#i know people are probably just projecting

[mecha-changeling]

I've done most of these in my current project.

Gold is worthless in Quiet Space, as is everything except time itself. Access to space and automation of labor kind of kill the concept of scarcity of goods entirely and well, that's it for economics as we know it. The Terran Protectorate's closest thing to a currency is a literal credit system that entitles you to X hours of the empire's industrial capacity.

I mean, time is fleeting...

Its a stellar Empire. Only one clock is 24 hour and it's Earth's. The odds of another planet having the same rotational speed is basically 0.

Again since most places in my setting are not on Earth and therefore axial tilts are different... and also most megastructures and space habs don't have seasons at all...

I've got a planet that rains diamonds. Okay sure I'm just borrowing it from reality but people can go there and do things.

Most planets have more than 1 moon, turns out.

One of the human Clann's homeorlds is a gas giant. It has rings. Several planets have orbital ring habitats, but I don't think that's what you meant.

I have this, but the world is uninhabitable without bleeding edge shield technology.

I've got the star roads. They're invisible, does that count? TLDR; they're a FTL system that pushes craft in them faster than light by using a spinoff of gravitational drive technology to sort of ripp off mass effect but instead of sling shots it's based on the US highway system.

The Runi use wood for some of their jewelry.

The Thymrai don't use anything for wedding band type signifiers of marriage. They use their words "We're one." or "I have my mate." and if you don't respect that they'll probably stab you because you're calling them a liar and that's fighting words in their culture.

The Glorin always make a new name from select syllables from both prior names when they wed. They're also nano-hiveminds with each individual having 3 bodies, so most of their scocial things are odd.

I have several robotic species which genuinely would not be able to grock the idea of bastardry. "But... they manufactured you. You are their creation. Circumstances are irrelevant."

Most of my aliens do not use binary sexes. Many of the monosex species don't have a concept of gender at all because WHY WOULD THEY?

The Glorin again. They discount other gods as gods because they know they're just extradimentional entities that live in hyperspace. Their god does not live in hyperspace and seems supernatural to other gods. She also dosn't do the normal god things, she shows up like your cool aunt coming back to town and will do things like make your whole species immune to cancer and call it a "bug fix".

Again, the Glorin's god. She's very lovecraftian in appearance unless she specifically takes on a humanoid form for whatever reason (but she'll complain the entire time about how painful it is to "scrunch up like this")

Given designer organisms are a thing for Terrans, I've got this one. Because many of them are reskined other critters! (I may work on this one later today)

Plot? You assume I worldbuild to tell a narrative? Lol! I'm that wierdo who worldbuilds as their main hobby and sometimes you get a story out of it because I got bored.

I've got this one. What? This is a science-fantasy setting. Not sci-fi. TLDR; you can get a journal that will tell you everything friends that have willingly touched the journal did yesterday. It resets every time you sleep and fills you in on the previous day with every reset. This is, in fact, communication. Its just not real time or intentional. Yes this thing can end friendships, but its popular with Terrans because Terran society is about authenticity in 4269 and if your best friend actually thinks you're lame you want to know so you can terminate the friendship and find someone else (also their whole family would shame them as being inauthentic is as big of a social taboo as incest is today).

Books don't exist anymore. All information you want is either a direct download to your brain, or a VR experience. So... Yeah I've got this covered. Its not even a "well I love old things, so I still read books!" type of deal. If you read a book someone would look at you with the same incredulity that you would look at someone trying to light their bong by rubbing two sticks together. You'd probably also alert Central to a mental health crisis.

Many species communicate by psionic or digital telepathy. But sign langauge dosn't exist outside of millitary applications anymore. Not because "screw deaf/mute people!" but because genetic engineering has eliminated those conditions entirly. No one is born with physical disadvantages anymore. And even if they were, they'd be able to have them removed for free any time after they turn 16 since medical technology can reshape your body howeaver you please and has hit the "IRL Korean MMO character creator" point of "no further development necessary". (Yes that is a cornerstone of Terran culture. Part of that "be authentic" deal is your expected to live in a body that is "you" rather than whatever you were born as.)

Most of my alien species are not omnivores.

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

[diamonddaze01]

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this. 

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining. 

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.” 

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[stopaskingme]

Further Notes on Watches

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (coming soon – last one I swear)

Tremblay

Tremblay's watch is a luxury piece. Probably a Tudor Style Fluted Bezel 41mm.

An uncommonly plain watch from Tudor. The clean face and delicate fluted bezel makes this a popular choice for people who want a luxury watch that just looks nice. it’s the newest and most expensive watch among our Conclave cardinals.

My watch friend knew he was corrupt the moment he saw the metal bracelet.

'Metal bracelets always cost more. You wear metal bracelets outdoors. If someone is wearing one indoors, they want you to notice them.’

eta: What does this tell us about his character? watch friend: nothing. He’s a basic bitch.

________________________________________

Tedesco

Tedesco's watch might be a ✨vintage 1960 Oris 671 KIF✨ (or a Clues Triomphe. We cannot agree.)

It's so generic-looking, we thought it was a Daniel Wellington at first.

A watch that one buys because of how it looks. The person wearing it hasn't seen much of the world and thinks this is what class and luxury looks like.

But then my friend clocked the bevel and alligator strap. Nevertheless, Oris is old and traditional / conservative and boring to the point of being generic. That's why it left no impression. It's devoid of character.

Oris is undeniably quality Swiss watchmaking, 'but it's easy to forget they exist because they're not creative. They don't experiment outside their comfort zone.'

My friend adds that "Anyone with a decent-paying job can save enough to buy an Oris in their lifetime. It sits somewhere above a Tissot, but below a Tudor. "

Additional note: like Tremblay, Tedesco's watch has a black dial, projecting an image of refinement, quiet confidence and charisma.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #1 ____________________________

Bellini's Seiko Dolce is actually swankier than Lawrence's battered Orient Bambino

The Orient Bambino is the good sourdough passed down through generations by grandma, recipe unchanged.

Seiko Dolce is that good sourdough from that one niche bakery in the cool part of the city and you can't get it anymore because it's limited edition.

Disclaimer: Lawrence's watch could also be an old model Longines; we're not 100%.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #2 ____________________________

Adeyemi has a watch too!

But I have to address that in a separate post because this is stupid long already.

In the meantime, please enjoy this shot of Benitez's elegant hands with his Casio watch peeking out eeeeever so slightly from his left sleeve.

____________________________ EXTRA NOTE #3 ____________________________

The watches in the movie are worn upside down

A clear example is when Lawrence tears open his toiletries at night.

If Lawrence's watch is worn correctly in the screenshot, it means he loses his temper with his toiletries at 6.30p.m.

But the scene that precedes this was so dimly lit, it had to be late at night. As late as, say, midnight...

The more obvious clue is the crown (the dial). It's facing the wrong way.

We don't know why.

I can only guess that a wardrobe assistant put the watches on for the actors and accidentally tied them as if they were wearing the watches themselves.

__________________________________________

Conclave Watch Meta part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (will be up soon) __________________________________________

This post came to be because after my previous post on Lawrence, Bellini and Benitez's watches, @purimpura, reached out to ask about Tedesco's watch ✨they even provided screenshots! ✨so this is their fault. please go give them love.

[simply-mei]

timebomb

am i the only one who doesn't like timebomb? i mean theres nothing wrong with liking the ship i obviously wouldn't judge others for having a different opinion than me, but lots of things about the ship just doesn’t sit right with me personally.

like for example ekko was in the au for only two days (he showed up two days before his au self was supposed to show off his project and left the night before which means he was only there for two days) yet in those two days he managed to fall in love with someone who tried to kill him and has killed many of his friends multiple times? i get that he had an obvious cute little crush on her when they were kids (if you pay attention it was pretty obvious and also kinda cute) but that wasn't long lived because she literally switched sides after that and for the next 8 years they weren't in contact (not much contact other than her trying to kill him or/and his friends anyways) like idk about anyone else but i personally wouldn’t fall in love with the person who killed many of my loved ones let alone falling in love with that person within two days that’s just impossible. i understand that he probably still had some lingering feelings for his universe's jinx and that’s why it was so easy for him to fall in love with au powder in just two days but in my opinion it's still too rushed and unrealistic. i couldn’t even begin to imagine myself falling in love with someone who simply talked bad about me behind my back let alone someone who’s killed my loved ones and has tried to kill me too.

i like the IDEA of them like two former childhood friends turned into enemies who are lovers in a different universe and only one of them obtains the knowledge of the fact that they’re lovers in a different life, and so the only one who knows is left yearning for that kind of connection in their current universe as well??? Like that’s such a good trope. normally i’d eat it up, but the way it was portrayed messed it up for me personally, so now i’m left only liking the idea of the ship but not actually fully liking the ship itself, and i don’t think i ever will tbh.

now this is just my personal opinion i didn’t make this post as an opening for people to argue with me or try to change my mind in the comments nor did i make this post to bash anyone who likes the ship since its an overall nice trope and they’re conanly together so i dont see why i’d bash anyone who likes this ship i simply made this post to see if anyone else agrees and to just share my opinion and simply yap on MY blog cause i can do that since its MYYYY blog (say this for the sensitive people who will try to attack me)

[mutter-official]

Fun fact about this from a current CS student: It's probably not (entirely) their fault.

I work in cybersecurity. I have a professional certification in cybersec at 18 years old. I've spent a significant amount of time learning about cyber—all before I started college.

Why? Because my high school offered it, oh and because most undergrad CS programs don't introduce cybersecurity at all until junior year, if they include it at all. I go to a school where CS is in the top 5 majors by number of graduating seniors each year, and we have zero cybersecurity classes. We have almost no cybersecurity content even within our CS classes. I—an 18-year-old first-year—have given talks about cybersecurity because I know more about it than a lot of the graduating seniors.

Part of the problem is that people willfully ignore cyber. Another part—and I would argue a bigger part—is that folks just aren't taught this shit. It's crazy. It drives me nuts. I feel like I'm going to start gnawing at my hands sitting in classes where we're learning Flask and how to process form data without any consideration of the security implications of those inputs at all. I've had seniors working on capstone projects come up to me after cyber talks and tell me that they'd never really considered the security implications of their capstone project before, but that they were going to now.

I don't know why the field (academically and professionally) has created this crazy division between "cyber" and "programming," as though they're two separate things. It's 2025. We ought to know better by now, right?

