#i have to meet a bunch of new people at work tomorrow i feel really bad for them]

[the-casbah-way]

i know that being hyperaware of how weird and awkward i am only makes me act more weird and awkward but. i cannot stop

[loverboybitch]

hi i would just like to report that getting out of my house and being a member of society is cool and kind of rules even when its scary yeah.//.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 2 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna knows her new coworkers want her to meet their friend Bob. But she's too hesitant, afraid to get herself in a situation where she's pining after someone new. During a spur of the moment shopping trip, Bob is delighted to bump into a woman he can only describe as adorable. Too bad he's never been great at the follow through.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

By the end of her first week teaching, Anna had learned many things, almost like she was a student herself. That nice, secluded ladies' restroom she found was secluded because one of the toilets regularly overflowed. The coffee in the teacher's lounge was actually disgusting, but the donuts were available every day. And Dr. Pham from the sociology department asked her out three times on Thursday, apparently because she wore her hair in two braids like Princess Anna from Frozen, a mistake she wouldn't be making again.

And she was so tired. She started to lose her voice on Friday morning from how much she had to talk in her lectures. She took the wrong notes to class with her and had to improvise an hour long class on Emily Dickinson, because she was too afraid to give one of her students the keys to her office door. So she sweated it out, but managed to sound somewhat coherent as she dismissed her class at noon.

She pressed her lips together. If she ran to get her sandwich and peanuts really quickly, she could join her new friends by the weird tree. After two days of joining them for lunch, she really liked both of them. She just didn't want to get their hopes up about their friend Bob whom she was supposedly perfect for.

Anna wasn't perfect for anybody. And frankly this Bob guy sounded like a dreamboat, which just made it worse. He'd probably laugh after taking one look at her, and if she opened her mouth and tried to talk to him, he'd run away scared. She already turned down their invitation to go to the Navy hangout bar on Saturday night, citing that she was too exhausted. But it was really because she needed to stand firm with herself and do everything she could to protect her feelings from now on. 

After another few seconds of contemplation, she went to her office and got her lunch before heading to the quad. But today it was just Jessica there eating lasagna and garlic bread from a plastic container while Anna's stomach growled in jealousy. 

"Hi," she greeted after she chewed up a bite of her perfect looking lunch. "It's just us today. Dr. Rosenthal apparently had a bunch of questions about the math curriculum and took Advanced Calculus out for a long working lunch at Covewood."

Anna had barely been in the city for more than two weeks, but even she had heard of Covewood. "That's a five star restaurant. A romantic date night hot spot."

"Mmhmm," Jessica agreed as she sunk her perfect teeth into the garlic bread.

Anna realized her own experience was fueling her next sentences, but she said them anyway. "Isn't she married? Her husband is okay with that?" she asked softly.

Advanced Physics burst into laughter. "Bradley loves Dr. Rosenthal. He's in his seventies, and he's one of the sweetest people at the school. They have him over for dinner sometimes. He actually did my tenure review."

"Oh," Anna replied, embarrassed that she could hardly relate to someone who trusted their spouse. "That actually sounds really nice."

"Hey, are you sure you don't want to come out tomorrow night? No pressure. I just think you'd have a fun time. The guys are all sweethearts."

Anna looked down at herself and her sad sandwich. She didn't even have money to spare for a beer that she would probably drink half of before she wanted to leave. And it didn't matter if the guys were sweet, she knew her two new friends would be champing at the bit to see how she and this Bob person interacted. "Not this weekend," she replied. "Maybe another night."

Instead of socializing, she spent her Saturday window shopping in North Park. She had a budget of exactly zero dollars, but she could entertain herself for hours this way. She gasped when she found a two story bookshop that claimed it contained new and used and rare finds, and she ran across the street to get to it. 

It was darker and quieter inside than the sunlit, traffic filled streets, and when Anna took a deep breath, it reminded her of a cozy library. The clerk behind the register waved instead of speaking, so really, it just kept getting better. When she noticed the wooden sign on the wall informing her that The Classics were upstairs, she made her way up the creaky steps to a loft area with row after row of tall shelves. 

"Perfect," she muttered, walking to the end of the open space and turning down the last tight row of bookshelves. She wasn't alone, but the only other occupant was a tall, slim man with broad shoulders and tidy, sandy colored hair. He seemed to be so absorbed by what he was reading, he didn't look up when Anna reached for an enormous copy of Shakespeare plays.

She almost moaned out loud; it was annotated and contained every play she had to teach in her Thursday morning English 300 class. It was well worn, and the cover felt nice in her hands. Shit. Of course it was seventy bucks. That was more than she spent on groceries last week. Maybe she could expense it to the department? She should probably know how to do that. Maybe she could text one of her new friends and ask if that was allowed. 

But she slid the book back into place as a Vonnegut she didn't yet own caught her eye. She reached out for it with a steady hand, but as soon as her fingertips met the spine, a much larger hand, complete with graceful yet calloused fingers, wrapped around hers. Everything suddenly smelled clean like soap and also intriguingly like tea leaves. And then she heard a voice next to her ear that made her bite down on her lip as a ripple of pleasure teased her spine. 

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

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

Bob had never been to this store before, and he wasn't really planning on stopping by today, but Mickey dragged him in and then ditched him for the children's section at the back of the store. Bob looked around downstairs, but as a poetry fan, he found that section to be seriously lacking, so he headed up to the loft instead.

He considered himself well-read until he realized how many classic novels he'd never even heard of before. And they all sounded really depressing. Which was kind of the point, he supposed, but if he was going to get something new to read, he was in the mood for a more upbeat story. Maybe a romance or a European adventure he could get lost in. Maybe a sweeping, romantic tale where the nice guy gets the girl for once. 

After several tries, he still wasn't finding anything close to what he was hoping for. As he re-shevled The Bell Jar, he decided to just reach for a book at random. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut? Maybe that would be more his speed. But when he reached for it, his fingers wrapped around a soft hand complete with glossy, burgundy fingernails instead of the actual book. He jumped an inch in the air, because he hadn't even been aware anyone else was in the aisle with him, let alone a woman who smelled like sweet perfume.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," he stammered, already mortified. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he wanted to jump off the loft railing and run out the shop door. There was only one word to accurately describe her: adorable. She had dark red hair done up in a messy braid, big brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. "Oh."

"It's okay," she replied softly as she tried to hand him the book. "You can have it."

He shook his head, completely distracted, as he kept finding more things about her face that he liked. A grin curled along his lips as he said, "No, it's all yours. Really. I was just looking for something new to read."

She glanced down at the cover and then back at his face, and maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like she was blushing a bit. "Wow. I wasn't really expecting anyone else to be interested in reading a sarcastic take on global destruction on a sunny Saturday afternoon."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is that what it's about?"

Her laughter was also adorable. "Yeah, I mean... it's Vonnegut," she said with a bit of an eye roll. Oh no. She knew what she was talking about, and he kind of didn't. He was probably about to sound like an idiot. 

Bob cleared his throat and pointed at a random spine to buy himself time. "What's this one about?"

She cocked her head slightly to the side and said, "Two murders and a kidnapping."

"Oh," he said with a little laugh. "No thanks. How about this one?"

He wasn't even looking at the books now at all, preferring to watch her facial expression change as she checked another title. "Oh, that one's good. Also about murder."

He chuckled and pointed at another. "This one?"

She smirked and looked up at him. "Jealousy, rage, hatred, and also a lot of murder."

"Wow," Bob replied with what he was sure was a stupid looking smile. "I was hoping for something a little tamer? Perhaps less murder-y? Maybe I should go down and look in the children's section?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and listened to her laugh again.

"I could recommend a few books with little to no murder. Maybe even a happy ending," she told him, and he watched as she pushed her braid over her shoulder. 

"I'll believe it when I see it," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. To his shock and amazement, her gaze followed his movement, and her blush returned.

When her tongue darted out between her lips, Bob could feel his heart beating in his temples. Her brown eyes drifted back up to his face, and he wondered if this was how Jake or Bradley used to feel when girls paid attention to them at the bar. It was decidedly really exciting. 

He was going to be bold like his friends. He was going to ask her for her number. Maybe he'd see if she wanted to help him shop for some books, and he could buy her that horrible Vonnegut that she wanted, and then he'd ask her very nicely for her number. 

"Floyd!"

Bob watched you jump as Mickey's voice echoed through the store.

"Floyd! Let's go!"

"S-Sorry," Bob muttered, stepping past her and heading for the loft railing. "Just... hang on for one second?"

As soon as Mickey looked up and saw him, he said, "We gotta go, man. I got some books for my nephews, but we'll be late to grab a drink before D&D if we don't leave now. You know how she gets when we're late." He was shaking a bag of books and heading for the door.

Bob did know for a fact that Jessica got annoyed when they showed up late because they got hungry or distracted on the way to The Hard Deck. "Just give me a minute," he told Mickey, but he was already outside. 

He swiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and turned around to find the aisle empty. Oh no. He checked the next row of shelves, and the next, and the next, until he got all the way to the stairs, but the adorable redhead was nowhere to be found. And he had no idea what her name was. 

"Hello?" he called out softly, checking each aisle again until he was back where he started. Bob might have believed that he imagined the whole entire exchange with an attractive woman, except that there was one book propped up against the others right where he and she had been standing. 

"A Room With a View by E. M. Forster," he mumbled as he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He glanced around again, but she was well and truly gone, leaving nothing except for what seemed like a book recommendation. 

"Floyd!"

Bob sighed and tipped his head back in frustration. "Coming!"

He descended the stairs slowly, head swiveling in every direction, searching for brown eyes and a braid while he held the book. Gone. He paid for A Room With a View and headed outside to find Mickey looking quite annoyed. What he didn't see was the mystery girl watching him from the far end of the loft.

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

"She was real," Bob insisted as he held his glass of ginger ale a little tighter. "Just because you were too busy yelling doesn't mean I made her up in my mind. She had red hair and brown eyes."

Mickey gave him a skeptical look. "That's actually a really rare combination. And I know for a fact you happen to have an excellent imagination, my friend."

Bob cradled his forehead in his hand. "Why didn't I ask for her name and number?" Then he paused. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. There's no way she would have agreed to give it to me." 

He thought about the book he bought sitting on the front seat of his truck next to his dice bag and character sheet, and he considered just going home for the night. Maybe he could start to read the book. Maybe he'd feel like writing.

Then he felt an arm slip around his waist. "Hi, Jessica," he said as he blushed when he looked down at Jake's petite girlfriend. A second later, Bradley's wife was next to him as well, and Bob realized they were wearing matching smirks.

"Hey, Bob," Jessica replied, giving him a little squeeze. "We were just wondering if you happened to like redheads."

Mickey snickered before he tipped his beer bottle back and finished the drink. "He loves them. Daydreams about them."

Bob shot him a withering look. "She was real."

"Who was real?" Bradley's wife asked as her husband came up behind her and set his chin on her shoulder. Great, now he was going to have a full audience of people informed about his embarrassing afternoon of not even knowing how to ask a woman what her name was.

"There was a cute girl at the bookstore in North Park earlier," he muttered. "She had red hair, and I fumbled the ball."

Bradley chuckled. "You know what your problem is, right? You're too nice. Sugar met me when I was an absolute fuckboy, and she fell hard."

"I've been having a decade long lapse of judgement," she replied, and Bradley kissed her neck. "Don't listen to him, Bob. Girls love nice guys."

But Bob knew they didn't. Even the woman from the bookstore dodged him after approximately five minutes of flirting. If you could even call that flirting. He finished his ginger ale, and said, "We need to go. It's almost time for D&D. I'll drive."

Mickey nodded and said, "I'm ready." He could probably tell Bob had reached his limit with this conversation. His friend may be an extrovert to the extreme, but he was good at recognizing when Bob needed a break.

Jessica nodded as well and patted him on the chest before she pranced off into Jake's open arms. They shared the most adorable looking kisses before Jake straightened out her glasses and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Have her home by midnight, Bob!" he called as he released her. 

Bob nodded wishing there was someone besides the elderly woman who lived in the duplex next to him that cared if he was out past midnight or not. Even though he always looked forward to playing Dungeons & Dragons, he kind of wanted to head home and call it an early night. Nothing sounded as good as sending an email to Nat before reading his new book. But he would wait until later, and maybe he would even be in the mood to get his laptop out.

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

Anna went back to her studio apartment empty handed. Well, that wasn't quite true. She didn't buy any books, but she did splurge on a six dollar bottle of wine which would probably taste disgusting. She just hoped it would help her sleep through the night after reading some sad poetry and eating a piece of toast for dinner. 

That guy from the bookstore was going to linger in her mind for a long time whether she wanted him to or not. She was more attracted to him after five minutes in his presence than she was to Kevin at any point in the past five years. And if she was going to start thinking about Kevin, she was probably going to cry. 

The toast was good, but the wine was bad. And she did cry a little bit. She was never going to get attached to the idea of being in a relationship ever again. She was never going to have herself that level of intimacy just to have it ripped away. She wouldn't allow it. Relying on herself would have to be enough. Handsome strangers with muscular, veiny arms and cute glasses who made her laugh were not part of the plan. That's why she ducked behind the end cap after she left him a book she thought he might like. She watched him buy it for himself, which left her almost breathless. If she allowed herself to, she could picture him sitting in a coffee shop sipping some tea and reading that book.

"Enough," she whispered, vision a little sloppy from the wine. She opened up the website called PoetsAmongUs, read a bookmarked collection about how good it would feel to be loved completely, and passed out. 

The realization that she was going to have to spend all of Sunday afternoon getting ready for the week was made slightly easier by the fact that she only had four hundred square feet of space to clean. And then she thought about the beautiful home she once had in New Jersey, and she had to finish the bottle of wine to help her get through her notes on The Great Gatsby.

She was still thinking about that hot guy with the glasses on Monday when she grabbed a donut from the teacher's lounge. Indulging in a little fantasy here and there about being loved and cared for wouldn't be so bad. And putting his face to it just made it even sexier. When she wasn't teaching, she let her mind wander to some possibilities that would never happen again. Pretty eyes, lean muscles, soft looking hair, pink cheeks. He probably had nice friends, too. He probably never cheated on anything in his life.

"Hey, Anna? Are you alright?"

She looked up from her bag of peanuts and realized she'd been so deep in thought, she wasn't paying attention to the lunch conversation. "I'm sorry," she replied, fighting the urge to groan. She wasn't very good at this stuff and should have probably just eaten lunch in her office like she did the past few days. The fact that it was Wednesday and she was still distracted was concerning to her. 

"Don't apologize. You just seem lost in thought," said Jessica as she ate another perfect looking lunch. 

"Do you want some chips and hummus? Bradley packed me too much food today," her other friend said. And of course he did, because he sounded like a damn dream.

Anna ate a few chips and sighed. "Have either of you ever had your heart smashed to bits?" She didn't really mean to say that out loud, but now that she had, she was met with an awkward silence that she wanted to run away from. 

