Yeonjun doesn’t know that yet, of course. Not while it’s happening. “I want one with our baby Hyuka,” he announced, reaching out for the youngest of their group.

“I’ll get some with Soobin and Beomgyu then,” Taehyun responded.

They took photos with each other and of each other. Taehyun and Yeonjun eventually got their own photo strip without Beomgyu interrupting. The five of them had at least seven different sets together until they’d run through each prop the booth had to offer, and they’d played with every single filter available.

Hueningkai held on to the photo strips as if they were important documents. As they went out to grab some snacks at one of the nearby food stalls, Yeonjun followed Hueningkai wandering over to a corner.

“What are you doing?” Yeonjun asked.

The blonde boy had laid out all the photos and was attempting to take a picture of them. “Oh, I was making a post on my Instagram account,” he admitted, sounding a bit shy of the fact.

“I saw you posted for the first time earlier.”

“Yeah, I never had a reason to use my account before. I guess I just... want to document today. I don’t want to forget anything.”

The slight quiver in his voice damn near made Yeonjun cry. Reeling in his emotions, Yeonjun moved around some of the photo strips. “Here,” he said. “I think it looks better like that.”

Smiling appreciatively, Hueningkai snapped his picture.

“What should I caption it?”

They both paused, contemplating. 

“Ah, I’ve got it!” Hueningkai said excitedly, typing away at his phone. Yeonjun peered over his shoulder to check.

“‘Five forever,’” Yeonjun read out loud.

“Five forever,” Hueningkai repeated resolutely, looking straight at Yeonjun. “No matter what.”  

If he had a choice, Yeonjun would have gone out dancing. 

Dance was one of the few constants in his life. It was something Yeonjun whole-heartedly knew that he was good at. He meant to be an instructor, even, had the Death-cast call never happened.

His peers constantly joked that he was in the running to take over their studio’s director role. Guess they were wrong, Yeonjun bitterly thought to himself as he intently scrolled through his phone for a song. 

His final dance break song. 

The boys had set out after Lotte World to go clothes shopping when Yeonjun remembered one of the other to-dos on his list. Film and post a dance video. They took a detour to the nearest park and loitered a bit, and Yeonjun was reckoned with the most difficult decision of his dancing career. 

All this time, he refused to upload any clips of him dancing. Sure, there were some up on the Internet; group dances from the studio, an Instagram story here and there from his friends. But Yeonjun had never uploaded one himself— never quite ready for that kind of self-exposure. 

Now or never, he decided. 

“You did Watermelon Sugar earlier today, didn’t you?” Soobin asked as he curiously peered over Yeonjun’s shoulder to check the song options. “The remix with Blow. Why don’t you just redo that?” 

“I want to do something new. Something original,” Yeonjun responded distractedly. FEVER? Paper Hearts? “But all of these, I’ve already danced to.”

“What about one of ours?” Beomgyu offered, yawning and stretching absentmindedly. 

Yeonjun stopped scrolling. 

Taehyun, from a bench away, let out a groan. “You know the demos we make aren’t serious,” he complained. “And don’t you have an ounce of shame, Gyu? Those songs were kind of—”

“Don’t you dare call them bad!” Beomgyu interrupted defensively. “Our songs could have made it big if you weren’t so keen on locking them up!”

“Upload it once I’m gone, then,” Taehyun deadpanned. “Call that shit posthumous.” 

As Beomgyu flinched and Hueningkai rained a few punches down Taehyun’s back, Yeonjun sped through their group chat to find the recording of their latest arrangement. They’d composed only around half of it, promising each other that they would continue the rest on their next first Friday. 

The rock instrumentals of their demo LOSER=LOVER struck up and echoed across the empty park. Soobin’s singing came out loud and clear through Yeonjun’s phone speakers.

“I’m a loser, I’m a loser,” Soobin crooned along with the audio. In the background, Taehyun covered his ears and Beomgyu perked up, ready to steal Yeonjun’s parts in the song. 

Had it been any other day, Yeonjun would have rolled his eyes at the younger boy, but his mind was busy putting together the pieces of a possible dance routine. Usually, it took him days to come up with one that he was content with. He didn’t have that much time tonight.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Yeonjun announced after one full listen of the unfinished track. He stood and positioned himself between the row of blooming dogwood trees, trying to shake out the lingering uneasiness.

“I can film you!” Hueningkai cried out excitedly, standing across Yeonjun as the latter did some light stretching. Yeonjun shot him an appreciative thumbs up. 

Inhale. They’d all seen him dance before; he could just never fully shake his nervousness. The others seemed to pick up on this, quickly giving Yeonjun small forms of affirmation.

Beomgyu let out encouraging hoots and chanted Yeonjun’s name. Taehyun finally lowered his hands from his ears, smiling assuredly in anticipation of the routine. And Soobin pulled out his own phone, finger poised expectantly over his record button. 

Exhale. 

Yeonjun hit play, and immediately found himself consumed by the music.

It was like second nature to him. Every agile step, every sharp turn. He followed along to the song as if it were something he’d practiced his whole life. Each beat reverberated to his very bone, filling his chest with so much joy he felt like a balloon that just might burst.

“Here comes the good stuff!” Beomgyu squealed as Taehyun started humming along. Love you, love you, love you; no matter what I do. 

“I say run, laugh like you’ve gone mad, ” Hueningkai belted out. Yeonjun almost missed a step because of how it distracted him, but he was glad to have small disturbances such as Beomgyu trying to mimic his dance moves or Taehyun finally screaming the lyrics out loud as well.

The post-chorus was his and Beomgyu’s part. It was the easiest choreography to think of, too. I’m a loser, his pre-recorded self sang, and the Yeonjun dancing threw up an L with his pointer finger and thumb. He broke out into a smile, feeling as if the world were spinning. 

It’s the sensation he’ll miss the most. The heat, the soreness. Even then, he knows that his body will ache most for the rush he had come to adore. 

The song ended abruptly, and Yeonjun snapped out of his trance.

The boys were all clapping and cheering. “I can’t believe you did all that in one go,” Taehyun complimented as Beomgyu and Hueningkai surged forward to envelope Yeonjun in a hug. 

“I’m sweaty!” the oldest boy complained laughingly, allowing them to embrace him nonetheless.

“I have the fan cam version!” Soobin joked, holding up his phone. “Where do you want it?” 

Grinning widely over Beomgyu and Hueningkai’s shoulders, Yeonjun told Soobin, “Everywhere.” 

If there was anything Beomgyu and Yeonjun so intimately shared, it would be their terrific sense of fashion— something the rest of the boys were so painfully ignorant about. 

So when Yeonjun had to choose someone to accompany him to the 24/7 Myeongdeong thrift shops— Taehyun complained that he was tired and wanted to go back to his dorm— the answer was as clear as day. Beomgyu and Yeonjun promised to regroup with them back at Taehyun’s within an hour.

It was a comforting shopping spree, actually. Beomgyu must have toned down his energy, only hitting Yeonjun with the occasional wisecrack compared to the typical several jokes per minute. Briefly, Yeonjun worried that he was being pitied. 

“This would look good on Hyuka,” Beomgyu commented, holding up a light gray sweatshirt for Yeonjun to see. The two were in their last store. They already had eco bags crammed to the brim with clothes, but they’d decided to do a final stop before heading home.

“I was thinking about this one for Soobin,” Yeonjun said in turn, showing off a black and yellow embroidered vest. 

“That one’s nice.”

“I think Hyuka would fit comfortably in that panel shirt over there, too.” 

After snagging a couple more overrun Ralph Lauren pieces and three pairs of specs for Soobin, the two fell in line for checkout. “I can’t believe we didn’t do this more often,” Beomgyu hummed, rustling through the picks. “Shopping with Soobin was so boring. He only ever wanted to go to the department store.”

“I gave up on Hyuka, too,” Yeonjun laughed. He was excited to see Hueningkai’s expression; a lot of the clothes they’d picked for him were sure to fit his style. “This should be enough to last them for a little while.”

“And then they’ll go back to their plain clothes?” 

“And then you’ll buy them more.” 

A long pause followed Yeonjun’s words.

Though he had packaged it as a joke, they both knew the underlying message lurking under the lighthearted tone. You’ll take care of them, right? Yeonjun was asking. 

Beomgyu pursed his lips together and nodded, answering the unspoken question. I will.

Yeonjun gave him an appreciative smile. I knew I could count on you. 

“What else do you have on your bucket list, anyway?” Beomgyu asked in an effort to change the topic. They shuffled forward awkwardly, the line in front of them moving along rather slow. 

“Just some serious stuff left, really,” Yeonjun replied vaguely. To write his last will and testament was still left unchecked. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d do it; sitting down and accepting his fate like that was a terrifying ordeal. “There is one that’s pretty tame, but I’m thinking of just crossing it out completely.” 

“Which?” 

“To go on a date.” Yeonjun laughed at the thought of it. It seemed so trivial now. 

He’d put it down because he hadn’t really had the time to go on a proper date. Though his mother tried setting him up with her neighbors’ daughters— and even though Soobin offered a double date every now and then— Yeonjun found that he was always too busy, too disinterested, too insecure.

A small part of him wished he’d said yes to at least one of them so he could have a memory at a cafe or a cinema. But he was so caught up in thinking that he had so much more time than he actually did, and he thought his first date would be something special— only to have it not happen at all. 

Nothing good comes to those who wait, he thought woefully. 

Beomgyu whipped out his phone and clicked on an app. Leaning over to peek, Yeonjun saw that it was for dating. He knew that Beomgyu and Soobin had profiles. He just couldn’t be bothered to get one, too. Putting himself out there like that felt scary. 

“This is a great way to find a date, even if you’re in a bit of a clutch,” Beomgyu chirped. “I’ve used it before when I needed someone to go with me to a wedding or a school fair.” 