Well put. (Source: Writing About Writing Facebook page)

[mmmilkweed]

Shadownilla Hcs with sex pest Pure Vanilla pleaaaasse? 👀👀

what a beautiful ask to asnwer when i'm half a bottle deep in a fresh ice cold jagermaister. I am about to be so disgusting that when i sober up, i'll probably have to delete this Op... the flood gates you opened. Where does one even start? how do i format this? I guess i'll just write whatever. man this will be so ooc but HE'S FOR MEEEE i make content for meeeee, i wish i could do more of content like this but i just know people will tear me apart for mischaracterizing him

my sweet sweet pure vanilla... The most virtuous cookie in all of crispia.. being the biggest pervert too. But by Christ does he mask it well. Like when Smilk first emerges from the tree and he's already like ''woah alright that's offputting... i need him'' I just knoww he gropes Smilk whenever possible. At first it was gentle touches, like putting his hand gingerly on his shoulder, or on the back of his neck. But then his hands started traveling and instead they'd sneak around the small of his back, his hips, his nape. When Close and alone, even when Smilk is trying to torment him, they'd find their way to the innards of his thighs or down his chest. How even if he's pushed away he'd always go right back at it bc he doeeesnntt care he just wants to feel. weirdo. freak. have you heard of personal space ? I imagine he was awful as a teen. ngl. but. i just know he stole WL underwear. freak of a freak. he grew out of this when he realized he could just have sex like a normal person - and yk what?? it works. He's attractive. He knows. uses it to his advantage He makes the first moves on Smilk, like before when he kept touching him. He tries to be gentle and slow, he really does, but he can't fight his nature. His first kiss with Smilk was just that - first the gentle, tender kiss - the bare minimum of checking the waters before he dives in to push Smilk somewhere he can't escape and making out with him. How one of his hands keeps holding Smilk in place while the other explores. How SM hasn't been kissed in eons and is completely breathless and wiggling about and still he wants PV to keep going and PV, of course, does? How their first kiss immediately fell apart to sex, and how its weird and teethy and painful and neither of them can get enough of each other. And it keeps going. Smilks already had enough - his libido is pretty standard, if not a little below average, and he's already overstimulated as is bc. again. no one but him has touched him like this in eons*. But the was PV doesn't careee he doesn't give a single gaf. The way he keeps goinngggg. i mean, he finally has him?? you think this won't last all night? He's fucking Smilk like he's trying to make him pregnant. cuz. yk. he is. At some point lube isn't even necessary. ahem.. coughs. Smilk tries to leave in the morning, only to be pulled back in bed for another round. sweet sweet morning sex cant go without it babaey

past that benchmark.. sigh. Smilk can't even torment him normally. Showing PV a puppet show of all his friends crumbling? womp womp who gives a gaf PV's trying to get a taste. Threatening his souljam? been there, done that, how about a kiss instead (its never just a kiss)? it's probably SM getting harassed at this pointtt. the nasty sex these two have...shakes my drink... pv would probably go at it anywhere tbf. literally anywhere... in public, semi-public...between council meetings...sigh i cant keep talking abt this bc i'll want to go into talking abt comic stuff that i have planned and i'd rather have the drawings speak for themselves

*(I like the burningmilk ship, but i see the beasts as friends, and i relate it to my irl friend group, and having sex within a friend group is like preforming incest to me so... yea im projecting that into MY smilk. love the ship otherwise.)

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ BENEATH THE ICE | 리키

PAIRINGS. grumpy!riki x sunshine!reader

GENRE. fluff, maybe angst (?) grumpy x sunshine trope >u<

WARNINGS. none

SHO'S NOTE. this is one of my favorite tropes so here, this is probably gonna be long so, enjoy (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

HIS COLD STARE was enough to scare everyone away, the sparkless gaze, soulless personality and spine-shivering voice was something all of the student's in decelis academy feared in the boy, none other than, riki nishimura.

lots of old students said that ever since he transferred (which was way back in middle school), he had already kept himself away from people, always eating alone, never having friends, maybe kept one or two but was never seen in big groups or parties. some said it's just him being the biggest introvert and never liking people's presence, or he's some heartless jerk who scared everyone away. no one dared to find out which.

you always found those comments rude, some even too far on the line, sure, he's quiet maybe a lil scary but you were never the type to judge someone. something about him intrigued you, you were always a curious person. and well, you were pretty much the joy of decelis. average, but works hard typa student, friendly to everyone, and willing to help to anyone who asks for one. so you pretty much wanted to get his heart like everybody else. (not in that way, but maybe)

to your luck, in the new semester, nishimura riki was assigned to sit next to you. as usual, no talks. he sat there silently as if he was the only one in the room. you had no problem making the first move in a conversation, but why did this seem so hard?

you gulped, then softly said, “do you think you'll do well this semester?” your head turns to him, waiting for a response. you see him move a bit, then his voice speaks,

“maybe.”

his voice was low, and deep. it didn't send shivers down your spine as they said, but it was surely deeper than expected. but what irked you most was that all he said was a simple maybe. how were you suppose to respond to that?

awkwardness lingered in the air as you stayed silent after him. not knowing what or how to answer to his "maybe".

you just wished time would pass by faster. and that he'd forget how embarrassing that was.

a few weeks had passed, and you've made zero progress on becoming his friend.

you've tried multiple tactics that usually and mostly work 90% of the time with other people! asking for a pencil, asking for the time, peeking through his notebook or even just small talk. but most of them ended up in him just simply giving you what you've asked for with no words leaving his mouth, and some just a singular word. you were starting to think he had bad breath and was afraid of people smelling it!

later on in mathematics, mrs. choi announced a partner project due in a few weeks, unfortunately, even though you were liked by everyone and friends with everyone, no one really was your bestfriend, you're everyone's friend but not the first. which hurts at times, but it's okay, right?

you scanned the room, seeing everyone had picked their partners already. leaving you, alone, and partnerless.

you cleaned out your locker for the day, still frustrated by the fact you have no partner. when an idea pops in your head, surely, riki has no partner!

even when you wanted to be his friend, you kind of hoped he wasn't going to be your partner, right now, he probably considers you a complete stranger! and you thought he wouldn't help at all.

you scurried your way to the classroom to find him doodling in his notebook, you saw his drawings before and you were quite impressed. this wasn't anything unlike it.

you breathed, just finally getting the courage to ask, “riki? hello, uhm. do you have a partner for the math project? I don't really have some close friends and some of the others already have one.. so I'm thinking of maybe pairing up with you?”

he looked up at you, his face wasn't mean, nor was it nice. it just looked.. neutral.

“you don't have anyone else to ask?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing.

that's the most words you've gotten from him, you started to doubt if he could even form sentences. “well, if you don't want to it's okay, I'll just find somebody els—”

“I'm okay with it,”

you blinked. a lot of times. did you hear him correctly? he agreed to be paired with you?

“you're.. serious?”

he turned his head, confused. “why?”

“really? like you're actually serious? you're gonna help me and not bail on me?” your lips were starting to curve into a smile, you never thought he was going to be this easy to convince.

“yeah,”

you smiled, “that's great! thank you, I thought you wouldn't want to be paired with me, but here you are. can I have your number? so I can update you on where and when we're going to start.”

he hesitated, he really didn't like giving his number to anyone. he never did. but it was for school purposes. he had no choice.

he wrote his number on a paper and gave it to you, he saw your smile, grinning ear-to-ear. he wondered why it was such a big deal to you. and why you're that happy. it made him confused. and probably a little happy weirded out.

“alright, I'll text you later, riki!” you said as you left along with your bag, the yellow keychain dangling.

“mhm,” he hummed. his pupils watching your figure leave.

you made it back home with anticipation and excitement, maybe you'll actually succeed in your little mission: making him your friend.

© work of saoirsezz | sho

SHO'S NOTE. Idk when I'll be able to post part 2 because I'm busy this week, but I'll try :')

[positively-knotted]

Fuck it, full list + review:

First year

Linear Algebra: easy, boring.

Group theory: marginally harder, significantly more interesting.

Real analysis: one of the hardest, but only because you do it right at the start. Really one you only appreciate once it's over.

Probability: I really enjoyed this actually - not too hard if you're ok at analysis.

Statistics: it's like they took probability and took out the interesting parts.

Intro calculus: mostly very very boring, but some neat problems I guess. Also badly named, this means intro to differential equations.

Multivariable calculus: honestly one of the easiest courses I've taken. Slightly more interesting than intro.

Fourier analysis: terrible course, only taught for applied people. Everyone else should be allowed to wait until they've done functional analysis.

Geometry: mostly linear algebra tbh, with some random calculus problems thrown in. Fine, but felt very thrown together.

Dynamics. This was the hardest course I ever took. Wtf was happening. How did I get a first in this. I had no idea what I was meant to do at any point.

Algorithms: can you learn an algorithm and apply it by hand? Then you can pass this course!

Second year:

More linear algebra: Spectral theorem is useful, otherwise by far the easiest second year course.

Ring theory: vital for any pure mathematician. The course was very hard, but mostly because the lecturer was the kind of person to define a subring as "an injective morphism" to second years. Modules are cool tho.

Complex analysis: also very very hard, but mostly because it was badly taught. I see why people like it; I didn't.

Measure theory: the end of real analysis! Nice to finally define an integral, and definitely nicer arguments than other analysis courses. Overall fun if tricky.

Metric spaces: sick. It was taught by Ben Green. Need I say more?

Topology: I am doing a PhD in topology, so very biased. You spend a lot of time doing fairly boring analysis-y stuff, but the payoff is great.

More differential equations: this was fantastically taught and actually very fun, although partly because I was good at it. That said, actually solving the damn things wasn't always that fun compared to the theory.

More probability: Markov chains are cool and also just easier than everyone thinks they're going to be? Ended up being my best second year exam somehow lol, but fairly mid-tier for interest.

More statistics: I only took this because I felt I should know Bayesian stats. I have forgotten Bayesian stats.

Quantum theory: did you know that everything is a Hilbert space? And do you know your trig identities? If yes, you might like this course! More seriously, this is just "intro to Lie algebra representation theory" but they don't tell you that.

Short courses (more group theory, number theory, projective geometry, multivariable analysis): these courses were badly designed so no comment

Third year

Representation theory: sick. Do this. It's just algebra but done better.

Commutative algebra: ill. is how I felt. Don't do this. Well do it's very important in pure maths but make sure you find a good teacher. You probably should do it though I guess.

Galois theory: everyone interested in pure maths should do this, but personally I hated it. I do not care sufficiently about polynomials.

Algebraic number theory: if you care about numbers, this is cool. I found it fairly easy/boring since it wasn't aimed at people who'd done as much algebra as I had, but was nice to see.

Surfaces: a weird sort of intro to classical differential geometry, focusing on smooth surfaces and Riemann surfaces. It was nice and very easy, but the course was very weirdly designed imo. Other unis also seem to have similar courses though, which confuses me, since I feel it makes more sense to just teach general manifolds then Riemannian geometry, and use surfaces as simple examples throughout.

Algebraic curves: massive overlap with surfaces since both needed Riemann surfaces but neither was a prereq for the other. Then also covered all of projective geom, and rushed through the interesting stuff. Having now relearnt it though, it's super cool and I would recommend to everyone pure or not.

Baby AlgTop: basically Ch0+1 of Hatcher, dealing with cell complexes and the fundamental group. Everyone should know what the fundamental group is, but tbh I don't think everyone needs to sit through a course that proves the simplicial approximation theorem.