"Yeah," Advanced Calculus replied softly. "And I did it to myself."

"Not my heart as much as my hopes and dreams," Advanced Physics added. "But for me, I think that was much worse."

Now the silence that followed wasn't quite as painful, but Anna was still a little embarrassed. "Yeah. All of the above." She cleared her throat and tried to think of something else to talk about, but her mind was still on the bookstore. "Hey, why didn't you tell me that San Diego is full of hot guys? They are literally everywhere. I went window shopping in North Park and got sucked into a bookstore, and I bumped into a guy with glasses who smelled so nice."

"Ohhh, what did he look like?"

Anna sighed. "You know how you can just tell a guy is really strong even though he doesn't have bulging muscles?"

"Mmhmm."

"He was like that." Anna bit into her sandwich and chewed it slowly. "Pretty eyes, kind of the color of a lake. Sandy hair. Wire glasses. Soft spoken. He smelled like a cup of tea." 

A few seconds later, she was snapped back from her drifting thoughts as Advanced Calculus asked, "Did you say this was at a bookstore in North Park?"

"Yes," Anna replied with a nod. 

"Did you get his name?" Advanced Physics asked. 

"No," she answered, still embarrassed over the fact that she hid from him.

And then she thought she was going to get whiplash again.

"Was he about six feet tall?"

"Was he slim but not skinny?"

"Did he blush when he smiled?"

"Will you please come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

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

Bradley is so proud of the fact that Sugar fell for him when they were in college. Beer Boy just gets better with age. This little Bob and Anna meet cute might spell disaster when they figure it all out! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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[badasbebi]

the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow. 

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes. 

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl. 

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly. 

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee. 

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams. 

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever. 

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant. 

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright. 

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips. 

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces. 

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant. 

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks. 

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck. 

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks. 

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters. 

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win. 

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face. 

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry. 

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see. 

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt. 

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps. 

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way. 

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning. 

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty. 

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man. 

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping. 

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest. 

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her. 

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face. 

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment. 

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further. 

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety. 

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined. 

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease. 

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again. 

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone. 

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous. 

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit. 

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought. 

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself. 

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table. 

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply. 

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading. 

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly. 

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained. 

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone. 

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you. 

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks. 

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter. 

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking. 

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful. 

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing. 

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness. 

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

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You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod. 

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension. 

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit. 

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else. 

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly. 

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes. 

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed. 

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

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Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face. 

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before. 

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck. 

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?" 

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else. 

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling. 

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class. 

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,” 

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though. 

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

[lampiridaes]

# enemies to lovers

★ — char ; akito

★ — notes ; HIIII I'M DOING WELL I HOPE U ARE TOO!!! and tysm hehe i'm glad u like my theme <3 HOPE YOUR WEEK WASNT THAT BAD ^^ i've never written enemies to lovers before but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! also tgswiiwagaa pfp ... i haven't read it in a while but hai i love mitsuki :3

★ — notes (2) ; set in kamiyama/academic setting , not really enemies , open ending (?) , this ended up being a lot longer than expected ( T T )

★ — requested by ; @toadistoast

★ shinonome akito :

the reason why you're 'enemies' in the first place is just because of a terrible first impression of each other. akito tends to have another side to him when he's in front of new people, and unfortunately, that slipped when you two met.

then you were both convinced that one hated the other. i mean, why be friends with someone that dislikes you, right?

that was until both of you were paired together for a group project. you could literally hear the most annoyed groan ever from across the classroom once it was announced.

which you quickly returned with a similar pissed off scoff. neither of you tried to hide it, either.

it really didn't help that your friends would always tease you about how akito secretly has a crush on you.

"[name], akito has been staring at you a lot since it got announced you were partners... mayb-"

"oh, shut up... have you seen the way he looks at me? it's pure hatred!"

surprisingly, while working on the project together, you two... tolerated each other. turns out akito wasn't as bad as you thought—you were even willing to befriend him now.

"...are we friends now or-?"

"don't finish that question."

though, that little smile on akito's face was a good enough answer.

you still had your moments, though.

"jeez, this is so tiring..."

"...jeez, this is sooo tiring..."

"are you seriously mocking me right now."

as the days went by, the both of you ended up bonding. you learned about his dreams, his friends... plenty of things about him. he was actually rather admirable, maybe even charismatic?

you even found yourself missing him a bit once the project was over. nothing was stopping you from continuing talking to him, of course—you just didn't know how. there wasn't any reason to since the project was over.

you even took a bunch of horrible photos of akito just to piss him off. some of his forehead, some of him doing dumb things... and yet he still looked good in them. how unfair.

eventually, after a few minutes, you figured out that maybe, just maybe, admiring someone's photos like this might not be normal. or platonic at that.

scratch that, you were missing him a lot. not only that, but you might even have a crush on him now. how amazing.

and it seems like akito felt the same way since your phone randomly flashed open with a call notification from him, asking you to meet him at weekend garage tomorrow.

"oh? miss me already, akito? are you asking me out on a date?"

"...you're insufferable."

"yeah, yeah... i'll be there at 2pm."

if you listened closely, you could even hear a small chuckle from the other side of the phone.

as much as you hate to admit it, you really couldn't wait for tomorrow to arrive... how silly—it's only been a few days since you last 'hung out', and yet you can't wait until you see him once more.

love truly makes you feel peculiar things, doesn't it?

[munsonownsmyass]

Healing takes time

Frank Castle x plus size!reader

Summary: At a low point in life, you meet someone who might just help you get through it.

Notes: I'm going through some stuff and put it in a fic. Is there any other way to cope with life?

@itwasthereaminuteago wrote me three little words (workout with Frank) yesterday and it inspired this.

Warnings: reader had bad self imagine. Insecurities. Some fluff at the end. We do like a happy ending.

Words: 1.5 K

Panting heavily, you finally stop for a break. Almost at a breaking point, feeling the tears threatening to spill. Every muscle aching and nausea building. Is it like this for everyone or just you?

The breathing is still not back to normal as you lean against the wall, chugging down the cold water in your bottle. This is horrible. Working out is horrible. You’re about to break into tears again with the thought of doing this again tomorrow.

“You’re pushing yourself to hard, princess.”

You look up, finding a handsome stranger in front of you. The type of guy you fear meeting going to the gym as a thick woman. Very attractive, muscular, actually looking like he belongs at a gym, whereas you were here for the first time, and it definitely showed.

“I know.” You said, no need to lie to the stranger. He and everyone else here had looked at you, finding all your flaws, probably had an inner monologue about all your rolls and how obvious it was that you were totally new to this. Not even in proper workout clothes, you felt like a fraud.

“You should ease up, let-”

“Thank you,” You interrupt him, not needing a lecture right now. You were already so close to crying that another word might break you. “But I don’t need your help. I know I probably do it all wrong, but at least I’m here.”

Your voice crack at the last word, and you just know you have to leave now unless you want to sob and then you definitely couldn’t show your face here again. You look into his eyes and to your surprise, you find compassion in his eyes.

“Who hurt you?” He asks softly, his voice full of sympathy and it’s too much. You walk off, grabbing your bag and walk out, not even looking back. You fight back the tears all the way to your car, fumbling with the keys when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder. Turning around, you see the man from the gym.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay. This is not about you and I’m sorry. I’m just having the worst week of my life.” You say with a shivering voice, wiping away a few tears. “The man I thought I was gonna marry just left me because I’m not good enough. So I feel like shit and wanted to change. That’s why I came here. But I suck at this, and I should just give up and be one of those women who have a bunch of cats and live alone…”

You sob silently, regretting pouring your heart out to this stranger, but you already feel better, getting it of your chest.

“Do you always interrupt people so much?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side as he cocks a brow at you. You sniffle softly, huffing out a small laugh.

“No, and I’m so sorry for that too.”

“No need to apologize. Sounds like you’ve had a rough time.” He takes a step closer, leaning against your car beside you. “I can help you, if you want.”

“Could you kill him?” You laugh trough your tears and he just smile, the smirk on his face making you question if he took it as a joke or not.

“I meant with the workout. Now, I’m no personal trainer, but I could show you how everything works.” He offers, looking at you with soft eyes. Really pretty eyes. You want to say yes, but you’d be too self-conscious to have this hunk see you all sweaty and weak.

“I really appreciate it, but I can’t.”

“Come on, princess. Gotta make that asshole regret he ever left you.” He nudges your shoulder softly and you hate how it gives you butterflies. You shouldn’t even go there. You’d never be good enough for a guy like that. And you just got dumped! This would be a mess. But you already knew you’d say yes.

“Okay then. But I’m warning you. I’m lazy and weak.”

“You’re stronger than you think, princess. You just gotta believe it yourself.” He smiles again, pushing off your car. “See you here Thursday.”

“But… what about tomorrow?” You ask, already having mentally prepared yourself for some daily torture at the gym.

“Your body needs some rest. Thursday.” He turns to walk back to the gym, but then turns around, smiling at you. “Do you even want a bunch of cats?”

“No, I hate cats. I’m a dog person.” You yell back at him, only to see a wide smile on his face. “I’m y/n, by the way.”

“Frank.” He says, before turning back towards the gym, waving back at you.

--

That’s how you found yourself at the gym twice a week with him from then on. Frank Castle. At first, he didn’t say much, just showed you how the machines worked, gave you some simple exercises and gradually increased the weight and the difficulty of the exercises.

But over time as you opened up more about your past, he did too. How he was born and raised in Hell’s Kitchen to Sicilian parents, how he’d been a major troublemaker as a kid and later joined the marines. The day he told you how he lost his wife and kids, was the first day your new friendship was taken outside of the gym. You invited him to dinner at a nearby pizza place and you had talked for hours until the owner threw you out at closing time.

Frank had helped you heal so much over the past few months and had giving you back the thirst for life. You smiled more when you were with him and felt better than you had in years. Also why you had invited him to your little party tonight, celebrating finally getting a place of your own, sticking to working out for 4 months and starting to feel like yourself again.

With the party at full swing, you look around and can’t find Frank anywhere, but notice the window to the fire escape is open. Peeking out, you find him smiling back at you with a beer in hand.

“Hiding, are we?” You giggle, before climbing through to join him. He just gives you a soft smile as he scoots over, making room for you.

“Yeah, that Louisa girl was getting a little too close.” He grins as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Shit, sorry. But I thought you were single, so I told her to go for it.”

“I am.” He responds softly, looking at the bottle as he fiddles with the label.

“Oh…” You turn a little and look at him, unsure why he’d reject Louisa. Possibly the hottest of your friends and definitely a catch. “Then… Why would you hide from her? I promise, she’s amazing.”

“Maybe she is.” He looks up from the bottle and into your eyes, his softening as soon as his gaze falls on you. “But I like someone else.”

“Damn, you should have told me. Then I wouldn’t have set her loose on you.” You giggle softly, shrugging apologetically. Truth be told, you would have hated for her to date Frank, but you couldn’t just keep him to yourself when a guy like that deserved so much better.

“I want to. I was just waiting until she’s ready.”

“Ready for what? I can’t imagine anyone not being ready for you, Frankie.” You laugh it off as a joke, but deep down you’re serious. How anyone could not be willing to be with Frank was a mystery. He was so kind, had been a rock for you these past four months and he was fine as hell.

“It takes time to heal, sweetheart. Especially after a failed engagement. And I don’t mind waiting a little longer for you.”

“For… me?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t really believe what you just heard. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he’s just drunk. It couldn’t be. “B-but… why? I’m not…”

Special. You trail off before you can finish the sentence. At that he just chuckles softly, like you’ve just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“But how? When? I…” You stumble over your words, not sure you’ll ever be able to form a coherent sentence again.

“You’ve said that I’ve helped you heal. Truth is… You healed me too.” He reaches out for you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as his dark eyes stare into yours. There are so many unspoken questions hanging in the air, but you try to silence the voices.

He closes the distance, letting his lips claim yours in a kiss that takes your breath away, but it’s over too soon. For a moment, nothing exists beside you and Frank. The music gone, the city silent.

Tagging: @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @e-dubbc11 @theradioactivespidergwen @mattmurdocksscars @murdock-and-the-sea @mindidjarin @chvoswxtch @boliv-jenta @lucy-sky @darlingshane @saintmurd0ck

For the first time in a long time, you know things will get better. They say anything happens for a reason and you now know you were meant to meet Frank. You had been broken, but he had put you back together. Healing takes time, it takes practice… and a little bit of love.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

VIP Privileges

Summary

It's his third year at NRC and Jamil is content to spend much of his birthday cleaning the gym.

However, Azul's gift makes him reconsider his plans.

Word Count: 2,956

Notes:

For Day 4 of AshenViper Week 2024!

Prompt: Jamil's Birthday

Happy birthday, Jamil! ^_^

----

Jamil placed the basketball on the rack along with the others, double-checking to be sure that nothing was missing.

“Jamil?” a voice echoed across the gym.

He turned to see Azul walking over to him. “Oh hey. What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for Floyd, he isn’t answering his phone as usual,” Azul answered as he stopped in front of Jamil. “What are you doing here? And so early in the morning, too. Shouldn’t the birthday boy be off celebrating somewhere?”

Jamil rolled his eyes. “There’s gonna be a celebration dinner later at Scarabia. Kalim’s leading the preparations, if you can believe that.”

Azul chuckled. “I can, actually. Kalim has really stepped up now that we’re in our Third Year. But anyway, now that I’ve got you here,” he took a small card from his pocket and handed it to Jamil. “Happy birthday.”

Jamil took it and saw that it was a coupon for a free meal at Mostro Lounge, no price limit and free use of the VIP area that was separated from the rest of the Lounge with a magical rope and curtains. Jamil remembered that some students do hold small gatherings in the VIP area, and if anyone who wasn’t invited tried to cross the red velvet rope cordoning it off, the rope emitted colored ink to splash on them that would last for days. And the Leech Twins would hunt down the ink-stained culprit and settle debts.

“VIP area privileges?” Jamil raised an eyebrow at Azul. “Did you think I was the type to invite a bunch of people to eat with me?”

“No, but I know you hate being approached all day for birthday greetings. If you use the VIP area, you can eat in peace. Perhaps invite a friend or two to join you. The velvet rope would accept anyone if you verbally give them permission.”

“Alright, thanks,” Jamil pocketed the coupon. “Is it only valid for today, though? I don’t know if I’ll have time to eat at Mostro Lounge right now, I still gotta finish cleaning up here.”

Azul frowned. “That’s a birthday coupon, you can only use it today. And why are you tidying up all by yourself?”

“Coach said everything had to be ready for the practice tournaments on Monday. Since it’s Saturday now, I volunteered to get the gym ready,” Jamil shrugged.

Azul looked at him curiously before nodding in understanding. “I see. You volunteered to stay up here the entire day so you wouldn’t get pestered by people wishing you a happy birthday.”

Jamil chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. “That obvious, huh?”