“That’s smart.” 

“I know right? Anyway— we’re not here to talk about the obvious.” Yeonjun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu barreled on. “Let’s make you a profile.” 

“I don’t know…” Yeonjun started hesitantly. Beomgyu was quick to interject. 

“What are you scared of?” he challenged. “What do you have to lose, really?” 

Yesterday, Yeonjun might have answered his dignity or his pride. In the thrift shop, though, he begrudgingly had to admit that Beomgyu was right. He had nothing to lose. 

“Sign me up,” Yeonjun conceded, and Beomgyu broke out into a proud grin. 

After arguing over which photos of Yeonjun to choose, Beomgyu typed out a prospective bio to go on his profile. Urgent: Dying boy seeking a mind-blowing date that will let him go out with a bang. 

“You make it sound so dirty,” Yeonjun groaned, grabbing the phone from Beomgyu and deleting the entire text.

As the latter protested, Yeonjun tried his hand at a bio. Less than 24 hours left and looking for love. Be my baby before burying me six feet under? 

“How pessimistic!” Beomgyu cried disapprovingly, though both of them were shaking with laughter. For a short while, they took turns writing terrible descriptions.

Beomgyu typed out Let’s kill this love, to which Yeonjun added ‘Till (my) death do we part.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Beomgyu concluded as he gasped for air. “Come on, we’re not even in the actual app yet.”

The next screen asked for Yeonjun’s dating preference.

Beomgyu tapped on the ‘Women’ button, showing it to Yeonjun for approval.

Riding on their shared joy and his newfound confidence, Yeonjun mindlessly blurted out, “Can you actually choose ‘Both’?”

In our life, we often experience “oh” moments. Modest points in time where so many things can shift in a split second. For both Beomgyu and Yeonjun— in that thrift shop line, with their sore arms carrying more clothes that either of them could ever need— that was one of those junctures for the two of them.

“Oh,” Beomgyu said, and it occurred to Yeonjun, suddenly. What he’d asked for. 

Fear went off in Yeonjun’s brain like a screeching, bright red fire alarm. He wanted to take it back. He could say it was a joke.

But there was something in Beomgyu’s face— an expression that wasn’t of judgment or disgust. There was a gentle hopefulness to the way he looked at Yeonjun then. He looked so painfully reassuring, so ready to accept whatever Yeonjun wanted to do, wanted to be. 

So how could Yeonjun lie to him? 

“Yeah,” Yeonjun choked out, clenching his jaw nervously. 

“I never knew,” Beomgyu mumbled before switching the options. Then, quickly, he added: “Me, too. I mean—I chose ‘Both’, too. I’m… I am, too.” 

It was Yeonjun’s turn to say “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Beomgyu chuckled. “I guess you never know, huh?” 

Yeonjun nodded wordlessly, hoping that Beomgyu wouldn’t prod any further. Thankfully, the cashier finally called them to the front.

As Yeonjun unloaded the clothes they’d shopped, Beomgyu gestured that he’d do it. He shoved his phone at Yeonjun and pushed him to one side.

“If you want a date, you should get busy swiping,” Beomgyu said, beaming with amusement as he geared up for his punch line. “Let them know you’re dead serious.”

Hueningkai, Soobin, and Taehyun were watching something on Netflix by the time Beomgyu and Yeonjun got back. 

The three were settled comfortably on the couch, sharing several opened bags of junk food and two bottles of cider. “Is that Squid Game? You’re watching without me?!” Beomgyu whined, trying to grab the remote from Soobin. 

“I’m dying. I think I deserve to know what happens in episode six,” Taehyun said blankly before popping a chip in his mouth. Beomgyu pretended not to hear him, still scuffling with an indignant Soobin who was trying hard not to tear his gaze away from the screen. Meanwhile, Hueningkai greeted Yeonjun and helped him carry the bags into the room. 

“Oh, this is so soft!” Hueningkai cried, zeroing out on the sweatshirt from earlier.

“Beomgyu picked that out for you,” Yeonjun said proudly. 

“Thank you, Gyu!” 

With Beomgyu successfully pausing the show, Soobin leaned over to inspect the pile of clothes that Hueningkai had toppled over. “This is a lot,” he said in awe.

“Please, this is barely half of what Yeonjun and I have,” Beomgyu scoffed. 

As Taehyun ducked out to go to the bathroom, the boys sorted through the articles of clothing. Hueningkai and Soobin were incredibly enthusiastic, building each other’s pile of new clothes; mixing and matching some on the spot. While Beomgyu was criticizing their pairings, Yeonjun once again noticed a gap in their group.

A space that was left unfilled. 

Yeonjun excused himself and stumbled over the clothes, towards the bathroom. It was unlocked. He peeked inside and found it empty. Something in his stomach sank at the sight of minuscule blood droplets on the toilet lid. How had no one noticed Taehyun slipping away? 

Suddenly hyperaware, Yeonjun heard the distant, muted click of the front door closing. 

Why was Taehyun trying to slip away? 

Telling the rest that they were going on a quick 7-Eleven run— and swearing to the other boys that they’d both come back in one piece—Yeonjun grabbed his windbreaker and rushed out to follow Taehyun. It didn’t take much to find him. He was hanging out at the bus stop nearest his dorm, a city map in his hands. 

Taehyun didn’t look surprised to see Yeonjun jogging up to him. 

“Of course you’d notice,” Taehyun said once Yeonjun had reached him. “Do the others know?” 

“We’re at 7-Eleven,” Yeonjun responded stiffly. The other boy cocked his head to one side as if assessing the lie. 

“Believable. You should grab some bread for Soobin on your way back.” 

“On our way back.” 

“I’m not going back there, and you know it.” 

Cold, callous, and calculating. Those were the typical words one would use to describe Taehyun. In their group, Taehyun was the most stable and reliable; he managed Beomgyu’s erratic moods and always looked out for Hueningkai.

It was easy to forget that he was on the younger end, considering how mature he always presented himself to be. 

None of that maturity seemed to shine through in that very bus stop. Yeonjun saw Taehyun for what he was: A teenage boy counting his minutes left. 

“Why not?” Yeonjun asked. He was firmly rooted to his spot. As much as Taehyun looked like he wanted to be alone, Yeonjun just couldn’t cut him some slack. “Come on, Taehyun. Come home with me.” 

“I’m sick, hyung. I’ve been for a while now,” Taehyun said with a sad, sad. “You’ve noticed, right?” 

Yeonjun had noticed. He’d taken trips to the drug store to buy Taehyun some painkillers. He’d cooked him soup for comfort. He’d even insisted that they should go to the hospital and check it out, but Taehyun was dead set on riding out what they thought to be a run-of-the-mill flu. 

“I finally got it checked this morning. My sister brought me. No one could figure out a proper diagnosis, but right after our appointment—” Taehyun faltered. He met Yeonjun’s eyes. “The damn Death-cast call is so scripted, isn’t it?” 

Yeonjun slumped down onto the vacant seat next to Taehyun.

“Anyway, I told my family over lunch,” Taehyun went on. “I wasn’t planning on letting the boys know—I just wanted to have a nice dinner and call it a day—but you…” 

“How did you know before I told you? You looked like you already had a feeling.” 

“I’ve always been the smartest one,” Taehyun retorted. Yeonjun wouldn’t have contested him either way. 

Humoring Yeonjun, Taehyun folded his hands over his lap and smirked ever so slightly. “We both balked at Hueningkai saying that the pizza was ‘to die for’,” he said. “I don’t think you would have reacted that way were it any other day. For you to react to something as offhanded as that, you must be worried about dying.” 

“Why aren’t you saying goodbye?” Yeonjun asked abruptly, the words tumbling over each other as his curiosity got the best of him. Taehyun winced in the slightest.

Taehyun didn’t owe Yeonjun an explanation, but Yeonjun couldn’t think straight. If he could, he would keep Taehyun by his side for the rest of their 24 hours. It was cruel to admit that Yeonjun didn’t want to be the one left living.

“I want to die alone,” Taehyun said decisively after a pause.

“Where no one I love will have to find me. My family thinks I’m with you. And you,” he looked straight at Yeonjun. “Will let the boys think that I’m with my family.” 

Yeonjun recoiled as if he’d been punched. “You want me to lie to them?” 

“Consider it my dying wish.”

“Taehyun!” 

“Yeonjun.” The missing honorific made them both falter a bit. Taehyun took the edge out of his tone for his next words.

“I won’t be in the middle of nowhere. There’s a wing at the Seoul National Hospital for people who have been called. They make the funeral preparations and when you— when you’re— they let your legal guardian know. My sister knows, so she’s ready to pick me up.” 

“I don’t want any of you to see me lose any more of my strength than I already have,” Taehyun went on steadily. “Let them remember the Taehyun who went to Lotte World with them. The Taehyun who tried his best not to spoil Squid Game. Let that be who I am. Not the Taeyun who’s coughing up blood.” For added effect, Taehyun reached out to clasp Yeonjun’s hands. He clung tightly, even as Yeonjun tried to pull away. “You’ll do that for me. Won’t you, hyung?” Taehyun pleaded, voice cracking. “You’ll let me have this.” 

“You are cruel, Kang Taehyun,” Yeonjun responded through gritted teeth. “You are heartless and insensitive, and I will never forgive you.” 

In turn, Taehyun gave him a gentle smile. The bus was rolling up to the stop. There’s no one here for you, Yeonjun wanted to yell at the driver. You’re not going to take him from me.  

“There are letters on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ve left my phone at home, too, because when they start calling, I’ll want to answer— and it will take everything in me not to.”

Taehyun released his grip on Yeonjun. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’ll never be sorry enough.” 

“If you’re really sorry, you wouldn’t be leaving,” Yeonjun seethed. He knew that he sounded hopeless and whiny, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when he was hurting. 