Functional Analysis: quite easy if you have finally internalised the lessons that undergrad analysis was trying to teach you, very hard if not. Basically did everything you've already seen more generally, imo should be compulsory.

More Functional Analysis: this time it's topology! Seriously though. Do it if you like topology, otherwise just trust people.

More quantum theory: this time it was "intro to Lie group representation theory". Then it became perturbation theory and I stopped going.

Master's year:

All of these reviews will be useless because the masters I did was weird.

Homological algebra: why was this taught before category theory??? Useful tool, but a hard course. Especially before category theory.

Category theory: should be compulsory for pure mathematicians. Also should be an undergrad course, since all my other masters courses assumed you knew basic category theory. (And so did some 3rd year algebra courses).

Algebraic geometry: I dropped it after 3 lectures bc the lecturer was bad. But if you have a good lecturer, maybe it might not be? Im unconvinced.

Proper Algebraic topology: the classic course covering Ch2+3 of Hatcher. If you like pictures and sign errors you should do it. If not, you probably still should.

Manifolds: this could also be an undergrad course tbh. Do you love vector bundles? You should love vector bundles. I love vector bundles. De Rham cohomology is underwhelming though, sorry @lipshits-continuous.

Lie groups: I think there is no good way to teach Lie groups to geometers. At least to me. I have absolutely no idea how I got 70% in this exam I did not deserve it.

Riemannian geometry: my best exam ever I think, somehow. It's kinda just analysis, except for geometers so there's much more handwaving and fewer δs. It's pretty boring at points, but the interplay between topology and curvature is fascinating imo.

Low-dimensional topology: this is now my PhD, but also the course was atrocious. Do with that what you will.

Uhh that was a good use of time while I waited for my rice to cook

Math enthusiasts of tumblr. What math subjects have you studied and which ones were your favorite? Which ones were your least favorite? Which ones were the hardest?

[starlvcied]

₊˚⊹♡ rin itoshi x f!reader " FRAMED RIVALRY " CHAPTER 002

in which your academic rival, aka the captain of the soccer team, sneaks his way into the photography club with you. ꨄ︎ CHAPTER 002

cw: swearing (a lot) , rin definitely needs therapy wc : 1.8k

if someone had told you a week ago that rin itoshi would willingly join the photography club, you wouldve laughed in their face. yet here he is, showing up to every meeting like he belongs, sitting in on discussions, and most annoying– actually being good at it. 

it doesnt make sense. rin is the the type to dismiss anything that doesn't revolve around soccer, the kind of person that scoffs at having to do anything that doesnt serve his ambitions. but every time you try to pry into his real motives, he gives you the same flat responses.

“i told you, i just like photography.” or–

“can you piss off?” or–

“mind your fucking business, lukewarm.”

but noone else seems to question it. the club members welcome him in without hesitation (except for livvy and daria, who you specifically warned to stay the hell away from him), is probably more impressed by the fact that the soccer captain is even acknowledging their existence. it gets on your nerves, especially when people start treating him like he’s some kind of prodigy. well, he sorta is– but thats besides the point.

“he’s a fast learner,” daria comments as you all review recent shots on the clubs computer. “look at this framing– i cant believe he did that.”

you barely glance at the image before skipping them with a scoff. “anyone can take a decent picture with the right settings. he’s just copying the techniques i already explained to him.”

rin, whos leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. he doesnt even react to your dismissiveness. “jealous?” he asks, his voice as indifferent as ever. 

you slowly turn around, facing him with a scowl. “of you? not a chance.”

“well thats not a pretty face.”

it becomes a pattern. rin attends every meeting that doesnt get in the way of his practice or his games, participating just enough to remain involved, and occasionally throws in dry, insulting comments at you and your clubmates, mostly you, made to push your buttons. and unfortunately, it works. you’d expect him to lose interest within days, to get bored and drop the act. but he doesnt.

and thats what bothers you the most.

you dont usually mind morning classes. if anything, you enjoy them– mostly due to most of the students being too tired to be rowdy, so mornings at your school are pretty peaceful. but that was before rin itoshi started making them unbearable.

ever since the debate project forced you to work together, things have only escalated between you two. its like a silent war– every test, every assignment, every question posed by the teacher turns into an unspoken battle for dominance.

and neither of you are willing to lose.

so when your first period teacher walks in, announcing an impromptu quiz, you already know exactly where this is headed. you get a glance at rin through your peripheral and find that he was already looking at you. obsessed freak. 

“i’ll be grading these on the spot,” the teacher says, handing out the papers. “no multiple choice– explanations are required. show your reasoning.”

you glance to your left once more, where rin is already twirling that stupid ballpoint pen between his fingers, the epitome of nonchalance. but you know better. you can feel the competitive energy radiating off of him.

the moment the papers hit your desk, it begins. you dont even bother writing your name, nor the date, nor the period.

the only sound in the room is the scratching of pens against paper. you work quickly but precisely, mapping out each answer with clear, logical steps. you’re writing harder than usual, your lead breaking a few times, and your palm begins to burn. you refuse to give rin the satisfaction of finishing before you.

a flicker of movement catches your eye. rin shifts slightly in his seat, leaning forward as he writes, his stroke sharp and decisive. he’s fast. too fast. it reminds you of how he acts on the field.

you grit your teeth. hes rushing. that has to be it. theres no way hes double checking his work at that pace. (unless he doesnt have to. maybe he is as perfect as he presents himself to be.)

your pencil moves faster.

you finish just as rin sets his pen down.

both of you look up at the same time, locking eyes.

theres a moment of intense silence. then, without a word, you both flip your papers over and slide them toward the edge of your desks, waiting for the teacher to collect them.

the rest of the class finishes at a normal, more human pace– less like a factory machine. but you and rin remain frozen in place, the unspoken competition still lingering between you.

the teacher grades quickly, making occasional sounds of both approval and disapproval. you watch as she pauses at rin’s paper (you knew it was his because you had already memorized his stupid handwriting, and got a glance at the moment she picked it up). her eyebrows lifted slightly before marking something. then she gets to yours, tapping her pen against the desk thoughtfully before moving on.

finally, she returns her focus back to the class. “excellent work from most of you,” she says, “but per usual, our top scorers were neck and neck.” 

you sit up straighter. rin remains still.

the teacher glances between the two of you, lips quirking slightly, as if she finds this amusing. “one of you scored 100%. the other, a 99.”

your breath catches.

you whip your head toward rin at the same time he looks at you. his expression is unreadable, but you could see it in his eyes– hes waiting.

the teacher places the papers down on her desk. “the perfect score goes to…” she paused. you felt as if she was creating suspense on purpose. she finally flips one over, revealing the name scrawled at the top.

and to your surprise, its not yours.

for a second, you just stare at it. the weight of that single point settles uncomfortably in your chest, and embarrassment bubbles in your stomach.

slowly, you turn to look at him. he’s not smirking, not outright gloating, but theres a flicker of triumph in his expression. the way his lips press together, the way his fingers drum lightly on the desk as if to say, i win.

you inhale sharply. one point. you lost by one point.

it shouldnt bother you this much. its just a quiz. its not like this is the first time one of you has beaten the other.

but it does bother you– no, it enrages you.

so when the teacher move’s on, discussing the correct answers, you lean slightly toward rin and mutter, “enjoy your fuckin’ moment. this wont happen again.”

he doesnt look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “thats not very head of the student council of you.”

that stupid fucking smirk made you want to strangle him and leave him to the rats. you pursed your lips before responding, your tone the opposite of polite. “shut up, dickwad.”

he didnt seem to take it to heart. all he gave was a simple eye roll and a breathy laugh, if you could even call it that. “sounds like someones mad they lost.”

and just like that, the war continues.

rin itoshi is an annoyingly fast learner. 

that much becomes obvious after only a few days in the photography class.

youd hoped he would get bored, that the frustration of being a beginner would drive him a way. but rin treats photography the same way he treats soccer or school– like a challenge. and rin doesnt lose.

which means hes actually trying.

and, worse– he’s getting better.

you watch as he crouches low, camera in hand, adjusting his focus with practiced precision. as of right now, the photography club was taking pictures while the student government set up the school to become more valentine's day themed. currently, you had rin practice by taking a photo of a boy hanging up heart-shaped decor on the walls. he clicks the shutter, barely pausing before reviewing the shot.

you dont want to admit it, but the composition is good. the depth of field is balanced, and the framing naturally draws the eye to the subject.

he stands, his frame towering over you as he turned the camera toward you. “better?”

you tilt your head, pretending to scrutinize. “..its fine.”

rin frowns slightly. “thats what you said last time.”

“maybe you’re just ‘fine’ at this.”

his lips press into a thin line. “lukewarm critique.”

you roll your eyes. “you want real critique?” you snatch the camera from his hands and point at the screen. “your subject placement is predictable, your angles are too rigid, and you rely too much on symmetry. it looks… controlled.”

rin raised an eyebrow. “and thats a bad thing?”

“its a safe thing.” you lift your own camera. “photography isnt just about control. Its about instinct, feeling natural. feeling the shot instead of just calculating it.

rin doesnt look convinced. “feeling doesnt win anything.” 

“tell that to every award winning photographer literally ever.” you step past him, snapping a picture without even looking through the viewfinder. then you turn the screen toward him. “see?”

rin stares at it for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “so youre saying i should just take random pictures instead? thats stupid.”

you roll your eyes again. “i’m saying you should stop treating this like a competition.”

he gives you a look that is so blatantly unimpressed that it makes your blood boil. “you think im competing with you?”

you stare at him. is he fucking serious?

rin doesnt react. no denial, no confirmation. he just watches you with that same impassive expression, teal eyes unreadable. then he tilts his head slightly.

“or maybe i just like photography.”

the way he says it– so deliberately, so casually– makes you want to shove your camera down his throat and watch him choke to death.

instead, you step closer, voice low. “say that again with a straight face.”

rin blinks. then, like the shitty little menace he is, he repeats with a deadpanned expression. “maybe i just like photography.”

you swear he’s fucking with you.

the moment is cut short– the bell. the club members begin packing up, and rin, as usual, moves on as if nothing happened. you watch as he slings his camera strap over his shoulder, leaving without another word.

and you– you are left standing there frustrated beyond belief. 

because of the rivalry.

because he’s improving too fast.

and because you're starting to believe he’s damn near perfect, and you hate it.

what does this mean for you?

001<< >>003

i got lazy w this so its kinda bad sorry!! also i dont know jack shit abt photography lol just roll with it.

tags: @mixolya @x3nafix @rinniebinniebay @levihanmyotp @anqelkoz @megumismyhusband @aisqka

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Dead By Daylight

Character: The Oni

Pairing: Romantic

Type of Fic: Concept (HCs)

Sure! Let me see what I can do for him....

Yandere! The Oni/Kazan Yamaoka Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Violence, Murder, Blood, Sadism, Delusional behavior, Mild gore, Forced "relationship".

Kazan was once a very prideful man.

Too prideful, honestly.