The corner of Azul’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes. But, now that you have the option to stay at Mostro Lounge instead, I shall help you clean up so you’ll have time to use that coupon.”

“What?” Jamil frowned, following Azul with his eyes as the Octavinelle Prefect took off his coat and hung it neatly on the rack where some spare jerseys and clean towels were hanging. “Why would you care if I spend my birthday up here?”

Azul sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes. “Because we’re friends, Jamil. Despite you insisting otherwise whenever the subject comes up.”

Jamil’s frown deepened as he felt his face warm. Some of their classmates liked to subtly tease him about having romantic feelings for Azul whenever they worked together in Alchemy or Flight class, so yeah, he would say to them that they weren’t even friends. But Azul always seemed oblivious to the implications of their classmates, so as far as he knew Jamil just liked to deny they were friends. And Jamil wasn’t about to correct him on that.

“Don’t you have other things to do?” Jamil asked instead. “You were looking for Floyd, right? Don’t you guys have work?”

“I was looking for him because tomorrow is our weekly meeting at the Lounge, and I need him to write down the new recipe he came up with so we could discuss it at the meeting,” Azul replied as he rolled up his sleeves. “Since I’ve already sent him multiple texts reminding him of it and I have no further responsibilities for the day, I’m free to help you get the gym ready for your practice tournament.”

“Is this a ploy to get me to owe you a favor somehow?” Jamil narrowed his eyes.

There was that half-smile from Azul again. “If it would make you feel more at ease about letting me help, then you can answer a feedback form at the Lounge after your meal. We’ll consider it even.”

“Fine,” Jamil relented. “All that’s left to do is mop the entire gym floor and make sure the bleachers are clean. I wasn’t gonna use magic so I’ll have an excuse to spend most of the day here, but…” he shrugged. “We can use magic now to make it easier.”

Azul nodded and adjusted his glasses. “Alright. Shall we?”

With the two of them teaming up, they made quick work of the tasks while hardly breaking a sweat. Jamil was quietly glad of Azul’s help, mainly because in hindsight he would have gotten bored spending so much time tidying up by himself. They talked while they worked; about homework and the upcoming exams, the tragedy of how Floyd was a danger to society but also competent and talented enough that they couldn’t afford to lose him in Mostro Lounge and the Basketball Club, and other random things that they happened to think about as the minutes went by.

After making sure that they didn’t miss anything, they both sat on the bench next to the water dispenser and took sips of cold water from paper cups.

“It’s past 11,” Azul said after looking at his watch. “If you go to Mostro Lounge now you can get to the VIP area before the lunch crowd arrives.”

“Yeah…” Jamil glanced down, fidgeting with his paper cup. “Do you… wanna come with  me?”

“Oh, you don’t need me there. Just show them the coupon and they’ll lead you to your seat. The velvet rope would be magically activated once you pass it.”

“No, I mean—” Jamil sighed and ran a hand down his face. It was already a challenge trying to say the words, and Azul’s obliviousness was making it even more difficult. “Do you wanna have lunch with me?” he directed the words to his cup.

From the corner of his eye he saw Azul freeze midway into lifting his own cup to his lips. “What? You’re… inviting me to have lunch with you?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jamil drank all the water in his cup so he wouldn’t have to meet Azul’s gaze. “We eat together all the time when we’re working on projects. The only difference now is I get free food.” And we’ll be alone together at a private table. Which means no one can interrupt our conversations to ask you out like they’ve done multiple times now.

Azul kept a busy schedule and was generally hard to find outside of classes, so some of their schoolmates tended to ambush him in the hallways or at lunch to ask him out to school dances and parties and whatever. As far as Jamil knew, Azul always politely declined the advances, but it was still annoying whenever those people would appear and blatantly flirt with him while Jamil was standing right there.

And since it’s Jamil’s birthday, he figured he could afford to have the audacity to want Azul’s attention all to himself for just one meal.

“Alright,” Azul replied. “I do wish to eat now after all that work.”

“Cool.” Jamil stood up and tossed his empty paper cup into the trash bin. “Let’s go.”

—

“I thought you were hungry. Is that all you’re gonna eat?” Jamil asked before taking a bite of his shawarma.

They were now in the VIP area where the thick fancy curtains blocked out most of the noise from the lunch hour rush. Jamil ordered a bunch of dishes that he wouldn’t otherwise order if he had to pay. He was hungry too after basketball practice and then the clean-up, and it was nice to eat good food that he didn’t have to prepare.

Azul was picking at his salad with a fork. “I already indulged in a rather heavy breakfast, I don’t want to consume too many calories when it’s only lunchtime.”

“But I ordered for two people. You can’t expect me to eat all of these,” Jamil gestured to the food. “Besides, you burned a lot of your breakfast calories earlier at the gym. Now you’ll just be getting them back.”

Azul pursed his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” He reached for a macaron and took a bite.

Jamil sipped his iced tea to hide his smile. Azul wasn’t as self-conscious about his diet now as he had been back then, but sometimes he still needed a bit of encouragement to eat what he wanted. That's why Jamil ordered food that he knew Azul liked in the hopes that he could persuade him to eat more.

“Has Floyd replied to your messages yet?” Jamil asked.

Azul got his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. “Not yet. He’s probably off terrorizing Riddle again. In hindsight I should have checked Heartslabyul; if he had caused any damage to their topiaries I would have to convince Riddle not to behead him. He needs to have magic for his afternoon shift here.” He pocketed his phone.

Jamil chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. I think Riddle would be more lenient if you’re the one convincing him.”

Azul furrowed his eyebrows and picked up his glass of iced tea. “What do you mean?”

“Uh…” Jamil internally cursed himself. He had let his guard down too much and slipped with that remark. “You know. Because he likes you.”

Azul coughed out his mouthful of iced tea. “What? What are you talking about?”

Jamil shifted in his seat. “Well, doesn’t he? Our classmates even talk about how maybe you two are dating but just aren’t admitting it.”

Azul looked baffled, absently wiping his chin dry with the table napkin. “What in the Great Seven is the basis for those rumors?”

“Well, you never say yes when people ask you out,” Jamil shrugged. “And they say Riddle definitely has a secret boyfriend because he smiles at his phone now and receives small gifts from time to time.”

“And you believe inane gossip with such a weak foundation?” Azul raised an eyebrow at him.

“Of course not,” Jamil said defensively. And it was true. If he really believed Azul already had a romantic partner, he wouldn’t always be finding ways to spend time with him. But it was entirely possible that Riddle did like Azul. And that Azul might like him back… “I just explained what the basis of those rumors are, since you asked.”

Azul sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Riddle’s ‘secret boyfriend’ is Trey. He’s off on his internship now so of course they’re always texting and sending gifts to each other. Absolutely do not tell anyone this, or Riddle might just literally behead me,” he said pointedly.

Jamil’s mouth was open in surprise, and he blinked repeatedly to recover. “Wow, uh, okay. Yeah. I don’t wanna risk Riddle coming for me, too.”

“Good. And so what if I never say yes to people asking me out? You do the same. It doesn’t mean you’re dating anyone… Right?” Azul sounded a little unsure.

“Yeah I’m not dating anyone.” Jamil took his knife and fork and began slicing the shawarma on his plate. He'd never eaten shawarma like that before but he felt restless and wanted something to do with his hands.

“Right. I thought so,” Azul said. “There aren't even any rumors about it.”

Jamil couldn't stop the disbelieving snort that came out of him.

“What?” Azul frowned.

“Nothing,” Jamil suddenly felt irritated. “Just… you're so dense,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?” Azul sounded offended.

“There are rumors about me dating someone,” Jamil snapped. “In almost every class we go to I hear them. You've just been too dense to notice.”

Azul was taken aback. “Why do you seem so angry? Forgive me if I don't pay attention to gossip,” he said sarcastically.

Jamil rolled his eyes and sliced his food more aggressively. At this rate he'd be eating shredded shawarma.

“... Who is it, then? Who do they think you're dating?”

Jamil felt his face burn up and he kept his gaze on his plate. Damn him for losing his temper and slipping up like that. “Why do you care?”

“Well it seems awfully important if you'd snarl at me for not knowing it—”

“It's you, Azul!” Jamil met his gaze to glare at him. “They think we're dating, okay?”

To Jamil's surprise, Azul's fair cheekbones became scarlet. “W-What— When—” Azul sputtered.

“Shut up, we don't have to talk about it,” Jamil said and looked down at his plate again.

A few seconds of silence passed before Azul spoke.

“I didn't realize it was such an upsetting idea,” Azul said ruefully.

“Ugh, what is wrong with you? I can't believe I like you!”

Jamil saw Azul's eyes widen and he realized what he just said.

“I…” Jamil felt as if a bucket of cold water had just been poured over him. He couldn't tell if he had gone pale or entirely red in the face. He stood up. “I should go.”

“Jamil, wait,” Azul stood up as well.

Jamil turned to leave—

“I like you too,” Azul's hurried voice said behind him.

Jamil's eyes widened as he stood frozen and staring at the curtains. He turned and saw that Azul had walked around the table to stand in front of him. “You don't have to say that just because—”

“Jamil,” Azul cut him off. “I… lied about looking for Floyd.” He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “He replied to my text immediately, and I asked him where you were so I could give you the coupon. And I helped you in the gym because I didn't want you to spend your birthday hiding away doing chores.” His eyes mirrored the nervousness that Jamil felt, but he never looked away.

“I asked you to have lunch with me in private because I hate it when people ask you out, especially when we're together,” Jamil heard himself say, the words rushed as if he would be too scared to say them if he spoke any slower.

Azul's eyes widened and his face turned an even brighter red. He opened his mouth and then closed it again without saying anything.

For several heartbeats they just stood there, the air between them rippling with an energy that Jamil didn't dare name.

Jamil couldn't tell who stepped forward first, but in the next instant they were holding each other, teeth clacking in a hurried kiss. They pulled away just long enough to right themselves, and the next press of their lips sent a shiver down Jamil's spine. His hands found Azul's hair, his fingers threading through impossibly soft locks. Azul's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him even closer.

The kiss was a spark that lit something, something Jamil had long denied was real but now threatened to consume them.

Jamil gave as much as he took; Azul's tongue was soft against his, sweet and intoxicating and just as demanding as his own. He was a ship caught in a storm and all he could do was hold on for dear life as the waves rose and fell.

They were both breathing heavily by the time they broke apart; Jamil rested his forehead against Azul's, and they just held each other as they caught their breaths, lingering in the quiet that blanketed them.

“You mean we could have been doing this a long time ago?” Jamil said softly, playfully incredulous.

Azul chuckled and straightened up to look at Jamil, still keeping his hold around him. “No matter. We can do this more from now on. I-If that's what you want,” he added hurriedly.

“I do,” Jamil wound his arms tighter around Azul. “And, I want…” he looked down, feeling his face warm.

“Yes? What is it?” Azul's voice was soft and encouraging.

Jamil swallowed and met Azul's eyes. “I want… just you and me. Do you… wanna date?”

The smile that slowly appeared on Azul's face was like the sun coming out, and Jamil almost forgot to listen to Azul's response because he was so busy staring.

“I do,” Azul looked right into Jamil's eyes. “Just you and me.”

Jamil smiled, drinking in the sight of Azul so close to him, Azul happy to be with him.

“Oh by the way,” Jamil suddenly remembered something. “I've been meaning to ask, do you wanna come over to Scarabia tonight for that birthday dinner? Earlier I wasn't sure if it would be weird to invite you, but,” he shrugged. “I can now,” he smiled.

Azul chuckled. “I would love to be there. But what about the… rumors? About you and me dating? Are we telling anyone or…?”

“I want to,” Jamil sincerely said. “If that's okay with you.”

Azul nodded, his eyes twinkling as he smiled, and Jamil wished he could tell everyone right now. “That's what I want as well.”

“Great,” Jamil grinned. “Do I still need to answer that feedback form for the meal?” he raised an eyebrow playfully.

“No need, I can already tell you enjoyed it immensely,” Azul smirked.

Jamil rolled his eyes fondly and leaned in to kiss his smug boyfriend again.

----

(AshenViper Week 2024 Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[thequeenofsarcaasm]

Chapter 10 of Love is in the hands

Summary

After getting kicked out of his home for being queer, Suguru comes across his childhood sweetheart in a strange gay bar that is owned by his new “family”: a bunch of queer social rejects who were taken in by Yuki, an eccentric matriarch. He finds a new home (and his lost love) there.

Glimpse

“Do you still work in that same establishment? It’s a bar, right?” Riko asks. They talked about it very briefly after he moved in with the others. However, back then, he still harboured a few doubts about his future and place in the group. Noticing that, Riko had figured it would be appropriate to drop the subject.

“In a drag bar to be more precise,” Suguru responds with a dainty smile that grows larger as Riko’s face lights up. Another unexpected turn of events.

“Drag as in Drag Queens? Men who wear dresses, high heels and makeup and perform for people?” she asks with glee.

Suguru smiles. “Yeah, I think that’s the rough definition. We’re holding an important event this evening so my presence is unfortunately needed,” he explains. “But I’ll gladly hang out with you girls tomorrow afternoon. If you’ll have me.”

“A Drag bar,” Riko repeats softly. “That’s great. You should have told me earlier,” she says.

“Well, I didn’t know you liked drag performers,” Suguru defends himself. She would get along with Satoru.

“If you told me about your job you would have known. I didn’t know there were drag bars here. I’m a country bumpkin you know,” she says.

“Well, tonight is cosplay night so everyone will be there. Would you like to come?” Suguru asks.

“Gladly,” Riko says with a big smile. “Oh, does that mean I’ll finally meet that friend you always talk about? You guys work and live together, right?” she asks. They’ve spoken about Satoru a few times already but he never even showed her a picture of him. Satoru’s face, like everything about him, must be experienced with one's own senses. A picture will never do his beauty justice.

“Satoru and I aren’t only friends. We used to date when we were younger but we broke up momentarily when I moved here. It’s been almost two weeks since we got back together,” Suguru says. It’s his first time referring to Satoru as his partner. It feels nice.

“So you guys are dating? Is that why you’ve been so happy lately?” the girl laughs. “You’ve been almost nice since last week. And when I say ‘nice’ I’m talking about real genuine kindness. Not the usual thing you do that pisses me off,” she adds.

“Let’s just say he makes me really happy,” Suguru says. In all likelihood, he sounds as soft as linen.

“I’m happy to hear that. But don’t worry. I’ll keep it a secret if you want me to,” Riko says, zipping his mouth with her fingers. “I know people can be really cruel and annoying to same gender couples,” she adds sadly. 

“No need to. I think I’m done hiding,” Suguru says. Her kindness must have convinced him to. Besides, one would be crazy to hide someone like Satoru from the world. Loving him is the best thing  the raven could do for himself and he will never say it loudly enough. “See you tonight. I’ll text you the details on my way home.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Riko stops him with a smile as he exits the room.

Suguru smiles back at her. “Thank you for being a friend.”