Taehyun flinched at his words; Yeonjun didn’t take them back. He trusted that Taehyun knew the depth of his distress and why this was so difficult for him. 

It was a sorrow so deep that Yeonjun couldn’t bring himself to hug Taehyun back as the latter mumbled his goodbyes. 

At his own death, Yeonjun will think of that moment. It will be his one regret. 

Taehyun boarded the night bus that would shuttle him to Seoul National Hospital. Contrary to Yeonjun’s belief, Taehyun was oblivious to Yeonjun’s pain of mourning someone who was still alive.

The younger boy sat with his heavy heart, wondering if he was making the smart— no, the right— choice. 

The bus pulled away from the stop and Taehyun glanced at Yeonjun through the window’s reflection. Slumped in defeat, his friend remained motionless before standing. Taehyun expected Yeonjun to head back to his dorm. 

But then Yeonjun hit the ground running. 

He darted down the sidewalk, following the bus’s route. Taehyun sat up. Palm against the window, he watched Yeonjun sprint past pedestrians and haphazardly slide down the pavement.

“That boy’s crazy,” the bus driver commented offhandedly. 

It was a scene straight out of a television drama, and it made Taehyun laugh in spite of himself. Thankfully, Yeonjun’s chase was cut short as the bus stopped at a red light. To Taehyun’s absolute horror, the older boy started banging his fists against the bus’s sliding doors.

“Hey, stop that!” the bus driver yelled. “I’ll call the police on you, you psycho!”

Yeonjun kept knocking, demanding entry. “I just need one minute! Please, just give me one minute!” 

“Get the fuck away from this bus right now, kid!” 

Unnerved, Yeonjun took a step back and did a quick scan of the bus until his eyes met Taehyun’s.

Without missing a beat, the older boy hollered loud enough that Taehyun could hear his sincerity through the glass: “I forgive you, Kang Taehyun! I forgive you!”

The stoplight turned green and the bus quickly pulled away from the intersection, leaving Yeonjun standing dejected on the street. As the bus driver cursed him and the other commuters whispered among themselves, Taehyun buried his face in the crook of his elbow to hide his face. 

He was stupidly relieved to finally be alone. Later, when they give him a room to pass away in, he will assure the attending nurse that he has made peace with his fate. But in the bus where there are nothing but strangers, where no one knows who Taehyun is, he allows himself the grace of fearing death. 

And for the first time in a long time— for the last time in his young life— Kang Taehyun let himself cry. 

As Yeonjun expected, the boys weren’t happy with the lie of Taehyun heading back home. 

They weren’t angry. None of them could seem to be mad at the dying boy.

Hueningkai was upset, constantly ringing Taehyun’s cell; Yeonjun itched to tell him that it was futile. Soobin buried his head in his hands, the forgotten episode of Squid Game playing on in the background.

“The last thing I said to him was that I hated him for watching without me,” Beomgyu said. His empty gaze was trained towards the television. “I’m never going to be able to take that back.” 

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean it,” Yeonjun said. He thought of his last image of Taehyun; hand to the window, jaw slack with shock. “This is what he wanted.”

Hueningkai collapsed onto the couch after his nth phone call went unanswered. No one could look at each other, so they quietly sat through the duration of the show’s episode.

The sounds of Soobin’s sniffles echoed in the small room, overlapping with Taehyun’s voicemail recording. 

Hello, this is Kang Taehyun. I can’t answer your call right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. 

“He left letters,” Yeonjun announced as Squid Game ’s credits rolled. “They’re in his room.” 

No one responded. It was as if Yeonjun hadn’t spoken at all. 

“I’m going to go read mine. You can come with me if you want.” 

Neither Beomgyu, Hueningkai, nor Soobin moved an inch. 

Standing so suddenly that he knocked into the coffee table, Yeonjun let out a hiss before glancing at his remaining friends. They refused to meet his eyes. He wished he could do something for them, but he was honestly just as broken and betrayed. 

“Suit yourself,” he said wretchedly, not meaning to have so much venom in his tone. He stalked into Taehyun’s room and made it a point to slam the door close behind him. 

It took Yeonjun a moment to realize that Taehyun had prepared for this. Most of the room was bare, save for a few cardboard boxes in one corner.

When Yeonjun took a peek, he realized that Taehyun had packed away everything; his camera, his posters, his clothes. All that was left was his mattress, where four envelopes were neatly laid out in a row. 

“You’re not actually going to read your letter.” 

Yeonjun didn’t jump at the sudden intrusion. Beomgyu wasn’t asking a question, either; he was stating a fact. 

“No, I’m not,” Yeonjun admitted, staring at the precise handwriting that lined the outside of the named letters. “Not yet.” 

“Okay. Well, I will.” 

To Yeonjun’s shock, Beomgyu stepped past him and snatched the paper that had his name. He ripped open the envelope and got to reading. Cautiously, Yeonjun watched Beomgyu. 

Slowly, Beomgyu’s shoulders dropped. When he bent his head, Yeonjun realized what was happening.

Beomgyu’s sobs were quiet— unassuming and wounded. The grief washed over the two of them like waves. Yeonjun did not know how to keep his head above the water.  

“He loved us, right?” Beomgyu asked suddenly, turning to face Yeonjun. “Even if he left. He loved us.” 

“He did.” 

“And he knows I never hated him. He had to have known that.” 

“He did.” 

With the back of his fist, Beomgyu forcefully wiped the tears out of his eyes. Yeonjun is struck by how young he looks; by how young they all are, to have to deal with all this. 

“I should have been nicer to him,” Beomgyu said. He glanced down at the letter before shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Then maybe... “ 

“It wouldn’t have changed his mind,” Yeonjun said quietly. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he simply repeated himself from earlier that night: “This is what he wanted.” 

Beomgyu didn’t point it out, anyway. He sighed heavily and shut his eyes, seemingly letting the worst of the news hit him. Yeonjun knew he ought to have done something then— maybe reached out and hugged the younger boy— but he was too lost in his own misery to realize that Beomgyu’s heartbreak ran deeper, if only because Taehyun’s affections for him were different. The letter gave away as much.

Like a switch that had been flipped, Beomgyu forced himself to speak in a lighter tone. “You’ve still got a few things on your bucket list, right? Why don’t we get them done?” 

“I hardly think that a date is appropriate right no—” 

“‘This is what he wanted,’” Beomgyu parroted, mimicking even Yeonjun’s intonation. “I’m sure Taehyun would hate to see you moping.” 

Yeonjun shook his head, too tired to argue. “I haven’t matched with anyone on the app. And besides, I can’t imagine going out with a stranger who will have no idea what I’m going through.” 

“Then go out with me.” 

The shocked silence that followed stretched between the two of them, filling every corner of the room.

Yeonjun was taken back to the compliment he paid Beomgyu earlier that night. I’ve always loved how shameless you can be. The thin line between brashness and bravery blurred at that moment as Yeonjun gawked at Beomgyu, who refused to falter. 

“I won’t ask why you seem sad or what your thoughts are on death,” Beomgyu insisted. “We’ll grab a coffee. Share a bingsu. And I’ll pretend not to know much about you so I can ask you what your blood type is, then I’ll lie that we’re compatible.” 

“That’s a thing?” Yeonjun asked dumbly. 

Beomgyu gave the older boy a watery smile. “Anything for a second date. But since we can only have one, I promise to cram in everything you’ve been missing out on. I’ll even fight for the bill.” 

“Why?” 

“Why would I fight for the bill?” 

“No, no. Why are you— Why are you doing this?” 

Beomgyu’s hesitation was fleeting. Yeonjun caught it nonetheless. If he had only been a little more observant, he might have noticed the blush tinging Beomgyu’s ear or the tremor in his twitching fingers. 

“Because it’s on your bucket list,” Beomgyu said. “Taehyun finished his. You should get to clear yours, too.” 

There was no way for Yeonjun to know if Beomgyu was lying. Taehyun had kept his bucket list mostly a secret, though he had assured Yeonjun at some point that it was ‘short and sweet’. It was likely that he had divulged in Beomgyu, and Yeonjun wasn’t in the business of doubting such a simple fact.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a little more to Beomgyu’s offer. Yeonjun reflected if the proposition would have still come up had their thrift shop conversation not happened.

But Beomgyu was never insincere, and Yeonjun wanted to give him a tender memory that only the two of them shared. 

And so Yeonjun said yes. When Beomgyu tried his hardest not to smile too widely, the older boy forced himself to quiet the fluttering in his chest.

This was not part of the plan. Vaguely, he felt like he was making a mistake. 

How could he be, though, he thought, as Beomgyu beamed and blabbered about where they should go? 

How could such a good thing be wrong? 

It happened like this.

The two agreed on a nearby breakfast cafe. Yeonjun had avoided counting down, but it was difficult to miss the fact that the sun had already risen. That meant he had only a few more hours before his 24 were up.

Yeonjun got to the cafe first because Beomgyu said he’d stop by somewhere with Hueningkai. Soobin was initially reluctant, finally letting them go and succumbing to the fact that he was emotionally spent. When Yeonjun left Taehyun’s dorm, Soobin was napping on the couch.

Yeonjun made it a point to tuck a blanket around him.

Bored out of his mind, Yeonjun was carving Taehyun’s initials into the wooden table when it happened. 

And it happened so fast. 

He heard Beomgyu calling his name. He looked up to see the younger boy holding a bouquet of tulips.

There was a sweet smile on his face and a spring in his step as he locked eyes with Yeonjun and skipped down the pedestrian lane. It touched Yeonjun, that Beomgyu had gone out of his way to buy him blue and purple tulips; his favorite flowers in his favorite color.