Kazan was so prideful it turned him into a monster.

He's more akin to a manchild having a tantrum than an honorable samurai.

He slaughtered countless before The Entity took him in as a pawn.

They were most likely innocents, but not in his eyes.

They were pretenders, people unworthy of considering themselves samurai.

Kazan even killed his own father and tried to justify that to himself.

To Kazan, he kills out of pride, it's something he must do for honor.

In reality, even as The Entity manipulates him, he's killing those who can't fight back.

Kazan had shown mercy occasionally through his personal crusade.

Yet most now know him as a rage filled monster, completely unable to calm himself.

Kazan was never really known for love.

History mostly knows him as a man who became a demon.

Hell, there's no way he doesn't look like a monster to you on trials.

To you, he's a rampaging demon who lost himself long ago.

It's hard to imagine the hallucinations make Kazan able to give mercy or soothe his anger.

Truthfully he never can soothe his anger.

Although... Imagine this...

Imagine being the only one Kazan seems soothed by.

Perhaps you remind him of a past lover he once had.

After all, he's related to The Spirit.

That must mean he's had a lover once, one he managed to have at least one child with (If I got this one wrong lore-wise, my bad...).

Within his delusions due to The Entity, he experiences brief moments of clarity around you.

The demon temporarily pauses his onslaught when he sees you, club raised in the air as he looks you over.

He doesn't remember how long it's been since he was actually... loving?

He had a family once, right?

It's so hard to remember.

It almost frustrates him that he can't bring himself to kill you.

He's probably managed to get rid of you before... but the longer he goes, the more he hesitates.

There's times he'll chase you, but he never swings.

It's just like he's following you, chasing delusions of a lover he once had.

In reality you're a different person he's chosen to project onto.

It's easy to imagine Kazan as a possessive beast.

But imagine him being oddly... gentle towards an obsession he sees as his lover?

It's strange how he changes around you.

Even other survivors around you are baffled when they see the beast calm around you, reaching out to you with what seems to be muttered apologies?

You don't understand what he's apologizing before... because you aren't who he thinks you are.

Even when he realizes you aren't, he may still try to remain hopeful that you'll reciprocate.

Other survivors shouldn't mistake this state as passive though.

If Kazan sees another survivor around you, the rage immediately comes back.

It doesn't take long before that survivor is chased down with animalistic fervor.

By the end of it they've met Kazan's sword or club, the weapons he wields coated in a thick coat of blood and viscera.

Kazan is a demon transformed by his rage.

Which is why it's weird he follows you around trials, giving chase but never pouncing.

When he does go for you, he prefers to grapple you to his chest.

It's more like a crushing embrace than anything else....

It's much different behavior compared to how he usually is.

You tense when he caresses your face and plays with your hair.

He observes you like you're a doll that's easy to break.

Honestly, due to his strength, that isn't entirely off.

While I can see Kazan harming his obsession in a blind rage... I want to think of a different take.

I like to think you're the only thing that's managed to soothe him.

The only reason The Entity allows this is because Kazan is more aggressive towards other survivors afterwards.

He sees them as people trying to take you from him.

If we assume The Entity is feeding him hallucinations, it's no doubt doing this to pressure Kazan into entertaining it more.

In return, Kazan is allowed an outlet.

He's allowed to keep you to himself, to hold you and play pretend....

You may be shuddering, tears pricking your eyes as you force yourself to stay still for the demon...

But this was never about you.

The Entity needs its killers to serve it well, which means sacrifices must be made to keep their loyalty.

If allowing this killer to keep you to himself garners more bloodshed...

That is what will happen.

Kazan has no doubt killed you in previous trials...

Yet now he confuses you by treating you as though you're precious.

At some point you may accept this treatment, it's better than nothing, isn't it?

You've seen and occasionally even felt what he can do....

The blood and sickening crunch of bones is hard to ignore or forget.

You feel it's better to placate the beast when it comes to being trapped in a place like this.

You allow yourself to be dwarfed by his size, to feel borderline claustrophobic in his tight strong hold.

It's not like there's any other option, right?

Certainly not in this realm where not even death allows you to escape the horrors this place holds... compared to that... this is a mercy.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you know anything about what invalids wore historically, particularly in England? I’m working on a project on the history of adaptive fashion and am wondering how the multiple layers/foundational garments/styles of dress would have been adapted for the largely bedbound or homebound. Presumably many simply stayed in bedclothes, but many would have dressed up for visitors or to simply feel better, and I’m wondering how they might have simplified or adapted the traditional wardrobe for that.

Thank you!

That is a very interesting question!

I have very little actual experience with reading the writings of/about bedbound or chronically ill people, but I've also never seen any specific advice on the matter while researching clothing in general. So I imagine it varied widely from person to person, and whether someone was LITERALLY bedbound at any given time or like...able to sit in a chair by the window and receive guests.

For the former, probably just bed attire. For the latter, could be anything from loungewear like a tea gown (mid-late 19th century) or a dressing-gown/banyan for men (18th century onwards) to normal everyday clothing. Again, it just depends on the individual, I'm sure.

[jessicaloons]

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 11

Masterlist - Previous - Next

Miss Americana

"Maman!" Charles said in a hushed voice but his mother only grinned, her eyes darting between her son and her young assistant.

"What? You did talk about her…" Pascale just shrugged her shoulders "Where is my gorgeous, little Ava?"

Lauren just then noticed the stroller behind Charles.

"You were right, by the way…" he said, looking at her.

"Umm-…?" Lauren was confused.

"I gave her a warm bath later on when she was still a little restless." Charles replied and she remembered their conversation again "She had a little cold back then… but she’s umm-… she’s better now."

"That’s good to know, I’m glad." the girl smiled at him, watching Pascale gently picking up Ava from the stroller, giving her the chance to see the little girl from close up "She’s gorgeous."

"That she is…" Pascale cooed.

"Yeah, she really is…" Charles agreed, although his eyes weren’t on his daughter but on Lauren, who didn’t seem to notice.

"Are you done with everything? Ready to close the salon for the next 3 weeks?" Charles asked his mother and Lauren looked at Pascale with big eyes.

"Oh god. I totally forgot to tell you… I’m so sorry!" the hairdresser gasped.

"Oh… umm okay… well yeah, I mean, I was wondering why I couldn’t set up new appointments for the next weeks although the calendar seemed to be empty, but I thought you blocked them because of our little project." the young girl smiled at her boss who sighed.

"No, it’s not okay… you could’ve planned something beforehand for the next weeks and now I leave you behind and all alone just like that…" Pascale said sincerely.

"It’s really okay Pascale. I probably wouldn’t even have planned something. Just stayed here… also, I scheduled the delivery of the new sinks and some other supplies for tomorrow, so yeah, maybe it’s better when we’re closed!" Lauren tried to reassure her "You go and enjoy your holidays with your family. I take care of the delivery tomorrow and then I watch over the salon… maybe I start with the remodelling…"

"No! We’re closed due to holidays! I cannot let you work while I do nothing… and I can’t let you be here all alone when they deliver all this new stuff tomorrow!" Pascale shook her head.

"You can and you will. Please let me handle this, Pascale. After everything you did for me…" Lauren meant what she said, looking at the other woman hugging her granddaughter close to her chest.

Pascale sighed, looking at her young assistant, the girl that got so close to her heart over the last weeks. She didn’t want to leave her all alone. Especially not in her makeshift bedroom in the storage room. The thought of Lauren all alone in the dark room with only one tiny window made her heart clench and she shook her head.

"Charles, how about you come in tomorrow morning and help Lauren with the delivery? We’re not leaving before noon so there’s enough time for that…" she smiled mischievously at her son "I would feel bad if I’d let poor Lauren handle it alone…"

"That’s really not necessary!" the girl in question protested but was shut down by just one look of the older woman.

"You know how these delivery people are! They will drop the stuff right at the entrance and you have to carry around those heavy packages all by yourself! So no, Charles will help you, right?"

"Of course! Yeah… Maman is right, you shouldn’t carry all of that alone. That’s- umm no, I’m coming. Just tell me when I should be here…" Charles said hastily, looking at Lauren.

"Umm-… the mail said they’ll be here at around 8 am so… yeah at 8?" she replied shyly and Charles nodded.

"I’ll be here then."

"Perfect!" Pascale clapped her hands gently, making Ava giggle.

Lauren was tossing and turning, not able to fall asleep. No matter what she did, when she closed her eyes she saw Charles blueish-green eyes and his dimply smile in front of her. His loving eyes whenever he looked at his daughter. Ava. The most gorgeous baby girl she has ever seen. She had her father’s eyes and dimples. A cute little button nose, chubby cheeks and a bright smile that was giving her father’s a run for its money. Lauren was nervous meeting Charles all alone. No Pascale to bridge the awkward silence. Only the two of them. Alone. She didn’t even know why she was nervous. Just that she was. Which was weird. She never felt that way before and she didn’t know if she liked it or not.

"Get yourself together, Rachel." she mumbled into the dark room, sighing after a moment "Lauren. I’m Lauren."

She checked the time and groaned. 1 am already. She turned on her side. Closing her eyes taking a deep breath, Charles face in front of her immediately. But this time she ignored it. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, there were some weird feelings stirring inside of her. But it didn’t matter. He was Pascale’s son. He had a daughter which probably meant he had a beautiful girlfriend or wife as well. Out of her league. Not that she even thought about anything like that. She already had a long enough list of problems. A crush on an unavailable man who’s also the son of her boss wasn’t going to make it on that list. And still it was Charles face she saw when she fell asleep. Unfortunately it wasn’t his face that made her wake up. Sweaty and heavy breathing. Heart racing. She had a nightmare that her father and even worse Tony had found her. Taking her back home against her will. Threatening her life and everyone who was kind to her if she wouldn’t come back. Lauren felt sick. It wasn’t the first time she had a nightmare like this. The first one or two weeks after she ran away were filled with nightmares. But since she arrived in Europe, brought a whole ocean between her and her old life, the nightmares were gone. Or at least she thought so. Lauren sat up and grabbed her water bottle, gulping it almost down in one go. With one hand she was brushing her hair out of her sweaty face, with the other she was searching for her phone to check the time.

"Fuck!" Lauren let out, scrambling out of the bed. 7:58 am. "Why? Why last night? Out of all nights I had to have a nightmare last night!" she mumbled.

Lauren left the storage room, her heart sinking when she saw Charles waiting through the storefront, talking with what looked like the delivery guy.

"I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t hear my alarm!" Lauren unlocked the door, pulling both sides wide open "I hope you didn’t have to wait too long…"

"Oh no, it’s alright..." Charles began with a big smile "We didn’t even wait for…" his smile faded immediately and worry was etched on his features "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Lauren turned, looking at him.

"You’re awfully pale…" he replied and she just waved him off.