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: emeto (vague)

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER SCHOOL NEXT CHAPTER

part six

❝ TIM DRAKE JR ❞

FRIDAY — JULY 20 — 8:01PM

WHEN DICK INSISTED HE HELP BENTLEY PACK FOR REDWOOD, HE WASN'T EXPECTING HIM TO PACK HIS WHOLE ENTIRE CLOSET.

“I’ve almost got it!” Dick exclaimed. Currently, a giant, old-style suitcase of Tim’s was sitting on Bentley’s bed, way too full to close, and Dick was sitting on top of it, bouncing up and down to try and latch the locks. “Any second now!”

Bentley had been watching him try to close it for the better part of fifteen minutes. 

He and Asten were leaving for Redwood tomorrow at eight in the morning — twelve hours exactly. To say Asten was excited would be an understatement. It was the downright happiest Bentley had ever seen him, ever, like Gotham was some big dark cloud that had been looking over his head since he got there. (Which Bentley wouldn’t doubt, since it was a little… sad.)

While Dick worked on the suitcase, Bentley was making sure he had everything he needed, like his laptop, school supplies, and so on, all packed in a backpack. Which hadn’t taken very long, so really he was just kinda watching Dick.

The closer Redwood got, the worse Bentley seemed to feel about it. He was still excited, but now that he was finally registered and obligated to go, being away from Bruce and Dick and everybody for ten whole entire months sounded kind of terrible. Not to mention that he was going to a brand new school with a bunch of new people again. He’d nearly worried himself sick the first time, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this time wouldn’t be all too different.

That’s why he was trying his best not to think about anything. Which was kind of impossible when Redwood seemed to be all everyone in the entire house wanted to talk about.

“-headmistress was… are you even listening to me?” 

Bentley glanced up at Dick, who still hadn’t gotten the suitcase closed. “Huh?”

With one final push, the latches on the suitcase clicked into place, and Dick hopped off of it. His blue eyes bounced around Bentley’s face for a few seconds. “What’s up, little B? You’ve been quiet all day. Having second thoughts?”

Bentley shook his head, glancing down at his socks. “No, I want to go.” 

“…But?”

With an exhale, he continued: “But ten months is a long time.”

He didn't look up until Dick’s hand landed on his shoulder, meeting his crystalline eyes. “You know you can change your mind, right? Asten can go, and we can find something better for you.”

“But I want to go. I really, really do. I just wish I would stop getting all scared right before I do something. It’s embarrassing,” Bentley said with a huff, crossing his arms. “I’m thirteen, but I still feel like I’m ten. I couldn’t even handle a broken glass at a gala.”

Dick sighed lightly, sitting down on Bentley’s bed so they were a similar height. “There’s no formula or rulebook for growing up, kiddo. Everyone does it differently, and it’s usually not something they choose to do, but… the environments they spent their time in that dictate it.”

Bentley tapped his fingers on his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Like… Tim and Damian grew up fast because it was best for them where they were. Tim had to care for himself. Damian had to act professional. I had all the time in the world to act like a kid, here with Bruce, and sometimes I still feel like one. Jason grew up fast out of necessity. Survival,” Dick explained. “But you… you’re different. You have a story unlike any of us. You only really started living your life three years ago, B. There are so many things you’ve had to learn and work through that you didn’t get for the first ten years. I’d say having a little anxiety about being away from your first real family is to be expected, and it doesn’t undermine the fact that you’re maturing and becoming an amazing teenager.”

Bentley didn’t say anything, but glanced down at his socks again. “But I feel so young when I’m with other teenagers. I don’t get what they’re talking about, I don’t understand what they’re laughing at. I noticed it with Asten and Nico when Nico lived here, but now that we’re older it’s… just getting worse. I always feel like I’m missing something, like they’re having to dumb down what they’re saying for me. Or they just give up and don’t try to explain it. I know I’m not dumb, at least with actual school stuff, but when it comes to, like, talking to people, I feel… really stupid.”

Dick nodded to himself. “Do you have an example?”

Bentley shrugged, sitting on the bed next to him with a poof. “Like, one time Asten said something about a one night stand. I didn’t know what that was, and I still don’t know what it is. Nico freaked out so it seemed like a big deal but they wouldn’t explain it to me. And the other day at the gala, the lady talking to Bruce was saying something that sounded… I don’t know, weird. So weird Bruce wanted me to leave, but I don’t know why. I thought about it for a long time and still didn’t understand it. But I’m sure Asten would. He always calls me innocent when that kind of thing happens, but I don’t even think I understand that right, because I thought innocent meant you didn’t commit a crime.”

Dick sighed heavily and put his hand back on Bentley’s shoulder. “Hear me when I say this, Bentley. You might not get what people are saying, and you might feel dumb, but being innocent is a gift. It means you haven’t been introduced to the same things other kids have — the things they shouldn’t necessarily have been introduced to yet. And being innocent doesn’t mean you’re dumb or socially inept or even awkward. It means you haven’t been in a place to be introduced to those things before you should. And I know someone else who is really, really smart that is also considered innocent in a very similar way to you.”

“Who?” Bentley questioned, glancing over at him. 

“Damian. The circumstances aren’t the same, but I can confidently say that he’s struggled with this exact thing before, nearly word for word. And I’ll tell you exactly what I told him,” Dick stated, smiling lightly. “It’s good not to be like everybody else. And you don’t have to understand all the jokes or do all the same things as other teenagers to be a perfectly amazing, maybe even better one yourself. I know for a fact that you can keep up with kids your age and older when it comes to things that matter. I mean, look at the things you’ve done, B. You’re more brave and loyal and determined than any kid I’ve ever met in my whole entire life. And that honestly can not be said about a lot of today’s teenagers.”

Bentley sighed, glancing down at his sweatpants with a little nod. 

“And I can guarantee you'll find kids with the exact same dilemma at Redwood. Probably more than you think,” Dick smiled, patting Bentley on the back. “But here’s the thing; if you’re really having second thoughts, don’t force yourself to go just to prove that you can. We will find something else for you if that’s what you want. In a heartbeat. We’ll tour campuses and look into homeschooling options for the rest of the year if you give us the word. We might have opinions, but you are the only one who truly knows what’s best for you.”

Bentley took a breath. He might’ve been a teenager in age, but in everything else, he was young. Too young. If innocence was a gift, why didn’t it feel like one?

He didn’t want to be innocent anymore, he wanted to be normal. No matter how many times Dick Grayson told him it was okay to be different, it would never, ever change the fact that all he wanted to be was a normal kid. He was so tired of not being normal.

If Bentley didn’t know anything else, he knew this: highschool was the best place to stop being innocent and start being normal.

“I want to go,” He stated with a nod. “I want to.”

“Are you guys coming, or what? We’re going to start King Fu Panda without you!” Asten’s voice bounced up the stairs and down the hallway.

Bentley and Dick shared a look, then small smiles.

“I love you, babybird,”

Bentley smiled. “I love you, too.”

—

Bentley didn’t like Kung Fu Panda.

Okay, he wasn’t really sure if he liked it or not, he didn’t pay very much attention. He was too busy thinking about being in Manhattan alone in the morning.

He’d have seven roommates. Not technically in the same bedroom as him, but in the same shared space, which was kind of intimidating. The Headmistress said they’d be chosen for them by age and personality, but Bentley and Asten both had very different ages and very different personalities. What if he was stuck with a bunch of sixteen year olds? Or what if Asten was stuck with a bunch of thirteen year olds? To be completely honest, Bentley thought he might die if he had to room with seven variations of Asten. Sometimes he could hardly handle the one. 

And what if they didn’t like one of the roommates? The video spoke about roommate changes, but that seemed complicated, and Bentley definitely wasn’t going to be the kid that requested one, then nobody would like him. What if somebody wanted him to leave? Or worse, Asten? What if he got left alone with all the strangers and Asten had to go somewhere else?

And classes. They’d filled out their classes at registration, but Asten and Bentley hadn’t picked all the same things. That meant they wouldn’t be together all day. Which was fine, Bentley could deal with that, he did it at Gotham Academy. But this time he’d be in Manhattan alone and he couldn’t just call Bruce if something went weird because Bruce was two and a half hours away and couldn’t come get him for something inconvenient. So if Bentley decided to have a panic attack, he’d have to interrupt Asten’s class and call Asten. Or worse, go with the stranger nurse. 

And the Redwood campus was massive. What if Bentley got lost? He already hardly knew the buildings from one another and they all looked the same and what if he couldn’t read the map? And Asten was going to a different class? Then he’d be lost alone, in front of a bunch of random people. And what did they do when he got sick? Did he get sent home, or did he stay in the nurse’s office until he was better? Because Redwood Academy was a boarding school, not a day school. 

And teachers — what if he didn’t like his teachers? What if they were mean? What if they didn’t like him? What if one of them ended up being a psycho scientist that was trying to turn them all into metahumans? Could that even work twice? Could Bentley even survive that twice? And he’d have to make friends, which wasn’t very easy.

So, yeah. He was pretty terrified. Pretty horrified. Pretty stressed out. 

Pretty stressed out and horrified and terrified enough that when it was time for bed after a few installments of Kung Fu Panda and a bedtime slightly past midnight, Bentley was a wreck.

(But did he tell anybody? In true Bentley fashion, of course not!)

He just sat in his bedroom to ride it out alone. After all, he was thirteen, he shouldn’t be doing this whole terrified anxiety thing anymore.

So for a while, he watched some nonsense on tv. He didn’t end up paying attention, so he did some nonsense on his phone that he didn’t pay attention to, either. He ignored the fact that his hands were shaking. He pretended his stomach wasn’t in knots and that he wasn’t one perfectly placed statement away from probably crying. (He shouldn’t be like this anymore, he shouldn’t. He was fine. He was thirteen and being anxious was embarrassing and he was fine.)

He continued to not watch tv and not play on his phone until his clock read 4:17am. Then he decided he should sleep, so he laid there and tossed and turned and tossed and turned until the clock hit 4:29am.

That’s when he realized his brilliant idea to ignore everything had become a pretty terrible one, because he was, in fact, not ignoring anything, and had instead been thinking about it nonstop for literally five hours.

With a huff of annoyance, Bentley sat up and grabbed an old, half-empty water bottle from his nightstand and took a sip, staring at his stupid clock.

And then it all went south.

As in, as soon as he swallowed the water, his anxiousness came with a vengeance and he threw it up again all over the hardwood floor.

For a moment, he was in brief shock and kind of pretty pissed about it. He hadn’t thrown up from being anxious since he lived with his father, and now this? This was what ruined him? School?

“Are you kidding me?” He whispered just soft enough that no one should’ve been able to hear. Any fear or uncomfortableness that came with puking left immediately, it’s place taken by utter and sheer annoyance.

With an eye-roll and a groan, he threw his covers off with a huff and stood up, flicking his lamp on. At least it wasn’t on the rug or his sweatpants, he guessed.

Why couldn’t he just be normal? Asten wasn’t in his room throwing up right now, was he? He was sleeping, like every normal person in the world. And Bentley was hopscotching over freaking puke.

It was four thirty in the morning, and he was over it. Over himself, over anxiety, over puking, over being awake, over being such a pitiful little excuse of a human that the prospect of school made him barf. Over feeling so bad and having his days ruined because he was so terrified over something that should’ve been exciting. Why did he have to be like this?

Deciding that he was wholeheartedly pissed at himself, he acted like it. He marched into the bathroom with as much of an attitude as he dared (lest some bat smell it), flicked the lights on, and grabbed some gray towels out from under the sink all angry-like. (Bentley didn’t do that much, and it felt kind of weird. But he was also freaking pissed, so the weird felt kinda good.)

He went back to the bedroom with a huff and another eye-roll (because it was kind of fun, and he didn’t dare do it to an actual person.), piling the towels on the puke and doing a very teenage-angsty job of cleaning it up. (Okay, he cleaned good, but he was angsty while he did it.)

Once that was done and he had some very dirty towels on the floor, he just looked at them.

If he left them in his empty laundry basket, someone would find them. Plus, they’d probably make his room smell. And then everyone would know he was pathetic and had puked over school. He could take them straight to the washer and figure out how to use it — but he’d have to be really quiet. It was risky, given that Tim and Damian were light sleepers, and they were right near him.

But he’d rather run the risk than have them find out in the morning.

So, with another huff of frustration, Bentley folded up the gross towels in such a way that he wouldn’t get dirty, gathered them into his arms, and made for the door.

He opened it real slow, and real steadily. (It squeaked if he went too fast.) The hallway was dark and silent. They hadn’t patrolled tonight, since it was Asten and Bentley’s last night in the Manor, which somehow only seemed to make things worse.

He stepped out into the hall and pulled his door almost all the way shut, that way only a sliver of light was peeking through. And after standing there for a moment to make sure he didn’t hear anyone, he made for the stairs.

The very first step squealed like a pig.

With a deep inhale and exhale that was him trying to not drown the entire house because he was pissed, (did he mention he was pissed, by the way?) he kept walking down the stairs.

And then he heard a door open.

“Bentley? What are you doing?”

He glanced back, and just as he’d expected, Mister Timothy Drake, CEO of life and smartest person ever, emerged into the hallway. He was wearing a red hoodie and some sweatpants that looked a little too big, and it didn’t seem like he’d been asleep.

Bentley quickly turned away, muttering: “Nothing.”

Bentley felt Tim’s eyes on him. “Are you doing laundry at four-thirty in the morning?” 

“… Maybe?” He muttered, staring down at the towels in his hand. “I… need it for school.”

He heard Tim’s footsteps come closer. “You need towels for school?”

Bentley huffed, feeling pretty dumb. “I’m gonna have to take showers.”

Tim’s footsteps got even closer, and after a second when Bentley didn't turn around (lest Tim see the grossness on the towels), he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Bentley snapped, turning to glare at Tim before he got his wits about him and realized that was rude. (He was on a freaking roll wasn’t he?) 

He sighed at himself, at life, at everything, turning and continuing down the stairs. Unsurprisingly, he heard Tim’s footsteps echoing at the same time as his own. 

“I’m pretty sure a super mega rich school like Redwood will have some towels,” Tim said from behind him. “Do you even know how to use the washer?”

No, he freaking didn’t, just another thing to add to the list of stuff that was currently making Bentley mad.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned at the bottom of the stairs and went toward the laundry room.

“Bentley,” Tim said again, and when Bentley didn’t stop, he sped up. “Bentley, hey, stop.”

Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around so they were face to face, his icy eyes bouncing around on the towels, and then on Bentley. “You got sick?”

“No,” Bentley replied, jerking his shoulder out of Tim’s hand. “Just leave me alone.”

“So then you spilled a bunch of soup in your room at four thirty in the morning? There aren't a bunch of cover story options here,” Tim suggested, and instead of replying, Bentley turned and continued down the hall to the very dark end where the laundry room was. Blinking. Breathing. Ignoring the fact that he was starting to hear water in the pipes. (Tim’s footsteps kept following him, despite his valiant efforts at willing them away.)