A grin was tugging at Yeonjun’s lips when the speeding car slammed mercilessly into Beomgyu’s frame.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying. Yeonjun had always wanted to know what his highlight reel would look like. He had never thought that you could imagine someone else’s life while they were dying.

Vision blurring with panic as he rushed to Beomgyu’s side, Yeonjun found himself flooded with flashbulb moments of Beomgyu. 

The first time he’d lost a game to him. Their arguments over mint chocolate chip ice cream. Beomgyu coining the term ‘hiccup’ for the trip-ups on Yeonjun’s Good Days, after Hueningkai had accidentally cleaned out his hard drive while downloading anime. 

This was the worst hiccup that could possibly happen, Yeonjun thought as he dropped to his knees.

Beomgyu looked dazed, lying motionless on the pavement. As Yeonjun scooped him up, the younger boy looked up at him with a bleary expression, seeming more confused than hurt.

“Hey,” Beomgyu croaked. “I think I got hit.” 

“Hey,” Yeonjun responded, trying his best not to sound too hysterical lest he scare Beomgyu. “You’re fine, though. You’re fine.” 

The driver of the car stepped out of his vehicle, looking horrified. One side of Yeonjun filled with a searing, murderous rage. He was about to stand and swing at the stranger until Beomgyu started coughing vigorously. 

“Call a hospital! Now!” Yeonjun bellowed at the driver. His voice cracked with desperation. “He’s not supposed to die today. He’s not supposed to die!”

“Hyung—” Beomgyu tried to say, failing to finish his sentence as he spat up more blood. 

Cradling Beomgyu’s head in his lap, Yeonjun clung onto his friend tightly. “I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Beomgyu was mumbling something incoherent. Yeonjun leaned in closer, catching Beomgyu’s repeating words: “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, idiot?” Yeonjun whimpered. “You can’t die. You’re not going to die. You haven’t been called yet, Beomgyu.”

It’s in that earth-shattering moment— as Beomgyu wasted his breath apologizing, struggling to keep his eyes open but trying his best to look straight at Yeonjun anyway— it’s then that it dawned on Yeonjun.

Beomgyu had known about Lotte World and Death-cast. Beomgyu had tried his best to squeeze into all of Taehyun and Yeonjun’s photos. And Beomgyu at the restaurant fronting had echoed the script Yeonjun heard in the studio’s locker room.

Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully? 

“You haven’t been called yet,” Yeonjun repeated. He knew he was in denial at this point, but this was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. “Come on. Tell me you haven’t been called.”

Instead of doing as he was asked, Beomgyu reached out to hold Yeonjun’s face.

The slightest movement seemed to take so much of his remaining energy, yet he persisted despite Yeonjun’s protests. Delicately, Beomgyu cupped Yeonjun’s cheek with one of his hands. 

“I didn’t want anyone worrying over me,” he admitted softly. It broke Yeonjun, how uncharacteristically frail Beomgyu sounded. “I thought death would be a little easier on me.”

Yeonjun wailed, doubling over to bury his face in Beomgyu’s shoulder. The sharp smell of smoke and blood hit him hard. “Damn you, Beomgyu. We wasted all your time doing things that Taehyun wanted— that I wanted—”

Beomgyu laughed and winced immediately right after. 

“All I ever wanted to do was to be with you four,” Beomgyu said, and Yeonjun started crying so hard that he was sure this would be the cause of his own death— the way the sobs wracked his frame, the pure fear that struck his heart.

Beomgyu’s voice was barely above a whisper as he went on. “I’m sorry you never got to go on your date, hyung,” he mumbled, gesturing weakly at the bouquet he had been carrying.

Save for a petal or two, the tulips had miraculously survived the impact. Red spots stained the kraft wrapping paper. “I like to think I would have been a good one,” Beomgyu breathed.  

“You would have been the best,” Yeonjun said fiercely. Beomgyu smiled contentedly.

“I know you’re just saying that, but I’ll take it,” he responded. His eyes fluttered to a close and the pained expression on his face softened. For a heartbeat, Yeonjun was scared that he’d lost him.

Thankfully, Beomgyu exhaled sharply, his unfocused gaze trying to find Yeonjun’s own.

“Hey, don’t give up on me now,” Yeonjun begged. He closed his fingers around Beomgyu’s shoulder, pulling the younger boy closer to his chest.

They could both hear the distant sounds of an ambulance siren. “We’ve still got a lot to do. Hyuka and Soobin are still waiting for you.” 

“Hyuka and Soobin…” Beomgyu repeated slowly. “Tell them I love them, won’t you?” 

“Tell them yourself.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t buy them more clothes.”

“Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.” 

“And I’m sorry to be leaving you, hyung.” 

Yeonjun let out a broken sob. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t,” he said. “Stop apologizing, because we’re going to get you to a hospital and patch you up, and we’re going to go on the best date, and you’re going to live many happy years—” 

“Do you want to hear something selfish?” Beomgyu interrupted. The ambulance was rounding the corner. “This whole time, I prayed to go before you.” 

“Why?” Yeonjun asked wretchedly.

The ambulance parked and the driver ran to meet them. “I can’t imagine a world without you, Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu said with bated breath. Yeonjun wondered why he’d never noticed it before; the devotion in Beomgyu’s tone, the star-like shine in his eyes. “And I’m glad that I won’t have to.”

As the paramedics rolled out a stretcher— as Yeonjun kept insisting that he could still be saved— Beomgyu thought nothing of the blinding hurt ripping through his body. He closed his eyes, finding comfort in the fact that he was in the arms of someone he loved. Not everyone could say they were half as lucky, he decided. 

Throughout the night, he was curious what his last words would be; if he would have a choice at all. He had wanted it to be something cool, something awesome. But as he clung to Yeonjun, he knew that there was only one last thing to say.

Grinning, he wiped away some tears from Yeonjun’s panicked expression. 

The paramedics were already swooping in and grabbing his ruptured body away from Yeonjun, but the older boy was still hanging on to him as if his own life depended on it. Beomgyu tried to commit the scene to memory.

Yeonjun, with his wild expression and tousled hair; his lips quivering, his eyes full of fear. It pained Beomgyu to leave him like this. Greedily, it relieved him that he would be the one going first. 

“Take all the time you need,” Beomgyu assured, giving Yeonjun’s hand a final squeeze. 

Beomgyu managed the ghost of a smile. “But don’t keep me waiting too long, yeah?” he said. 

Then he shut his eyes— and nothing much was left after that. 

It turned out that Choi Beomgyu did get to choose his last words after all.

 Yeonjun was the one who made the calls. He let Beomgyu’s parents know, then his brothers.

He called Soobin, who didn’t answer; he called Hueningkai, who picked up on the first ring. 

Hueningkai and Soobin made it to the hospital within ten minutes of the call ending. 

Disoriented, they all listened to a doctor rattle on about comas and chances. “This means he’ll get better, right?” Hueningkai asked no one in particular once the discussion was over. “He hasn’t been called, so he’ll wake up soon enough.” 

The two older boys shared a look. Yeonjun shook his head, and Soobin squeezed his eyes shut. Hueningkai watched the brief interaction unfold, stumped by what he was missing out on.

“Beomgyu didn’t get called by Death-cast,” Hueningkai repeated louder, as if his first statement was simply too quiet to be true. “He’s going to wake up from his coma.”

At a loss for words, Yeonjun reached out to hug Hueningkai. Soobin followed in suit. The youngest tried to squirm of their grip, not wanting to accept the implications of their remorse. “Let go of me. Don’t act like— don’t make me think that he— you’re both being—”

Eventually, Hueningkai stopped fighting.

For a moment, he stayed completely still as Soobin and Yeonjun held on to him. The trio stood there in the middle of the hospital hallway, huddled together while bawling over a betrayal that only they could share.

For Yeonjun, it felt like the world was closing in on him. He was spared by the harsh comfort of Hueningkai and Soobin feeling the same emptying loss.

After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled over to one of the waiting room benches so they could regain some strength.

“Did you know?” Soobin asked, voice hollow. 

Yeonjun shook his head. His throat felt raw from all the crying. He couldn’t imagine speaking without wavering. 

Instead, he turned to Hueningkai, who was staring at a photograph. It was his latest Instagram post from an hour or so ago— a shot of the flower shop he and Beomgyu had visited. The bouquet Beomgyu had bought lay a few seats away from the trio. 

“You should make a post here, too,” Yeonjun said suddenly. Hueningkai looked up at him skeptically. He had a right to be dubious; updating one’s Instagram didn’t seem like it ought to be a priority.

But Yeonjun wanted to honor Beomgyu somehow, wanted to immortalize him somewhere. 

“You have to remember,” Yeonjun insisted. “Even the bad things.” 

The rest of the sentence lingered between the two of them. Because soon enough, I won’t be around to remember any of it. 

“Even the bad things,” Hueningkai repeated.

He took a picture of the hallway. As he typed a caption with shaky fingers, Yeonjun rested his head on his shoulder, and Soobin held Yeonjun’s hand.

They drew from each other what little strength they could share. 

They had no other choice. 

Heading back to Taehyun’s dorm was too painful, so they made for Soobin and Yeonjun’s apartment.

They tried to fall into some sense of normalcy by playing a round of a computer game and putting on some bad Netflix film, but it was difficult to will away their loss and pretend that they weren’t waiting to lose a little bit more.

So they talked about Taehyun until there were no more stories to share.

They shared their favorite memories of Beomgyu, laughing so hard at some of the anecdotes that by the end of it, Yeonjun’s sides were in stitches.

They took photos for Hueningkai’s Instagram. They gave Yeonjun time to write his ‘will’. 

Hueningkai asked him if he was scared of dying.

Yeonjun lied and said he wasn’t. 

Soobin asked if he was lying.

Yeonjun let his silence speak for him.