"Oh-… umm… of course. It was just a little stressful when I realised that I’m too late!" she tried to reassure him and then quickly turned to the delivery guy "But now I’m here and we can start…"

"Sure." he nodded and started to unload 3 big and heavy looking packages, dropping them off at the entrance, followed by a handful of smaller packages "That’s all, I need you to sign here… and here…"

"I didn’t even know that Maman planned on remodelling the salon…" Charles said after he sat down the last of the 3 big packages.

"We talked about it and well one thing lead to another…" Lauren shrugged, opening one of the smaller packages "We made a mood board, looked up some stuff online and then we already ordered it…"

"Wow, my mother usually isn’t the spontaneous type. She takes her time making decisions, thinking everything through. You must have made quite the impression on her."

"I told her that the salon looks amazing, there is nothing that needed to be changed!" Lauren quickly replied "I didn’t tell her that she should do it…"

"No! That’s not-… I didn’t mean it like that. Umm- like you talked her into it! I know her, talking her into something doesn’t work. I just meant that the ideas you had must’ve been amazing, otherwise she wouldn’t be on board that quickly!" Charles looked at her with wide eyes.

"Oh. Well, she knows what she wants. And I was just lucky enough ti find the perfect stuff online…"

"Can I see it?" he asked "The mood-board?"

"Oh? Sure…" she searched through her phone, handing it over to Charles "That was the vision…"

He didn’t reply immediately, looking at the design, the different textures and colours.

"Wow…" Charles let out, looking at her "I understand why my mother agreed. It looks amazing, Lauren."

The way he said her name made the girl shiver, taking her phone back.

"It’s nothing…"

"It is. Really. You have an eye for details."

"My mother and I, we used to watch HGTV all day long. The home renovation shows were our favourite. It was either nurse or interior designer for me…"

"Why did you choose being a nurse then?" Charles asked curiously.

Lauren was silent for a moment. Thinking about the best way to answer his question.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…" he added but she shook her head.

"I wanted to help people. People that got hurt or are sick. So yeah… nurse it was." Lauren replied, swallowing hard.

The truth was, she wanted to become a nurse because she saw what her father and his line of work did to people. A part of her was hoping she could get rid of the guilt she felt over the pain they’ve caused. Another part always had to think back at her mother and the night of their accident. How helpless she felt.

"Lauren?" Charles soft voice made her flinch "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" she looked at him confused.

"You were a little- umm… absentminded…" he took a step closer, looking in her eyes, noticing the tears gathering.

"Yeah…" she replied, her voice hoarse.

"You sure?" Charles asked when a single tear rolled down the girls cheek and without thinking about it he gently wiped it away with his thumb, cupping her cheek.

"I was just thinking of something…" Lauren breathed out when the door to the salon opened and Pascale walked in, followed by a boy carrying Ava, making Lauren taking a step away from Charles, looking at her boss.

"Are we interrupting something?" the boy, who looked a lot like Charles just younger, asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Ferme-la, Arthur!" Charles hissed, making Arthur held up his hand.

"Lauren, this is Arthur, my youngest son… and you know little Ava by now…" Pascale introduced Lauren to Arthur.

"The famous Lauren. I’ve heard so much about you already!" he grinned at her.

"Hopefully good things?" Lauren said nervously.

"Only good things, no not even good, my mother was praising you. Basically everything about you… but saying you’re a really pretty girl was a total understatement…" he winked and Lauren felt herself blush.

"Stop it, Romeo!" Pascale rolled her eyes but had to smirk at the look Charles was giving his younger brother "I brought some breakfast for my little hard workers."

"I’m starving!" Arthur exclaimed.

"I wasn’t talking about you. What did you do besides carrying your niece around? Right. Nothing." Pascale put down a paper bag and two cups on the counter "This is for you two." she smiled at Charles and Lauren.

"That wasn’t necessary!" the girl mumbled.

"Don’t think I didn’t notice how little you eat! You really should’ve accepted my offer and move in with me instead of living in the storage room with no way to cook an-…"

"What? You sleep in the storage room?" Charles made big eyes, looking at Lauren "But-… that room is tiny! And dusty! Is there even a window?"

"It’s fine! There is a window. It’s not dusty. The bed is comfy. It’s just until I got my feet on the ground…" she replied hastily.

"Yeah and you could’ve done that at my place just as good…" Pascale sighed.

"Maman is right! This is just a salon! It’s not safe! Do you know how often there has been break-ins here in the shops?" Charles said, his voice laced with worry "It’s dangerous!"

"This is Monaco… not Nice!" Arthur laughed but stopped as soon as his brother looked at him "But still. Yeah. Dangerous. Living in a shop."

"It’s fine. Really. As soon as my French is better and I can do my qualification and start working as a nurse I’ll look for a flat! Until then, the store is just fine!"

"I don’t kn-…" Charles got interrupted by his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket "Hang on a minute, I gotta take that call…" he groaned groaned, stepping out of the shop.

"Arthur? I need your height!" Pascale voice came out of the storage room and he got up looking around.

"Could you hold her?" he looked at Lauren.

"Of course!" she smiled and took Ava out of Arthur’s hands "Hello, pretty girl." she cooed at her, making the little girl smile "Aren’t you adorable!"

Ava looked at Lauren with her big, bright eyes, cuddling into her chest, making adorable sounds that made Lauren’s heart swell. The little girl was grabbing the strings of her hoodie playing with it, happily chortling.

Outside of the salon Charles ended the call, sighing frustrated when he looked through the storefront, seeing his daughter smiling brightly at Lauren. His heart skipped a beat and his insides began to warm up. Holding Ava looked so natural to Lauren. Like she never did anything else in her life and Charles smiled. He quietly opened the door and walked inside, leaning against the wall, watching his daughter and Lauren. She cooed at Ava, gently caressing her cheek making the little girl snuggle up into her arm, happily giggling. Like in trance Charles watched the scene in front of him, not able to interrupt it.

"Oh wow, look at that, she loves you! Normally she’s super fuzzy with strangers! But with you? Charles, I think you have some competition…" Arthur laughed, walking back in and Lauren looked up, spotting Charles leaning against the wall.

"Yeah… I think so too, she seems to like you a lot…" he replied, looking at her with an intense gaze, making her blush slightly.

"She’s a perfect little girl. It’s easy with her…" Lauren smiled at Ava who yawned a little.

"A tired little girl. Come on sweet girl…" Arthur began, holding out his hands, but Ava turned her head away, snuggling even more into Laurens chest "Hey! You stole my niece from me!"

"I’m sorry." the girl chuckled and looked down at Ava.

"Don’t be… he’s just jealous. Ava has good taste in who she likes, that’s all…" Charles pushed off the wall, walking over to the two girls and his daughter lifted her head, hearing her fathers voice this close.

"But no one beats her dad…" Lauren smiled right as Ava held her hand out for Charles and she carefully handed the little girl over "Understandable…" she whispered underneath her breath.

After a few moments of silence, Pascale came back from the storage room, seeing Charles with Ava in his arms standing close to Lauren while Arthur sat on the counter, scrolling through his phone.

"Alright, I guess we’re done here…" she began "We just have to figure out where Lauren will stay…"

"Here! Like I said. I’ll be fine!" the girl in question protested again.

"No. I should’ve insisted when you moved here in the first place! You’re coming to my place!" Pascale said with a finality in her voice.

"But you won’t even be here for the next weeks! I can’t possibly just move into your apartment without you being there! That’s not right…"

"How about Lauren joins us at our holiday and you can figure out where she stays after? This way she’s not all alone for the next weeks. The house we’ve rented has enough rooms!" Arthur suggested and Lauren looked at him with big eyes.

"What? No-… that’s no… I can’t! This is family! I can’t intru-…" she stammered but stopped when Charles looked at her, a soft smile on his lips.

"You know what Arthur? I think that was the best idea you ever had!" he winked at his younger brother who shrugged his shoulders.

"Then it’s settled. You’re coming with us. No discussion… now come on… let’s pack!" Pascale excitedly clapped her hands together.

Lauren stood in front of the big yacht. Sedici. Sixteen. She turned to Charles, eyes big.

"How rich are you? Renting an entire yacht this size? That must cost a fortune!" she said shocked and he laughed.

"Now imagine how rich someone has to be to own it…" he winked and held out his hand for her to take.

"It’s yours?" she whispered shyly, carefully walking over the gangway.

"Yeah… I bought it last summer…" he nodded.

Lauren was at a loss of words, standing on board of the beautiful yacht. She knew that people in Monaco were richer than usually, it was Monaco after all. But she didn’t expect people to be that rich to have yachts like this. Or at least not normal people. Celebrities? Yeah. Millionaires? Of course. But Pascale had a hair salon. She knew that she wasn’t making a ton of money with it. So she didn’t think she was part of Monaco’s high society, so why would her son be?

"Lauren?" Charles gentle voice coaxed her out of her thoughts and she shook her head "You want me to give you a little tour?"

"Yeah. Sure…" she replied and followed him inside.

The yacht was beautiful. Simple, yet elegant. Everything shiny and sleek. The sofas looked soft and comfy. The beds in the cabins even more so. The upper deck with the steering wheel was her favourite place tho. It had a padded sundeck from where you could overlook the entire yacht.

"We’ll arrive in Ajaccio tonight and tomorrow in the morning we head to Olbia… or rather near Olbia…" Charles explained the route and Lauren looked at him "Don’t worry, I’m a pretty decent captain." he laughed.

"I’ve never been that long on the water…" she mumbled.

"Don’t worry, in the first aid kid we’ve got something against seasickness."

"That’s good to know." Lauren smiled when Arthur climbed up the stairs next to them.

"Everyone on board, we can take off." he said and Charles nodded.

"So, Lauren, will you be my co-captain for the day?" he asked her in a serious tone, too serious, and the girl laughed, a sound that made his heart flutter.

"It would be an honour, captain!" she replied and Charles smiled before he started to explain her the different buttons and displays on the dashboard.

Lauren watched Charles steer the yacht out of the marina onto the open sea with ease, a soft smile on his lips. It didn’t take long and the coastlines of Monaco and France were long gone behind them and after a while there was only the Mediterranean sea on the horizon. Lauren was fascinated with how at ease Charles was, almost as if he wouldn’t do anything else in his life then sailing the oceans. The light breeze in his hair, the dimples on his face, it made him all look even more handsome.

"Alright, we’re on the right course now…" Charles checked the displays and got up from his seat "Let’s go downstairs, meet the rest of the group."

"Yeah… sure…" Lauren nodded and followed him down the stairs.

She was nervous, meeting the rest of the family, Ava’s mother and Charles’ best friend, as he told her would be here as well, but she put on a brave smile and entered the cabin.

"Ahh there you are, we were just getting everything ready for a little lunch!" Pascale smiled at them "I was about to send Arthur up to come and get you…"

"I’m starving!" Charles said, kissing his mother’s cheek "Where’s Ava?"

"Charlotte is changing her diaper." Arthur replied when he walked in, a pretty girl following him "Lauren, this is Carla, my girlfriend. Carla meet Lauren."

"Hi, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name!" Carla smiled at her, pulling her into a light embrace "Pascale talked a lot about you!"