“Bentley, just stop. Stop for a second,” Tim suggested. Bentley didn’t stop until he made it to the laundry room and dropped the gross towels in a basket, cringing at them.

He turned back to Tim with a defeated look on his face, crossing his arms over his chest. He only looked at him for a moment — the front of Tim’s black hair was hanging down toward his icy eyes that somehow looked shiny and dull and young and old and tired and awake all at once. Bentley was almost as tall as him now — maybe only a head shorter. He sighed lightly, looking down at the cold tile beneath his socks.

(This was so embarrassing.)

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tim questioned, shifting his weight to one side.

Bentley sighed heavily, again. What was the use in trying to hide it if Tim already knew?

He drew a line on the floor with his toes. “I did. Get sick,” He mumbled sheepishly, nearly inaudibly. “And I’m so mad about it. Mad that I can’t be normal, that I’m always terrified about everything that isn’t even actually scary. And now you know, and then Bruce is going to know, and then everyone’s going to know Bentley was so freaked out about school that he freaking puked in the floor-“

“Hey,”

“-I feel so dumb and stupid all of the time around everybody and all this anxiety just makes it worse and worse. Like I’m some kind of baby. And I’m not a baby, but I really freaking feel like it. And now I’m just mad, and I don’t want to be mad, I just want to be asleep, but no, can’t do that, my body’s going to make me puke instead like some puny little kid. I hate being terrified every time something big is happening. It’s all stupid and irrational and dumb but I can never stop thinking-“

Tim stepped forward and hugged him, very suddenly, which halted Bentley mid-sentence.

For a moment, he just kind of blinked.

Okay, so, yeah, this wasn’t very Tim-like behavior. But it was… well, it was kind of nice, so Bentley decided to let it slide.

“I just want to be done feeling like this,” He muttered, sounding awfully young, finally bringing his arms up and hugging him back. “How did you stop feeling like this?”

He felt Tim’s hand move, resting on the back of his head. “I didn’t.”

“Hmm?” Bentley hummed.

“Wanna know why I wasn’t asleep?” Tim questioned. “Because I have a presentation tomorrow afternoon in front of some very important investors. Couldn’t sleep. I thought about it the whole time we were watching Kung Fu Panda, too.”

Bentley snickered lightly. “I guess we’re gonna have to watch that some other time then, huh?”

Tim snickered. “Guess so.”

For a moment, they just stood there. 

“Just so you know, anxiety doesn’t just go away. And you’re not failing or backsliding because you have it. That’s something I had to work through when I was your age, too,” 

Bentley exhaled, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder. “It feels like I am. Failing; backsliding.”

“You’re not. You’re not letting it change your decisions, no matter how anxious you are — and that is very important. I’m proud of you for it,” Tim explained, rubbing his back lightly with one hand. “When it starts going wrong is when you start letting it dictate your decisions.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay…” (He was pretty sure that, besides the pep talk, Tim was also working to put him to sleep. Because he was suddenly pretty tired and this hug wasn’t exactly keeping him awake.)

Oh, well. He’d done it to Tim before, too.

Tim patted his back with a snicker. “We should probably go to bed before the sun comes up.”

“Probably,”

Tim pulled away from the embrace and smiled lightly at him. “You can come to my room, if you want. Might be good for us both.”

Bentley nodded. “Okay.”

The two of them began to venture back toward the stairs.

“And Bentley?”

“Hm?”

Tim smiled. “It'd probably be in your best interest if you stopped getting more and more like me.”

(He never put the towels in the washer.)

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld ❤️

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[benkyoutobentou]

31 Days of Productivity Reading もう一回！: Day 6

Before: Before I spin I want to say that I have a single volume of BASARA left in my collection so there is still a chance that I can land on it again and while that was a bonkers cliffhanger that I ended on last volume, please let’s get some variety in here.

I WISH I WAS MAKING THIS UP

I’m switching sites. I swear it. Today I read more BASARA, but tomorrow I find a new spinner wheel website. I don’t trust this one.

After: I had such a successful day! My biggest accomplishment was finally going to the Japanese language meet up in my area after saying I was gonna go all summer. I'm horribly shy but the people there were super nice and I had a great time (even if I did get a late start because I sat there not talking to anyone. Thank you Ken San for talking to me and inviting me to join your conversation group even after I fumbled our one on one conversation so badly). In my conversation with Ken San, he asked what manga I like and I mentioned that I'm currently reading BASARA and he said that he had a girlfriend way back when who told him to read it!

Anyways, I also did finish this volume of BASARA and whoever compiled these volumes should be put in jail because wow every single one ends in such a massive cliffhanger. And I can't even continue yet since I don't own any more volumes! I was so scared that my favorite character was going to die this volume, but it didn't happen! I don't have faith that they'll live to the end of the series, but they lived to the end of the volume and that's enough for me. These tankoubon bind ups also have essays from various people who have worked on or been influenced by BASARA over the years and I really enjoyed the essay in this volume. It talked about how girls not only enjoy but want and need stories that have more in depth themes like war, but just because something is darker doesn't mean that it can't also have romance in it. I'm so glad I decided to do this challenge now so that I can move a bunch of manga volumes of my tbr so that I can buy the rest of BASARA sooner haha.

Today I read 290 pages of manga and finished my fifth volume of the month (AND had a conversation in Japanese!)! I'm really feeling good about this challenge, but it also helps that I've been absolutely loving my reads, even if I have only read across two different series. All the other series on my tbr for the month are shorter (in volume length and in amount of volumes that I own), so I won't feel as stuck. I'm a chronic series jumper, so having the same things chosen for me over and over was frustrating when I see it, but once I actually got to reading, I have a spectacular time. I hope the rest of the books that I've chosen, both manga and novels, continue to be winners for me!

[queer-charming]

Dinner party with chuuya but he decides to stick his hand up there while you talk with a bunch of people at the table

Ooohhh I feel like Chuuya would definitely be one to play naughty like this, but only if he knew he could get away with it. Especially if it’s some really fancy Port Mafia dinner party.

As always smut under the cut. If you have any more Chuuya NSFW head canons, drop ‘em in my inbox and I might write a little blurb for it!

You didn’t attend many Port Mafia functions, but you had agreed to be Chuuya’s plus one to the annual end of year dinner gathering that Mori always hosted. Of course you should have known your boyfriend would take any opportunity to get a little frisky, the more risk, the better.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked quietly, keeping your eyes glued to the menu on the table as you spoke. You felt the way Chuuya grazed his fingertips over the top of your thigh, slowly moving their way upward.

“I have no idea what what you’re talking about.” Chuuya said plainly as he used his other hand to wave at another Port Mafia member who’d just walked in. His gloves fingers teased at the hem of your shirt dress.

“Do you have any idea where why are?” You scolded.

“I know exactly where we are, (Y/N).” He responded before a random Mafia member approached your table.

“Executive Nakahara, it’s a pleasure to see you could make it.” The man said. He was plain looking by your standards, short cut black hair, stern gray eyes and broad shoulders that filled out his black blazer. “This must be your girlfriend.”

“(Y/N)” You supplied, just as you finished, Chuuya’s fingers slid further up, venturing between your thighs and grazing over the fabric of your panties. You dug your nails into the flesh of your palm to keep your face neutral as you spoke with the man before you. “You must be a part of Chuuya’s team, he speaks-“ you gave a hardly noticeable gasp as Chuuya pushed aside the fabric, sliding his gloves fingers over your admittedly slick core. “Highly of all of you.” You recovered well, hoping Chuuya’s team member didn’t notice your lapse. If he did, he said nothing about it.

Part of you knew you shouldn’t be letting Chuuya tease you like this. What if you got caught? Then again, if you really cared about that, you could have crossed your legs, putting a stop to Chuuya’s game immediately. Instead, you let them fall just a little further open, giving him further access as you worked to keep your expression schooled.

“It’s a pleasure working with him, ma’am.” The man said, directing his attention to your boyfriend before retraining his eyes to you. “He’s a great team leader, rightfully deserving of his position.” You we’re going to respond, but Chuuya chose that moment to start circling your clit, effectively trapping your words in your throat, only managing a smile. The man gave one back. “It was a pleasure meeting you ma’am, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, sir.”

“Bright and early.” Chuuya responded as he moved his fingers quicker. Once the team member was gone, Chuuya whispered to you. “Pull your chair forward, lean back and take your panties off.” He ordered. You did as you were told, pulling your chair as close to the edge of the table as you could, slipping into an almost slouched position, spreading your legs a little more as you made discrete work of slipping your panties down your legs, picking the fabric up and handing it to your boyfriend under the table, who stashed them away inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket. The new position gave him more room and better access to your enterance, which he gladly slid two of his gloves fingers into, pulling a gasp from you that you were glad no one else heard. By this point, you were so worked up, you would have let him fuck your on the table for all to see if he so much as asked. You fought to hold back your moans as you clocked a waiter approaching your table. You schooled your expression before he arrived, Chuuya’s fingers never slowing as he thrust them in and out of your dripping pussy under the table.

“Drinks to get you started?” The waiter asked.

“Absolutely,” Chuuya said, cool as could be while you were burning. He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Have you had a chance to decide, honey?” He asked. You realized then that he intended to make you speak. Looking back at the waiter, you did your best to collect yourself.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, giving the slightest giration of your hips against your boyfriends hand as he worked you. “I’ll take a glass of r-red wine.” You stuttered again as Chuuya hit a particularly good spot. You were nearing your peak faster than ever, maybe it was the added risk factor that made it all the more arousing, maybe it was the position, but you were about to orgasm in a room full of hundreds of people.

“And you, sir?” The waiter directed his attention toward Chuuya.

“One of the same.” He responded. The waiter simply nodded before turning on his heels and leaving the two of you alone once more. Grabbing your menu you held it so it covered part of your face, pretending to read it. “Close?” Chuuya asked smugly, as if he didn’t already know the answer. You simply nodded, his smile growing at your reaction. “Then cum.” And you did, clenching around his fingers as you lowered your head to hide behind the menu, fingers threatening to pierce the laminent. You rocked your hips slightly against Chuuya’s hand as he worked you through it. He leaned over, whispering into your ear. “Now you just wait until we get home.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited.

[therosefrontier]

@badthingshappenbingo

Title: Silence My Screams, Only Whispers Will Remain

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Prompt: Strangling

Characters: Jamil (POV), Kalim, Najma

Placement: pre-canon, about five years ago—Jamil is twelve and just starting sixth grade

Word Count: 7275

(crossposted to AO3)

+++

“Yes, this is great! Jamil, Jamil! Dad said yes to us having the birds at the dance after the feast! I’m so excited for Saturday now! Aren’t you excited, Jamil?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jamil nodded, just watching as Kalim continued to bounce around his room in fresh excitement, going on to talk some more about the birds in question and everything he read about them from his book. He listened, but he was a little bit distracted. He kept running through all the chores he had to do in preparation for the feast in his mind, and he kept thinking about his science project, too. It was due on Monday, which was a week from now, but it felt far too close. He should’ve gotten more done on it sooner. Now, he didn’t feel like he had the time. Maybe he should save most of the work for Sunday, after the feast was over? But, then something unexpected might happen, at work or with school, and his plans would be changed. Maybe he would be given new homework on Friday. Maybe some emergency would happen. He couldn’t leave it up to chance. He should just do as much as he could tonight and tomorrow. He could do that. It wasn’t like it needed to be perfect—only passable. It shouldn’t be perfect, actually… he couldn’t risk being noticed and singled out again, so there needed to be some mistakes…

This was getting tiring to think about. Jamil was in sixth grade now, and he didn’t mind that at all really, but it did mean that he had more homework now than he did in elementary school, so there was more to do. He wished he could just do his work like everyone else—he didn’t like having to worry about success all the time while trying not to fail, either, although he guessed this did technically make things easier on him. Some of his classmates had parents pressuring them a lot to make good grades—perfect grades, even. Jamil didn’t have to be perfect—or more like, he didn’t have to perfect in that way. He still felt like he had to be perfect in a lot of other ways—maybe that was the reason why this revelation didn’t make him feel any less constricted. Sometimes, all he wanted was just a little space to breathe and not have to worry so much.

“What about you, Jamil? What would you want?” Kalim asked, and all of a sudden, Jamil realized with a panic that he wasn’t paying attention. What was he supposed to say!? But then, he remembered that no one else was in this room listening to them. It was only him and Kalim. So, he relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Jamil asked.

“It’s fine! I was just wondering what kind of animal you’d want to meet in person, if you could see any kind you’d want. I could even ask Dad if he could get one for us! Well, I guess we can’t get anything at all…a shark or a whale would be hard because they’re in the water, but still! Is there anything?”

“Umm…I don’t know, there isn’t really anything…”

“Aww, don’t be shy, Jamil! What’s your favorite animal? I don’t think I know…oh no, did I forget!? I didn’t forget your favorite animal, did I!?”

“No, no, I don’t think so…” Jamil used to have one, maybe, but it kept changing all the time when he was little. But that didn’t matter—he just needed to say something believable that wouldn’t actually be a hassle. “I don’t know, a cobra?”

“Oh, really!? That’s so cool! Well, I guess you’re in luck then, because we’ll have a whole bunch of snake charmers at the feast! At least, I think so, since there were some last time…”

Jamil just nodded, breathing out with a tired smile as he listened to Kalim start rambling again. At least he was happy, and there would be no new animals added to the roster again. Jamil wondered if they could ever have a celebration that was simple for once, but he supposed a lot of important people were visiting, just as there always were, so that probably made flashiness important, maybe. Even a birthday party couldn’t be done without a whole bunch of strangers showing up and needing to be entertained. He wouldn’t worry about it too much, though. He would just do what he had to, and make sure that Kalim was fine.

+++

The feast was a massive celebration, as always. The smell of delectable food and the thrum of upbeat music filled their banquet halls, along with a whole crowd of mostly happy, chattering people. It was never just about the food—it was a night of entertainment, too, from the music and dancing to the displays of birds and elephants. Somewhere in the back of Jamil’s mind, he remembered the first time Kalim gleefully pulled him by the hand to the open floor with the musicians playing right behind them, and how for a moment, after he got used to it, it actually felt so fun and freeing, with him laughing right along with Kalim, even though Jamil was sure they were both awful at it. Now, Jamil doesn’t think he likes the idea of dancing in front of people all that much, even if there was any chance he’d be allowed to dance with the actual guests without it being expressly clear that he was doing it for Kalim and Kalim only, so his parents wouldn’t scold him for neglect. Besides, Jamil was too busy for anything like that—he had a lot of work to do serving guests, besides also watching Kalim, multitasking in his hospitality duties to keep an eye on Kalim from a distance like a hawk, making sure that he was doing fine and not getting into any trouble.

There were two things Jamil had to be careful about with Kalim, on days like this. The first thing was making sure that Kalim didn’t get any spontaneous and also bad ideas that would cause trouble, so he had to either stop Kalim from doing those ideas or clean things up for him if everything went wrong. The other thing—the much, much worse thing—that Jamil had to do was make sure that trouble didn’t happen to Kalim, instead.

