#i literally wrote this on a whim TODAY while on a call with a friend and i didnt see that anyone else posted about the au till now

[saltynsassy31]

Reblogging it cuz I want to save it with the art thag inspired me to write this lol

Anyway, here's a fanfic based on this au, I simply couldn't help myself XD

Obviously, the au belongs to @keferon

Go check them out!

~☆~

Swerve had heard of the mythical “human fish” at the aquarium. It wasn't exactly hard when everyone was talking about it - aside from the rising sea levels. He was always intrigued by it, but never really got the opportunity to see it for himself as he worked in a different department.

Until now, that is. He was called in to fix one of the generators near where the “human fish” had been placed, which was an easy enough job from what they described the problem to be. It would give him enough time to take a quick look around and get a glimpse of the creature all the news articles were talking about.

Swerve wasn't sure what he was expecting when he arrived. He had seen the pictures online, but still, nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. Walking down the hallway with his coworker, they passed by the tank of the mermaid (it was a mermaid, right? It sounded so surreal to even think about it) and couldn't help but take a small moment to glance at it.

It was half way out of the water, leaning over one of the “land” parts of its tank with its arms crossed, looking bored (could they even get bored? Probably, animals get bored, too, right?). 

The creature had a beautiful blue coloring to its scales and flesh, looking almost iridescent in certain areas. The fins on its head shaped perfectly like hair, the ones on the side of his face almost like wings. There was one strand protruding out like a graceful thorn. Aside from the piercing blue gaze of its eyes that turned to look at him tiredly, it was one of its most prominent features.

Least to say, Swerve was captivated.

He didn't realise he had been staring for far longer than he initially intended until his coworker called for him. “Dude, we don't have time for that. You can watch all the fish after we're done fixing the generator. Come on.”

Swerve quickly snapped out of it, turning around to follow his coworker in quick haste. “Right, sorry.” He paused. “It's just so…I dunno. Human-like.”

There was a small chuckle from the other. “I know. Weird, huh?”

Despite having been already scolded for getting distracted, he couldn't help but give one last glance at the creature - much to his coworker's annoyance. “Swerve, really? Come on man, we don't have all day.”

The creature stared back, unchanging in its hollow expression, simply looking as if it had nothing better to look at. Despite its cold indifference, Swerve smiled and offered a small wave of goodbye to it.

Seeing this, his coworker gave up all attempts to try and pull him away, figuring the other would simply follow once he was done playing around. Though, that didn't stop the frustrated grumbling that followed.

“Guh, are you a preschooler? I'm done waiting. I'll see you at the end of the hall.”

Swerve gave an absent-minded hum and nod, still observing the creature intently. He was considering following his coworker again, but those plans were briefly thrown out the window when he realised that the creature had taken notice of his action. For a brief moment, Swerve could swear he saw it contemplate something before it offered a half, tired smile and returned his wave.

It understood Swerve's action! It saw him wave, understood it, and returned the gesture! To say he was amazed was an understatement. The gasp that left him could only be described as star struck, a wide smile that took over all of his face, blinding the poor sea creature.

Swerve practically ran back to his coworker to report the news. “Dude! Dude! You won't believe what just happened! The mermaid, fish thingy, it–”

In his excitement, he missed the way the creature stared in stunned silence as he ran off. It rubbed at its eyes momentarily to wipe off the flash that was the human's smile before an amused huff left its gills. It smiled, softer this time. Laying its head against its crossed arms, it didn't look away from the spot the human had been in, long after he had already left.

That wouldn't be the last time Swerve had an encounter with the sea creature. He had been moved to keep maintenance of the general area of that department, which ment plenty more encounters with the mermaid. They were still few and far between, but he'd still wave, even if he didn't always get to stay long enough to see if it returned the gesture.

It sort of became their thing.

With time, he started to notice little things. How it would respond to praises with a certain air of pride, displaying behaviours of vanity and egoism at times. It also had quite the attitude if crossed. But it wasn't always like that. No, sometimes it was playful with some of the guests or workers that passed by - him included - always looking to make them smile. Swerve found it endearing.

It'd also pick up on patterns and behaviours fairly quickly.

One time he was walking around with one of his coworkers during lunch break, they were complaining something about scientists showing concern over the receeding waters and other climate change things that Swerve couldn't really be bothered to pay attention to. 

And either his coworker was oblivious of his obviously bored expression, or the sea creature was extremely attentive, because as soon as it managed to catch Swerve's attention, it smiled triumphantly and began to play some sort of charades. Wait, no. It was mimicking Swerve's coworker. And, if he was seeing this right, it was in a mocking manner.

He couldn't help the small snicker that left him, having to suppress a full blown laughing fit by biting down at his knuckles until it left marks. That seemed to satisfy the mermaid.

And also, finally, caught the attention of his coworker. “What's so funny? This is serious! Aren't you concerned at all for our future?”

Swerve had to compose himself, but that was made almost impossible by the continued mimicry of the creature directly behind his coworker. “S-sorry, sorry. Yes, of course, this is a very serious concern of yours…what are you concerned about again?”

He maybe should have felt bad for the way they exasperatedly threw their arms up, giving up in trying to converse with him, muttering something along the lines of “You're impossible!” But that was quickly shoved in favour of his amusement towards the fish currently still mimicking them.

Sometimes he'd go long periods of time without being able to see the creature, it left Swerve wondered if it could remember him. It looked pretty smart and seemed to understand things pretty well, to an almost unnervingly human level. He noticed that, whenever he returned, it seemed to be able to pick him out of any crowd and would offer him a brighter smile each time.

While one of his superiors explained to his group what they needed to do, they had stopped just a couple feet away from the tank that held the pretty, blue fish.

Swerve swears he was trying to pay attention, honestly! But the bright blue that reflected perfectly against the shine of the artificial lights simply caught at his eyes and it was impossible to look away.

When they had arrived, it was perched against another rock formation, swinging its tail back and forth as it stared at nothing in particular. He wondered if they gave it any form of entertainment or if it simply liked to stare mindlessly into the void. But the moment it caught sight of his team - and Swerve in particular - it lit up with energy, almost immediately jumping back inside the water and swimming closer to the glass that separated them.

Swerve pretended not to pay mind, not keen on getting in trouble again for not paying attention. And besides, it couldn't possibly be looking at him, right? It was probably just excited to see people after hours of solitude. But the longer he did that, the more saddened the creature looked. He couldn't disappoint the poor thing!

So, finally, he turned around to face it. They locked eyes for a brief moment. He couldn't quite describe the feeling, but it felt as if he was in the tank himself, floating with the creature in the vastness of the ocean, nothing else really mattering.

“Swerve!” The small bubble he had formed was harshly popped by his superior calling for his attention. He quickly turned back to look at his him, straightening his back and going stiff. “Pay attention when I'm speaking.”

“Yes, of course! Sorry, sir.” He sputtered out, relaxing just a tiny bit as he watched him let out an exasperated sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I was saying…”

Despite the way the call out left Swerve feeling hot in the face, he still found himself drifting back towards familiar blue. The striking, piercing eyes of the creature were patiently waiting for his, smiling.

Swerve smiled back, a little bashfully (which caused all sorts of conflicting thoughts to run laps around his brain). He rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, they continued to stare until the creature suddenly seemed…thoughtful? It was contemplating something, looking at the hand not currently resting against the glass of his confines.

Swerve tilted his head slightly, curious as to what it could possibly be thinking about. He watched as it turned to look back at him, a more shy smile displayed on his face before it did something that left Swerve stunned.

It waved.

It was such a small thing, such a small gesture, but it made Swerve's head spin and heart lurch. Up until now, it was always him who initiated the action, this was the first time he saw the fish do it instead.

He must have been staring for far too long because the creature suddenly became nervous and started to slow down its wave, looking away with uncertainty clear in its face.

“Swerve!” A booming voice called out, making him flinch. “Quit staring and get working!”

“Yes, sir! I'll be right over!” Swerve called back before quickly looking over at the mermaid and smiling, that big, bright smile that took over all his features, and hastily waved back before rushing after his group.

And, like always, he missed the way he left the fish stunned. But this time, it pushed itself backwards before swimming away with an electric spin, its own smile being all its face could show.

Okay so like. IMAGINE it starts pretty usual. Swerve hangs out in the Aquarium for whatever job related reason and accidentally makes friends with the weird looking fish hahah

But then the big Tsunami-flood apocalypse comes and everything is destroyed and water everywhere and all the buildings turn into sharp heavy deadly rubble and now Swerve has to team up with that weird looking fish because the end of the world contains A LOT of water and he never was a good swimmer

[okara-illustrates]

It’s good you love asks (what it says on your askbox) because I love sending ’em. >:3

So how did you get into taekwondo? Parents signed you up on a whim? Classmates were doing it?

And how did you get into art? Like what was your process to learn, what did you do? Would you do anything differently if you could change any of your methods/steps?

GASP!! AN ASK!!! AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!!! AHHHHH

okokok I’m adhd I will ramble bear with me

Taekwondo:

I remember the day my mom signed us up for taekwondo very vividly. She had her big old Mac computer out. It was 10 years ago, so it was like it looked like a monitor essentially. She was scrolling through a list of sports trying to find something that my brother and I would enjoy. As she was scrolling down, I saw the word taekwondo, and I was extremely intrigued. So I asked her if we could do that I knew it was some sort of martial art, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but I was willing to try it. Since she’s Korean, we already had ties to it so she was like OK sure so she found us a little Dojang and we began our lessons. I see yours went by my love for the sport grew and grew. By that time we had become close friends with our coaches as they like to be called. It’s easier to call them that. And eventually we became part of the competition team. It was a three-year commitment for nationals so we would be we would train and go to nationals three years in a row and then we were done unless we want to continue through our couple years of training with the team we grew closer than family like cousins like we saw this group of athletes day in a day out 4-5x a week 5+ hours a day. We went camping together we did team bonding activities together. We quite literally shed blood sweat and tears together we worked hard together we pushed each other. We laughed together. We cried together. It was a whole another kind of experience that was great until Covid hit. Once Covid hit, my family went from being busy all the time 24 seven with not even really a day of rest in the week to absolutely nothing and to me although I’m an extrovert it was thrilling. I loved it. But it meant that we couldn’t do taekwondo because it was a close contact sport you know so nationals was shut down for a while. I didn’t even get to go to nationals. I actually got kicked off the team because I didn’t like to put in the work except we were so close with my coach who by that time was diagnosed with stage four cancer he had me trained with the team anyway. So I technically wasn’t really kicked off but officially I was. He probably pushed me the hardest out of the entire team, even though I did not like to work all that much and my confidence had dropped like a rockin in the ocean. It was really bad, but I knew that he just wanted to see me succeed, and he just cared a lot, especially since you know it was pretty. It was pretty bad. I’m a speech to texting this by the way because I wrote a whole thing out and then Tumblr deleted it so yeah. Anyway, once Covid letter I got to see my coach a couple more times before he passed away in June and and that just rocked our team in a bad way. We kind of trauma bonded over it because we were all just so close together that it felt like losing a family member but not one of those like distant relative family members but someone who is very very close to us. Half of us got their black belts two months before he passed away, which really sucks because they didn’t have the closure that the other half of us got after a new master took over our school and we got to work at our black belts as a sort of tribute to our coach and I need to get some of those guys out of their house cause I don’t think they’re doing so well with it. But yeah, so that’s my little taekwondo history you know these past 10 years have been life-changing. I wouldn’t have changed it for the world it sucked yeah but also I grew a lot and without taekwondo. I seriously wouldn’t be the person. I am today if you read all this, I commend you you deserve a gold star. I don’t have a gold star, but you deserve one. I’m sure there’s one at dollar store or something. I don’t know OK now onto to art!!

My art journey ironically started in Covid. I’ve always kind of had a little liking to doodling characters, but I never really was serious about it. It’s just like every kid doodling you know I wasn’t special. I wasn’t talented. I didn’t you know have all the supplies I didn’t have classes. I’ve the only art class I’ve taken was a watercolor thing, and it didn’t teach me very much other than hues and values. I’m a self taught artist. But when Covid hit suddenly I went for being incredibly busy to having nothing to do at all so since my brain was an occupied with tae kwon do and homework and missing birthday parties and all that I had so many creative ideas that I wanted to get out on paper so I could see But being the non talented kid with absolutely no artistic skill, I had to really work at it. It took three years before I was happy with my arm. It was really grueling, but I had to give myself grace you know and be like hey my art is shit right now but it’s not always gonna be like that so I’m just gonna keep working at it and it’s OK that it’s shit Because I’m learning and as the months went by I wouldn’t see the improvement for months at a time it took a long time what I do was I look up human art references or like the drawing like the drawing references and stuff and I trace them and I trace and trace and trace and trace trace until it became muscle Memory Once it became muscle memory, and I had a basic understanding of human anatomy I would use references instead of tracing, so I just kind of built. I kind of took those baby steps. I was building up to the point where I could draw the human body without references just a drawing, helped a lot with that and at first when I first weaned myself off of tracing it looked horrible as you know it does when you’re a beginner, but I refuse to let that hinder me because I was learning and I gave myself grace for that. I don’t think I would really change anything. I did for my art journey, other than figuring out shading and lighting sooner and backgrounds cause I suck at those, but That doesn’t mean I’m necessarily bad at art or I should never continue being an artist because I suck at something, that’s just an untruth that we tell ourselves often times we suck at something so badly and we have such a high opinion of ourselves that we think that we should be good at everything on the first try and if we’re not, we think well I will never be able to get up to ____’s level. And that’s something that a lot of beginner artist struggle with and that’s why a lot of people quit because they think that they don’t have talent, but it is not about talent. It’s about skill and skill. Takes a lot of time to build up and that’s where a lot of artists drop off because experience artist tell them practice practices practice that practice what you need to And because there’s no really set instructions other than practice a lot of people think well I can’t do it when that’s not really true because I started out as the most average kid artistic skill like I was not talented at all I started out on the same base level as everyone else I just had to drive to do it and that’s the difference if that makes sense, but yeah, there’s my little spiel Again if you read this I commend you because I ramble a lot anyway yeah. :33

This is probably my favorite ask that anyone’s ever sent me. Thank you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bill Gates will kill us all

2.5b people in Earth's 130 poorest countries have not been vaccinated. The 85 poorest countries won't be vaccinated until 2023. The humanitarian cost is unforgivable - and self-defeating, as each infected person is a potential source of new strains.

https://www.who.int/director-general/speeches/detail/who-director-general-s-opening-remarks-at-the-media-briefing-on-covid-19-5-february-2021

How the actual fuck did this happen?