"Yeah, I heard about that…" Lauren replied, smiling at Carla.

"Oh don’t worry, she only said good things about you!"

"There are only good things to say about her!" Pascale added, smiling fondly at her young assistant, making her blush.

The door to the cabins downstairs opened and a breathtaking beautiful young woman walked out, cradling Ava to her chest. Lauren was sure that she must’ve been her mother. Ava didn’t look particularly like her, but just from how beautiful she was, her big smile, she was sure.

"All clean again!" she said in French "Oh, sorry! Hi, you must be Lauren! I’m Charlotte." she switched to English and smiled at her.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Lauren replied.

"Enzo will be out in a minute he had to change, this little one here peed on him…" she chuckled.

"Not funny!" a young man, Enzo probably, said, walking through the door "Hi Lauren! It feels like I already know you from how much Maman was talking about you! I’m Lorenzo, or Enzo, the older brother."

"The oldest. It’s just us…" Arthur whispered.

"Anyways. It’s nice to finally meet you in person!" Lorenzo smiled at Lauren.

"Nice to meet you too." she replied and watched how he gently slung his arm around Charlotte’s waist, pulling her to his side.

The movement felt intimate, lovingly, and Lauren wondered if her assumption, that Charlotte must be Ava’s mother and therefore Charles girlfriend, was right. As if Charlotte sensed her confusion she smiled at her.

"I’m Lorenzo’s girlfriend."

"Oh, okay… I thought that… umm- never mind…" Lauren said hastily when Ava turned her head a little and the moment she spotted Charles and Lauren she began to happily babble.

"Oh, sure, you see your dad and the rest of us is long forgotten…" Charlotte joked and walked over to Charles, but right when she wanted to hand him his daughter the little girl held her hand out to Lauren, chortling "Ohhh look at that…" Charlotte handed Ava over to Lauren and she immediately snuggled into her chest, sighing contently.

"Ouch… looks like you’re not her favourite any-…" Arthur laughed but stopped when Charles looked at him.

"It’s like I said… she has good taste in who she likes…" he smiled, gently brushing over Ava’s cheek "Really good taste."

"Sorry…" Lauren replied and he looked at her confused.

"For what?"

"I don’t know… she umm- she probably wanted to you… not me…" she said quietly and Charles began to laugh.

"Oh stop it, really." he smiled "She likes you, that’s not a bad thing!"

Lauren nodded slowly, feeling relieved and then looked down at Ava, half asleep.

"Oh wow, look! She’s almost asleep! This fast! Lauren, you’re a natural!" Arthur said impressed.

"Who’s a natural?" a dark haired boy walked inside, a plate of veggies and a basket full of bread in his hands "Ohhh the famous Lauren is here! I was wondering when Charles would finally come down and let us all meet you! He wanted you all to himself as it seemed…"

"Very funny, Joris…" Charles rolled his eyes "Lauren, this is my best friend, Joris. He thinks he’s funny… which he’s not…"

"You’re right… I’m not funny, I’m hilarious!" Joris wiggled his eyebrows and smiled at Lauren "It’s nice to meet you, Lauren… these boys went crazy about you, from all the things Pascale has told us about you!"

"Okay, okay, stop now! Leave her alone. That poor girl has to hear from all of you how much I talked about her all the time and feels uncomfortable if you people can’t tell!" Pascale stepped in and Lauren blushed a little "They are right, dear, I told them about you because I wanted you to meet them all. And now that that happened, let’s stop hogging at her like that, will you?"

Everyone mumbled in agreement and Lauren smiled shyly.

"It’s okay…" she said, looking down at Ava who made a little sound, but was still fast asleep.

"Here, you can put her down…" Charles lewd her to the side where a little crib stood and Lauren gently placed the little girl in the middle of it.

"She’s really gorgeous…" she whispered, loving the way Ava’s nose was scrunching up a little.

"She is…" Charles agreed and smiled at the way how Lauren looked at his daughter "Now come on, let’s eat…"

Lauren sat on the deck, stargazing when a shadow to her left caught her eye and she watched Charles making his way onto the deck.

"I guess I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep then?" he said quietly and she nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I guess I first have to get used to the rocking of the boat while sleeping…"

"Oh. Yeah. That takes a few nights…" Charles chuckled looking at the girl next to him.

Lauren wore shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair a messy bun on top of her head, but to Charles she looked breathtaking and he had to force himself to look away, to not keep on staring at her.

"Can I ask you something?" her voice hesitant.

"Sure."

"It’s really private and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable."

"Ask me." he knew the question already.

"Umm-… where is Ava’s mum?" Lauren looked at him and he kept his eyes trained on the dark horizon.

Lauren knew that she went too far, Charles was too quiet and right when she wanted to apologise he sighed, tilting his head to look at her.

"She’s not in our life. She never was… she didn’t want to be a mum, didn’t want to keep Ava, so I decided to take care of her alone. As a single dad…" there was some bitterness in his voice "It was a one night stand. A stupid mistake I made and when Ava’s mother came to me for help we wanted to give her up for adoption right after she was born… my life… my job, it’s hectic, stressful. I’m never for long in one place. Always on the road… I had to focus on my career, being a father didn’t fit into my lifestyle. And she didn’t want to be a mother. Not to a child with me at least. She’s from a religious and conservative family, they would’ve disown her if she was pregnant unmarried. Not in a relationship with the child’s father… so yeah, we had a plan…"

"But then you saw Ava and couldn’t do it?"

"No… it was even earlier… I saw her heartbeat on the ultrasound screen and I knew this little thing was mine… and I would do everything for it… flash forward and I have this beautiful little girl…" his voice wavered a little when he held up his phone that showed Ava sleeping in her crib.

"I would say you made the right decision. Ava… she’s wonderful…" Lauren smiled at him.

"Yeah… I know I made the right decision, but it’s hard… being away so often… leaving her behind all the time…"

"Okay, I have to ask this, what do you do for a living?" Lauren looked at him and Charles made big eyes.

"You don’t know?"

"No? How?"

"You’re living in Monaco?"

"And?" she was confused.

"And? Maman? She didn’t say anything?"

"No…"

"Okay… umm- well I’m a Formula 1 driver… for Ferrari…"

"Oh. Wow. That’s cool… I guess?"

"You guess?" Charles snorted and Lauren looked at him sheepishly "I guess you’re not into Formula 1 then?"

"No- not really… some of my family were but I never cared for 20 guys driving in circles…" she shrugged and Charles looked offended.

"Driving in circles? We are not driving in circles!" he gently nudged her shoulder "Ouch. That really hurts!"

"I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!" Lauren chuckled, a sound Charles loved to hear.

"Yeah I can hear that! Unbelievable…" he shook his head laughing "Driving in circles… unbelievable… thank god you’re cute, otherwise I would’ve thrown you overboard!"

"Now you’re exaggerating!" Lauren laughed, although she felt her cheeks reddening.

"Absolutely not!" Charles shook his head.

"I’m very sorry for not knowing who you are, what you do and how big of a thing it is. Please accept my sincere apology." Lauren smiled at him.

"Apology accepted… but I’m coming back to this conversation and then-…" he began when Ava’s faint cries were heard from his phone "She saved you. For now…" he laughed and got up "You should also try to get some sleep…" he held out his hand and Lauren sighed, taking it.

"I guess I have to try and get used to the waves…"

"You definitely have to. We spent a lot of time on the water… and as part of the Leclerc clan, you will too." Charles smiled at her and when Lauren climbed into her bed, she couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about Charles words.

She was part of the Leclerc clan?

Lauren stepped off the dinghy onto the dock, looking at the big house in front of her and she gulped. Never before did she see a house, no mansion, like this before. It was huge. Beautiful. The pool alone was bigger than in some hotels she’s been before. The lawn looked so fresh, green and soft, she just wanted to lay down on it.

"What do you say?" Charles asked her and she tilted her head, looking at him with big eyes.

"I have no words…" Lauren replied and he laughed.

"I take it that’s something good?"

"It is… it really is…"

"Wait until you’ve seen the inside!" Carla took her hand and pulled Lauren with her "When Arthur showed me the pictures I was just… I was speechless!" the younger girl was excited and didn’t stop until they stood in the big living room and Lauren looked around.

It looked straight out of an interior design magazine. Everything was in warm shades of cream, beige and white. The huge windows let in the bright sunlight. The sofas looked like they were made out of the softest of fabrics. But what caught her eye was the big book shelf that spanned across the entire wall. It was like a library, from Shakespeare over Emily Brontë to The Lord of the Rings, a wide variety of different books were to find and she couldn’t stop herself from carefully pulling out a book here and there that piqued her interest. She completely forgot about where she was, or how long she was already looking through the books when Charles voice behind her made Lauren flinch and she turned around.

"What do you say?" he repeated his question from outside again.

"Wow…" was all she could say and he smiled.

"Wow indeed…"

"I was already saying to your mum that I need to find a bookstore so I could buy a book or two because… well this vacation was on such short notice that I didn’t have anything to read… but I guess that won’t be necessary anymore…"

"Nope, there are enough books for you to read…" Charles replied "Ready to see your room?"

Lauren only nodded and followed Charles through the house when he lead her to a hallway with 3 doors on each side. He opened the middle one on the right and walked inside, Lauren right on his heels.

"And this is your room…"

"Always when I think it can’t get any better this place surprises me even more…" she let out and walked over to the big French doors that lead onto the terrace with a beautiful view of the pool and the sea.

"My room is next to yours. I let you unpack and get settled… if you need anything, just let me know." Charles smiled and turned around, ready to leave the girl alone.

"Wait!" she went after him and when he turned around again Lauren hugged him "Thank you. Really."

"You don’t have to thank me!" Charles whispered, gently stroking her back.

"Yes I have to. You didn’t have to take me here with you…"

"I told you last night. You’re part of the Leclerc clan now…" he chuckled and Lauren pulled away a little, looking into his eyes.

"Well… then thank you for that…"

Lauren stood in front of the mirror, pulling the flimsy fabric into place. When she bought the bikinis a couple of weeks ago she didn’t think that she would spent a family vacation with her boss and her sons in Sardinia. But now that she looked in the big mirror in the bathroom she wasn’t sure if going out with what she was wearing was appropriate. She groaned frustrated and tried on the dark red bikini, that covered slightly more but still felt too exposed. She could hear some commotion outside at the pool and carefully pushed the curtain to the side, looking outside. She saw Charlotte sitting on a lounger and she wished she could see what she was wearing and if she was worried for nothing.

"Where’s Lauren?" she heard Carla’s voice from somewhere and stepped away from the window "Lauren?" she knocked on the French door.

"Come in…" Lauren replied.

"You’re missing out on all the fun!" she said when she stepped into the bathroom "Everything okay?" she was looking her up and down.

"It’s inappropriate, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?" Carla asked confused.

"The bikini, I saw how you looked at it…"

"What? Oh god… no…" she laughed "It’s a bikini? What’s inappropriate about it? I was just thinking that I have the same one, but in a different colour."