Kalim had enemies. Jamil learned this very early on, after being assigned to the young heir. He wasn’t just Kalim’s servant, or his ‘playmate,’ or whatever else they called him—he had to be his bodyguard. Technically, they had plenty of guards—actual adult guards—for protecting the Asims, and they caught a lot of threats, too, but too many bad things had happened for Jamil to be assured that nothing bad would happen to Kalim even while he was in his own home. There was a reason why Jamil had to taste-test everything Kalim ate to check for poison, now. It was one of the things he had to do today, too, going back and forth between being with Kalim and serving the other guests mostly just to check his food. Because��this had happened before. Kalim’s been poisoned. Kalim has also been attacked and kidnapped. Jamil still remembers how terrifying it felt, the first time he was stolen away, but he got a little more used to this, over time. It was still always terrible, though, especially when Jamil knew it was never going to stop. Jamil learned, early on, that the Asims had enemies, and that it was even more complicated than that. He listened to the other servants whisper and gossip about how these were ‘dark times’ for the family, a ‘power struggle’ that was quickly tearing everything apart. No one ever told Jamil anything, but he did pick up on a few things on his own. He knew that some of the people going after Kalim were his own relatives. He knew that Kalim being the eldest child was a big reason why he, over everyone else, was targeted over and over again. It wasn’t fair, and Jamil hoped it would stop. The other servants talked among each other years ago like everything was about to blow up and go up in flames any moment now, but that didn’t happen. It was obvious that they were wrong. The family would be fine…even if Kalim still had to deal with this, and so did Jamil, by extension.

He was going to be prepared, though. Jamil was a mage, and also, he was a Viper, so it made sense that he got to be trained in self-defense ever since he was seven, so he could get to the point where he could take down an armed man twice his size with his bare hands if he had to. When his magic manifested, he put a lot of focus on learning that, too, even if there was a lot he had to work through on his own since no one else had the time to do so. His father taught him a lot himself, and he was kind of good at it, too, but sometimes…Jamil would rather learn on his own, instead of have someone else tell him what to do just like they did for everything else in his life. He would rather be alone as often as he possibly could. He just…still had a lot to learn and work through, that’s all.

But today, he didn’t need any of that. Kalim was fine, nothing bad happened, and he was as happy and smiling as ever, often taking opportunities to slip away and talk to Jamil, talking away about this and that and asking Jamil to take a break to dance or try out some new dish with him, as if Jamil wasn’t required to do the food-tasting part anyways. Kalim just wanted to make sure that he actually ate enough to fill him up, not just enough to taste, and he was happy to find things that Jamil liked. A few times, Kalim did lament a bit about how there weren’t many other ‘kids their age,’ the closest thing mostly being Kalim’s little siblings who were old enough to be here, but other than that, there wasn’t really anything to complain about. Jamil did remind Kalim that they really weren’t ‘kids’ anymore, though—Kalim was eleven, Jamil just turned twelve a couple of weeks ago, and they were middle schoolers. There was a difference. Of course, Kalim just laughed like Jamil was being funny and said that he should relax a little, but that wasn’t true because Jamil was relaxed. Mostly. He was as good as he could be, probably.

Jamil continued working for a while after the feast was finished, cleaning up the tables and putting things away until one of the adult servants told him that his work was done, and that he should go get some rest. Jamil was exhausted, too. It was a good thing he went ahead and got his science project finished, because he decided that he would really rather not deal with that tomorrow.

Jamil left the banquet halls, traveling alone down the narrower windowless hallways that led to all the supply rooms that the servants would use. Najma had already left for her room a while ago, and Jamil had no idea where his parents were right now, so he was on his own, but then, it was usually that way for most things, anyways, and also, his room wasn’t in the same place as everyone else’s. His room was right next to Kalim’s, used on days like these when he would sleep in the mansion instead of going all the way back to his own house.

“Lucky~” he heard Najma’s simultaneously sing-song and whiny voice tell him somewhere in the back of his head, pointing out how Jamil’s room was bigger and nicer than the one she would stay in, near their parents in the designated servants’ wing of the manor, and how Jamil got the room to himself, too, while she was ‘stuck’ with a couple of other girls. Jamil told her that it really wasn’t a good thing, because him being near Kalim just meant that he had to be there for him if anything happened or if he needed anything in the middle of the night, but she was insistent.

“Well, why not just get someone to help you? Your room is big enough for two people. Or even three people!”

“No, it isn’t.” It sort of was, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah it is! It’s bigger than your room at home and we used to share it! Your bed at home is bigger than mine and can fit two people, too!”

“Huh!? Why is this about my bed now?”

“I just think you need to think about it.”

And thus, Najma proved once again that there was no arguing with her on anything. Ever. She would keep coming up with solutions that could never happen. It wasn’t the first time she suggested that Jamil should get help for his job with Kalim, either. However, that was clearly not going to happen, so why would she bother bringing it up? This was Jamil’s job, and their parents would never share the “honor” with anyone else, and Jamil didn’t think he liked the idea of trusting anyone else with Kalim, anyways. Having some kind of partner would be like being in a group project all the time, but worse.

At least Jamil’s room near Kalim was closer to the banquet hall that the servant wing was. Jamil was quickly realizing that he really didn’t want to walk that much farther, as he groggily stumbled through while absentmindedly feeling the old walls with his fingertips for support. He instinctively thought about whatever it was he had to do tomorrow, hoping that nothing unexpected came up. It would be nice if he could just relax a bit. With that thought in mind, he yawned deeply, and then, midway through the action, he stopped.

He heard something.

Jamil looked behind him, and he looked in front of him and to the side, too. He didn’t see anyone. Should anyone else be here? The mansion would definitely still be full of people right now, but he wasn’t sure if any of the other servants would be coming this way, and none of the Asims would be in this hallway, either. Right? But Jamil could have sworn he heard movement. He hoped it was one of the guards on patrol. He kept looking around, suddenly regretting how dimly lit the space was right now.

“Hello?” he said out loud, not sure if that was the right thing to do, but it felt like the best way to figure out if this presence he was feeling was someone who was supposed to be here. There was no answer. He looked over at the wall lined with supplies and unused furnishings, shrouded in dark shadows. He walked closer, and he felt his hand around the magestone in his pocket.

He cast a light spell in front of him, but that was a big mistake.

A figure became illuminated in the corner, tall and cloaked in black, and Jamil started to cry out. His second mistake. He should have attacked him right away. Maybe he should have run away, instead. Making noise, on the other hand, was the most useless thing he could have done in a place where he was alone, and it only mobilized the man into action.

He leapt out like a trapdoor spider, grabbing Jamil, gagging him with one hand, and twisting his arm behind his back with the other. Jamil’s heart furiously rushed blood to his addled brain. Desperately, he tried to wrestle free, but he quickly realized that it was useless—the man was as muscular as he was tall, and Jamil might as well have been a twig in comparison.

The man forcefully threw him against the wall and held him down with precision. With skill. (Jamil was alone. He couldn’t move. What was he supposed to do?) Jamil struggled to catch his breath as he heard the dreaded shing of the man drawing a concealed blade from his side, but that was also the moment when he found his wits again—or more specifically, his magic. Jamil gripped hold of the knife with his mind. The man’s grip may be firm, but he took advantage of his brief moment of surprise to pull the blade from his hand and fling it across the hallway.

A dark mask covered most of the assailant’s face, obscuring his mouth and nose, but his cold eyes were still clearly visible when they registered surprise, and for that brief moment, Jamil relished it. Briefly, he gripped the elusive fantasy that he could outmatch him, or at least outlast him. (Someone would hear them, right? Someone would be here soon?) Jamil was a mage, and everyone underestimated him because he never had a chance to show what he could really do, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t.

However, he should have known (all along, he did know, but he didn’t want to think about it) that this man, this assassin, would hardly be made useless just because he didn’t have a weapon.

The man didn’t say a thing to him. There were no taunts, no reasons given as to why Jamil had to be brought down like this—of course there wasn’t, because Jamil was nothing to him. Firm hands pushed him back against the wall again, but this time, they were placed around his neck. Two thumbs dug into the center of his throat, and the rest of those fingers clamped down into his nape. Jamil choked. He grabbed the man’s wrists with both his too-small, too-weak hands and struggled to force them away from him. Useless. Why did he ever think he could win? He writhed under the man’s grasp with everything he had left and desperately gasped for air. Desperately tried to scream. He couldn’t breathe. His grip was too tight. He couldn’t do anything. He was going to die. But why? Why try to kill him? Jamil didn’t even do anything. Why not? He was better off dead so he wouldn’t talk. This was the end. There was nothing he could do to stop him.

Jamil opened his mouth, staring into the cold, dead eyes of the masked man in front of him, the last face he may ever see. He willed his magic to help him, but it wasn’t like those simple spells could control someone’s hands the same way they could an inanimate object like a knife. He was doing nothing. Only delaying the inevitable. He struggled for air, but for some reason, he tried to speak, too. “St…st…” It was useless to try to make out words. It was useless to speak at all—this man would never listen. No one ever did. So why would the assassin be different? But Jamil refused to accept that. He refused to stop trying. No, he wasn’t going to be killed by someone he didn’t even know! After all this time!? After everything he went through!? No, he was going to make him listen! He would force him to listen if he had to! The assailant may be a spider, but Jamil was no bug. He would prove it. He just had to, somehow…

“St…STOP!”

Jamil blurted out that single word like it was the one and only lifeline he had, the only thing that would save him from drowning. There might have been truth to its power, too, since the moment he said it, a rush crashed over him like a wave. His eyes flashed red. His fingertips thrummed with fresh magic that also made its home in his head and his chest. His head hurt…and he felt dizzy. Jamil crumbled to the ground before he realized nothing was holding him up anymore. He heaved for air, so hard that his lungs hurt. The coughing only made it hurt worse. He gasped and trembled and touched his throat like that would protect it, blurry gaze staring straight ahead at nothing.

It took him a few seconds before he looked up at his assailant again.

The man stood there, unmoving, his hands limply hanging by his sides. He said nothing. His masked face showed no expression. His eyes stared forward at the wall, the steady, fierce coldness in them completely gone, along with everything else. They were empty. Just a blank stare, with previously dark eyes that now shone a bright red.  

It was like time had stopped. Jamil sat there staring dumbly upwards at the man for a moment, his image blurred and red in his eyes, before he suddenly snapped out of it and scrambled to get up on his feet and be prepared to defend himself, ignoring the way that everything still hurt. Was he going to have to fight? Was this the part when he should run away? His heart continued to pound in his chest, telling him to do something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just kept doing what he had been doing. Jamil moved on pure instinct, or maybe it was pure impulse. His mind kept steady, but he didn’t think. He just knew. He knew that the assassin wouldn’t attack him, because he wouldn’t do anything that Jamil didn’t tell him to do.

“S-Step back.”

Jamil’s raspy voice wavered on the command, but it still worked. The tingling rush of magic thrummed just behind his eyes. The dead-eyed man obediently stepped back.

Jamil was controlling him. He was actually doing it. This was his magic. But when did he even learn this spell!? Jamil was glad he had it, but now, he wasn’t sure what to do next. The magestone glowed in his pocket. Jamil wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep doing this.

“Walk to that wall.”

Actually, he did know. He knew exactly what to do. Once the idea got into Jamil’s mind, it wouldn’t let go. He knew how to end this.

“Pick up your knife.”

Seeing the blade in his hands made Jamil tremble like a coward, but he wouldn’t show it. He would never show it. He took a slow, deep breath, and he stared straight into those dead eyes, making sure that his magic kept its hold.

“Stab yourself.”

+++

“There…does that feel better?”

Jamil nodded mutely, and he thinks that by her smile (that sad, sympathetic smile that somehow, Jamil didn’t really want to look at), Midha was satisfied with that. He drank another sip of the herbal tea she offered him, restraining himself from touching his neck where the salve had been rubbed in. He hadn’t been all that injured, really. The problem was mostly just the sore throat, and also the swollen bruising and raw fingernail marks on his neck, and the way his chest still hurt when he breathed, and the painful, blurry vision—he wasn’t sure if that part was because of the strangulation or because of his own magic, though. Part of him really wanted to look in a mirror just to see for himself how bad it was, but the other part of him really didn’t want to…not after already seeing himself through the way they all looked at him. Maybe later, he would.   

Jamil stayed quiet and unobtrusive as he watched the workroom full of other house servants thrum with hushed, nervous energy, with everyone talking amongst themselves and gossiping over their speculations of who did it this time and why, while they waited for further news. The guards had found the assassin Jamil left in the hallway. Now, they were scouring the mansion looking for accomplices, increasing security around the members of the Asim family while putting everyone else in this quiet state of emergency. It was anxiety-inducing, having to wait, but Jamil was used to it. Most of them were used to it.

Some of the others told Jamil’s parents about what happened. They didn’t come to see him right away, and he didn’t really expect them to. He did hope that they were okay, and he hoped that Najma was okay, too. He also anxiously hoped that nothing happened to Kalim…Jamil wasn’t far from his room, when he got attacked. It wasn’t hard to make the leap and wonder if, maybe, Kalim was the one they wanted.

“He’s dead, just so you know.”

Jamil’s eyes shot open at the sound of Sayyida’s voice, instinctively putting himself at attention to meet the sharp gaze of the older woman who was also one of the chief managers of the household, and by extension, someone with charge over him, too.

“Yes…Sayyida-san?” Jamil’s voice still sounded horrible. He could barely speak at all. He trembled, too, just from fearing what she meant about what she just said, as if she was just about to tell him that it was Kalim who was dead, but he quickly realized this wasn’t the case.

“They found two accomplices outside,” she reported evenly, almost boredly, as if her only interest was to make the report and nothing more. “I imagine they would be much more open to talk, knowing their assassin is dead. It appears that there are no further threats inside the mansion. Once we are confirmed to be clear, you are to return to your room.”

Jamil nodded silently. He thought back to what happened…he didn’t know if he was dead or not, when he left. All he could think about was going to get help. Maybe it was something that happened afterwards, and he just wouldn’t ever know. But, as long as everyone was safe…

“You might just live up to your family name, Viper.”

Jamil looked up at her in surprise again. What was that? Was she…actually complimenting him? He wasn’t sure…

“You did well. I do not know how you did it, but that isn’t something you need to tell, you understand? Especially not to the Young Master. Jamil, I hope I don’t have to spell it out for you—you shouldn’t speak of this to Kalim. It will only distress him, and that will only lead to problems for the rest of us. Am I understood?”

Jamil nodded—just a single, silent nod, since his throat was in pain, and since that was the only thing he was expected to give, anyways, besides the single word he mustered up afterwards to go with it.

“Yes.”

+++

Jamil unlocked his unique magic that day.