At one point, Yeonjun glanced at the clock, did the math, and realized he had survived 22 hours. Was it possible to cheat Death-cast? Yeonjun wondered, foolishly amused. 

He didn’t have the energy to dwell on the thought. He didn’t have any energy at all, really.

He was so drained that he didn’t even remember dozing off while snuggling with Soobin. He jolted only at the sound of Hueningkai’s loud snore.

The couch was cramped, so Yeonjun dragged himself to his bed. Half-awake, he typed out a text to his parents that meant to let them know that he was okay and that he’d call them after he napped. He was too tired to even know if he hit send. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell right back to sleep. 

He was dreaming of tulips and brown-eyed boys when the cardiac arrest happened.

Choi Yeonjun could not cheat death after all. 

Hueningkai found it nearly impossible to live in the aftermath.

It was made particularly difficult by how much the city reminded him of the past. Like how the dance studio had renamed to YJ Entertainment, honoring their star student by using the script on his final note as their logo. Like how the breakfast cafe never threw out the table with Taehyun's carved initials. Hueningkai once sat at it, only to be dragged under at the sight of KT etched into one corner. 

Soobin was an immense pillar of support. The two remaining boys clung to each other in the first few years, doing everything they could to work around their complex emotions.

Eventually, they realized that the grief would never really go away. All they could do was grow around it. 

Their frequent meetings trickled down to weekly occurrences until they decided to stick to first Fridays— it lasted a few months, but it brought the both of them too much pain. They decided not to force it. They went their separate ways and learned how to live with the mourning.

And they did, really. Hueningkai kept up with Soobin through social media. They never lost touch. They just took some time to heal separately.

It had been a while since they last saw each other. Their last conversation was about how Yeonjun's dance break trended, and how Hueningkai's father was encouraging them to copyright the song. 

The posthumous success that Taehyun joked about, Soobin had said laughingly. Hueningkai found some comfort in the fact that he was not the only one left remembering. 

He never went back to the restaurant they last ate at, though it was hard for him to miss out on the snowball Beomgyu and Yeonjun had unintentionally started.

Unbeknownst to Hueningkai, the two had left a doodle that night; he would only see it spreading on social media a few months later, after the restaurant recognized a tradition that was happening to its patrons. 

"This is pretty cool, isn't it?" 

Hueningkai nodded, staring at the scrawled last words scaling up the restaurant wall. Soobin stood at his side, the two having agreed to meet-up for lunch.

Beomgyu and Yeonjun's little act of vandalism inspired a chain reaction of some sort. Now, those who were called by Death-cast could visit the restaurant for their final meal and, on their way out, leave a small part of themselves behind on the storefront.

"I think Beomgyu would be happy to see this," Hueningkai chuckled. "He'd be excited to be so famous." 

"Yeah, he really would."

The two made their way into the restaurant, making small talk and catching each other up as they waited for the waitress to stop by their booth. When she finally stopped by, Soobin looked up directly at Hueningkai as he spoke.

"I heard the food here is to die for," Soobin said casually. 

Hueningkai stared back, momentarily thrown off. 

And then he smiled— finding peace in the fact that he and Soobin could share one last thing. 

hueningkai's instagram account: @hyukatheloser.

[ae-azile]

If I ever catch up with my WIPs, I have (another) plot bunny in my head...

Chay is still so angry. He's angry at Porsche for lying to him and joining the mafia. He's angry at Korn for likely killing his father, taking their mother away, and making her into whatever shell of a person she is now. He's even angry at Kinn for making his brother happier than Chay has ever seen him, because that means they are never going to leave this place.

But most of all - despite how fucked up those reasons are - he is still so angry with Kim. He still won't talk to him, but he dreams about him every single night. It isn't fair.

So when he wakes up after a rare dreamless sleep, he feels grateful for about five seconds until he realizes where he is. He's back in his old room, his old house, and completely alone. And when he finds his phone plugged in on the nightstand, it is almost a year behind. If he weren't so freaked out by waking up in his old bed without knowing how he got there, he would smash his phone against the wall. The screen displaying the date he went on that college tour and first met Kim is NOT doing his brain and heart any favors. He calms down for about five minutes when he convinces himself this must be some kind of dream, one that doesn't directly include Kim yet still somehow inserts him into the overall narrative.

But Ohm calls and asks if they are still meeting at their go-to coffee shop so they can gush about Wik before seeing him perform in person - just like he had asked the day it actually happened. So Chay tells him he'd rather die, hangs up the phone, and decides to eat breakfast instead. He makes it down four steps before tripping down the rest and promptly breaking his neck.

Then he wakes up. Again. In his old bed on the day of the tour. When he decides to ignore Ohm's call and take a shower instead, he slips against the porcelain and cracks his head against the wall.

He takes a hint by the third time and goes to the college to see Kim. Kim looks as good as he did the first time and doesn't pay Chay any mind until Chay obnoxiously shouts out the answers to Kim's stupid trivia questions. For some reason, that is an offense that makes getting tased by security justified.

To give Kim a little credit, Chay hears him yelling stop before losing consciousness.

When he wakes up for the fourth time, he realizes he is going to have to go about this a little differently. He goes to the school tour, attends the concert, corrects the girl's answer, and approaches Kim after the show when Ohm drags him over to get his shirt. Chay knows there is no shirt and that Kim's signature, lessons, and expensive guitar aren't worth the heartbreak. Chay wants to tell him as much.

But Kim smiles at him kindly, no recognition in his eyes as he looks towards his friend in hopes to give Chay a shirt. It's then that it truly clicks that Kim doesn't know him, at least not yet. He may have figured out who he was shortly after meeting him and offered the lessons for information, but right now? He has no clue.

Chay is suddenly the one who knows everything and has the upperhand.

So Chay - against every instinct he has - asks Kim for those lessons once again. This time, it's going to be different.

This time, Chay is going to break Kim's heart first.

Notes for plot:

- Chay will die every so often, causing the loop to start once more. Sometimes he gets a month or two in, other times he gets a few days, hours, or even minutes in.

- Chay will occasionally get sidetracked from his mission to destroy Kim. He thinks it could be an opportunity to pull his brother away from the mafia prior to Porsche becoming so attached to and in love with Kinn. He also tries to save his mother singlehandedly. It does not go well.

- After several loops and a couple of long, interrupted bouts, Kim starts becoming more aware. He recognizes Chay in the crowd and starts breaking script.

- It becomes clear this isn't some simulation. Somehow, Kim is now getting trapped into this curse too, but it's more gradual.

- They end up having to work together, all while Kim is struggling to remember what happened in the original timeline.

- Kim and Chay end up falling in love in a way that is more authentic and based in truth - after Chay gets a few loops where he one ups Kim, breaks his heart first, and gets it out of his system.

- Other characters start becoming more aware when Chay regularly deviates from the loop in ways that won't kill him. This results in allies, as well as bringing more of the ensemble into the loop. Sorry for the pun.

*Loosely inspired by the episode "Mystery Spot" from Supernatural, but more complicated * 😂

[jaemlonfz]

MOVIE STAR

jaehyun x fem!reader

tw: english isnt my first language correct me if theres any mistakes actors!au, sex, jaehyun is kinda rude at first but gets cute at the end, creampie, sex on the couch, unprotected sex but please wrap yourself, I didn't proofread, if I have errors, help me, idk if there more.

wc: 2,9k

synopsis: you get really shy after a makeout scene with jaehyun, on your new kdrama and he makes a way of you get over it - or get even more shy.

author's note: i posted this last year and im editing it so looks better, english isnt my mother tongue so im sorry if theres any mistakes

movie star - cix

Last year was a wonderful year for your career, getting the attention you wanted and completely fair to your work, you finally started to see your career take off like a rocket. It was thanks to the second drama you did, having the role of the protagonist's best friend, the few scenes that you were the protagonist made many people appreciate your talent and started calling you for several series and films. This is one of them.

This new drama consisted of you as the lead, the famous Jeong Jaehyun as the second lead, and Hwang In-Youp as the second romance option. The script was really that common drama thing, it has a plot between two rival CEOs - you and Jaehyun - and your secretary - In-Youp. But the story at the end is about who you would end up with, and in this case it's Jaehyun.

His personality on camera is surprising, he managed to be a brat in person, even though he is the grandson of a CEO of a large company.

After several recordings, the satisfying last episodes arrived, a bit of a reward for those who were tense during the entire drama. In case you and Jaehyun finally act like a romantic couple, and that's where our problem comes in.

There was one scene in particular, after a long day of bad luck you come home and collapse in bed tired. When Jaehyun plans to make a surprise visit to your apartment and he finds you totally tense, lying face down on the bed he decides to treat you. The tiring night turned into something super fun, with movies and popcorn, something simple and pure.

Until the TV light tired their eyes, so they decided to sleep. The thing is, none of them could sleep a wink. Even though the night was fun, the concerns of your work came to the fore when you remembered that you would step in that place again, and in Jaehyun's head, there was no intense thought, but images of you rolling in slow motion, making it clear that he was extremely grateful and lucky to have you.

Moonlight illuminated the room, and two people awake while the clock read 1:27 in the morning, and you couldn't take it anymore. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, you can't sleep either?" He asked and you soon grumbled in response. Undoing the shell, you turned it to face him.

"What's going on in your head, is it insomnia again?" Innocent words come out of your mouth

"You're on my mind, that's why I can't sleep" He smiled breathing heavily. Approaching without noticing, when he noticed he was already glued to his body. Now with both heavy breaths he decided to close the path, kissing her mouth for minutes that felt like a few more hours. Kissing down her neck and neck of her breasts. His breathing was a lot heavier now.

The scene was in the script. You had to record it, but this kiss was so sincere, Jaehyun had his hands on your precious waist, moving his thumbs in circles making you shiver just thinking about it.