What happened to the early pledges by governments, the WHO, public health experts and leading research institutions to create global cooperation in vaccine development, eschewing patents and secrecy so that we could rescue our species?

That dream was smashed.

Many people helped create our vaccine apartheid, the single individual who did the most to get us here is Bill Gates, through his highly ideological "philanthropic" foundation, which exists to push his pitiless doctrine of unfettered monopoly.

It was Gates who sabotaged the WHO Covid-19 Technology Access Pool (C-TAP), replacing it with his failed ACT-Accelerator, a system of patents and secrecy and vast profits for the pharma industry, ornamented with nonbinding, failed promises of access for poor nations.

It was Gates who convinced Oxford to renege on its promise of patent-free access to its publicly funded vaccine research for the global south in favor of exclusive patent access for Astrazeneca.

https://khn.org/news/rather-than-give-away-its-covid-vaccine-oxford-makes-a-deal-with-drugmaker/

When we hear ghoul sellouts like Howard Dean pushing the racist, genocidal lie that "patents don't matter" because brown people in poor countries can't make vaccines, we're hearing Gates's talking points:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/08/howard-dino/#the-scream

Gates's role in vaccine apartheid is laid out in exquisite detail in Alexander Zaitchik's outstanding New Republic feature, which delves into Gates's longstanding project to sideline democratic governments and cooperation in favor of monopoly tyranny.

https://newrepublic.com/article/162000/bill-gates-impeded-global-access-covid-vaccines

This goes way, way back. I mean, *waaaay* back, all the way to 1976, when Gates wrote his infamous "Open Letter to Hobbyists," decrying the dominant, cooperative mode of software development and calling its practitioners thieves.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Open_Letter_to_Hobbyists

Gates's fortune depended on creating a software monopoly, and that monopoly required "intellectual property" protection. Gates has always been a monopolist, and so naturally, he loves IP (before "IP" was a common term, copyrights and patents were called "monopolies").

Intellectual property is a very important part of the inequality story, the story of how we got to a world where billions of people are denied vaccines and where all people face new, more virulent strains as a result.

As UNCTAD chief economist Richard Kozul-Wright told Lynn Fries for GPE: "[IP allows companies] to grab a larger share of what has already been produced in the economy."

It's a means of extracting rents, not for doing things, but for OWNING things.

IP is key to tax avoidance: companies like Ikea transfer "IP" (the Ikea trademark) to a numbered company in a tax haven; each national Ikea subsidiary pays "licensing fees" for the trademark equal to 100% of their in-country profits, so they never earn a (taxable) cent.

The transformation of the world into a monopolized system of IP-heavy, rent-extracting, tax-dodging companies really kicked into gear after 1999, with the signing of the WTO agreement and its IP adjunct, the TRIPPS, and as Zaitchik details, Gates was instrumental there.

For this part of the story, Zaitchik talks to Jamie Love, who was at the UN when NGOs like his were pushing to create vaccine and other pharma pools for the global south, while pharma companies handed out pamphlets bearing the Gates Foundation logo, smearing the plan.

Though the US delegation struggled for credibility, the combination of the Gates Foundation, and former US trade officials fronting for  the global pharma industry managed to sideline the project, which was being driven by the demand for equitable access to AIDS drugs.

With Gates's help, the WTO emerged as an IP enforcement powerhouse. Zaitchik cites Dylan Mohan Gray: "it took Washington 40 years to threaten apartheid South Africa with sanctions and less than four to threaten the post-apartheid Mandela government over AIDS drugs."

Incredibly, the Gates Foundation used this to burnish its humanitarian image: they solicited donations from pharma companies and used them to subsidize AIDS drugs in the global south, a maneuver that let them seem like philanthropists.

When in reality, they had overseen a program to systematically deny the world's poorest and most threatened people the right to make their own drugs, making them dependent on the whims of multinational corporate charity instead.

Sound familiar? Today, Gates runs around repeating the lie that poor people can't make their own medicine,  saying that patent exemptions won't make a difference now - to the extent he's right, the world *now* is the crucial one.

Having sabotaged the efforts by poor countries to engage in the kind of production ramp-up the rich world saw as vaccines were being developed, it may *now* be too late. "Because of my bad ideas *then*, it's too late *now*."

The connection between IP and elite philanthropy is deep and important. IP's rent-seeking and tax-dodging has made poor countries beholden to offshore monopolists in health, agriculture and IT, and then starved them of taxes to build up domestic alternatives.

This, in turn, makes them dependent on "gifts" from the billionaires who arm-twisted them into IP treaties, forced them to pay rent on all domestic production, and then profit-shifted the funds out of the reach of their tax-collectors.

As Anand Giridharadas reminded us in his seminal "Winners Take All," the core purpose of elite philanthropy has been the same since the robber-baron era: to burnish the reputations of monsters who take everything and give back crumbs.

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/11/10/winners-take-all-modern-philanthropy-means-that-giving-some-away-is-more-important-than-how-you-got-it/

Reading Jamie Love's quotes in Zaitchik's article reminded me of my own time working with Jamie and Knowledge Ecology International at WIPO in Geneva, when I was an NGO delegate to a global DRM treaty.

You see, at WIPO, the vast majority of NGOs aren't human rights organizations or other public interest groups - they're industry associations representing tech, entertainment, broadcast and pharma monopolists.

These guys - almost all guys - were just aghast when real NGOs started showing up for these meetings and were absolutely shameless in their sabotage of our efforts to balance their corporate lies (absolutely bald-faced lies were routinely entered into the debates).

How petty? Well, they had been accustomed to writing up "fact-sheets" for the day's debate and handing them off to WIPO staffers working for the secretariat, who would photocopy them and set them out on literature tables for the national delegates.

So we started doing this too: we'd take careful notes on the day's debates, convene with global experts to debunk industry association lies, get our Indymedia friends to translate them into six languages, and hand them off to the secretariat in the morning for copying.

So they got the secretariat - a former US textiles negotiator who made her bones helping create the conditions for slave labor in places like Bangladesh - to end the practice of photocopying papers for all NGOs.

Of course the industry bodies had cushy offices in Geneva, whereas we stayed in flophouses and youth hostels. They could ask their underlings to come in early and do their copying for them, whereas we had to take a bus to the all-night copy-shop to get our handouts copied.

Here's where it gets super-weird: our handouts started to go missing. We'd set out our stacks of paper on the literature tables before the morning session and an hour later, they'd all be gone, but none of the delegates had managed to get a copy.

We found those missing handouts...in the garbage, behind potted plants and in the *toilets*.

No, seriously.

And here's the kicker: during the ensuing furore, the main response from the pharma lobbyists was to object to us calling ourselves "public interest NGOs."

I'll never forget this smarmy sociopath in his expensive suit, with his shit-eating grin, standing there saying, "Phamaceuticals serve the public interest, and our industry association is a nonprofit. We are a non-profit, public-interest NGO."

It was a remarkable sight. 20 years later, their version of the public interest - the doctrine of Gates - has produced a multi-billion-person reservoir of the sick and vulnerable who are doomed to serve as factories for highly virulent variants.

This is a literally genocidal doctrine, and it threatens our very civilization. It's a funny kind of non-profit, public interest move for an industry and its billionaire ideologue funders to have made.

But hey, at least no one's "intellectual property" took a hit.

[nejibaby]

Paper Rings

Pairings: Neji x Y/N

Song reference/inspiration: Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! I WROTE THIS ON A WHIM. AND NOW I AM GOING TO ASCEND BECAUSE OF THIS. Please let me know your thoughts~

The birds were chirping by the time you woke up. As you stretched your arms, a smile had found its way into your face.

Usually, you’d be so grumpy in the mornings because you truly weren’t a morning person, yet there are random days like today where you find yourself waking up with bursts of happiness.

Most days there were reasons why you were feeling such a way, like when you’d get a full eight hour sleep, when you’d have a great dream, when you know you’re going on a date with your boyfriend Neji, or when you’d get your payment for your missions. This time, however, you didn’t know the reason why you’re this happy first thing in the morning.

You quite literally woke up on the right side of the bed today, which has always been Neji’s side of the bed, but he was nowhere to be found. You would’ve preferred to have woken up in his arms like you normally did.

You raked your mind trying to remember Neji’s schedule for the day. It was his day off so he didn’t have to go on missions and he didn’t have to meet up with Team Guy. You wondered where he went at such an early hour but you didn’t put too much thought about his whereabouts.

He was probably called in for an emergency mission or maybe he had an unexpected meeting with the Hyuga clan. He was, after all, going to be the new head of the clan. After the Fourth Shinobi War, he was recognized by his clan for his contribution during the war and for representing the clan with dignity, honor, and strength — the traits that the Hyuga clan deemed necessary for the next leader to have.

Regardless of the reason why Neji wasn’t there by your side when you woke up, you knew you didn’t have to worry because you knew he’d be safe. He can handle himself and besides, it was a time of peace.

You didn’t have any plans for the day so you found yourself going out and about. You found it amazing how your good mood could drastically change your perspective. For example, on most days, you wouldn’t take your time looking around the village and the people in it, yet today you found yourself entranced with the village. The sun was shining bright yet somehow the village seemed to be brighter.

As you walked through the streets, you caught sight of a stall selling accessories. It was no secret that you were a fan of these things. Even the merchant knew you by name from the amount of times you bought from their stall.

More often than not, you’d buy earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and anklets from the merchant. You just generally like shiny things. But this time however, your eyes strayed towards a simple lavender hair clip. It reminded you of Neji’s eyes and you couldn’t help but reach out for it. Without even thinking twice, you bought it.

Neji wasn’t the type of boyfriend who would stop you from buying things you don’t need. He wasn’t controlling. However, he sure was blunt in telling you that you don’t need that much accessories. Who would need eight necklaces when you only have one neck anyway?

You almost giggled at the thought of him commenting on your recent purchase when you still have four unused gold hair clips at home. As a response, you could always tease him for buying a ton of books when he doesn’t have enough time to read them. Although you wouldn’t admit the fact that you’ve read all the books beside his bed.

The thought of Neji made you smile, making your day much, much better than how you felt waking up. Your good mood seemed to be infecting the others as well since there were a lot more people smiling at your direction.

At one point you came across Tenten too who beamed upon the sight of you. You had a whole conversation about how your day went and even got a compliment from her about your new hair clip. Was she chirpier than usual or was that just your imagination? Either way, her company was great.

“So have you seen Neji yet?” She asked.

“Ah, not yet. Do you happen to know where he is?”

It was a good thing you were both walking and you weren’t looking at her direction, rather, you were staring at a bird that flew by. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed the way her smile faltered for a second.

“Uh, I don’t t-think so.” There was a hint of nervousness in her answer.

Normally, you would’ve pried as to why she answered that way, but you were still happily watching the bird flying freely in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, alright then. I’m sure I’ll find him somewhere,” you distractedly said.

“Ah, I’ll have to go! I forgot I have to meet with Lee today. Bye Y/N!” Tenten quickly said.

You finally tore your gaze from the bird and looked back at her to wave her goodbye. “Okay. Tell Lee I said hi,” you yelled with a smile while watching her figure walk away.

You continued your trek around the village, just contentedly watching the citizens do their own thing. It was after an hour and a half of Tenten leaving your side did you see Neji. He was looking rather anxious so you immediately went to his side.

For someone who had an amazing visual prowess such as the Byakugan, he still got startled when he saw you standing in front of him despite you being in plain sight. You wondered what was going on in his head. He must’ve been thinking hard about something for him not to notice you.

“Neji, baby, are you alright?” You worriedly asked.

“Ah, uh, yes.”

You weren’t satisfied with his answer so you pulled him to an alleyway, away from people’s prying eyes since you knew Neji was a private person. Whatever’s plaguing his mind was definitely something important for him to look that much anxious. Because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have trouble masking his emotion.

“Is there something troubling you?”

“Nothing.”

“Was this about your mission yesterday? Or were you assigned on another S-rank mission today? Are you worried about it?” You blurted out the questions one after the other.

He shook his head, “No it isn’t about a mission.”

“Is it about Naruto or Hinata? Or both?”

“No, not really.”

You frowned. “Well then, is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?”

His breath hitched at your question. Then he looked at you tenderly. His eyes found your newly purchased hair clip and his hand gently touched it. “This looks good on you,” he softly said.