It took until the middle of the next day to realize that, once the shock had worn away and he could think about this whole event rationally. He didn’t talk about the magic part with anyone, so he figured out everything he had to on his own. Right away, he sneakily borrowed books from the Asim’s extensive collection, and he later found books in the public library and school library, too. He searched articles on the internet. Little by little, he learned more about magic and about how signature spells worked. There wasn’t any one single way they happened—some people deliberately crafted spells over a long period of time, and for other people, the spells kind of just happened on their own. Those surprise signature spells could come during a rush of inspiration, or a moment of intense stress, manifesting in response to a need or a want, but usually, they were of some category of magic that the person was already good at, either naturally or learned. Jamil had focused a lot into control magic because of how useful it was, so he guessed it made sense that his UM would turn out like that, but also…it did seem like it was a pretty rare thing to end up with mind control magic, which seemed to be exactly what he had, unless Jamil was wrong and it was something else that made him do what he did. It was a little hard to say when he couldn’t test it really.

Maybe he could confide in Najma and ask her to help him, but she probably wouldn’t like the idea of being mind-controlled herself just so Jamil could practice and might come up with some weird scheme like convincing him to practice on one of her classmates instead or on some other random person she doesn’t like, just to see what would happen. She might even ask for some kind of favor in the future in exchange for her not telling. However, Jamil couldn’t really think of anyone else he knew that he could talk to…except for Kalim, maybe. He really, really shouldn’t, but, he could trust Kalim, and Kalim would trust him back enough to know that Jamil wouldn’t do anything bad to him while he was practicing. It would be bad, if anyone else found out, their parents especially, but Jamil knew he wouldn’t tell. Kalim would never betray him.

Maybe…Jamil should just handle things on his own. He tried his best and read through guides about how to develop personal magic until the words blurred together in his mind. There was way too much he didn’t understand, but he could handle it. He was good at reading, and he could have figured it all out much quicker if only he had more free time. He first focused on the simple things—he needed a name, and he needed an incantation, too. It made the spell more stable and gave him less blot build-up. That part was kind of supposed to instinctively just come to him, though, just like the spell itself did.

Jamil tried out his magic on some animals. It didn’t exactly work all that well, probably because they couldn’t understand his language and he couldn’t seem to make it work when speaking the animal’s language, but it did at least a little something. He was no snake charmer, but he could lead around the cats, dogs, and birds for a moment or two, at least.

With that in mind, the name came to him pretty easily.

He thought of the snake charmers at the banquet, impressing their audience with the way they could bend the snake’s will to their own with their skillful tune. It was like they joined by the eyes—man and beast became one under the grip of that powerful gaze.

“Snake Whisper,” Jamil found himself saying, the incantation linked with the intricate pattern and beats of the spell itself. “The one you behold is your master. When I ask you a question, you will answer. When I give you a command, you will assent.”

It was perfect. A little too good to be true, maybe, but it sure felt good to say it. It was kind of nice to be the “master” for once.

If only he would ever have a chance to actually use it.

+++

“Come on, Jamil! Let’s go visit the elephants together!”

“Kalim. We’re still in the middle of your tutoring session.”

“Oh, right…well, we can take a break, right? What about mancala? It’s a thinking game, so that’s kind of like studying, right?”

“No, Kalim, it really isn’t.”

Everything went back to normal, very quickly. Kalim knew about the assassin in the mansion, but he didn’t know about what happened to Jamil, who simply wore a scarf the next day to hide the bruises. He still did notice something, though. He got worried and said that Jamil’s eyes looked red. Jamil said it was nothing. He didn’t know if it was because of the strangling or because of his eye-linked unique magic, anyways.

He looked it up on the internet, after that. It wasn’t because of his magic.

Jamil felt a cold shudder when he finally looked at himself in the mirror that night. It was like it somehow made everything feel worse, or maybe that was just the pain inevitably sinking in further after the shock was over and he was left struggling to fall asleep. That night, it was almost impossible.

“Just a little longer, and then we’ll stop,” Jamil said to assuage Kalim’s restlessness. Jamil was good at math, so he got asked to start tutoring Kalim in it. Jamil didn’t really think he was good enough to be a tutor, but ‘he was already with Kalim all the time anyways,’ so they decided that he might as well.

Maybe it would feel like a better compliment, getting told that he was good at math, if he didn’t have to self-sabotage his grades all the time so that no one else would even know.

“Okay…” Kalim relented with a heavy sigh, broken quickly by a smile. “Thanks for helping me, though! This makes a lot more sense now.”

But I didn’t help you to be nice. I got told to do it. It’s not the same.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Najma noticed that something was wrong, too. Jamil instinctively avoided her at first, but he was still undecided about whether he should tell her about his magic at all, so he didn’t want to talk about the rest of what happened, either. Not that his waiting did him any good.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked him, peering into his eyes that Tuesday night with discerning intensity. Najma was two and one third years younger than Jamil, and sometimes, she ran her older brother ragged just as bad as Kalim would, coming with random and sometimes bad ideas on a whim like little sisters would, but also, Jamil was getting reminded a lot lately that she wasn’t as little as she used to be. She was about to turn ten, and it seemed like with that, it became just harder and harder to lie or deflect about anything at all.

“I’m fine,” Jamil mumbled, trying to hide his eyes and lamenting to himself on how impossible that was to do. “Just tired.”

“Nuh-uh. You got to stay home instead of going to the mansion after school so I know it’s something.”

“Well…can’t I just have a break sometimes? Why do I have to have a reason?”

“You got hurt, didn’t you?”

Jamil choked. He looked at Najma, and he saw that she was very serious.

“Why can’t you talk about it?”

Jamil looked away. “I’m not supposed to tell Kalim, for some reason,” he mumbled sourly.

“Oh, yeah.” Najma nodded sagely. “He would get pretty mad if you got hurt. Like that time with the poison.”

“Y-Yeah…that.” He guessed maybe Najma did understand, then.

“But I’m not going to tell Kalim, obviously,” Najma added.

Jamil let out a deep breath. “Okay, sure. I’ll tell you everything. But there’s one part you’re going to really have to keep secret, okay?”

Jamil’s father gave him rare praise, in the morning after the incident. Jamil didn’t know what his parents would do, but he wasn’t sure he was expecting it to be something like that. He probably should have, though.

“You were brave, to fight back like you did. You protected the Asims from a grave danger last night. You did well.”

‘Protected the Asims,’ he said. That was what it was always about, wasn’t it? Serve the Asims, respect the Asims, give everything to the Asims. What if that wasn’t what Jamil was trying to do at all? He didn’t do it for ‘the Asims!’ He did it for him! He was just trying to survive! He didn’t have time to think of anything else! (But he was worried, after that. He was worried about Kalim, but it wasn’t for the same reasons as what his parents thought.) Didn’t his life matter, too? Didn’t him surviving mean something?

Everyone kept telling him that being a Viper was supposed to be something important, too. They had served the Asims for generations, and because of that, they were supposed to have honor. Respect. They were trusted with their masters’ lives, and that wasn’t something just anyone could do. Jamil didn’t care about that, though. He was told that his family had influence and prestige. His parents would be the ones to entertain leaders from all over the world. They were supposed to be important, but all Jamil could think about was that old image burned in his head of his parents bowing down before the heads of the family, and he hated it. People told him that he would understand when he was older, when they weren’t too busy scolding him for daring to say the slightest thing out of place. Jamil was pretty sure that he never would. His life was a joke. He didn’t want to be ‘important’ just because he was connected to someone important. He wanted to leave.

They let him have a couple of days off to rest, after that first day of him pressing through and smiling for Kalim anyway. His parents assured him that he would be fine, but some of the other servants (the ones who actually cared) vouched for him. Sayyida-san said it would be fine.

Jamil still had school. He still had a science project to present with a scarf skillfully wrapped around his neck like he was about to go on a walk through the desert sands. He got to get some sleep afterwards, though, and get to his reading about magic. It was nice, to have some quiet for once.

+++

Two weeks later, while in his own home, Jamil dreamt of a fire.

He choked on the fumes, violently coughing without a sound, dizzily stumbling through the flaming wreckage. He needed to get out of the house. He kept walking, but he couldn’t remember which way he should go. He should know this place—the mansion, not just a house—but it kept changing on him, looping back around and around. He told himself that he should be hurrying a little more, but he couldn’t and he forgot the reason why.

He kept walking, and at some point, something reminded him that he should panic. He started running, but that made everything worse. The building was falling down around him. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to choke. He ran through the pain even though he felt nothing. He remembered the way to the front door, and finally, he made it.

The door was blocked. A tall figure stood in front of it that Jamil barely knew. His mind registered that it was an assassin. He didn’t know which one it was. So many things had happened—too many things. Kalim kept getting kidnapped. Jamil couldn’t let them hurt him. Not again.

He punched the man in the chest because something told him it was what he had to do. The fire was still going. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t see, either. The man fought back and Jamil wrestled against him, squirmed to keep free. But he was running out of time. He couldn’t make it. The man was too strong. So Jamil knocked him to the ground. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He pushed and he wrapped his fingers around the neck of the person on the ground, desperately trying to stop them. He had to get out. He had to get out now.

But it wasn’t right. Something felt wrong. He did something wrong. The weight beneath him went slack.

He opened his eyes. It was Kalim he was holding.

Jamil screamed.

His eyes shot open in a cold sweat, his body reflexively shooting upright in his bed. He frantically looked around his room as if he expected to find danger in the corners of the walls, but he found nothing. There was no one.

It was just a dream.

He knew that, but he still struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving painfully. It was just a dream. He could handle it. He wasn’t a child. He just…had to calm down.

His door opened with a creak. Jamil jolted a little at the sound, before a small, familiar face with wide, worried dark eyes showed itself around the door’s edge.

“Oh…Najma. It’s you,” Jamil greeted blandly, his voice hoarse. Did he…scream out loud, actually? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to think about it.

She closed the door behind her and walked inside without waiting for an invitation. She came up to the foot of his bed and spoke in a loud whisper. “I heard you from my room and it sounded really bad. Did you have a nightmare?”

Jamil groaned. Why did she have to be so blunt about it? “Y-Yeah… I’m fine, though.”

She frowned at him, her eyes squinting into his. “Liar.”

“W-What? I said I’m fine! Just…leave me alone.”

“Are you going to go back to sleep? Sometimes I like to just wake up all the way when I have a nightmare. You could read a book or something.”

Did he want to go back to sleep? Jamil was still shaken up, and he was afraid the dream would come back…but, talking to Najma, he felt at least a little distracted over it, already. Maybe it would be fine. “I have a lot to do tomorrow, so…I think I should sleep.”

“Okay.” Najma nodded. She then stayed there, for a moment, like she was thinking about something. She didn’t make any move to leave the room. Instead, her eyes lit up like she just came up with a spontaneous idea, which usually meant it was a bad idea.

Wordlessly, she climbed into bed beside Jamil, forcing him to just as quickly move to the side.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?”

“Your bed’s big enough for both of us, so I’m staying.”

“But…why…?”

“When you have a nightmare, you’re supposed to go over to your parents’ room and stay in their bed, right? Well, you’re not going to do that, so I’m going to stay in your bed, instead.”

Jamil took a deep breath. What was he going to do with her? “That’s not how it works.”

Najma looked him straight in the eye and shrugged. “What are you going to do? Tell Mom and Dad?”

Jamil groaned and just flopped backwards onto his pillow again.

“If there isn’t room, I can just sleep on the floor,” Najma offered nonchalantly. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah you would.” This was just a trick, wasn’t it?

“No I won’t.”

Jamil looked up at her and smirked. “There could be spiders down there.”

“Uh, I’m not afraid of spiders. You are.”

Jamil rolled his eyes. She was…technically correct, but still. “Well, just…don’t move too much.”

“Okay,” she agreed, before lying down. She didn’t stop talking, though. “You know, my friend at school told me all about dreamcatcher magic. I can try to use it too if you want. So the nightmares get caught.”

“There’s no such thing,” Jamil mumbled blearily.

“Yeah there is. It’s her special spell, and that can be anything.”

“You mean signature spell. And I still don’t think it’s possible.”

“Says you. How can you be sure if you’ve never met someone?”

Jamil sighed and decided not to argue. “Fine. If I meet someone with dream magic, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

“Now can you please just go to sleep?”

She nodded with a smile, her presence warm even though she gave him space and stayed still, just like she promised. “Okay. Goodnight, Jamil.”

[crimeronan]

I feel like I would consider myself polyamory agnostic in a way, like I would maybe like for it to happen but I often fear that I don't have the ability to manage even one partnership, let alone multiple relationships, since I am often. So tired. I often find myself idealizing the "late" stage of a relationship when everyone already has settled into what to expect of each other and knows not to take it personally if someone falls asleep mid movie, for example. All this to say, how do you handle your relationship structure as a disabled/chronically ill person? Do you have any advice/thoughts on how it works for you? (I feel like perhaps you have posted about this before and I am just forgetting...)

oh this is a really good question! i'm not sure how relevant my life experience will be to you, particularly given that i started dating all three of my current partners before becoming disabled/crippled. but i am happy to share!

first off -- i 100% get romanticizing the late stage of relationships, sometimes you just need things to be chill and flexible. but i also don't think that this stage necessarily Needs to be reserved for Late Relationships?

like.... the older i get, the more upfront i've decided to be about my needs, especially with new people. granted, a lot of the people i meet these days are either disabled themselves or Get It -- my social circle is mostly queer spoonies in their 20s and 30s + much much older retirees that i hang out with at the local pool.

some people prefer not to be so open so quickly about their limitations, it is hard and scary to be visibly disabled, harder still to ask for help & admit that you might be inconvenient / a burden / take up extra space. this USED to be me until i said. eh. fuck it. after a certain point, wounded pride is just a mental construct

basically, like. when i'm online these days, you'll see me be clear about my limits with strangers - i'll say that if i stop replying to chats or asks, it's not bc i hate you, it's bc i'm tired or forgetful. that i can't guarantee responses to ppl, even people i'm already friendly with. that if my mood is bad or my pain levels are high, i won't engage in much social interaction at All. that my capabilities fluctuate wildly depending on the day and that i cannot be relied upon for consistent scheduling or posting or creative output

i'm similarly open with people irl. it helps that i'm often using mobility aids when i'm talking to people. the mobility aids sorta strip the possibility of pretending not to be disabled. it's kinda the elephant in the room. but it means that i can be like, "as you can see, i am very crippled. i may need flexibility with any plans that we make. due to being very crippled."

if people get upset by this or simply don't have the capacity to deal with it, that is fine! that's not either of our faults, no one's done anything wrong, we're just not in the right circumstances to mesh. i don't get hurt by that personally. i've honestly found that it saves SO much time and hassle and potential drama/heartache to set expectations right away. the only other option is to exhaust myself and end up failing to meet expectations regardless and losing the friendship after burning up a bunch of energy and social bridges. painful and bad!

so like... i can meet a new person, and if they're cool with My Whole Deal, then there's no waiting period before we're familiar enough for flaky behavior. i can be like, "i'm not sure i'll be able to walk tonight, is there a place to sit down at the event?" or "i'm flaring a little, is it okay for us to be kinda flexible about tomorrow's schedule?" or "hey, i'll get back to you as soon as possible i promise, i'm just fogged TO SHIT today [peace sign]" from day 1. it's great

i'm not saying that you Have to do this; i am aware that it breaches like seventeen laws of general social etiquette. i'm just saying that i have met many people who are totally chill about this! as long as you're chill and respectful of the other person as well, you can do whatever you want forever

that was not even relevant to the initial ask, so. AS FOR MY PARTNERS.

i actually don't find that my illness makes it harder to navigate my relationships at all. like i mentioned, i've been with all three partners for Many Many Years now. we know each other Extremely well, we're all extremely turbo autistic, we all have blunt communication down to a science. so saying "i'm not up for doing [x thing] tonight, can we take a rain check?" is super easy.

in fact, my partners can basically intuit a flare from just my physical movements and tone of voice, even before i say a single word. we are VERY familiar with each other.