Thank God that the producers shouted that the take was over, as the scene was on the brink of going off script. When you heard the warning, you got out from under the covers and ran to your dressing room. Taking a deep breath and mentally hammering that it was just a scene, and apparently there would be no need to redo it.

After a few minutes of the incident, you were already in the dressing room, with an iced americano on top of the dressing table, when someone knocked on the door. Screaming they can come in you were amazed when the director entered with Jaehyun in your small room.

'Thanks to your coworker here we are going to make some changes to the script, putting in more mature scenes. After everything the characters have been through they deserve a little bit." He finished the sentence and left the room leaving you and Jaehyun alone.

Your cheeks and ears were the deepest shade of red and you were blinking hard trying to believe this was just a dream.

When Jaehyun really stopped imagining what the additions to the script would be, he looked at you, and saw your face as red as a strawberry.

"It's just a scene." He said laughing. "You think you can't do it? The most pleasurable scene of all and you'll have to call your stunt double?"

He moved closer and closer, never giving your cheeks a chance to return to their normal tone.

"Are you going to have to call a stunt double just because you're too embarrassed to give yourself up to me?" He laughed, releasing the cold air on your neck. "Where's your professionalism?"

Now Jaehyun looked exactly like the character. Arrogant with a sky-high ego, but a hottie. And you were like your character too, always with red ears and extremely hurt by your teasing, but you changed the script - at least you tried - took your still arms out of place and grabbed Jaehyun's chest trying to throw him away, but failing miserably, as he had now taken ypur hands and bent down to kiss the palms of both.

"I'll see you soon." He whispered in her ear and gave a peck seconds before walking out the door.

Your heart was racing, and after that damned conversation you had to play the part without calling in any backup, just to prove something to that damn brat.

In the new scene, you were lying on the sofa while Jaehyun's hands explored your neck, slowly sliding down, his lips were sealed to yours and your hair was completely messed up, but in such a sexy way that you wanted to die.

Seconds later his hands descended to her waist and his lips slipped in the lap of your breasts, his face was bright and his eyes completely dark. When the director shouted "Cut!" you practically jumped off the couch like crazy and ran without even hearing feedback on your acting.

Since then the scenes have become much more difficult to record, your heart has been racing more and more and the amount of times you stutter seems abnormal. A few weeks ago you and Jaehyun were practically best friends, at the end of every recording you would go out drinking and having fun, but now you leave him as soon as the take is over and he definitely noticed.

-

"How can my lead actress run away from me like that" - Jaehyun said entering your dressing room and locking the door. From the look on his face he had plotted something and was close to executing his new plan.

Your face has already turned red remembering those lips wandering over your neck, stuttering uncontrollably you started to walk backwards until you hit the wall.

I know what happened to you, and that's pretty sweet to be honest - He followed you like a magnet follows metal, soon joining you by the wall.

His bare muscular arm - thanks to the blessed tank top he decided to wear today - was resting on the wall next to your reddened face.

"The directors are starting to complain, saying that your acting and professionalism has gone downhill" He said with those pink lips at the tip of your ear.

"If it continues like this they will end the series, and end the contract." Now he kissed your ear. "I know how to solve this."

That was his plan. And you knew it, but you were tempted. Did your career just take off and it's about to crash? You were lucky when you signed the company papers as it was one of the biggest in Korea. But now that was a disadvantage, if they fire you they'll spread it all over the press and you'll end up broke. So you fell for Jaehyun's miserable plan.

How would you solve this? - Your voice trembled along your legs.

"If you fuck with me, you'll lose the embarrassment of kissing me in front of the cameras." He said kissing down and biting your neck.

"We don't have more kissing scenes." You complained while giving space to Jaehyun, who was about to fit his knee between your legs.

"But I can change that. Again." Now he looked into your eyes, going through your physical body being able to see even your soul. "Do you want my help?"

Jaehyun's dark eyes pleaded with you without saying anything. And you couldn't deny or nod. You only managed to kiss that pretty mouth without saying anything.

In a matter of seconds you are pressed firmly against the wall, your hands on Jaehyun's neck, scratching, and his hands are divided. One on your neck trying to pull you closer and the other squeezing your waist.

Your eyes were closed, but when the kiss broke and you went to admire Jaehyun, your vision was blurrier than the streets when covered in fog. That was Jaehyun's effect on you.

It covered you like smoke leaving you dizzy, without vision and any senses.

And in that not seeing straight, you just felt your weight being carried to the couch. You were sitting normally, if not counting the fact that your chair was Jaehyun's lap. You tried to sloppily kiss him again, but that was impossible with your shirt between your faces.

She was being lifted up so they could have a perfect view of your bra covered chest - which was left there for now.

Now the kiss was successfully conceived now that you was shirtless. Your legs spread between Jaehyun's thick thighs were in constant motion up and down his lap. Until everything stopped.

"You look beautiful with those jeans, I don't even want to take them off." Jaehyun bit his lower lip as he said those words.

"But I'm so looking forward to seeing the color of your panties, especially what they hide" Now he would throw you on the couch. Turning you over, putting your back on the pillow.

Kissing your breasts you can't help but encourage him. "Light pink, with a little bow." You whispered in the brunette's ear.

You can feel his smile in the valley of your boobs . That while he was still there, because seconds later his mouth was somewhere else.

With sloppy moans accompanying another confusing kiss you could feel Jaehyun's cold hands go down to the bottom of your pants, then down as well.

Your tight jeans - which enhanced your ass in an absurd way - were already somewhere else, because now all Jaehyun admired was you, your bra - which honestly he doesn't know why he hasn't taken it off yet - and your light pink panties, which at the moment was already in another tone due to the humidity of your pussy.

Reading the brunette's thoughts, you grabbed the boy's strong arms and helped him unclasp your bra. Now with your breasts flying in his sight, he shifted again. Repeating the position leaving you in his lap. You wiggled around in his black jeans - specifically in the tent next to his belly. - His hands resting on the back of the couch and your head leaning back releasing the most pornographic moans ever seen while Jaehyun sucked your breasts like a child.

Biting the nipple and sucking the round - relatively large - while groping the other, making a switch in a few minutes.

Your cunt was now throbbing and trying to behave by squeezing into nothingness. Jaehyun - you just meowed and that was all it took for him to notice. Your nails itched and pulled Jaehyun's shirt off, giving you the pleasure of scratching that chest.

Back played on the couch, you breathed hard rolling your eyes just feeling the wind in your hot pussy.

In a flash you saw Jaehyun tucking the pink fabric into his pocket, and then you saw his head ducking into its warmth.

The pleasure that Jaehyun's mouth would bring to your body is something unimaginable and surprisingly unique. No one would ever dare to do like him. The tongue you've kissed many times was kissing somewhere else, but it kept being sloppy making everything more fun.

Your head was empty, and you were meaningless - other than the warmth and affection received between your legs - so the noise you made was so loud, but you didn't even care. After all I just felt like moaning like a bitch when Jaehyun told you.

"Were you a porn star before taking on this role? You moan like one." Aggressive words were thrown at you, but that still didn't stop you from continuing like a whore.

You've been close since he started labor, but when his tongue starts teasing your soft spot, your clit, you freak out.

Tired of listening to you exposing to the world how good he was, his arm fumbled in the pockets until he found the pink fabric. Tucking the wet panties into your mouth, and swirling your tongue around the sensitive hole, you climaxed with teary eyes.

"Now shut up." He said lifting your pussy and taking the tissue from your throat. "I want my souvenir back."

He said and kissed you, spreading the taste of your pussy all over your mouth.

Jaehyun was so naughty and so precious at the same time. It's been months since you had any kind of relationship, and even with the rude words Jaehyun didn't hurt you.

You were almost freaking out because he made you feel so good without even doing the full job - untill now.

Innovating the position now only you were sitting on the couch. Your knees were propped up on your chest giving a magnificent view of your swollen pussy.

Jaehyun was quick to get out of his dark jeans and underwear, spitting onto his pre-cum wet dick, in a matter of seconds you could feel him getting into position.

"Open your legs please." - Surprisingly he begged, and you gave in so easily. Whimpering in response and the icy contact you obeyed by stretching your legs.

"If you feel pain let me know." - He said kissing her lip. Jaehyun is so readable now. His brows were furrowed and he was biting his lip so hard it looked like any second it would bleed. On the other hand, they felt like they were tearing you apart.

Jaehyun's thick cock invaded you completely, every firm breath you took, your insides tightened, and you both suffered from it. You swore you saw Jaehyun shake, and he swore he looked like he was going to explode.

You closed your eyes tightly when you got used to it. Head shaking when Jaehyun was free to move.

Now it was you who was trembling. Jaehyun reached you in full when standing still, now in motion you came in a few moves.

It fit so well, and you felt magnificent, and seconds later, the news was coming. Its liquid exploded on Jaehyun who had to hold back from doing the same in less than 3 minutes inside.

You were already getting used to it. Getting used to swinging full length when Jaehyun hammered you. Your head bobbing back and forth, your hands destroying his pecs - thanks to your beautiful nails - and your boobs bouncing. It was already perfect, you were going to arrive for the third time and possibly pass out thanks to your fog, until everything changed

Jaehyun in a matter of seconds he lifted your thigh and rested his knee on your shoulder, invading you even more. The tip of his cock destroyed the beginning of your womb, and your bleary eyes changed. The cloud has changed.

Your head was spinning and you were seeing stars, you squeezed when you felt your third one coming, and this time Jaehyun felt the same.

You broke out in a cold sweat when he came on you. He shot all his flavor inside you, he made you a pie. And then your squirt came hard.

Your waters dripped from your eyes and your pussy. You cried when he laughed and said you were extremely hot while you came.