“Yeah, it reminded me of you,” you automatically answered. Then you realized he didn’t truly answer your question. “So it’s me, right? I probably did something wrong. I’m sorry I’m not sure what I did but if I hurt your feelings in any way, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it,” you babbled on.

“No, you didn’t do anything. Don’t worry.”

“It’s the Hyuga clan, isn’t it?” You guessed again.

“No, the clan is doing fine. There isn’t any issue.”

If those weren’t the cause of his worries then there was only one more thing that would make him feel this distracted — thoughts about his father.

“Is it… is it about Hizashi?” You almost whispered.

A small smile had appeared on his face at the mention of his father’s name. “I do miss my father, but that’s not what I was worried about. Frankly, I’m not worried about anything at all.”

That was clearly a lie.

Neji used to have a habit of keeping things for himself back in the day but he changed. It seemed like today he reverted to his old ways.

However, you’ve already asked a ton of questions and you knew well enough when to stop prying. If Neji was ready, he would tell you at his own pace.

“Okay… You must’ve had a long day,” you said. Instinctively, you gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Neji certainly wasn’t expecting that. He blinked a few times before regaining his bearings. A blush crept into his cheeks. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” you cheekily said.

Then another peck on his lips.

This time a genuine smile was etched on his face.

“It’s going to be alright,” you told him with a sweet smile.

“Thank you,” he looked at you lovingly.

“No problem, baby,” you chirped.

And then after a minute of looking into each other’s eyes, he paled, as if he was hit by a sudden realization. You only looked at him curiously after he reacted that way. He cleared his throat, “I remembered I had something to do with Lee.”

You furrowed your brows and tilted your head. Neji almost swooned at how cute you looked. Then you asked, “What are you guys up to?”

Neji could feel a sweat forming at your interrogation. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, I caught up with Tenten a little while ago and then all of a sudden she dashed out saying she was supposed to meet with Lee,” you told him. “So what are you guys going to do?”

“We, uh… Lee… is, uhm…”

“You know what, you don’t have to tell me,” you cut him off. You knew well enough that Lee could talk Neji into doing ridiculous things. Tenten would be a little more apprehensive but if Neji would do it, she would give in eventually. And you knew Neji preferred not talking about whatever Lee had him do.

You could hear the sigh of relief Neji released when you answered that way. Without saying anything more, he quickly made his way to meet his friend.

You chuckled at your boyfriend. He looked absolutely endearing whenever he was flustered. You shook your head and got out of the alleyway, deciding that it was time for a quick snack.

You made your way to the bakery to buy your favorite cinnamon roll. It wasn’t surprising that you found Hinata there as well. Your friendship with Hinata was furthered by your common love for cinnamon rolls after all.

You chatted with her for the entirety of your time eating the delicacy. She always reminded you of Neji despite them having different personalities, so you were quite comfortable in her company. You continued your conversation with her even after you both finished eating. Even as you both left the bakery, you couldn’t be separated. It’s been a while since you last saw her and you had so many stories that you wanted to tell and hear from her as well.

Hinata seemed to be talking a lot more this time and she looked so excited as well. Why? She didn’t say, it felt weird to ask. Maybe she woke up in a good mood just like you? In any case, you were happy that she was happy.

The subject of your conversation shifted to the wedding preparations for her and Naruto’s wedding. You offered to help in any way you can but she told you everything was coming along just fine. Then she made a comment that if you needed help in some things, she’d be there to help too. It sounded like she was talking about something and you wondered what she meant but thanked her anyway despite not knowing what she was possibly implying.

You were rambling about your most recent mission at the Hidden Cloud Village where you bumped into the Eight-tails jinchuriki, Killer B. You were telling her about this rap he did. You were too deep in your story that you didn’t notice she was leading you to the riverside.

Hinata waited for you to finish your story, giggling in the right parts. As your story came to an end, she said, “I’m glad you had fun with your mission. I hope you had fun spending your time with me too,” she smiled, “but I’ll have to go now. I still have to talk to Iruka sensei about something.”

“Of course, I had fun with you! It’s been awhile since we last hung out together. Sorry if I took up too much of your time though. You should’ve told me earlier you had other plans.”

She giggled and told you it was fine. Then she walked backwards, waving goodbye.

When she was out of sight, it was only then that you noticed that the sun was setting and that you were right on time to witness it.

A few minutes later, you heard someone behind you clearing their throat. When you turned around, you saw Neji.

Instantly, you beamed and went to hug him. “Neji baby!” You greeted, voice muffled because you’ve buried your face into his chest.

Neji shook his head at your antics but with a smile on.

You pulled away and asked, “So how was your day with Lee?”

“Tiring. How was yours?”

“It was nice. But it became better now that I’m with you.”

A blush had formed on his cheeks at your statement. He avoided eye contact too. Then he suddenly grabbed your hand and led you away.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t respond. You just went along. But it only took a few steps before he came to a stop. You peeked over his shoulder to see where he led you. It was your time to blush.

In front of you, just further down the riverside where Hinata left you, was a picnic mat that had been set up with a basket containing fruits. It was the perfect spot to watch the sunset.

“Was this what you’ve been up to?”

Neji nodded.

Your heart swelled. It wasn’t everyday that Neji did grand gestures like this.

“Oh, Neji!” You hugged him tightly. “You’re so sweet! Was this also what you were worried about?”

“Ye— I mean, I told you I wasn’t worried about anything.”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” you teased. “This is nice, come on let’s watch the sunset together!” You said as you tugged his hand and sat on the mat.

You both sat on the mat side by side, silently watching the sun and the soft golden glow it casted on the sky. Unbeknownst to you, Neji’s eyes were only on you.

All of a sudden, Neji spoke up, “I love you.”

You tore your eyes away from the sunset and focused on Neji. In this lighting, he looked mesmerizing. “I love you too, Neji.”

But once again, Neji looked unsettled. “But I have so many flaws and I’ve done so many wrong things when I was younger…”

“I still love you just the same, regardless. Besides, everyone makes mistakes and if it weren’t for those, we wouldn’t be who we are now. We probably wouldn’t be here together too.”

“...and my clan is just... They aren’t that great too…”

“It’s fine, Neji, that’s fine.”

He was going to say something more but the words got stuck on his throat when you said, “I love you. In your entirety. Even with your flaws, complications, and problems too.”

He then went to grab something in the basket. You curiously watched as he searched for something. Then when he retracted his arm, a small box was enclosed in his palm. As if on cue, you noticed fireflies flying around, making the moment look more magical.

When he opened the box, you gasped. Tears had started forming in your eyes.

“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

In that moment, somehow the rest of your time together as a couple flashed before your eyes. You remembered the bickering between the two of you. You remembered how you got together. You remembered the days you spent training with each other. You remembered him moving into your place. You remembered the fights between the two of you and how you made up. You remembered how you almost lost each other during the war.

Neji panicked at your silence. You were close to tears and he didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

The first thing that came out of your mouth after the silence was, “I love you, Neji.”

And then you stopped talking again.

“It’s the ring, isn’t it? I know it’s simple, I should’ve just got the other one,” he nervously rambled.

“The ring is perfect,” you cut him off.

“But—”

“I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Neji looked shocked. “Really?”

“That’s right. Darling, you’re the one I want.”

“So…?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Neji.”

[anxious2dsimp]

Everything He's Not | Iwaizumi x GN! Reader | Short Fic

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Flavour: Angst (Reader x Cheater!Oikawa) to Fluff (Reader x Iwaizumi)💔→☁️

Reader: Gender Neutral!

Format: Short Fic (alternating between two sides of the story, y/n and Iwa's)

Part: 1 out of 2 (read part 2 here)

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Y/N, has dated the very popular Oikawa Toru for a while, through him becoming friends with his group. However, little do they know about a certain stoic ace's feelings for his best friend's s/o. When Oikawa screws up big time, will Iwaizumi's true feelings finally show? And what will Y/N do when everything goes down?

Warnings: Cheating, cursing, breakups, basically Oikawa x Reader angst turned into Iwaizumi x Reader fluff.

A/N: I wrote this for myself a while back but I edited it into a gender-neutral reader insert on a sleep-deprived whim (sorry if there are any mistakes, feel free to let me know!) Ik it's very random, but hopefully someone likes it :)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Your POV

Dating Oikawa Toru was definitely different from what you expected; at first you were weary about the volleyball star, but after giving him a chance you started to see the real him. Yes, he was the captain of a powerhouse’s Volleyball team and had a ton of fangirls, but really he was just a regular guy with dorky interests and an alien obsession, which was the side of him you fell for. It wasn’t all great, dealing with his fangirls was rough; luckily you were safe being from another school, but they’d take any chance they had to try and gain Oikawa’s interest, flirting with him as he did the same back, not with bad intentions, it was just his personality. It did slightly annoy you, but you knew he was clear that we were together and wouldn’t take things further, he was just keeping up his image, and he promised you that was all.

Since your Karasuno friends didn’t particularly like your relationship with the setter (though they did respect it), you two hung out with his Aoba Johsai friends; that’s how your friendship with Iwa, Makki, and Mattsun started. You all became good friends, so they all helped you keep Oikawa in line while at school (especially Iwaizumi). Since you got along so well your friendship became its own thing besides Oikawa, and before you realized it, you and Iwa were such good friends that you chatted almost daily on the phone.

You don’t know what exactly made you bond so much, maybe you were similar in the sense that you were both used to being lowkey, keeping things together behind the scenes; regardless, you both enjoyed each other’s company. That Tuesday afternoon was one of those days, Oikawa had something to do at school, so Iwaizumi invited you, Makki, and Mattsun over to his place to wait for the captain like you usually did since it was the closest to the school.

So, you just chilled like always, laughing and playing video games, talking about whatever came to mind. While you were in the middle of a Mario Kart match, you heard the front door of the apartment open, “(y/n)-chan! I’m sorry for the delay~” the brunette said in a sing-song voice.

“Hi to you too, Oikawa,” said Makki, poking fun at him, to which he just rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch. “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss?” Oikawa asked standing in front of the screen, causing all four of you to start yelling at him to get out of the way, making him pout. “One sec, Toru-chan,” you said, biting your lip while focusing on keeping your first place intact for the last lap. The setter just giggled and got out of the way, walking around the sofa to stand behind you.

Iwaizumi’s POV

‘Eyes on the screen Iwaizumi,’ the ace told himself as he tried to focus on the game, attempting to ignore the way Oikawa kissed (y/n)’s neck while they played, trying to get their attention but failing miserably other than a giggle here and there. Iwa could tell by the way their (e/c) colored eyes pierced the screen that they wanted to win. The boy could see why his best friend liked them, unlike most people (y/n) actually treated Oikawa like a normal person, which definitely got him going. It wasn’t just that though, you all became such good friends because they’re smart, funny and beyond kind; but that’s all you were, friends. So why did it make him moody to see them be all couple-y?

After all, they were together while he was just the friend, the one who kept the fangirls off Oikawa so (y/n) didn’t have to worry because he couldn’t do it himself. Even though Toru was Iwaizumi’s best friend since they were kids, he couldn’t help but think that his friend wasn’t the greatest boyfriend. However, that was the same reason why he couldn’t say anything either, after all, they made him happy and vice versa, so he just kept telling himself to keep his damn eyes on the screen.

Luckily for him, the game was soon over so you all ordered takeout and sat around talking. “Yo, (y/n), there’s this new scary movie on Netflix, we should watch it this Friday night,” Mattsun stated, stealing one of Maki’s fries and throwing it in his mouth. “That sounds fun, but I can’t Friday! Karasuno has a friendly match against a few Tokyo schools this weekend so we leave Thursday after school,” (y/n) explained with a sweet smile, Iwaizumi’s eyes casually wondering over to Oikawa to see him looking upset.

‘Ugh, here goes,’ the spiker thought to himself. Lately, Toru had been restless and uncomfortable because according to him, his s/o was slipping away from him. Oikawa had somehow managed to convince himself that Karasuno had made it their mission to get their manager (y/n) to stop liking him and had been getting increasingly dramatic and jealous lately for no reason.

“But I thought we were going to hang out this weekend,” Oikawa whined as he pouted at his significant other, trying to seem jokingly disappointed though his best friend could tell he actually was upset. “Babe, we literally talk every day and we hung out all this past weekend, and today,” (y/n) said taking his hand.

“Plus, you have friends too, Shittykawa,” Hajime said, trying to get his friend’s mind out of that dark place since he knew he was more prone to make stupid comments when it was there. Oikawa didn’t drop it, insisting on how they were talking less as (y/n) continued to explain that school had been busy and how he also had responsibilities that took up his time. They eventually got him to shut up, but Iwaizumi couldn’t shake the concern that he was being too stupid, and it felt like he was getting closer and closer to making a mistake.

Your POV

You had to admit you did feel guilty when you told Toru you were leaving for the weekend, it was true that you had been way too busy with school and that neither of you had much free time, but you knew that your feelings for him were still strong. So, that Thursday after school you were happy and excited to hear that the trip had been postponed and you’d actually travel on Saturday morning because Sensei had a very important meeting on Friday afternoon. With the change of plans, you decided to go surprise your boyfriend, and it already being late in the afternoon, by the time you got to his place he would be home.