.....and, alright. after fighting the urge to longpost i've decided to put the rest under a cut. YOU'RE WELCOME 4 THE RETURN OF YOUR DASHBOARDS. "why didnt you put it under a cut so much earlier" read my posts boy

anyway. click readmore to hear me expand upon just how fucking incredible and awesome and kind and generous and loving my People are

there ARE some ways that the illness has made it more difficult for ME to be the kind of partner that i want to be -- for example, i often lack the energy to provide proper emotional support during stressful situations, i have a shorter threshold for pain/irritation than i used to, i can't give 100% of my energy anymore and there have been times when that has resulted in hurt feelings in my partners.

(there have been far more times, though, when nobody's feelings are hurt and it's literally fine.)

in every case where feelings DID get hurt, we've talked stuff out and fixed it within like an hour. bc we all trust each other and know that we don't WANT to hurt each other's feelings. i never ever Ever say things with the intention of wounding my partners, and they know that. they never say things with the intention of wounding me, either, which is why our very blunt "hey, you need to change something you're doing" convos go so well. there's no need to tiptoe, it doesn't hurt me to know what they're thinking or feeling or needing.

sometimes things are just hard and shitty and we're all doing the best we can. this is just part of adulthood i think. especially adulthood in late stage capitalism, etc. the Biggest key to my polycule is that we are all much happier as a family than we would be without each other. the relationships are about as wholesome and healthy and non-toxic and openly communicative as they can get

the Other key aspect when dealing with my illness is that.... being polyamorous has actually been... SOOOOOO MUCH BETTER than being 1) alone, OR 2) in a monogamous relationship EVER WOULD BE?

it is Extremely Stressful for my family to deal with me being this sick. i am aware of that. but i haven't had to bear the brunt of it. not only do they support me, but they also all communicate with and support each other. so no one person is bearing the entire weight of the stress or pain or fear. and i don't have to comfort people over my own symptoms, which most disabled ppl i think would agree is.... exhausting

when i'm too fucked up to speak aloud, let alone support my partners the way i usually do, they ALWAYS have EACH OTHER as a safety net.

this safety net has been beyond vital for me personally, too. round-the-clock care from a single partner is insane and exhausting and leads to unraveling tempers. but when you live with two partners who can help cover your chores and cook and make sure you don't die of your Symptoms (TM)? that's much more doable.

it's HARD, bc literally everyone in the house is disabled to some degree, but it's doable. (it being hard is part of why my QPR is going to move in with us soon. extra hands!)

a few weeks ago, rafi (partner of 7ish years) went on a short vacation to visit family in california. and justice (QPR of 3ish years, best friend of 8ish years) booked an impromptu next-day plane ticket to come stay with me and vi (partner of 11ish years) while rafi was gone. because i was Very Sick. i was flaring horribly the whole time she was here, and she made meals and cleaned and ran errands and picked up medications and returned phone calls and lay in bed with me watching low-stakes tv shows and made sure i didn't stroke out without anyone there to help.

this meant that i basically got to stay in bed the whole time, which was very very Very needed. and vi -- who has a bad back -- wasn't unduly taxed with Literally All of the household upkeep in rafi's absence.

the same principle has applied when i've needed my partners to help cover my share of bills or my household chores or my errands or whatever. since there are three other people involved, the Immediate Support Net is much wider than in a monogamous relationship. especially bc all three of them have their own familial and friend support networks to reach out to!

having more people around is actually awesome for me. i don't feel like i'm expending a lot more energy than i would in a monogamous relationship, but i AM receiving a TON more support and care and love than would be possible in a monogamous relationship.

i guess the conclusion i'd make is: no man is an island, humans are hardwired to build large social support groups, and in a good relationship, you'll receive At Least as much as you give. right now i'm receiving a SHIT TON MORE than i give, and i do often feel pretty bad about it despite knowing it's not my fault.

but these people have chosen to be my family. and if they ever want to stop choosing me then they absolutely can. and if they need more from me or they need something Different from me, then they'll literally just tell me.

(i know they will literally just tell me because all three of them have literally just told me in the past. they're three people i can implicitly trust to say things like "hey, this thing you said made me sad / was unhelpful" and "hey, i'm really stressed out about [x thing], can we make a plan to deal with it?" and "hey, this situation is pretty serious and i know that you don't want to face it but i really need you to. i will take on whatever i can for you and support you the whole time")

so: yes it has been hard to some extent, managing three relationships while also being sick. but it is also a wonderful setup with a million unthought-of advantages & i am much better cared-for and much better AT caring because of it & i fucking Shudder to think how horrific being sick would be without them.

i love my family so much.

[rothjuje]

Justin is about to leave for 10 days. This is the longest he’s ever been away. Ugh.

His work trip is in Dallas. I’m insanely jealous. He gets to see our friends and old neighbors, and he gets to eat at our favorite spots. He wanted us to join, I just thought it would be too much with G&G, who don’t sleep in hotels or travel well. But dang, we should have gone just for the weekend. Regrets.

So many changes are taking place. The school year is wrapping up, Alyssa’s Celebration of Growth is tomorrow. The weather is heating up. I’m hanging out more with my kindergarten mom squad friends. I don’t know. I have big feelings about our first real summer here. Maybe I have some mild PTSD from last summer? I don’t know. The stress of it still makes me nauseous when I think about it. Ha! Maybe the move will be a traumaversary in my life now. Is that possible? Maybe, since the move from CA to TX broke my heart into a million little pieces and MA, while a definite upgrade, was still a small echo of that. Leaving friends and loved ones and places that felt like home and venturing into the great unknown. Sigh. It’s been crazy and fun and exciting and new and great but there have been times where I’ve felt alone, like I’ll never truly fit in here. But there are a bunch of transplants in my kindergarten mom squad and that has helped.

I’ve also met several moms with autistic kiddos. It’s nice to have a support system of people who get it. I used to have so much anxiety about his milestones and meeting kids older than him who eventually developed meaningful speech has been so nice. George has started to say some more meaningful words and phrases (“cracker” for Graham cracker, he refers to himself as “Georgie”, and he tells us “no” now when he doesn’t want to do something). He still says tickle and peekaboo when he wants to play and cheese when you take his picture. He’s getting there. He’ll get there. He’s the cuddliest, sweetest guy with the best disposition out of every kid I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t change him for one second, I just hope I get to hear about his interests some day.

Alyssa still wants to be both JoJo Siwa and a chef. Her favorite songs are Party in the USA and Shake it Off, she dances to them on repeat. I bet she would love Hannah Montana. She has poses now that she practices in the mirror and I honestly think she is perfect in every way. And very entertaining.

Gen is Gen. She is The Boss. Preschool two days a week next year will do her some good I think. The FCC classes are so great but they require parent participation and she rather be with me than her classmates, so her participation level is low. It will be so good for her to be with peers when mom isn’t there. She is so smart, she watches everything and everyone. She talks so much, and most of it sounds like a little grownup, she is very articulate. She is also fascinated by babies and batteries.

That’s pretty much it. Girls will do swim lessons, gardening class, and gymnastics this summer. George will have his IEP program for 3 hours M-Th. We’ll pack a picnic lunch, pick him up from school, and either head to the lake or playground for the afternoon. I’d love to wear them out every day and have early bedtimes. And it’s so much easier to parent outdoors. Weather is perfect here, TX you could really only enjoy the outdoors in the morning or evening, it will be nice to have all day to be outside.

[faytelumos]

Found this from @lexiklecksi and decided I wanted to do it.

Then I waited for forever to fill it out and forgot what the little title for this game was, haha!

---

1) What motivates you to write?

For one thing, I feel like it's my best skill. Back when I got started, well over a decade ago, it was experiencing all of these stories I loved that inspired the desire to become a part of the magic.

Deep down, I have stories to share. It's always nice when a lot of people see my stories and like them, but my biggest goal is to get those stories to the people who need them. It feels deep-seeded, and I know if everything stopped tomorrow, one of my biggest regrets would be that I wasn't able to get my Story out to people it might have helped.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud of; if not, share a line of someone else's work that you love (just be sure to credit).

It's been a month and I cannot for the life of me think of a story line I'm especially happy with, so have my favorite ever poem, which is by Robert Frost, recited from memory:

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Maybe Ræs. He's a mess of a person, honestly, but in a realistic way. He doesn't really have tact when it comes to sensitive matters, he comes off as abrasive, he's angry, he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he's got some ingrained biases he doesn't want to face. But he's trying his hardest, and I think, despite all of the rough starts and choppy interactions, he comes to realize that the people he meets in this story really truly care about him in a way he hasn't seen since he was a little kid.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

The feverish inspiration of a new character or plot development. I love it to death when I can't stop thinking about something, when I'm fifteen chapters away from this scene but I've written it in my head ten times already, when every song I hear is about them or this. It's fleeting, and even if it weren't, I couldn't survive an extended period of this, but it's the chemical I crave when making my way through a project.

5) What part of writing do you think you're best at? (Stroke your own ego, it's okay.)

Internal monologues. I'm really good at thought processes and being in a character's head. Moving from thought to thought, reaching conclusions and using them to fuel the next process, I feel like I really have that idea down.

6) What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

The comradery. We're all a bunch of writers and we love reading. Since a lot of my work is currently in the hero/villain community, there's a lot of passing around of the same tropes we all love, and I definitely enjoy that, too.

7) A writing tool/device that help you with writing (i.e. text to speech, a program, etc.).

I don't use much except a word processor. I use one on my phone and a different one on my computer, but both of them have the ability to make folders and reorganize documents, which I use liberally.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story (it could be the magic system, a particular place, a law, etc.).

In my first book, there is a sense of that same-old fantasy setting, where everyone's wearing frocks and going to the river to do laundry. But then, here and there, I'm able to sneak in hints of technology. There are steam engine trains. There are chemical heaters so people can have hot baths indoors. There are disinfectants and surgery procedures. There are certain things that remain in the past as we see it (no printing presses, no personal transportation), but the world is different enough to be somewhat unique.

9) What piece of advice would you give to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Write for yourself. If you're feeling burnt out, stop the projects that are draining you and just write for only yourself. Write some really self-indulgent fanfic or poetry that you know will never see the light of day. Write an unhinged essay on why A and B would never do that (or why, no matter what, they always would have) and tuck it straight into your pocket. Remeber why you started writing, or if you're new, really truly be kind to yourself and realize that you are learning a new skill and it can be bumpy.

Writing is such a personal and intimate expression, and if you're having trouble baring yourself to even a hypothetical world, then curl up and let your heart bleed in private for awhile.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters.

@the-modern-typewriter is actually a big part of the reason I even started a writeblr. Other folks I love to see are @surplus-of-sarcasm, @those-damn-snippets, @the-phasea-kalogria, @thepenultimateword, @sternenmeerkind, and @unorganisedalienrubbish, @robin-parravel, @bryansartbooth, @thelazywitchphotographer, @why-am-i-on-this-website-anyway, @pebbles-pile, @severalonions, @thepromiscuousfinger, @alltimelowing, @canonicallyshort, and @perfecthologrambluebird.

(Obviously these tags are no pressure because some of them don't follow me and several of them don't post writing.)

[the-clay-quarters]

Estival 2024: The Sixth Coil, blorbo edition

I keep thinking of so many ways my ocs are interacting with the event and details that are unique to them, so... Since I'm highly unlikely to actually write a fic or anything with this, tumblr post it is!

Currently* this is a lot of just stream of though writing so I'm not sure if it makes sense, I may end up fixing it up later but idk.Its probably going to be edited regularly and end up really long, this is your warning.

*currently currently, I am writing this past 2am and it probably makes even less sense. I forgot like all the npc names. it includes so many asides and a tangent wondering how silv would sit on the floor. I so tired man

Day 1, Thurs

Set up and intro to the event, arrival of the tiger group that I can never remember the name of

Silv is part of the group that's setting up the event and was hired in advance, so he new the speech was coming. Pem knew on account of Silv and also convinced him to actually come see it. Vin found out with everybody else, was at the uni at the time (when are they not) and turned up with a bunch of other students. Silv and Pem have both been to coil 4 (fuck the dilmun club dude I still need to do that for coil 5), Vin wasn't even aware there were tigers in the city.

Silv stayed back while Pem (Theo) went to the front. Vin broke off from the uni group when they saw Silv and stayed with him instead. Vin has no idea what's happening and is confused as fuck. Silv is apathetic, Pem is excited, Vin is cautious, as to be expected.

This is a complete tangent but I am so struggling to imagine Silv sitting on the floor. How do you sir on the floor with his insistence on posture and rigidity. He could sit on his legs n kinda kneel but that would look weird on him. Would he suit cross legged?? How else can you sit on the floor. Legs out? Can people do that without leaning back?? Uh. That's like it girl help. Vin sits leaning on him tho <3

At this point, Silv leaves to go work and will be mostly busy for the next few days, occasionally available if the other two come bother him. Now, Pem and Vin are left to go journalism work forrrrr name I forgot. Labyrinth first, Pem goes in to bother the tiger keeper and Southwark while Vin stays outside with their lack of entry rights. Vin talks to Silv and the other clay men around and gets the bit about the? dirt? being weird? Silv buddy since when can you talk to dirt.

After that, they go to the side streets but Vin suggests seeing Sherlock the detective. Pem has 0 faith in the man but sure whatever it's on the way. Anyway to the side streets, Vin feels really weird about being here bcus they are Not a PoSI yet but Pem is dragging them along so okay. She ends up talking to basically everyone before managing to get something useful from the law firm.

They weren't planning on seeing Mr Inch (I feel like he moves around enough that he's impossible to find unless you have a meeting) but they run into him while going past the docks on the way back tooooo is it veilgarden idk. Pem has a nice chat w Mr Inch while Vin is lost but also ":O zoologist!"

Anyway back to the reporter then they're fine for the day.

Sike, there's more tigers. Pem sees them in the street and watches the entourage(?) go by. Vin doesn't see it but hears about it after.

Current status: Silv is busy having a job, Pem is hyped and can't wait to participate, Vin is still kinda lost and mostly just worried

good night and good luck to tomorrow me on fixing this o7