"I'm sorry I didn't talk that much when I was inside you." He placed a kiss on your cheek and walked over to your dressing table to grab the wet wipes packet.

"I was very concentrated, I wanted to impress you" He laughed as he walked back to your side.

You who had already closed your legs in shame had red cheeks when he opened it again. It was impossible not to moan as he cleaned you up. Jaehyun looked like an angel between her legs.

"Thank you so much." He kissed your thigh.

-

You were already dressed - you were still without your panties - when he sat next to you on the couch.

"I'm sorry about the couch too, it must have been uncomfortable for you, such a small place." - He fed his addiction of kissing your cheek. "Go out with me tomorrow and we'll finish in my bed, it's much bigger."

He turned your face giving another kiss, but this time on your mouth.

"What time do you pick me up?" You replied laughing shyly.

You were definitely not embarrassed to be around him anymore. And you didn't even notice the change.

His plans always worked.

@jaemlonfz 2023

[bronzeagepizzeria]

A COMPREHENSIVE DEFENCE OF EVERYTHING TENTOO (PART 1)

Because unfortunately there’s a lot of stuff out there to refute.

so i guess a lot of people are watching doctor who right now because of good omens. and that, for some reason, means the tags are being constantly subjected to Certain tentoo takes so...it's meta time.

in this meta, i'll be rehashing how, exactly, tentoo is the doctor, and answering some other commonly posed objections to the pairing that is tentoo x rose.

But he's not the Doctor! Rose ended up with a copy!

First things first. The entire show revolves around the philosophical concept of Cartesian Dualism--the idea that the soul/spirit/mind has an entirely separate existence from the physical body. This is the basic principle of regeneration; when the Doctor regenerates, every organ, every cell in his body changes, and yet he remains the same man. What makes the Ninth Doctor the same man as the Tenth Doctor? There's something underlying here---the memories, the mind, the spirit. The body, has absolutely no significance.

In S6E6, The Almost People, we are introduced to the Ganger!Doctor. This is a man made out of like, slime, but he has the Eleventh Doctor's memories. Thus, he IS the Doctor. The Doctor himself says this.

In S9E11, Heaven Sent, the Twelfth Doctor is reduced to ashes millions and millions of times, and yet each time his body is 'recreated' or 'cloned', he remains the same person. Why? Because the memories persist. The soul lives on.

Here, have it straight from the horse's mouth.

"A man is the sum of his memories. A Time Lord even more so." - The Fifth Doctor, The Five Doctors, 1983

More evidence? What's the first thing the Tenth Doctor tries to do in Born Again to convince Rose that he really is the Doctor she knows?

DOCTOR: Very first word I ever said to you. Trapped in that cellar...Surrounded by shop window dummies. Oh...such a long time ago. I took your hand...I said one word. Just one word...Run.

Right. He shows her that he has the same memories.

Now cast your minds back to S4E13. What does the Metacrisis Doctor say when he's trying to convince Rose he's the same man?

Therefore, according to the lore established by the show itself, his missing heart has no significance to who he is. He is the Doctor.

2. But he's a CLONE.

Okay, first of all, he's not. He's a biological metacrisis, the only one of his kind. He has only one heart, i.e, he is not biologically identical to the Time Lord Doctor.

Second, even if he was, he would STILL be the Doctor. As established above.

Third, we see a Martha clone in S4E4, The Sontaran Stratagem, and she is a far cry from what we see of Tentoo.

3. Alright so he's not a copy. He's still only A Doctor! He isn't Ten, he's Half-Donna!

So. We've established that what makes a man is his memories.

If the Doctor had Donna's memories, he wouldn't be the Doctor anymore--which makes him ending up with Rose redundant. Here's the silver lining though.

Tentoo has only ten's memories. His own memories.

'How do we know this?' you may ask. Let's examine the script of S4E13, Journey's End.

(The Daleks spin around on the spot.) DALEK: Help me. Help me! DONNA: And the other way. NEW DOCTOR: What did you do? DONNA: Trip switch circuit-breaker in the psychokinetic threshold manipulator. NEW DOCTOR: But that's brilliant! DOCTOR: Why did we never think of that? DONNA: Because you two were just Time Lords, you dumbos, lacking that little bit of human. That gut instinct that comes hand in hand with planet Earth. I can think of ideas you two couldn't dream of in a million years.

Not very likely if Tentoo had her memories, right? This happens again, in the TARDIS Coral deleted scene:

DONNA: If you shatterfry the plasmic shell....you accelerate the growth power by fifty-nine. DOCTOR & NEW DOCTOR: We never thought of that.

There we go. Canon evidence that Tentoo does not have Donna's mind/memory/thought process. Instead, we see his mind being constantly referred to as that of his Time Lord counterpart.

4. So what exactly happened during the 'metacrisis' then? Why was Donna unable to sustain the change whereas we're meant to assume Tentoo is doing fine?

What happened in JE was a two-way metacrisis.

Tentoo is a biological metacrisis, i.e his mind remained the same, but the regeneration energy in his hand picked up on Donna's human biology and grew a human body. (His body is PART human, as in the ageing part. He'll grow old, and never regenerate.)

Whereas, Donna's body remained the same; she got the Doctor's mind, becoming the DoctorDonna. She is essentially the Doctor AND Donna, at this point in time.

At one point in JE, there are three Doctors ("There's three of you?") because as proved earlier, anybody that has the Doctor's memories, is the Doctor. There is: the Time Lord Doctor (Ten), the Human Doctor (Tentoo) and the Doctor Donna.

Since Donna was a human, she could not sustain the Doctor's mind alongside her own, which is what led to it burning up. It was simply too much for a human brain to take.

Tentoo, as proven earlier, does not have Donna's mind.

5. But he talks funny.

We are shown the Doctor picking up her mannerisms. The Doctor regularly picks up things from people he travels with. He "imprints" on Rose as a newly regenerated being and is shown to pick up on his companions' accents very often.

On a more analytical level, the "Donna mannerisms" bit is obviously comedic relief in an extremely action packed episode (evidenced by the fact that he literally never sounds like Donna again throughout the episode) and isn't meant to be taken that seriously. In every other scene, he is played by David Tennant, exactly as ten.

Tentoo is the Tenth Doctor, but human. In every way that matters, he is exactly Ten.

6. But he's Season 2 Ten! He doesn't have any of the character development Time-Lord Ten does!

Erm. Yeah. You've got to watch the show again.

7. Alright. Okay. If Tentoo is the exact same man, he would get bored of a life on earth with Rose. They'd never last.

Now we've got to address a key aspect of the Doctor's arc. (Keep in mind, when I refer to the Doctor herein, I only mean the Ninth and Tenth, the ones written by Russell T. Davies.)

The Doctor always wanted to be human.

The Doctor, and the Tenth Doctor in particular, wants to be human. It’s peppered here and there throughout the first four seasons, but if you watch closely, there’s this underlying current of wistfulness in him (“I’ve never had a life like that”; “The one adventure I can never have”), not to mention the entirety of the Human Nature two parter.

I think to some extent Rose made him feel human, and it’s his alienness that’s the big barrier in their relationship. He doesn't allow himself to love her the way he wants to because of the difference in their life spans. Because he's a Time-Lord, and he has a responsibility to the Universe, and he can't be more selfish than he's being already, keeping her with him.

She makes him want to be human, to be loved and to be free to love her as he wants to. She even helps him forget, sometimes, that he isn't human. Remember his expression in The Stolen Earth when he sees her again? He is so glad to see her. In that moment, it doesn't matter that they can never be together, because Rose loves him so much she came back.

I'm reminded of a quote from Buffy The Vampire Slayer:

I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man.

And then bam. The almost-regeneration. The crushing reminder that he is intrinsically different from her species, from what he aches to be. Constant and selfish and free. Human.

Giving Rose up to his other self was the most selfless, loving thing he could’ve done. His other self, who is uninhibited, unburdened from the responsibilities of a Time Lord—can and will give Rose everything she deserves.

8. Just make Rose immortal then! Happy endings all around.

Now you might say, the earlier problem could be solved simply by making Rose immortal—she’d stay with the Doctor forever and she’d never have to leave him!

Here's the thing. Being immortal is Not Good.

A constant theme throughout seasons 1-4 is that immortality is not desirable. There is a constant motif of “living too long”, whether it be from Jack, the Face of Boe (cough), or the Doctor himself.

Things are only precious and meaningful because they end—the human way of doing things? Fast, and bright, and temporary? It’s the right way.

One of the many reasons the Doctor loves Rose is because she’s human—it’s a big part of why he’s attracted to her in the first place.

Besides, an immortal Rose would mean having to outlive her family, her friends, everyone she’s ever known—who else has experienced that? Oh, yeah. The Doctor. I can’t imagine him wanting her to go through the same thing under any circumstances.

9. Rose would never accept him. She wanted the adventure too, not just the Doctor.

This is the Rose who instantly felt connected to a parallel version of her parents. Remember, this Pete and Jackie had NO memory of her, and yet, she loved them. Tentoo IS Ten.

She also constantly refers to Tentoo as The Doctor, so I have faith in her figuring it out just fine.

As for the adventure, being human doesn't mean they're suddenly going to become accountants or work in childcare or something. (Looking at you, Jenny Colgan.)

Canon (Big Finish) tells us that they both work with UNIT/Torchwood, so we know that they're out there, defending Pete's World together.

'What about the TARDIS?' you may ask. Well, the writer considers it canon that the previously linked TARDIS coral scene did take place, so we can imagine that they're out there, exploring a new Universe.

But even if they didn’t have a TARDIS, we only need to look to S1E13, The Parting of the Ways, to understand that Rose cares about the Doctor above all else.