"Isn’t it like a little too revealing?"

"And what am I wearing? Half of my ass is out!" she turned around showing Lauren the tight fit of her bikini bottoms "It’s a normal bikini. Were you hiding in here because of that?"

"I… Pascale is my boss… that’s her son’s out there… there’s a baby!" Lauren blushed and Carla gently patted her arm.

"It’s cute that you’re this considerate, but don’t worry. It’s all good! And now come on!" she pulled Lauren with her and together they stepped outside.

It was easy to fit into the group of people and it didn’t take long for Lauren to truly believe into Charles words, that she was a part of the Leclerc clan now.

As the sun was slowly starting to set over the horizon, Lauren stretched a little, soaking in the last rays of sunshine when she decided to have a quick shower before dinner. Only Arthur and Carla were still at the pool, the rest was already getting ready for dinner.

"See you later…" she smiled and got up, making her way over to the terrace, walking straight into, what she thought, was her bathroom. She didn’t notice the lack of her toiletries on the vanity, or the dark swim shorts that were hanging over the towel rack. She only wanted to wash the day off of her and pulled off her bikini top, then stepped out of her bottoms. She stepped inside the shower, starting the water stream and closed her eyes, relaxing. Her skin was hot and dry and she knew that she needed to moisturise her whole body after her shower but for now she just enjoyed the spray of the water. After a couple of minutes she grabbed the bottle of body wash that was provided, lathering her whole body up, it smelled masculine, pine wood and bergamot, but the scent was somehow familiar. She washed the last remaining bubbles off her body and grabbed one of the towels from the shelf, wrapping it around her, before she stepped outside of the bathroom, colliding with a warm, muscular body.

"Oh shit… shit… oh my god… I’m so sorry! I- I must’ve taken the wrong door outside… oh god…" Lauren’s face was flushed, her breathing ragged. She clutched the towel tight to her body, hoping that everything was covered "I’m- I’m so sorry!" she repeated.

"It’s okay… really! Umm- I- I didn’t even look, I didn’t see anything! I mean how? You’re wearing a towel! Do you say you’re wearing a towel? Sounds weird, no?" Charles rambled nervously, turning around and feeling all his blood rush down between his legs, just like when he saw Lauren stepping out in her bikini for the first time earlier today. That damn red bikini that made him feel like an aroused pre teen.

"I just grab my bikini and then I’m leaving! I’m so sorry, Charles…" he heard her walking back into the bathroom "I can’t believe it, this is so embarrassing…" she mumbled.

"Please, don’t be embarrassed! It’s okay, nothing happened…" Charles tried to reassure her but she didn’t reply, after a minute of silence he turned around, Lauren was gone "Damn…" he groaned and let himself fall into his bed, taking a deep breath.

It was only the first day and he was already wondering how he should manage to contain himself for the next two and a half weeks.

"This will be funny…" he sighed.

Chapter 11 - it’s summer break ☀️🕶️🏝️ and the family + Lauren need a little time to relax. They deserve it… and what can I say, Charles will have a hard time watching this gorgeous girl fitting into his life so effortlessly wearing nothing but cute bikinis… more next week 🤭

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@glitterquadricorn @lottalove4evelyn @janeh22 @itsjustkhaos @mariclerc @fangirlforever2000 @guaaafiiburg

[wisteria-lodge]

why is Dramione so popular and do you think it's problematic?

I. PROBLEMATIC SHIPS

(scroll down if you just want to read about Dramione)

First thing is, I don't think any ships are problematic.

There are lots of ships I don't *like.* There are ships that squick me, or mischaracterize one of the characters in a way that annoys me, or that I think are boring. But saying something is "problematic" implies that I have an issue with it's existence, and don't think that anyone should ship it ever. And that's just not ever going to be the case for me.

Like okay. I have a really strong dislike of any relationship where Character A is "saving" or "fixing" Character B. (In my head I call them Life Coach ships.) I think that's an unhealthy dynamic that breeds resentment and also doesn't work. You can support people, but in the end they gotta fix themselves. BUT. I'm ALSO aware that fixing/saving the bad boy is power fantasy, and power fantasies are fun, and cathartic, and important. Maybe it's nice to read about Lucius Malfoy or whoever responding to that sort of attention the way you wish your father or partner responded in real life. People are messy, and complicated.

To take an extreme example, I know that some people who've been raped stay away even from sex pollen and fake dating, and others actively seek out non-con, even romanticized non-con, as a way to process and deal. Basically, I think people tend to seek out media that is good for them (or at least comforting) and backspace out of media that actively hurts them. You probably have a second of disgust where you're like, ugh that's a thing? But you're not going to read a whole Snape/Hermione fic if the premise upsets you.

I bring up Snape/Hermione because teacher/student is a huge squick of mine. Doesn't matter if they're both adults, or if it's more of an apprentice thing. It's a scenario and a power dynamic that I do not like. BUT. I understand the appeal. The premise of a lot of Snamione fics is... okay, here's this powerful, intelligent, well-dressed guy who is extremely buttoned up and repressed, who doesn't give anyone the time of day. But there's something about YOU (not your prettier friends/classmates) that gets under his skin, and now he's obsessed, wrapped around your little finger. Oh and he's damaged, so he *needs* you. That's a power fantasy. And like, irl you're generally pretty powerless as a 17 year old girl, especially when interacting with men in positions of authority.

Also, like, historically? A lot of fantasies have operated under the heading of "I know it's wrong, but I still can't resist." The fact that something is wrong, is a societal taboo, well - that's a very easy, safe way to get an adrenaline rush, and up the intensity of the fantasy situation. Even the stuff people always bring up when they talk about problematic ships - underage, incest, slavery au but it's framed like it's hot, idk. They're forbidden societal taboos for really good reasons, but I don't think it's crazy to be interested in the big red button that says DO NOT PUSH.

Like how about this. In my experience, actors who play villains tend to be the sweetest, loveliest people you've ever met in your life. And I've always wondered if it's because they kind of have to unpack all the dark, sticky, destructive, perverse parts of themselves on a fairly regular basis (and then have a good outlet for those same feelings.) Everyone has parts of themselves that are not "nice" and not "proper." I think fiction is a fantastic place to air those out.

II. DRAMIONE

I am absolutely not surprised that Dramione is so popular. First, Hermione gets shipped with everyone - for a long time she was the character everyone projected on, and while that's less the case now... she's still the most important female character, and she's a *good* character. She's intense, and goes a little extreme with the problem solving. She's good at observing people but not great with people. She misses social cues. She's compensating like crazy. That's good (relatable!) stuff.

And Draco? He slots into the worldbuilding in an interesting way, he's got a *great* backstory, he's arch and a little bit of a shit, but he's also sensitive and squeamish about violence. I also think he taps into that "oh shit I was WRONG" feeling that is such an important part of adulthood. Hermione is also just going to be the walking embodiment of that feeling for Draco, so he's going to feel some kind of interesting way about her.

I think Draco is fun to ship with any of the Golden Trio, because they've all got that martyr streak and Draco is a survivor, so they clash in interesting ways and end up balancing each other out. Draco and Hermione especially are both very politically orientated people, so they're a good ship for exploring worldbuilding, wizard world reform, or pureblood politics. I also think Hermione has a feminine, girly side that she feels a little guilty about exploring - and spending five minutes around aesthetic, fashion-conscious Draco is going to give her permission to do that. They both have a streak of practical ruthlessness that I think they would respect in each other. Draco can be... a little lazy, so passionate driven people are good for him. But then I think he would be a nice control for Hermione's workaholic tendencies. Ultimately I think they're actually very compatible.

(also like. Hermione likes quidditch players. and if her crush on Lockhart is anything to go by... she also likes pretty blonde men who dress all snappy.)

[silentplanetcat]

I have many thoughts on this. All the Emphasis that is given to the whole “Save the [Trans] Children” schtick has always had kind of a sinister undertone for me, and not for the reasons one might think. I don’t talk about this often IRL because whenever I bring up my misgivings, people either assume I hate kids, transpeople or both. None of these things are true. Anyway, here are my thoughts:

On Those Who are Caregivers for Control: As a Professional™ I have met a lot of teachers/parents/counselors/caregivers who go into the field of “Childcare” not just because they want to help kids, but because they want to have control over kids. They may say that they want what’s Best For The Children but they also want to be the deciders of what’s Best For The Children.

On Those Who Are Caregivers for Clout: They also may be enamored with how being a caregiver for a child makes them look. I don’t have as much room to criticize because the reactions I get from people when I speak even vaguely about helping children in need are intoxicating. If I could bottle the feeling I actually wouldn’t become a millionaire. I would just inject all of it immediately into my veins. To be clear this is still Not Ideal and I realize it’s something I will probably need to work on for the rest of my life so I don’t turn into Oprah-But-White-And-Evil.

On the Fetishization of the Young: Speaking of being a Caregiver for the Clout™…I’ve noticed that within our society there is this weird fetishization of super early childhood. I know this sounds as grounbreaking as florals in spring, but hear me out. Basically, the less autonomy young people have—>the easier it is for adults to project their desires onto them —>the more they are seen as inherently good/worthy of care. I also often see this fetishization of the very young by ultranatalist shitheads like JD “We Need More Babies in America” V*nce, or by boomers overly concerned with their own mortality. This second category of people hits a bit closer to home for me because some of them are my older relatives and colleagues. They’ve already realized that, because I am a Lesbian with a uterus, my having kids is going to be a Whole Affair™ (a Spending-Lots-Of-Money-On-IVF type of affair). This fills them with anxiety about when or if I will have kids at all. I have asked them for their patience, but I still get weird comments. One holiday I was playing the part of “Cool, Childless Older Cousin with spare time, energy and income” with my younger relatives. As I was being dog-piled on the couch by a gaggle of children over the age of 3, one of my these boomers commented: “you know you can make your own, right?” WILD SHIT! -1000/10! Do Not Recommend! I am a person who very much wants to have kids and this comment/attitude still angers me! I can’t imagine how people who are child-free by choice or circumstance must feel. Kids who are older than babies are also impacted by this because OF COURSE THEY ARE. I myself remember hating that, the more autonomy I got, the harder it was to be nurtured, coddled and cared for. Then I discovered kink got therapy and was able to fill that hole be a well-adjusted person. But it was a pretty painful road.

Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted-talk about the ways in which “Save The [Blank] Children” rhetoric can have sinister undertones for me, a person who likes and works with children.

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[colorlessjay]

I keep seeing your posts about your AU and I've just read this one: https://www.tumblr.com/colorlessjay/774646164821868544/i-imagine-that-when-s16-dean-pops-back-s16-cas?source=share

Really frustrating btw...

Anyway, I was wondering when will you post your own fic about it? Because you definitely know how to write (no pressure though).

HAH if there was a way to project the story in my head onto a Google doc, then maybe. But I don't have the dedication or patience my writer friends have to fully structure and finish a story.