As you got off the bus by his place and got closer to his house, the sun beginning to set, a couple by a small park caught your eye, causing a soft smile to appear on your face. That park was always where you two would hang out when you wanted to be just the two of you. Walking closer, however, the smile quickly disappeared as you realized the “couple” was none other than Oikawa himself with one of his persistent fans he told you not to worry about. ‘Maybe they’re just hanging out as friends,’ or at least that’s what you told yourself as you squinted and kept walking.

Picking up your pace you got closer, now being able to see their faces more clearly in the dimly lit park only to watch them kiss, the girl’s arms around his neck while Oikawa’s hand slid up her thigh. You didn’t know what to do, so you just stood there in shock as silent tears began to fall down your face. Almost as if you were in a trance, you reached into your pocket and took out your phone, dialing his number as you saw the brunette react.

He looked down surprised at his phone screen as he scooted apart from the girl and picked up the call as if it was nothing. “Hey beaut-” he started to say before you cut him off, not having the strength to hear his happy tone. “How could you?!” you sobbed angrily into the phone as his face became anxious. “What’s wrong babe?” How could he try to play it off as if he had no idea?

“You lying, cheating, son of a bitch! We’re over,” you yelled angrily, hanging up right as his eyes met yours. You were close enough to see the horrified and heartbroken expression on his face, but before he could say anything you turned around and just ran. Grabbing the straps of your backpack you sprinted back down the streets, your vision blurry with tears as your (h/c) hair was pushed back by the wind. It was only when you were back at the bus station and were sure that Oikawa was nowhere to be seen that you stopped and realized; you didn’t know where to go next.

You could go to your Karasuno friends, but you weren’t in the mood to hear “I told you so” and couldn’t go home to not worry your family. As you sat there and looked at the screen blankly, tears continuing to fill your eyes, a notification appeared. ‘Hey loser, how’s the trip going?’ you read as your eyes looked at Iwa’s name by the message. He was your best shot, you were close and he wouldn’t judge, so without opening your phone again and ignoring all of Oikawa’s calls you jogged over to Iwaizumi’s place.

After ringing the apartment and hiding your teary and now out of breath voice in the intercom, Iwa’s mom buzzed you in, and once you got to his floor you were greeted by Iwaizumi looking concerned, more so once he saw the state you were in. “(y/n), are you ok?” Iwaizumi asked as he walked over to you, hugging you as you hid in his arms and sobbed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. It’s Oikawa,” you explained as he nodded and got you inside. He made some tea and brought it with you two to his room, both of you sitting on his bed. “Ok, what did Shittykawa do now?” he asked as he looked up at you and handed over a warm mug. “D- did you know h-he was cheating on me?” you managed to stutter out between sobs, trying to sound collected but being embarrassed by your inability to do so.

“He- wHAT?!” His reaction startled you, and when you looked up from the cup and saw his horrified, furious expression it made you feel less like you were overreacting. “I- the trip got postponed to Saturday morning, so I went to surprise him to his place and saw him in our bench making out with one of his fangirls,” you explained, watching as Iwa’s face became angrier and angrier, realizing how you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this, “I’m sorry I came to you, I know you’re best friends.”

Iwaizumi’s POV

Seeing them like this was already painful, but learning what Oikawa did was too much, Iwaizumi couldn’t believe how his friend could do this to (y/n). The spiker had never cared when he did stuff like this or worse than this to his fangirls. After all, he thought, they were the ones stupid enough to be blinded by his charm, but he never fathomed Oikawa would be able to do something like that to someone as great as you. “What? Hey, don’t even dare apologize,” he stated firmly as he took both mugs and set them by the bedside table, hugging (y/n) tightly and feeling them snuggle into him as they cried. Seeing them like this killed him. ‘Fuck Oikawa,’ he thought to himself, ‘if before I had stayed out of the way because they were good for each other that’s no longer the case.’

“I’m so sorry he did this to you; I should have stopped him. If I had known I would have, I should have been paying more attention,” the ace rambled into (y/n)’s hair as they cried softly, getting angry at himself before being interrupted by them pushing themselves away from him gently to look up at his face. “Why are you apologizing as if this was your fault? Iwa, he’s the one who’s an asshole, not you,” they stated, wiping a tear from their face.

“Because,” was he really going to say this? Screw it, here goes nothing, he told himself before continuing, “I knew you deserved better than him, but I convinced myself he would be different with you because I saw how good you were to him, and how happy you looked.” (y/n) just looked at him, mouth slightly ajar as they seemed to process what the boy had said. He couldn’t take the silence anymore so to avoid the blush he felt was beginning to appear on his cheeks he asked; “so did you dump him?” They nodded, looking down at their cup of tea as they chuckled and replied; “on the spot, over the phone.”

Iwaizumi chuckled back, releasing some of the nerves; “serves him right.” They smiled weakly at his comment and absentmindedly ran their fingers through their hair, My god were they gorgeous, Hajime thought to himself, only then realizing it was the first time it was just the two of them in his room, suddenly becoming self-conscious. Calm down, he told himself while taking a deep breath, looking over at (y/n). 'They just broke up with their boyfriend, being here with you is their last concern,' or so he thought. “Do you… want to watch (favorite movie) and eat ice cream?” the spiker suggested after thinking for a moment, he knew that was their favorite movie, and ice cream helps get over jerks, right?

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[skzshortcake]

hiii this is a bit of a random request. i’m sorry if it’s bothersome! u can literally ignore it if you want. it’s just,,, i’ve had worst two weeks and my friends are all busy and i just,,, am constantly overworked and stressed bcs of uni (final year of uni fucking sucks) which idk i usually can handle but this whole week has been a disaster. i had 5 meetings. and i missed 2 of them, 2 assignments, 3 presentations and lectures. and on top of that i had to write an article for a magazine. there was just,,, so much due in a week and i got overwhelmed and kinda just,,, shut down. and to top it off, this morning i slipped in the shower (literally full on split on the floor) and my thighs hurt and i can’t walk or even sit without being in pain. and i can’t remember the last time i slept. i think it was two days ago. idk. i still have SO MUCH to do so i can’t sleep yet and i’m super stressed. oh gosh i’m sorry i’m rambling.

to get the point, i was hoping u could write a fluff piece with chan where the reader is stressed af like i am?? i usually read these to escape my head for a bit cause i’m a sucker for cute romance stories :’) it’d help a lottttt. but it’s okay if you can’t! 🥺 i’m sorry for bothering~

of course!! this might seem rushed so i’m sorry if it comes off like that- but i really hope it helps you!! i basically wrote chan into my interpretation of your situation, i hope that’s ok!! stay safe and take care bby! i’m always here if you (or anyone) needs to rant.

comforting surprises  -  bang chan

member: chan

genre: comfort/angst

warnings: anxiety and an overwhelming time, crying, not proofread

note: requests are still open, but it will take me a bit to get to them. i’m doing my best i promise but it’s kinda hard to write happy things for me right now. 

-

ring... ring... ring...

chan hoped you would answer his call. he texted you earlier in the week and didn’t get a response, so he knew something must have been up. he anxiously rocked back and forth in the office chair he was sitting in, staring at the wall of his office while he waited for an answer.

a couple more rings in, he was about to hang up, but thankfully, you answered.

he heard you try and calm your breathing through the phone “hey.” you managed to say.

“prince(ss)? what’s wrong?” he immediately sat up, alert.

“it’s nothing,” you cry “i just-i just fell this morning and i’m a little busy.”

“ok, ok, can you tell me what’s going on? i’m on my way right now i’m not sure how long i’ll be.” he stood up and saved his work on the computer, hurrying to pack what was necessary in his black backpack to rush out the door.

“i-i,” you broke down in tears again “i have so much to do and i haven’t slept in days. i’m so behind on work it’s making me sick to my stomach...”

“ok, ok, i’m going to help you... can you breathe for me, baby? here, breathe in on the count of one and out on five, ok? i’ll count to eight for you.” 

he started counting through the phone for you, knowing he probably looked crazy as he loudly breathed and counted on a phone call while speed-walking through the jyp building, but he couldn’t care less.

you were doing your best, truly, and he could tell, but you still couldn’t manage to take deep enough breaths to calm down.

“it’s ok, you’re doing so well for me, y/n... i’m on my way, i’ll be twenty minutes?” he says, waiting for your “ok” before helping you breathe again.

chan managed to get you to calm down a bit by the time he walked out of the building. he suggested that you go get a glass of water and sit down somewhere and wait until he got home. 

“i’m ok, i’m ok now.” you sniffle, taking another sip of water and breathing heavily into the cup while you drank. “you travel safely please.” you told him.

“don’t worry, i will. are you going to be ok if i hang up now? i’ll be home soon, prince(ss).”

“mhmm.”

“ok, i’ll be fifteen minutes now. go sit down and rest please.”

he said goodbye and hung up, feeling even more worried for you. chan couldn’t help it, you’re his baby and he feels a responsibility to make sure you’re ok. he didn’t care if he had work to do or if he was busy, you were always his first priority.

he picked up some things for you from the downtown, practically checking his phone every thirty seconds to double check you hadn’t texted him again. he left just as soon as he arrived to make sure he wouldn’t make you wait any longer.

chan nearly dropped his keys as he fumbled with the door. he just wanted to see you as soon as possible.

“y/n?”

“hm?” your teary voice answered from the living room. you chose to sit down on the plush couch, only issue is you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up.

“hey, i’m here now.” he set his bags down next to him while he sat down next to you. “can i hold you?” 

you just nodded, feeling sobs build in your throat again. but you didn’t cry, you didn’t have the energy to cry anymore.

chan pulled you into a hug, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to make your work easier. “i’ve got you. it’s going to be ok.”

he let you stay there for as long as you needed. once you looked up at him with a defeated expression, he knew that it really must have been a difficult time.

“i’m so stuck.” 

“honey, i’m so sorry. i’m sorry that things have been difficult, i’ll help you as much as you need, ok? we will figure it out, together. i promise.” he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead “i have something for you, baby.” 

he leaned down and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and your favorite restaurant’s takeout. chan handed you the bouquet, and you noticed how he bought the flowers in your favorite color and even had the florist wrap them it thin decorative paper with a bow wrapped around it, also in your favorite color. he always excelled at attention to detail.

you felt the tears build again. “i love you so much. thank you.” you looked down to hide your crying from him. you felt so touched that he went to the extent to rush out and get your favorite food and flowers on a whim when he was in the middle of working. 

chan truly had a heart of gold.

“of course, i love you so much too, prince(ss).” he put a hand on your cheek, not forcing you to look him in the eye if you felt overwhelmed, but letting you know he was there. “now, how about we eat some good food and get some good rest, and i will help you with your projects in the morning. it’s the weekend after all, you deserve to rest tonight. i’ll help you get to sleep.” he gave you another kiss and stood up to get some plates and utensils.

when he came back and served up your food, he turned on the tv and put on a show in the background. chan also didn’t forget to prop up your legs and get you an ice pack for your injuries.

“you will not believe what jeongin did today... he lost a bet and had to make breakfast this morning, and you can imagine how that turned out. we even gave him thorough instructions but he still managed to forget some of the ingredients and had to have help from the manager.”

chan joked with you and cheered you up, like he always did. you were pretty sure he was some sort of guardian angel for you, because he always showed you unconditional love and support, even when he was busy.

he was forever grateful for you and you were forever grateful for him.

[mingishoe]

Listen... | K.Y

Summary: You can hear every song your soulmate does, yours just happens to listen to the same song on repeat… for days.

Genre: Soulmate AU, Fluff, crack

Pairing: Yeosang x Reader

Word count: 3k

A/N: I wrote this on a whim with absolutely zero planning besides what me and @mingislovelythighs discussed... it was also their idea to have the cha cha slide involved so akdhjshq aNywAy thanks for simultaneously getting me to write this while also distracting me with a million other fic ideas sorry if it sucks it’s not my favourite thing I’ve written and it’s unedited skbdjsn

*italicized words are Korean*

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“Bullio bullio urin jigeum bullio” You’ve never wanted to bang your head against a wall more than you do right now. You’ve heard the same song for months at this point.

At first it was okay. It was a good song even though you weren’t too sure about the lyrics. It was in Korean. You didn’t know Korean. 

You knew about kpop, your best friend had tried getting you into some groups she liked, BTS, Oneus, NCT, and a one called Ateez that you had thoroughly enjoyed. You have heard a few of their songs but overall you weren’t really familiar with any of the members or their songs. 

You found yourself humming the song as once again you heard it in your head, “I got the answer!” It’s safe to say that you get a little bit too hyped whenever you listen to it.

Your friend had sat next to you and listened to what you were humming, “Oh, You’ve listened to it already? I was just about to show you! I’m so proud you’re listening to them on your own!”

You furrow your eyebrows at her, “What? I haven’t listened to anything?” She cocks her head at you but shrugs thinking she might’ve heard you wrong.

“Whatever, here listen to this. You know that group Ateez that you liked last time?” You nod at her vaguely remembering the songs you listened to last time, “Well, they had a comeback and this song just came out! It’s so good! You’ll love it, I promise.” 

You take the earbud she handed you and she immediately pressed play. As soon as that first beat plays you immediately recognize it. You try not to say anything but then you have no control over your mouth as you suddenly sing out “Bullio bullio urin jigeum bullio” making your friend look to you with a confused expression. It wasn’t your fault. It was the songs. Every. Single. Time. You had to say it, no matter where you were, you said it every time. 

You had paused the video, “When did you say this came out?” She looked in the description and your eyes widened, “Literally like an hour ago.” 