ROSE: But what do I do every day, mum? What do I do? Get up, catch the bus, go to work, come back home, eat chips and go to bed? Is that it? MICKEY: It's what the rest of us do. ROSE: But I can't! MICKEY: Why, because you're better than us? ROSE: No, I didn't mean that. But it was. It was a better life. And I don't mean all the travelling and seeing aliens and spaceships and things. That don't matter. The Doctor showed me a better way of living your life. You know he showed you too. That you don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say no. You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away.

Of course Rose loves the TARDIS. She just loves the Doctor more.

More evidence? S2E8, The Impossible Planet:

DOCTOR: ....They were grown, not built. And with my own planet gone, we're kind of stuck. ROSE: Well, it could be worse. This lot said they'd give us a lift. DOCTOR: And then what? ROSE: I don't know. Find a planet, get a job, live a life, same as the rest of the universe.

Clearly, she doesn't mind settling down---not if it means staying with the Doctor.

DOCTOR: I promised Jackie I'd always take you back home. ROSE: Everyone leaves home in the end. DOCTOR: Not to end up stuck here. ROSE: Yeah, but stuck with you, that's not so bad. DOCTOR: Yeah? ROSE: Yes.

Here's another conversation she has with Jackie in S2E12, Army of Ghosts:

JACKIE: No, but really. When I'm dead and buried, you won't have any reason to come back home. What happens then? ROSE: I don't know. JACKIE: Do you think you'll ever settle down? ROSE: The Doctor never will, so I can't. I'll just keep on travelling.

"I can't." Not I don't want to, or I'm not interested---I can't. Rose is in love with the Doctor, and she knows at some level that the feeling is mutual. She also knows, he will never fully act on it.

But that's alright, because she loves him so much she's made her peace with it and with his limitations.

And instead of the typical female protagonist sacrificing things for her love interest trope, we get RTD flipping it on its head and letting Ten deliver the ultimate sacrifice, perform the ultimate act of love---letting Rose go.

By doing this, he's giving her everything he never could. It's beautiful. It's heartbreaking. It's the best love story ever put to television.

Let me conclude with this quote:

“Firstly, Rose is neither shallow nor stupid. She doesn’t settle for second best. She gets the person she fell in love with. And, as a bonus, he’s now able to spend the rest of his life with her, as she with him. Secondly, the very same person who experienced the heartbreak of losing Rose for the first time now experiences joy at the prospect of a lifetime in her company. In this full sense, the Doctor who lost, finally wins.” - Paul Dawson, Doctor Who and Philosophy.

10. But the Doctor and Rose ending up together is disgusting! They were platonic!

…..

[cure-orchid]

So I know the show recently ended, but I ended up binging through TGAMM and loved it! The Ghost Friends are all mood and the Mollie ship is adorable. Then I learned about the Chairman Ollie arc for the scrapped third season and IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO SEE!

I ended up writing down how I would imagine the story arc going down, and I headcanon that several of the planned season 3 eps (minus the ones that would clash with the finale) happened between JVTHM and The End (Ollie knowing about the wraith memory loss and how he says it could have hinted that it already occurred.)

My Chairman Ollie plotline: It starts with what was outlined in the already written scripts, and Ollie keeps spending more and more time in the Ghost World rather than on Earth. He’s becoming a little more forgetful as the episodes pass and has noticeable headaches. Things like his parents having a Root Beer Bar or the plot of the latest Country Pumpkin movie seem to surprise him when he should already know about them.

He’s missed a few dates with Molly and slipping on schoolwork so she takes an episode trying to talk to him at school but he keeps getting pulled away to fix something as the Chairman. The episode would really drive in how his human memories are failing even when he reconnects with his body and there’s a whole musical number on how Molly feels he’s growing distant. She finally catches up to him in the end and he looks partway between normal and being an empty shell(his hair is even losing the swoop!). She asks him out for ice cream but then we get a wham line “Sure, but… who are you?” Molly’s heart literally breaks as she discovers Ollie has lost all memory of her. He excuses himself and leaves Molly crying with Scratch and Libby coming to console her.

Next episode the remaining Ghost Friends are trying to figure out what’s wrong with him when June comes to Molly’s house trying not to panic. Ollie’s shell came home yesterday but not his wraith and he’s still not back. Molly, Libby and Darryl go to the Chen’s while Scratch goes to the Ghost World to see what’s keeping him. He finds Ollie still obsessively trying to engoodify the Ghost World and his orange glow is much more faded. Worse, when Scratch calls him by his name he asks who Ollie is. Libby manages to discover a page in her pop-up book that was stuck to another and reveals wraiths can lose their memories the longer they spend away from their body and without the will to live they cannot fully rejoin the two halves. Scratch arrives and with all they know they make a plan. Molly, Scratch and the Chen’s go to the Ghost World while Darryl and Libby keep an eye on their bodies. They get to Ollie and he doesn’t recognize anyone but Scratch, but has no emotional attachment to him. Big musical number as they all try to help Ollie remember but it doesn’t work. Everyone is devastated and it seems like Ollie might be gone forever.

Molly doesn’t give up, she pulls down his hood and cups his face, (this is where the drawing is) telling Ollie that she loves him and gives him their first kiss. Her yellow sparks course through him and his orange glow regains it’s color… and he regains his memories. When they pull away, Olly says her name and he’s pulled into a group hug as he says everyone’s names. He leaves the robe and hurries back into his body. A few hours later it’s just him, Molly and Scratch when the ghost council arrives. I haven’t come up with what happens to the robe but Ollie does relinquish his title as chairman and Scratch pulls the council away. Now alone, Ollie didn’t get to say it back in the ghost world, but he loves Molly too. They have another kiss and lean their foreheads together afterwards… and then Scratch comes back complaining that they already sucked faces once today already.

Update 5/27: Yep, I’m turning this into a fanfic. I said I wouldn’t but I got the inspiration on how to do it! It’s called ‘Record of an Engoodifier’

Also bonus doodles:

[luxtoony]

part 2/ part3

next part on Sunday (13:00 CST ) It's gonna get pretty angsty guys

A post movie comic about the lovely bajablast. The argument is a little vague for now but don't worry it will be explained.

So... What should you do when you have at least ten already started projects?

START ANOTHER ONE. :)

Its one of those that have been bugging my brain for months and started as a short, about Leo getting Mikey out from his shell with compliments and then during making, it turned into a 2 parter and now that I scripted this I hope I can make it in 3 :)

Like said before it's gonna be a tad bit emotional (I hope) but don't worry it's gonna end good(ish).

[ifangirlalot]

hey!! I'd just like to say that I ADORE your theme and your writing. Could you maybe do a reader that performs a scene with Finn and it's triggering for her and Finn doesn't know because he thinks she's just improvising and he doesn't realize until after?? It's totally okay if you don't want to do this btw I just thought this would be cool lol

˗ˏˋ "𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐃" 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˎˊ˗ | starring finn wolfhard

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*~fluff!~* [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘]: reader having a panic attack, finn unintentionally triggering [name]'s anxiety, accidentally not acknowledging and apologizing until later

Hi Anon! Thank you for your request I'm sorry it took so long to get this out, hope it's good since this took me maybe fifteen minutes lmao.

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︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[Name]'s POV

Reading a romantic scene on the script is so much less nerve wracking than actually doing the scene. When I read that my character and Finn's would have to kiss, my belly fluttered with butterflies. Actually, I felt a little excited. But then, as the day we were meant to shoot the kiss scene, I got steadily more anxious until it was all I could think about.

I had liked Finn for a while, what if I fucked it up? What if he didn't like the kiss? Oh God, what if he doesn't want to and I have to kiss his stunt double and I somehow fuck that up too? I wasn't ready for this. But unfortunately, anxiety has this habit of speeding up time, so the day had arrived before I even blinked. The scene passed as it was meant to..

But then.. Oh God, Finn was leading in.

His soft red lips met mine and my entire body felt like he had ignited it. Like my lips were fire and his were gasoline. My ears were ringing and my heart was pounding against my eardrums. It felt like my body was disconnected from my mind and my lips had gained a mind of their own. My lips pressed against his and I shakily moved my hands to his shoulders.

His hand wandered up my thigh.

Oh god oh god oh god Finn this wasn't in the script why are you doing this oh god please don't do this don't do this don't do this...

My entire body froze, but Finn didn't seem to notice. He continued kissing me, his thumb brushing against my thigh while his other hand held my cheek. Meanwhile, I felt like I was short circuiting. Like I was just a shell. It took everything in me to keep myself from shaking.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ Later on, I hesitantly knocked on Finn's trailer door. "Um.. Finn, can I.. talk to you, please?"

Finn smiled at me, which usually would have brushed away all the troubled thoughts I was experiencing, but not today. My body was still on edge from Finn's improv. I was shaking now, my face pale and my eyes twitching around the room. His smile quickly dropped when he saw my troubled expression.

"Hey.. [Name], you okay?" he asked, concerned, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a worried v.

"Um.. Finn, why didn't you tell me you were going off the script?" I whispered, not meeting his eyes. I looked down at the carpeted floor of his trailer, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, as though I were trying to keep myself from falling apart. "It.. just caught me off guard."

For a second, Finn was silent. I could almost hear the pieces clicking together in his head.

"Oh- fuck! Shit, I am so sorry, [Name]- I-I swear to god I wouldn't have done it if I knew it was going to make you uncomfortable! Jesus Christ-" He suddenly seemed stressed, his hands pushing into his hair back with his hands as he began to pace. "How did I not notice? I have anxiety, I should have realized! I should.. have.." Finn's words trailed off as he blew out a breath between puckered lips.

"Finn.. it.. it's okay.." I said quietly, hesitantly reaching out and grabbing his shoulders. Then I let my arms wrap around his torso, my head resting on his chest. He immediately relaxed and wrapped his arms around me with a sigh.

"I-I'm sorry, [Name]. No more improv unless we discuss it first, I promise."