However, what I can do is recommend some fics people wrote about this AU

Specifically, Time Cast A Spell On You by bethefirstwhoeverdid

And Return To The Past by faeryn

And who knows, maybe one day I'll have the balls to post that smut I wrote like a month ago about this AU

probably not

[tyrantisterror]

Wife Goals: Edelgard von Hresvelg

Alright gang, after covering Morrigan from Dragon Age Origins last time, it's time for another RPG gal here on Wife Goals, the emotional breakdown masquerading as a series of personal essays that I swear won't go more than seven entries! I swear! It's going to be video game ladies from here on out actually, both because the interactive nature of that medium makes it REALLY easy to form these unhealthy parasocial attachments to fictional ladies, AND because it's the most socially acceptable way to project your desire for romance on made up people! Huzzah for video games! Huzzah!

I don't remember exactly why, but I was in a bad headspace when Fire Emblem: Three Houses came out. It was probably just the normal "why have I accomplished so little in my life why am I still alone oh god I've wasted my time on earth" thing that's always gnawing at my brain, IDK. What I know is that the void inside me was GNAWING and I needed to fill it, preferably with something new, because replaying my age-old favorite RPGs, while soothing, would also feel... sad. You gotta try new things to trick yourself into thinking you're going somewhere, you know?

I had played Fire Emblem Awakening, and it was pretty good! Pretty fun, it had an evil witch in it who was romanceable, and that was fun. I didn't finish it, but I sunk a good few hours into it. I had also played Fire Emblem Fates and.... I shouldn't have! It's bad! It's basically Incest: The Game! Don't play it! So, you know, I didn't exactly have full confidence in Fire Emblem: Three Houses when I picked it up, but the gnawing void needed some new content, and if it was as good as Awakening, or just less incest-y than Fates, it'd scratch the itch for a bit.

Guys... Three Houses is so much better than Awakening. My void was eating GOOD that summer.

The conceit of Fire Emblem: Three Houses is that there are three nations who send their most promising young people (i.e. mostly the rich kids) to an academy located in the monastery of the Fantasy Vatican - by that I mean it's owned by the leaders of the church that forms the primary religion in all three nations. Each nation has its own "house" in the academy - fraternities, basically - and your Player character is a mercenary who's been more or less forced to be a long term substitute teacher for said fraternities despite being about the same age as the students. You're the honor student who's forced to play teacher by a struggling school district, basically, only if said honor student was hired because of their experience in killing bandits.

Which house you choose matters immensely, as the OTHER conceit of the game is that all those friendly college-aged students of yours are destined to inherit important political roles in a war that is beginning to brew, and when that war breaks out, you and your students are going to be seeing one nation's perspective in the three-way conflict that ensues. Those perspectives, or routes as they're officially called, differ DRASTICALLY, in part because the leaders among the three groups of students you have to choose from have vastly different goals they're trying to achieve. And one of those students is Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.

The first thing you need to know about Edelgard is that she is heavily villain-coded, both in general and in the Fire Emblem franchise specifically. Fire Emblem is a franchise with so many entries that it has its own recurring tropes. There are specifically archetypes that recur a lot, and one of the most common is The Big Villainous Tyrant Wearing Red. They often lead a big, villainous empire that's trying to take over the world, as you do. And Edelgard's nation... has red on their banners. Edelgard's customized school uniform includes a red cape and red tights. And the title she stands to inherit is Emperor - i.e. a title that you specifically get by owning more than one nation, and it's stated that the Adrestian Empire used to own ALL of the continent before it was fractured to its current state, which is exactly the sort of setup that led past Fire Emblem villains to start world-conquering.

She is going to grow up into an empress in red. She's the Big Bad. Maybe not right now, but if you know the genre, and specifically the Fire Emblem tropes, you KNOW she's inevitably going to be the villain. Or at least a villain - often the Big Villainous Tyrant in Red is, in normal trope terms, The Heavy, i.e. the villain you fight the most, but not the FINAL villain. The Darth Vader, if you will, with a Palpatine who reveals himself towards the end.

This is why Edelgard's route is the only route that bifurcates - there is a crucial moment, the moment right before Edelgard proves she is very much the Fire Emblem trope you'd think she is, where you have to choose whether to stand with her or not. You can choose to side against her, and if you choose to do that, or to do either of the other two routes, then Edelgard is exactly the villain you think she is, and as such, you have to kill her before the game is done. And that's all she is - another Evil Tyrant in Red, an emperor to be slain, a villain through and through.

...but this is a game about different perspectives on a war, and wars are never black and white. They're messy, and the game is very good about showing that while most of the people in this conflict have good intentions, NONE of them have all of the facts, and none of them made completely perfect choices, in part because there were very few perfect choices to make.

We get to know Edelgard very well before the crisis moment in her route. As you'd expect of a royal heir, she has a lot of weight on her shoulders from the responsibilities that leadership will bring. But she also has weight from a lot of unexpected sources as well. She's tight-lipped at first, but it becomes clear that this young woman has some horrific trauma in her past - she keeps waking up with night terrors about rats trying to eat her, night terrors that you find out are suppressed memories.

Edelgard, it turns out, is not just a royal, but also the subject of the fantasy equivalent of horrible genetic experimentation. So were all of her brothers and sisters - the only difference is that Edelgard is the only one who survived. She spent her childhood being tortured physically and psychologically to make her stronger, all while watching the same things happen to her siblings until they died one by one. Her night terrors about rats come from the time she spent in dungeons with her dying siblings.

See, the magical fantasy world of this game has a society that buys into what is essentially fantasy eugenics - noble houses are marked as such because they bear "crests," i.e. magic powers that make them stronger and more durable than normal people, which can be passed down through familial lines. Crests are said to be gifts from the gods that the Church is devoted to, so the Church explicitly supports and provides propaganda for this eugenics-based hierarchy of nobility.

Everything Edelgard suffered as a child was because of a scheme endorsed by some nobles to put two crests in one person's body - a scheme to make an ubermensch through eugenics. If it weren't for the crest system and this idea of noble, divinely ordained bloodlines, Edelgard would not have had such a horrendous childhood.

So, rather than make a girl who embodies the ideal of this system, the people who experimented on Edelgard ensured that she knew one thing was true above all else: the crest system, and everything that supports it, needs to be burnt to the fucking ground. And hey, what do you know, she now has superpowers AND is the heir to a fucking empire. With some clever scheming, she could turn the tables on the people who planned to make her a pawn, destroy the entire hierarchy of the continent, and remake society into a place where bloodlines don't matter. It'd take a lot of work and ruthlessness, but it was possible. She could make a world where no one would suffer like her again.

And, like, she's not the only one suffering! In her house alone, you have students like Bernadetta, who has become an agoraphoric wreck as a result of her father trying to force her to marry men she doesn't know to secure their bloodline's place in the hierarchy, and Dorothea, who is a commoner that had to scrape and strive just to get to this monastery in hopes of marrying into a family that will let her live without the specter of poverty hanging over her. In the other houses you have characters like Marianne, whose family's crest is said to be cursed and feels she deserves to die because of it, or Lysithea, the youngest student at the monastery who knows she's going to die in a few years because she suffered the same experiments as Edelgard did, or Mercedes, whose father was so desperate to continue his crest's bloodline that he, uh... tried to do a Fire Emblem: Fates on her. The crest system sucks, nobility sucks, the Church created and enforced all of these systems so it sucks, ALL of this shit needs to be BURNT TO THE FUCKING GROUND!

So think about that big choice in this route again. You can look at what the tropes tell you - that Edelgard is a villain, that she is starting a war that will cost hundreds of lives, and that it would be perfectly morally defensible to stand against her. If you make that choice - that very genre savvy choice - you will become the champion of the Church, literally the organization that stands for the Status Quo above all else, crush Edelgard's rebellion, and forever brand her as the villain she so definitely is.

...OR

You can see her point, and stand with the woman you took as your pupil. You can make the choice to allow yourself to be branded a villain by history if it means fighting for the possibility of a better world - and that very well could happen, because one of the secrets of this game is that you're villain-coded too. The default player character name is Byleth, after all - and that's not just any name, it's one of the fucking arch demons in the Lesser Key of fucking Solomon! You're a mercenary dressed all in black with the name of a fucking demon who just spent half the game tutoring a Tyrant in Red. If Edelgard fails, it will not be hard for history to smear your name alongside hers!

But you can be brave and do it anyways. You can say fuck it, let me be the villain, because this system needs to burn.

Edelgard makes some horrendous and evil choices in the other routes, but one of the great things about this game is that playing all the different sides allows you to make sense of the actions of other characters, and that's SO important to Edelgard's route. You are, in many ways, the crucial component Edelgard's plan needs for success. She has, until meeting you, been more or less on her own - I mean, yes, she has Hubert, her loyal minion who acts and dresses like a Dracula, but Hubert's flaw is that he is slavishly loyal, to the point that he is unwilling to tell Edelgard she's wrong. You, however, are an ally that does not treat Edelgard as a superior, but as an equal - you provide her counsel that's willing to contradict her, and as such provide insight that allows he to find better solutions to problems.

With you on her side, Edelgard never gets so desperate as to take the more drastic and cruel choices she does in the other routes. She's able to stick to her ideals without risking survival, she's able to be her best self, to offer mercy and reduce casualties as much as possible.

And it's not a one-way relationship, either. Byleth, your player character, was also a sufferer of magical genetic experimentation - Rhea, the head of the Church, basically tried to make her dead mother (who's also the main god of the church, it's a whole thing) reincarnate by implanting her crest stone into Byleth as a baby, an act that killed Byleth's mother in childbirth and resulted in Byleth always feeling half-dead as a person. In the other routes, Byleth ascends into a sort of demigod, absorbing those godly energies but never fully manifesting as the old goddess reborn.

But in Edelgard's route? You kill Rhea, and in doing so, that crest stone in your body vanishes, and your heart beats for the first time in your life. Protecting the status quo makes you a demigod - but burning it down let's you finally be yourself. Your mortal, human, living self, with a heart that's you're own, not something someone forced into you.

Edelgard does not remain emperor long when she wins - she keeps the throne long enough to put all her reforms in motion and make sure anyone who'd bring the old crest system back is dead as dirt, then appoints a successor and retires. She lives a normal life, with you if you choose to romance her, content to have made sure that the horrors she and others witnessed under that hierarchy never happen again. That was her goal, her big villainous scheme.

I don't know about you, but I think that's fucking rare in fiction - to have character look at the systems in place, think, "this shit needs to burn," and, in at least one version of the tale, be 100% right on the fucking money. God, I love her so much.

(Also, if you need additional convincing: Rhea, the leader of the church and basically Edelgard's archenemy, is a green-haired milf with a dumptruck ass who turns into a dragon, and I still chose Edelgard over her. Do you know how hard that is for me, specifically? She's got an enormous butt and turns into a dragon and I still said "No thanks, it's the albino for me!" instead. That's how much Edelgard fucking rules!)