“Huh… I thought I’ve heard this before?” Your friend shakes her head and starts the video again. Without even realizing you continue to sing the rest of the song as you’re focused on the visuals and the members, taking note on a part you particularly enjoyed, “Who’s that?”

You point to the pretty boy who was in the desert, “Kang Yeosang.” 

“Kang Yeosang... Yeosang?” Your friend nods at you, “I like him.” As your friend starts talking again you start to hear the other song you’ve been hearing for a while.

You cut her off with furrowed eyebrows, “Do they have another song that goes like this?” You stop talking for a moment as you try to remember the lyrics, “Hana dul urineun ganda jipyeongseon neomeo?”

She looks at you with wide eyes as she closes out of the video you were in the middle watching and switches it to a live performance, “How…? Look.”

As it starts playing once again you immediately recognize it as another song you’ve been hearing for a while. Once again you start to unconsciously sing along and even rap along with the guy in the red hair. 

Your friend suddenly pulls away from you causing the earbud to come out your ear, “How the fuck do you know all the words?” 

“How the fuck did it just come out an hour ago?” You continue to sing along to the song you were hearing making her even more confused, “I- I- You’re lying right? There's no way they came out today!” 

She shakes her head and shows you her phone, “Look! Right there! Today!” 

You scratch your head in utter frustration, “I’ve been listening to this for months!” 

“That’s impossible- it came out today…” you scoffed with an unbelieving expression on your face, “How do you explain how I knew all the lyrics? Even the rap? You know I don’t listen to kpop when I’m not with you!” 

“Y/n… What if…” you slowly turn to face her with your mouth slightly parted, “No. There's absolutely no way. I’ve never- I don’t- how?”

⋆

“Wooyoung I’m telling you they’re listening to our song!” Wooyoung looks at Yeosang completely unamused, “Maybe they’re an Atiny?” 

“No Wooyoung. They don’t even listen to kpop. Only every once in a while and I think they’ve only heard like one of our songs.” As Seonghwa and Jongho walk into the practice room, they look at a highly distressed Yeosang who’s lying on the floor.

“Are you okay Yeosang?” Yeosang groans from his spot on the floor before he sits up and looks at Seonghwa, “I don’t even think they speak Korean- how are they supposed to figure out who I am if they don’t even listen to us?” 

“Well they’re listening to us right now aren’t they? You said they were listening to Horizon. We got lucky Yeosang, were singers, they could hear our song somewhere and recognize it.” Wooyoung had a point; Yeosang was just too into his little tantrum to take it into consideration. 

“Okay but what if they think it’s just another Atiny?” They’re all silent for a moment because they know Yeosang could be right but Jongho suddenly speaks up.

“The song just came out. How long have we worked on this song?” They let out a collective answer of ‘Months’ before they suddenly realize, “Exactly. It wouldn’t make sense for anyone else to be listening to the songs for hours on end every single day if they weren’t even out until today.”

Yeosang sighs but nods knowing that Jongho had made a good point, “Let’s just hope they realize that too.”

⋆

“What do I do?” By now you and your friend had both realised that literally someone in Ateez was your soulmate. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Who else would be listening to this song literally 24/7 for months? 

“You have to figure out which one.” You rolled your eyes at your friend who had stated it like it was obvious.

“Well yeah, but how? They live in Korea. We don’t.” She pouts before she gives you a mischievous look. 

She pulls her phone back out and starts playing a song. Luckily it’s a lyric video so you start to look at the lyrics noticing it’s in English, “If he can’t speak English how is he going to know what I’m saying?”

“It’s by a kpop group. I’m sure they know it too.” You shrug and continue to listen to the song. 

‘Touch me tease me feel me up~’ You look up at her with wide eyes, “Isn’t that a bit… inappropriate? I don’t want him to think I’m a horny little shit.” 

She laughs but continues the song, “No look, it’s kinda funny if you think about it.” 

Essentially you’re sending a message to one of eight members of Ateez to let him know you know. “Listen! Listen to this part. If he’s listening it’ll be funny” 

“Baby we two distant strangers, I know you don't speak my language But I love the way she's talking to me” you let out a snort as she pauses the song to give you a smirk. 

“Okay, that’s funny, but only if he was listening. What time is it even in Korea? He might be asleep.” She shakes her head, “Remember y/n, he’s an idol. He’s probably awake.”

You suddenly become slightly sad, “There’s no way I’m ever going to meet him. Like you said he’s an idol, they can’t even date.”

“We’ll figure it out. Trust me, I’m as invested in this as you and he’s not even my soulmate.” You laugh softly before you both get ready for bed.

⋆

“What song is this? I know you don’t speak my language but I love the way she’s talking to me. What’s that?” 

They look between each other completely clueless, “I don’t know but maybe they know.”

“Know what?” 

“Know who you are.” Yeosang shook his head, “That’s impossible. How could they know it’s me? It could be any of y’all too.” 

“But did you not just understand what you said? ‘I know you don’t speak my language’ I know you don’t speak my language. They know you’re Korean, and they know you’re in Ateez.” 

Since when was Jongho this smart? He had a lot more hope now that Jongho and Wooyoung had got him out of his pity party. Seonghwa was just there for emotional support I guess, “How will I ever figure out who they are? We meet hundreds of people, there’s no way I’ll know if it’s them.” 

“We’re announcing our tour soon Yeosang. Let’s just hope they manage to get concert tickets or even better, get into the fansign.”

⋆

It’s been probably the most stressful two weeks in your life. You have no idea how you’re ever going to find out how you’re supposed to figure out which one of them is your soulmate. It’s not that easy. You also don’t speak Korean so it’s almost impossible for you to be able to try and communicate through songs because you don’t really understand the meanings of different songs. 

You started to do research on Ateez and the members as you started to feel really sad. You had learned the time zones for Korea and you would be hearing their songs when it would be 2 or 3 am in Korea and you wish they could just rest.

Your friend had come bursting in your apartment, “I did it! I did it! Y/n I did it!” you looked at her with wide eyes as she had just suddenly busted in like she owned the place.

“Did what?” She shoved her phone in your face but you honestly didn’t even know what you were looking at, “What is that?”

She groaned, “Fansign tickets!” You blinked at her not knowing what that meant, “Well my friend, I bought approximately 60 albums and managed to get two tickets.” 

Your mouth dropped open, “60!? Are you fucking serious? Let me pay you for half of them then!” 

“No it’s okay, I told you that I’m as invested in this as you. Plus, one of them is your soulmate! Someone in Ateez! I get to see them too so it's a win win situation.” 

You bite your lip anxiously, “Is this a good idea? I’m not sure if it's worth it?”

“What do you mean? Of course it is! Some people never find theirs and you will!” You stayed quiet for a few moments before you spoke up quietly, “When is it?” 

“This weekend…” Your eyes widen further as you can’t believe she’s only telling you this now. 

“How long have you known?!” She laughs guiltily before trying to change the subject, “No, How long have you known?” 

“Since last week… but I knew you would’ve backed out so I tried to make it seem like I got it today… but you’re going with me right? You have to go with me.” You roll your eyes but laugh and nod.

⋆

There are screams all around you and you feel like you’re about to explode from a million different emotions. “What do I do?” 

You friend is now suddenly as tense as you knowing that it’s finally going to happen, “I-I don’t know? Sing a song?” 

“What if they’re not here?” The other members are surrounding Yeosang trying to calm him down.

“You’ll know once the music starts playing. They’re playing what? Say my name first? If you’re both here you’ll hear the same song.”

Yeosang has never been this nervous in his entire life.

“They weren’t at the concert… what makes you think they’ll be here?” Hongjoong was about to say something but suddenly the music starts playing and it’s the exact same.

“Nonono I have to go. I can’t stay. It’s ‘say my name.’ He knows I’m here.” Your friend looks absolutely terrified for you and it’s honestly not helping you.

You try to get up but then you see Hongjoong walk on stage making you immediately sit back down. One by one each member walks onto the stage you try to focus on each of their expressions but you can’t really notice anything different.

“Sing a different song…” You looked at your friend who had whispered to you. You think for a minute before you remember a song you have seen yeosang, san, and wooyoung sing. You thought it might be able to pull a reaction out of one of them, the ponytail song. “I got a ponytail, I got a ponytail, I got a p-p-p-p-p-p-p-ponytail.” As you started singing the song quietly, literally 5 of the members started laughing so it literally didn’t help at all.

You basically give up and just start to watch them as they’re talking and doing random things. You kept your focus on different members at different times whenever you sang or heard other songs besides what was playing but still nothing.

Yeosang remembers a song he had heard a while ago that is pretty popular at parties and it has directions of things to do. ‘Clap, clap, clap, clap your hands.’ You snort as you hear the literal cha cha slide but you clap your hands anyway making the people around you turn to give you a weird look.

Yeosang immediately turned to the direction of the sound but he wasn’t able to see who it was. He thinks about the song once more but as soon as it's over he hears several claps as Mingi ends up doing a spin or something.

Yeosang is starting to become impatient as you’re both trying to do something to get the attention of the other, it’s just not working. It’s finally time for them to sign albums and talk to everyone and you’re both feeling the anxiety, “I’m gonna throw up-”

You give one last look to your friend as you sit down to talk to the first member, Mingi. You knew it wasn’t Mingi because earlier you had seen him mouthing the words to different frozen songs and you never heard them so that only left 7 members. This was the most difficult process of elimination you’ve ever had to do in your life.

You continued your conversation with Mingi and even complimented his voice whenever he sang into the unknown for you. You then moved onto San who was the next member.

You made it a bit awkward as you kinda just stared at him for a moment to try to get any reaction to what you were thinking but when he gave you none you pouted slightly.

San cocked his head at you before taking your hand in his and told you not to be upset, that he would make you feel better. You appreciate his effort and it even made you blush lightly but you were becoming even more discouraged with not figuring out who it is.

You tried to think about the bright side of things which meant there were only 6 members left. You went to sit in front of Yeosang with a small frown.

As soon as you looked up he eyed you carefully, recognizing you from the area he had first heard the clap. You returned his intense eye contact not really knowing what he was doing, “W-What-” you suddenly let out a snort as you suddenly heard Hello by Adele.

Right after you started laughing Yeosang’s eyes widened and he suddenly flew back from the table shocking the entire room. Your eyes are wide as he starts pacing in front of you not knowing what happened.

After a few of the other members get Yeosang to stop doing whatever he was doing it’s your turn to do the same. You’ll admit, you were a little bit slow in reaction out of straight confusion, but now you understood.

As you’re thinking of a song you and Yeosang are in the most intense staring contest you’ve ever had in your entire life. “Y-You hear it don’t you?”

Yeosang nods before he runs around the table to go to where you’re standing. There’s lots of murmuring and awws coming from the audience but neither of you are concerned with that because holy shit, that’s your soulmate.

You let out a small scream whenever you were suddenly being pulled backstage. The staff was beyond confused but they didn’t really stop either of you because Yeosang seemed way too excited.

“W-What's your name?” You could tell Yeosang was nervous, I mean who wouldn’t be? You knew he was a little bit standoffish as he wasn’t speaking Korean.

“Y-Y/n.” Yeosang repeats your name a few times just so he can get a feel of how it sounds on his tongue.

“You… found me.” You laughed softly and carefully take Yeosang’s hand in yours, “Of course I did. I found you.”

“Song. Answer, right? That’s… That’s how you knew? You nod while laughing, “I heard the song for months… it’s a really good song! Your- Your part is my favourite…”

You look away with red cheeks as Yeosang is absolutely beaming. Unfortunately you get cut short when a staff member goes over to the two of you and tells Yeosang he has to go back out.

“D-Don’t leave okay? Stay here?” You agree to Yeosang’s request, “I’ll stay here.”

You see Yeosang hesitate before leaning in to leave a quick kiss to your lips. He pulls away almost immediately and walks back onto the stage. Your face was burning a bright shade of red as you touched your lips with a fond smile.

You had found him, your soulmate, Kang Yeosang.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand. 

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat. 

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling. 

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again. 

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has. 

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. " 

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?" 

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack. 

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least. 

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so. 

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch.  “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken. 

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.” 

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability. 

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady. 

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

 TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting​ @babybloodstonebones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @m0rcia​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @blakes-dictionxry​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[bananaofswifts]

By : Callie Ahlgrim and Courteney Larocca

Taylor Swift released her eighth studio album, "Folklore," on Friday.

Swift surprised fans by announcing its release just one day in advance — and less than one year after the release of her acclaimed seventh album "Lover."

"Most of the things I had planned this summer didn't end up happening, but there is something I had planned that DID happen," she wrote on social media. "And that thing is my 8th studio album, folklore. Surprise!"

She described "Folklore," stylized in all lowercase, as "an entire brand new album of songs I've poured all of my whims, dreams, fears, and musings into."

Much of the 16-song tracklist — 17 on the deluxe edition — was cowritten and produced by The National's Aaron Dessner. Smaller pieces were cowritten by Bon Iver, Jack Antonoff, and someone named William Bowery. Antonoff also produced five songs.

Insider's music team (reporter Callie Ahlgrim and celebrity and music editor Courteney Larocca) listened to the new album on our own, jotting down our initial thoughts track by track.

Almost immediately, we were forced to reckon with the fact that "Folklore" might be Swift's best album yet — potentially even better than "Red," which previously seemed like it couldn't be topped. We were stunned with the mature, poetic, stunningly understated collection of new songs.

Here is what we thought of each song on "Folklore" upon first listen. (Skip to the end to see the only songs worth listening to and the album's final score.)

"The 1" is the best album opener Swift has had in years.

Ahlgrim: "I'm doing good, I'm on some new s---" is a wild way to begin a new Taylor Swift album. This is going to be different.

This is easily the best intro song she's released in years. "The 1" far surpasses "I Forgot That You Existed" on "Lover," "...Ready for It?" on "Reputation," and "Welcome to New York" on "1989" in terms of sheer quality.

It's also an engaging scene-setter; I find myself gently rocking back and forth, eyes closed, smiling without realizing. It's only the first song and so far, I am totally grasping the woodsy aesthetic of this album. I'm already ready for more.

Larocca: I would argue that there hasn't been a strong album opener on one of Swift's albums since "State of Grace" on "Red" in 2012. "The 1" breaks that curse.

I was vibing from that very first piano note, but when Swift comes in and warmly delivers the first line of the album — "I'm doing good, I'm on some new s---" — it became evident this project wouldn't be anything like the rest of her discography.

As far as "The 1" goes as a standalone song, it's incredibly solid. Swift has a breezy attention to rhythm as she paints a tale of a the-one-who-got-away romance. I truly, truly love it. This might end up being an all-time favorite track.

"Cardigan" is beautifully influenced by Lana Del Rey.

Ahlgrim: I heard "Cardigan" first because I watched the music video before I listened to the album.

Right off the bat, I was struck by the Lana Del Rey melody in the chorus; I jotted down "folksy 'Blue Jeans.'"

Swift has actually cited Del Rey as an inspiration in the past, so this makes sense — and that particular shade of nostalgic, haunting glamour really works for Swift's voice, so I'm overall very impressed with this direction. I am more than amenable to a "Red" meets "Norman F---ing Rockwell!" album experience. On my second time around listening, sans music video, "Cardigan" already feels richer coming after "The 1."

This time, I'm struck by small lyrical details like "Sequined smile, black lipstick," a clear callback to her past eras, and "Tried to change the ending / Peter losing Wendy," an effective way to evoke young love and innocence lost.

I also think the song's central refrain, "When you are young they assume you know nothing," is clean and sharp and — especially given Swift's public struggles with sexism and years-old contracts — extremely poignant.

Larocca: I had the thought that Swift listens to Lana Del Rey after hearing "Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince" on last year's "Lover," but now I know for sure that Del Rey is an influence on Swift.

While "Cardigan" isn't what I thought this album would be like sonically, I'm overjoyed at how clearly singer-songwriter this album already is. I've been waiting years for Swift to make a lyrical marvel set to acoustic, warm, folksy instrumentals and it's here.

(And while I expected something different sonically, I am not mad at all by the backing instrumental choices here.)

"The Last Great American Dynasty" proves Swift is a natural storyteller.

Ahlgrim: Personally, I love Storyteller Taylor, so this is quite literally music to my ears.

There are so many delicious details here to unpack. The first verse, with its subtle sexist whisperings about Rebekah Harkness ("How did a middle-class divorcée do it?" and "It must have been her fault his heart gave out"), is a truly savvy way to set up for the song's eventual reveal.

Rebekah spent her time partying with friends, funding the ballet, playing card games with Salvador Dalí, somehow "ruining everything" — and her Holiday House was "free of women with madness" until Swift herself moved in.

That twist in the bridge is poetic genius. When the final chorus adjusts to the present day, underscoring the parallels between Rebekah and Swift, I'm forcefully reminded of an iconic bridge when Romeo finally proposed and changed everything — but Swift has evolved past daydreams of pure white dresses and fathers giving permission.

Larocca: I'm immediately taken back to 2012's "Starlight" when "The Last Great American Dynasty" starts. Thankfully, this song ends up being a lot better than "Starlight," which always felt more like a filler track on "Red" to me.

I love a lot here: the casual use of "b----," the acute attention to detail ("She stole his dog and dyed it key lime green"), and every version of this line: "There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen."

I had a marvelous time listening to this song.

"Exile," featuring Bon Iver, is one of Swift's most successful duets to date.

Ahlgrim: Swift and Bon Iver, aka Justin Vernon, are two of the best songwriters alive today, so this song was destined to be breathtaking.

Swift has historically had difficulty allowing her voice and vision to coexist with a featured artist; her collaborations often leave me feeling like she should've just delivered the whole song herself.

But Swift and Vernon were able to weave their lyrics together so gracefully, I was left feeling grateful for his presence. His rich, rustic tone and those iconic hummed harmonies lends the regretful song an added coat of sincerity.

The production here is generally fine, but the layered instrumentals in the ending really bring the song together. I love a dramatic exit.

Larocca: When I see a "featuring Bon Iver" on a track, I instantly assume Vernon is going to come in with his high falsetto. So it was almost jarring that the song starts with Vernon sounding like a lumberjack dad who hasn't left the woods in a decade.

That didn't end up being a detriment, though. Swift sounds delicate on her verse, and their vocals contrast nicely later on the track.

This one also brings to mind her collab "The Last Time" with Snow Patrol's Gary Lightbody. The line "I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending" is also reminiscent of "If This Was a Movie."

I'm obsessed with the clear influences Swift's previous discography had on these tracks, which have also so far felt completely unique to her catalog.

"My Tears Ricochet" is an extraordinary display of Swift's songwriting powers.

Ahlgrim: First of all, "My Tears Ricochet" is an incredible song title. Let's take a moment to appreciate that.

In fact, pretty much every line of this song is arresting.

Much of it feels both familiar and rare, like you know exactly what Swift is singing about, but hadn't thought to put it in those words before — which is, in my opinion, the mark of any good piece of writing but especially a breakup song. You can relate to the emotion, if not the particular details. You can hear the pain. It almost plays like a funeral march.

What a gift it is, what an exhilarating experience, to feel like you're listening to a poem being recited in real-time.

Larocca: Any true Swiftie knows that track five is reserved for the most vulnerable moment on the record, so I went into "My Tears Ricochet" ready to be sad.

I am endlessly impressed with how Swift managed to bake the word "ricochet" into this song so effectively. She also ditched her traditional song structure for this one, and instead built the track from peak to peak, utilizing clever lyrics along the way to tell an epic, devastating story, almost obviously calling back to the most beloved track five of "All Too Well."

I'm calling it now — this one is going to age like a fine wine. As all of Swift's best breakup ballads do.

"Mirrorball" is several strokes of genius.

Ahlgrim: This song gives me intense Clairo vibes, and I mean that as a very high compliment.

It's so fun and refreshing to hear Swift slip into different musical styles, and this shimmery take on alternative-bedroom-pop highlights her soft vocals and nuanced songwriting supremely well.

Also, my Leo sensibilities are fully under attack by this bridge: "I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try / I'm still on that trapeze / I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me." Oof! Just tag me next time.

Larocca: This one is so pretty! Swift's vocals sound better than ever as she spins on her highest heels across a glittery daydream.

"I'm a mirrorball / I'll show you every version of yourself tonight" might be the thesis statement of this entire album. So far, "Folklore" feels both diaristic and vague; detailed and completely anonymous.

Fans will be debating for years whether this album is about Swift's own life, or if it's simply really great storytelling pulled directly from her own mind. In the end, it doesn't really matter.

Because as all of Swift's best songs do, these songs will attach themselves to listeners in completely new ways, showing them elements and stories from their own lives.

"Seven" is pure whimsical magic.

Ahlgrim: This is playing make-believe in the garden when you're too young to feel self-conscious; it's poetic and nostalgic and full of awe in such an unpretentious way.

I wouldn't change one thing about this song. Swift's whispery high register sounds divine, and at this point in the tracklist, her rhythmic delivery in the chorus hits like a shot of espresso.

Right now, I'm wondering if it's possible for Swift to maintain this intrigue and momentum for another nine songs. There hasn't been a misstep to speak of, and I remain wholly beguiled. Can it last?

Larocca: The beginning of "Seven" sounds like Swift listened to Marina's "Orange Trees" on repeat before showing up to her songwriting session. Fortunately, "Orange Trees" is the only song I like on Marina's "Love + Fear" so I will gladly accept this inspiration.

Swift continues to impress with both her vocals and her sense of rhythm on "Seven." I also personally love space imagery so the line "Love you to the moon and to Saturn" is a standout line.

"August" will go down as one of the best songs in Swift's extensive repertoire.

Ahlgrim: I'm immediately catching hints of Phoebe Bridgers and girl in red in Swift's delivery. And I simply adore the idea that Swift has spent the last few months sitting at home, daydreaming about summertime humidity and listening to music by queer indie-pop girls. 

In an album full of songwriting expertise, this song has some of Swift's best lines yet: "August sipped away like a bottle of wine / 'Cause you were never mine" actually hurts me.

In my notes, there simply sits this valuable insight (yes, in all-caps): "WANTING WAS ENOUGH. FOR ME IT WAS ENOUGH TO LIVE FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL." This song has my favorite bridge on the album so far.

In terms of production, "August" is exquisite. It's lush and layered without feeling overwhelming at any point. It builds to the perfect level then recedes, like a wave. 

Also worth mentioning: It can now be considered a historical fact that any time Swift mentions a car or driving in one of her songs, it's a perfect song.

Larocca: While listening to "August," I texted Callie and said, "I can't wait to finish the album so I can relisten to 'August.'" It's an instant favorite. 

This is also the first track on the album that seems directly inspired by our current state. Not because she's expressing fear or singing about being bored at home, but because she so easily slips into a reflection of a relationship that ended years ago with a newfound wave of wistful nostalgia. 

When quarantine started, it seemed like a million lifestyle articles came out explaining why everyone suddenly felt compelled to text their exes and why we're so invested in looking back instead of forward right now. 

"August" validates those feelings with zero judgment, letting its listener know that yes, it's totally normal for you to be overanalyzing that quasi-relationship you were in back in college that never made it past graduation. Am I projecting? Maybe, but that's debatably what Swift's music is best utilized for.

I'm also going to be thinking about this song's bridge and outro for the rest of my life.

The National's influence can be felt on the stunning "This Is Me Trying."

Ahlgrim: "This Is Me Trying" quickly strikes a more sinister tone than its predecessors — still nostalgic and wistful, but carrying an edge, like a threatening secret.

Ironically, this one was co-written and co-produced by Jack Antonoff, not Aaron Dessner, though I can really hear The National's influence here. I'm getting strong wafts of songs like "Pink Rabbits" and "Dark Side of the Gym."

Based on Swift's own words, we can speculate that "This Is Me Trying" is a fictional tale, built around the image of "a 17-year-old standing on a porch, learning to apologize." And, as previously stated, I'm a big fan of Storyteller Taylor, so I'm into it.

The song's darker tone mingles really well with Swift's imagery; when you're a teenager, and you make a mistake, it can feel like the end of the world.

Larocca: "This Is Me Trying" is precisely what I imagined this album sounding like when I found out Swift collaborated with the National's Aaron Dessner and Bon Iver.

But I'm glad she was strategic about her use of echo and also finally paid attention to the tracklisting from a sonic standpoint. This haunting soundscape is reminiscent of 2014's "This Love" and comes in right when you need it after the yearning daydream of "August."  

I'd also like it to be on the record that the line "I got wasted like all my potential" ruined me and this song is a win for that lyric alone.

"Illicit Affairs" is a glowing example of what sets Swift apart from her peers as a songwriter.

Ahlgrim: The expert songwriting on "Illicit Affairs" reminds me of the as-yet unseated queen in Swift's discography: "All Too Well."

Swift is a master of wielding specific details like weapons: "What started in beautiful rooms / Ends with meetings in parking lots," she sings. "Leave the perfume on the shelf / That you picked out just for him." These are the sorts of images that set Swift apart, and they're especially strong when she punctuates their delivery with a little growl in her voice.

This song has real power. I have chills.

That power is magnified in the third verse, similar to how "All Too Well" builds to a crescendo: "Don't call me 'kid,' don't call me 'baby' / Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me."

Certainly, "Illicit Affairs" is more restrained than Swift's iconic arena rock ballad, but goddamn that last verse hits hard.

Larocca: The way that she says "him" in the second verse shook me out of my skin in the very best way. And "Don't call me 'kid,' don't call me 'baby' / Look at this idiotic fool that you made me" will go down as one of her best breakup lines of all time.  

It's been a minute since Swift delivered a painstakingly beautiful breakup ballad, and the fact that this album is littered with them is, simply, a gift.  

"Illicit Affairs" has growing power and will likely become one of those tracks that fans form a strong emotional attachment to over time.

"Invisible String" is Taylor Swift at her most Taylor Swift.

Ahlgrim: "Invisible String" is a feast of Easter eggs and callbacks.

"Teal was the color of your shirt" reminds me of the line about Joe Alwyn's blue eyes on "Delicate," and her reference to a dive bar is similarly familiar. "Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs" recalls the push-and-pull on "Exile."

"Bad was the blood of the song in the cab" is undoubtedly a reference to Swift's 2015 single "Bad Blood," while "One single thread of gold / Tied me to you" feels like a nod to Swift's description of love's "golden" hue on the "Lover" album closer "Daylight."

This song is sprightly and sparkly and certainly nice to listen to, but its real strength lies in these details.

Swift is weaving many different stories on this album, many connected by a sort of "Invisible String," tying different pieces of her life and your life and other lives together. It ends up feeling like a growing plant with far-reaching roots, or a sentient treasure map.

Larocca: I'd be lying if I said there weren't multiple points throughout this album where I worried that Swift and her boyfriend Joe Alwyn had broken up. 

Thankfully, "Invisible String" is a rosy, wide-eyed ode to love. The plucky guitar paired with Swift's soft vocals is a sound I want to live in, which is fitting since this track feels like coming home. 

Every small detail, from the nod to Alwyn's time spent working at a frozen yogurt shop in his youth, to the color imagery that paints every inflection of Swift's adoration (especially the single thread of gold) come together to lay the holy ground Swift's relationship walks on. 

Also, the image of Swift mailing Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner gifts for their expectant first child brings about an unbridled sense of joy.

"Mad Woman" is yet another highlight.

Ahlgrim: Every time I think I've heard the peak of this album's songwriting potential, Swift manages to surprise me. 

Case in point: "Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? / Does she smile? / Or does she mouth, 'F--- you forever?'" Whoa.

And another, for good measure: "It's obvious that wanting me dead / Has really brought you two together." I texted Courteney, "Did she really just say that??"

This song is sublime on its own, but the way it ties back into the perception of female freedom and "madness" on "The Last Great American Dynasty" makes it even better. "Mad Woman" is definitely a personal favorite so far on this album, if not in Swift's entire catalog.

Larocca: "Mad Woman" will forever hold the honor of being the first song in which Swift says "f---" and for that, we should all be thankful. 

I was also so wrapped up in the storytelling of this album, that it took a minute for this to even register that this is likely about the Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta / Kanye West and Kim Kardashian West ordeals of Swift's past. These callouts used to be so obvious, that I greatly appreciate the subtlety and restraint here. 

It almost feels like these feuds were a lifetime ago, but this track does an excellent job at showcasing how anger and pain can leave an indelible mark on you. Swift went mad years ago, and that's just an accepted part of her narrative now. 

But for the first time, her rage sounds like freedom.

"Epiphany" doesn't stand out.

Ahlgrim: There are some really interesting vocal moments on "Epiphany," but so far, this is the only song I haven't felt captivated by. It's a bit snoozy, and a bit too long.

This song clearly references war, the loss of a loved one, and the coronavirus pandemic, which makes it lyrically intriguing at best — but distressing at worst. I don't mind letting the overall effect waft over me, but this won't be a song I revisit outside the context of the album.

Larocca: "Epiphany" is the only track on "Folklore" that didn't immediately grab me. It's essentially a war drama in song format, so some people might like it, but I truly couldn't care less about war movies or war songs! So it's not my favorite, but it makes for pretty background music. 

"Epiphany" does have another benefit though: Now, whenever some random dude erroneously claims Swift "only writes songs about her exes," fans have a clear song in her discography that they can point to and be like, "That's not true. This one's about war." 

That's not to say Swift needed that — anyone who has been paying attention understands she's quite possibly the best songwriter of her generation.  

This just happens to be further proof of that fact.

"Betty" is a charming callback to Swift's country roots.

Ahlgrim: "Betty" is like the best, sauciest song from Swift's 2006 debut country album that no one got to hear. It has sonic and lyrical similarities to hits like "Our Song" and "Tim McGraw," plus some name-dropping stuff like 2008's "Hey Stephen," plus a little harmonica thrown in for good measure! I love that for us.

"Betty" also appears to complete a three-song story, recalling details from "Cardigan" and "August" to close the loop on Betty and James, a couple in high school with some infidelity issues.

Looking back, it feels like "Cardigan" was told from Betty's perspective, while "August" was told from the perspective of a sort of "other woman" character. Now, we get James' side of the story. This is high art, folks! This is peak Storytelling Taylor!

"Betty" is also, like, very gay? I know it's easy to assume that James is a male character, but Swift herself was named after James Taylor, so she could be referring to herself. The song also references someone named Inez; James and Inez are the names of Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively's daughters.

Plus, in retrospect, the idea of whispering "Are you sure? Never have I ever before" during a summer fling seems pretty gay to me.

I'm not saying the story of Betty and James would be better if it was written about sapphic lovers, but I'm not not saying that.

Larocca: This one is gay, and if you try to tell me otherwise, I will simply ignore you. 

But Courteney, it's from the perspective of a guy named James. James and the other character, Inez, share the same names as Reynolds and Lively's kids (will leave it up to you to decide if that means their third daughter's name is Betty). James is their daughter. Get out of here with your antiquated ideas about which names connotate which genders. 

To me, the James named in this song is a woman and a lesbian and this song is for the gays. I will not be saying anything else or accepting any feedback on this opinion, thank you.

"Peace" is honest and raw.

Ahlgrim: This song's intro sounds like LCD Soundsystem had a baby with "The Archer." The gentle guitar riff is also lovely.

With Dessner's echoey production, Swift's voice sounds like a warm little fire in a cave — fitting, since she sings in the chorus, "I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm."

OK damn, I'm getting really emotional. This songwriting is beautiful and haunting. "Peace" perfectly captures the ambient dread of feeling your partner slip away, of wondering whether love can be enough. 

Larocca: If you're a "Call It What You Want" stan, you're going to love its mature older sister "Peace." 

I will hereby forever be thinking about the parallels between "But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm" with "He built a fire just to keep me warm" and between "Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother" with "Trust him like a brother."

Also, "Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?" has the same emotional impact as when Swift changes the lyric in "The Archer" to "I see right through me" and that's meant as the highest form of compliment. 

Swift's vocals are so crisp, that guitar riff is so stunning, and these lyrics are so gut-wrenchingly vulnerable. A perfect song, through and through.

"Hoax" is unlike any other album closer in Swift's catalog.

Ahlgrim: I don't know if Swift is going through a traumatic breakup, but if she isn't, the woman is one convincing creative writer.

The National makes some of my favorite music to cry to, so when I heard Aaron Dessner had co-written and produced much of this album, I knew I was in for some glossy cheeks. Until now, I think I've felt too captivated by Swift's artistry to really let myself get there.

But finally, "Hoax" is making me cry.

This is heart-wrenching stuff for anyone, but for a fan and student of Swift's work, this is like reading a friend's diary entry.

"Don't want no other shade of blue, but you" must be a reference to "Delicate," in which Swift sings: "Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you / Oh damn, never seen that color blue." Later, she croons, "You know I left a part of me back in New York," perhaps regretting the move to London that she detailed throughout "Lover." 

"You knew it still hurts underneath my scars / From when they pulled me apart," recalling the public shaming she endured and demons she exorcised on "Reputation." "But what you did was just as dark." Like I said before: Whoa.

Personally, I love having a good cry set to moody music, so I appreciate Swift's soul-bearing. "Hoax" is one gut-punch of an album closer.

Larocca: Swift has a habit of ending her albums on an uplifting, hopeful note and I always eat it up. But if "Folklore" hadn't made it clear by now that it should be consumed differently than any of her previous works, "Hoax" brings that message home.  

Instead of reveling in all the ways that love has made her stronger, happier, or more whole, "Hoax" deconstructs everything Swift has learned about love and leaves a bleaker picture about how maybe even the best of relationships hurt. 

But at its most tragic, this love still isn't something Swift will ever let go of: "Don't want no other shade of blue but you / No other sadness in the world would do."  

Finishing a Taylor Swift album has never been so devastating.

Final Grade: 9.7/10

[sopeloveee]

Worthy

WARNING⚠️ Mature Themes( self harm, mentions of suicide) member: jung jaehyun (NCT) genre: really angsty, with a fluffy ending! this is actually the first in a while that I’ve written on here, so, please sorry for any mistakes or unclarity kinda just wrote this on a whim, please enjoy💚 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- {3:32pm} Jaehyun finds your razor blades and you come home looking for them.

        Jaehyun arrives at your house at 3:32 pm. He had just got finished with dance practice with the other members for the new comeback. You and Jaehyun met in Chicago in a Starbucks, as they were currently there for their tour. You had been living in Chicago for about 2 years at the time, and you had worked in Starbucks as a side job for school. He was the most attractive boy you had ever seen, and you were amazing, both blushing as he ordered for him and a couple of the other members. He walked away that day with your cell number on his receipt and his ears burning red.

        “You like her. Don’t you?” Mark asks. “Of course not.” Jaehyun responds quickly. Ears getting redder by the second.

        “You are literally lying.” Taeyong hops in. “Your ears are as red as my phone case, so cut the shit and text her when we get back to the arena.”

        You guys were 7 months into your relationship now, and you had moved to Korea for dance school and to also be closer to Jaehyun, as he couldn’t stand being across the world from you.  You’ve been living there for about 8 months now, and was settled into your nice loft that Jaehyun helped pay for. You had given Jaehyun a spare, telling him to come over whenever he felt free. Him coming over became weekly, weekly became daily so you asked him to move in with you, him lighting up at the idea and immediately saying yes. You’ve been living together for about 6 months now, and you were two years and a month into your relationship.  Everything had been going good, Jaehyun was a nice man, he always encouraged you to do your best, he was sweet, handsome; what more could you have asked for?

        Though, you had good things going for you, you had one thing that was playing a detrimental role in your life; your severe depression and anxiety. It came hereditarily, so there wasn’t anything you could quite do about it, other than therapy and medication. Some days were okay, some were manageable, and others were just downright bad. Today was one of those days, and you’d had enough. Your dance coach had berated you in front of the whole team, calling you a piece of dead weight and a waste of talent. You are a beautiful mixed girl, not too skinny but not thick either. You had a nice body, and nice soft brown skin. You’d hadn’t told Jaehyun about your depression or anxiety, or the fact that being insulted and looked down upon at your dance school was an almost daily occurrence. And when you did good, your teacher would still give you back-handed compliments or not even say anything. Your teammates were very supporting though, they always told you that you were the best and that you had a lot of talent. Your coach was just a dick.

        You, being the only brown-skinned person on your team you were often the center of attention. This caused you to become hard on yourself and you believed that it was always on you, and that you should’ve done better as one of the seniors of the team. Times like these, were times where you were at your lowest, seeking self-harm to rid you of the emotions that you had felt that day. So you settled on cutting today as your source of relaxation. You’d leave straight after practice, wanting to get home and just be in the presence of your favorite person. Some friends patted you on the back and gave you words of encouragement as they saw the frown upon your face right as you were leaving. Back at the house, Jaehyun had gotten himself comfortable, making him something to eat and sitting on the couch to watch whatever he could find on tv. After eating, he went to the bathroom to wash his hands (have you washed your hands today?) and realized that there wasn’t any paper towels left in the bathroom. So, after shaking his hands dry and wiping them on his sweatpants, he heads for the supply closet located next to your bedroom. He reaches for the paper towels on top shelf, and while reaching his large hand lands on a small box that was pushed all the way to the side close to the closet wall. He’d never known there was a box up there, what was the box here for? He was sure you had finished settling in. He thought as he pulls the box down from its hiding place. He opens the box and gasps loudly. 

        Razor Blades. Broken Pencil Sharpeners. Jaehyun can’t believe it. He cries for the first time in years. He would’ve never thought, that you, Y/N, his world, his inspiration, his soulmate, had been hurting yourself. Jaehyun knew all about self harm, as he had lost a dear friend to something so bad and saddening as suicide. He was in shock, crying loudly as his body lost balance and fell to the ground shaking. How come he had never realized what you were going through, how could he have been so oblivious? The sweatshirts, the cardigans, in 85 degree weather. He had always known your style had leaned towards the more artsy/ 90s side, be he never could have thought the reason you wore such big clothing and long sleeves were to hide any scars that you could’ve been withholding. He loved you with his whole being, why have you never told him about something like this? You never were a burden to him, you could’ve opened up to him about it. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through, everything was just running through his head so fast. He took the box and threw all of the blades out, tearing the house up to make sure you hadn’t hid any someplace else in your home. He goes to the bathroom to run water over his face, and heads towards the bedroom to wait for you there.

        Twenty minutes later he hears the front door open, and the floorboards creak as you make your way through the house. You don’t announce your entrance. You don’t call out to him, you head straight to the supply closet. Jaehyun gets up and heads towards you, watching as you take out the step stool and climb to the top. Only to find nothing there, he watches with sad eyes as you frown. You don’t even notice him there, to wrapped in your mind to even think that his sorrowful eyes are watching you. Tears escape his eyes and it’s only until he speaks that you realize he’s there.

        “ I threw them out.” He says quietly. You flinch harshly at the sound of his deep voice. You turn to him slowly, you heart in your throat, and yours hands tucked anxiously between the sleeves of Jaehyun’s sweater you wore to practice. “ Baby.” He says, choking on his tears. You’re shocked to say the least. You’ve never seen Jaehyun cry, and you would have never though that this would be the reason. You close your eyes feeling guilty, letting your reserve down and letting the tears slip down your plump cheeks rapidly.

        He walks over the step stool and lifts you off of it, hugging you tightly and crying his eyes out. “ Why have you never told me? I could’ve helped you, I could’ve-“ You cry harder, everything coming up and out of you. You thrash against his frame, yelling and screaming. “ I love you Y/N, I’m always here, just let it all out.” Jaehyun regathers himself, as to stay strong and be your rock in this moment. You cry for about 15 minutes straight, hiccuping and talking about how you’ve been struggling with depression and anxiety since your early teens. You tell him about dance, you tell him about all the things that you’ve been through, and he listens. He listens intensively as your spill your heart to him, finally relaxed at the fact you can tell him everything. When you finish, he picks you up from the floor, as you both slipped to the ground in each other’s embrace while crying. He brings you to the kitchen, and sets you atop the island looking at you directly into your eyes and softly smiling.

        “Thank you for telling me. I love you more now that I know how strong, beautiful, and amazing you are. These scars? They’re in the past, you are the most driven, talented person I know. I want you to come to me with every problem you have, and we’ll fix it together. You never go through stuff alone anymore, I’m always here. I love you so much, and I want you to know that you don’t have to feel like a burden, or a distraction. You are the most important person in my life. You come first, remember that. Can you do that for me?” He sheds a few tears watching as your head hangs low, and he raises your gaze and makes you look at him. “ Can you do that for me Y/N?” You nod quietly, and smile softly. “ I need to hear you say it princess. I know that stopping can be tough, so if you ever feel the urge please tell me, I’ll get you food, make you laugh, hell, I’ll kick the shit out of Taeyong if it’s what it takes to take your mind away from you hurting yourself. Do this for me, I cannot lose you-” He chokes. “ You won’t Jaehyun. I promise.” You both pause and revel in each other’s presence. You feel thankful that you're him with him right now, in this moment. You take some time to get yourself together as best s possible, and you play at the back of his head with the strands of his hair nervously, as he rubs his hands up and down your legs gently. “You can look if you want.” You say shakily. He takes your hands softly as if he could break you, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He looks at the lines with broken-hearted eyes, his fingers shaking as he runs his hand along the scabs and bubbles on your wrists and forearms. 

        “ Oh princess.” He says, kissing your scars and cuts, and letting his tears run down your arm.  

         Jaehyun is fully crying again, wrapping his strong arms around your stomach and placing his head on your heart. “ I’ll stay strong for you. I promise. I love you so much.” You say tearfully. He looks up and smiles as tears slip from his crescent eyes. You wipe his tears, and he wipes yours, and he picks you up from the counter and spins you around making you laugh loudly. “ You are so strong. You know that?” You nod, blushing. “ I’m truly so happy that you told me everything. It means a lot to me that you are allowing me to help you recover. I love you so much.”

        “ I love you too Jaehyun.”

      “ Soo, burgers or pizza?”

     “ Burgers ”. You both answer together. “ Yeah burgers for sure.” you say with a smile.

        For the first time in your life, you can breathe clearly. For the first time in your life, you feel worthy. Nothing could ever stop you from living. Not with Jaehyun by your side. Not even depression or anxiety.

[rainebowkitty]

Absolutist's Son, Queen's Devotee (Oofy Riddle Fic)

History is often warped over time as ideals change and people evolve. It’s no different for the Queen of Hearts and her legends of villainy. Only in the Twisted Wonderland her story paints her as the heroine, and poor, impressionable Riddle Rosehearts falls victim to the tyranny of not only his oppressive mother, but a boisterously absurd queen as well.

(Basically an angst fic I wrote on a whim about Riddle discovering that his mom and the Queen of Hearts are both villains terrible inspirations to look up to and how that realization literally shatters him. Oh, and for the sake of making sure he can’t deny it, the reader can make anyone relive memories and potentially alter them? by simply touching the person, so guess what kind of stuff he has to relive? I won’t spoil anything, but it’s oofy)

Warnings: Mentionings of beheading 

Now! Enjoy my first fic in weeks! 

It was nothing but a mirage. It had to be. 

Riddle was hyperventilating, his chest heaving up and down in a sporadic pattern as he absorbed the news. His first instinct was to deny it, was to force those thoughts of corruption out with every inch of his small being, with every fiber of magic his shaking form possessed. 

But one couldn’t run from a vision, right? Pulling away did nothing as the images you pressed into his mind like a hot coal into his fist still lingered. How did you-? How dare you taint the Queen of Hearts’ legacy with such fallacies. How dare you challenge his mother’s golden rules, the very rules he tried to enforce in order to benefit Heartslabyul as a whole.  

What a laughable lie all of your conjurings were. It was the cruelest slap to the face as he pushed you off of him, his shoulders tensing as he backed up, almost hugging himself. But you just reached out once more. And Riddle, his arms crossed over his chest defensively, couldn’t move fast enough to slap your hand away. 

“STOP IT!” He screamed. “UNHAND ME!” 

But he was quickly lost to his thoughts, a blank expression dawning on him as his eyes stared at nothing in particular, mercury orbs wide in disbelief.

A small, youthful redhead sat on a lonesome bench in a private garden. The boy was awaiting his new instructor’s arrival whenever a small rodent caught his eye. It was the most adorable creature the boy had ever seen. It was a pale cream color, small and petite with little spines poking from its back. Its curious, pink nose scrunched itself up multiple times as it sniffed the ground. It wasn’t long before it was sniffing the young boy’s gloved hand, ultimately deciding whether to name him friend or foe.

After the critter gave the boy a thorough security check, it allowed the redhead to gently pet its head with two fingers. Minutes ticked on until the spiny rodent allowed itself into the boy’s palms, pink nose now smelling a smiling face. Joyous, childlike laughter bubbled from the usually serious boy. It was so free, so pure in its form that you’d mistake him for any old kid with a thing for dressing up perhaps. 

But no, this boy was Riddle Rosehearts, son of a famous, stern healer, sharing a moment of joy with a wild woodland hedgehog. The two made quite the duo, both short in stature yet fierce in appearance with either spikes or a menacing glare to keep them safe. Anyone would’ve mistaken the two as friends; boy and boy’s best friend. However, Mrs. Rosehearts wasn’t anyone, and she wouldn’t allow her prestigious son to mingle with vermin such as this primitive hog. 

“Riddle, put that rodent down!” She commanded as she approached him. “I’m glad you wore your gloves today. There’s no telling how many diseases that thing has.”

The young boy hastily set the critter back on the grassy ground, the light-furred animal scampering under the bench and behind Riddle’s foot as if the boy was capable of protecting it from the intimidating woman. He couldn’t even bargain with his mother for the chance to have a real strawberry tart on his birthday, let alone secure the life of a defenseless hedgehog. 

“Sorry mother,” the boy would’ve muttered had the woman not pounded it into his head to speak clearly if he was going to speak at all. “Where’s my tutor?”

It was an honest question, one he thought was reasonable to ask whenever he was busier than any kid in town. It often felt impossible to remember everything and yet his mother just scoffed at his question as if he should already know the answer.

“We changed locations for your lesson,” she crossed her arms in annoyance. “I believe I told you during yesterday’s tea time, but I had a hunch you’d forget.”

Of course Riddle thought. How could he be so forgetful when she even reminded him? 

“Well hurry along now,” she tapped her foot impatiently as Riddle left with thin grace. He was so close to running, to sprinting just so he wouldn’t be any more tardy than he already was, but his mom would chastise him for that. He opted instead for speed walking, a heartfelt apology already forming in his mind to recite to the unlucky tutor. He knew people didn’t like their time being wasted and to do this in his first meeting with this particular teacher was unthinkable. He almost didn’t hear his mother’s last words as he sped off, but unfortunately he was conditioned to tune into her beguiling voice. 

“Please be more mindful next time, Riddle,” her tone was more bitter than she liked her tea and it didn’t take much imagination to guess the expression she wore either. “You’re on a strict schedule for a reason. Remember that.” 

Then she did something Riddle hadn’t heard her do in a long time. She chuckled.

“If you can remember, that is.”

Riddle picked up his pace without looking back.

“Riddle!” 

His mother’s distraught cries rang through the corridors as he dashed down them one by one. He checked each room, his hands clumsily fumbling with the knobs far too long for his liking. He was panting, short huffs of breath rippling through his small form as he tried not to trip over his heeled shoes with each panicked stride. 

“Riddle! Please!”

Another shriek. Riddle swore he heard a heavy sound trail his mother’s call, the thick, harsh reverb of it sending shudders through his already shaking body. When would he find her? When would he save her like the dutiful son he was meant to be? She always told him to be on schedule. Was this what she meant? Did her job as a healer leave her with such a tight grasp of time and its passing that she wanted to transmit that trait to her son too? “Son,” his mom wept, a crack in her usually smooth, authoritative tone creaking from her throat somewhere nearby. Riddle stopped dead in his tracks, the satisfying click of his heels dying with his momentum as he strained to hear anything over the throbbing of his own heart. It was silent again before he heard the precise cling of metal. That sound was followed by a burly chopping sound, the greedy blow of an axe striking its target as his mother’s sobs were abruptly cut with a gasp. 

Riddle felt the material of his gloves as his clammy hands clenched into fists. He felt an unquenchable fire bubble inside of him, but for the first time in years he couldn’t express it with his voice. Did all that time biting his tongue for his mother really leave him speechless during her death? Was yelling rendered pointless whenever he was so shaken to his core he was unsure his vocal cords would ever function the same way again?

His legs wobbled before his knees buckled, not allowing him to collapse or to take another step further. He was in the middle ground, so close to being able to escape while also being entirely numb. If he should run from whoever murdered his mother, he was left defenseless by shock, fear, guilt and shame. That desire to rescue her was now unachievable, so he surrendered, shutting his eyes tightly and awaiting the worst in his defeat.

Eternal seconds passed as tears trickled down his pale cheeks. Then he felt what he was waiting for; a clap on the shoulder. Wait, a clap on the shoulder? He almost jolted, but his frozen legs and body wouldn’t let him complete the action properly. Instead he almost fell over. He struggled to turn around and catch himself without face planting into the tiles, but he managed it, seeing his mom in perfect health, not a drop of blood in sight of her commanding presence. 

He had believed that presence was shattered. He had been so sure that the only parent he was ever devoted to had fallen and he had failed to intervene. He had failed to protect her, he had failed her as her son. And for a moment he was content dying that way by the same husky axe he was convinced someone stained on her flesh, her blood sputtering over an elite uniform well-known and revered across the world as the hope she inspired did nothing to save her in the end. He was ready to die a failing coward who’s magic was advanced for his age but deficient when it truly mattered. He was ready to be beheaded like the Queen of Hearts herself, like he was certain his mom had been. 

He was ready for that legacy, not one of crying before his mom as he stuttered out broken apology after broken apology for not reaching her in time, longing for her to tell him sorry for deceiving him in such a harsh manner. To tell him that for once she was the mistaken one. But that moment never came. Only lectures followed as he sobbed for his mommy, a mommy who would never comfort or console him. A mommy who only existed in the depths of his imagination, someone he had to force into his mind to even gain the willpower to sprint down these halls as he searched for that proud, loving figure.

But his actual mom was not that loving figure. There was a reason she chose to test him this way, and there was also a reason behind the oppressive axe as her method of execution. There was a reason he was seconds late to her calculated demise and a reason he thought he had to die the same horrible death. The same death as the Queen of Hearts.

Not her too.

There were flashes of a short figure sitting on a throne; glimpses of a wide, cruel smile as soldier after soldier was sent to the guillotine. Memory after memory cycled of someone royal and absolute going over daily tasks Riddle had grown so accustomed to. Directing people to paint the roses, hosting Unbirthday parties and kicking out the guests unfit to reside at such a refined event. Only this time unruly subjects were given a harsher punishment than simple banishment. They were disposed of to make sure the same mistakes weren’t repeated down the line. But no one was to mourn in the Queen’s court, only obey the current rule set which offered no times for heartbroken liegemen.

For countless years their activities were outlined for them, their stories pre-written until someone new and daring appeared in Wonderland. A fair lady named Alice, always depicted as malicious and mischievous for disregarding the absurd rules of such an exotic queen. However, now the Queen’s destiny was chosen, her agenda hand-picked by those she once ruled. She was the one being dragged to her untimely end by the very subjects who should obey her. Only it wasn’t the Queen’s turn to atone.

It was Riddle’s. 

“MAKE IT STOP!” Riddle sounded increasingly desperate as he pushed you away once more. He was about to see himself die like the Queen he so virtuously admired. He would pay for all of her unjust punishments. He was left with his neck stretched across the bloodied plank of the guillotine, a sharpened blade raised high above his head ready to fall and end it all with one swipe. Or maybe it wasn’t sharpened. Maybe they wanted to see him suffer that much. Maybe those peasants wanted to see the Queen suffer that much as she shouted her last command to an audience now deaf to her cries. 

Riddle was gasping at the intake of knowledge. The tales always ended with the loyal subjects corrupted by a filthy miscreant named Alice. Why did she resemble you so much in this vision? You weren’t anything like her. You had no intention to harm Riddle or to taint the Queen’s name. So why were your graceful eyes looking upon him with such stinging pity? Why was your touch causing grandeur delusions beyond his control to prance along his brain like bunnies on a time crunch? And why did it all feel so real when the storybooks never lied to him before? Was this dorm, the Queen he held on such a high pedestal, really horrible enough that all it took was someone sweet like you to talk to the lowly peasants and humble nobles to overthrow her? To overthrow Riddle himself?

He swallowed hard as his skull ached, his shoulder blades burning as he backed himself farther into the thick wall behind him. You made no move to touch him, having realized he had seen enough to understand your purpose and the lie he’s been living. Even so, there was so much frantic confusion in each detailed memory that he craved for you to explain. 

“Why?” He croaked as he stared you down fearfully. “Why did you show me that?”

“Because you were living a lie,” you spoke soothingly, but it did nothing to ease the panic in his eyes. “You deserve to know the truth about those you look up to.”

“Y-you don’t understand,” his lip trembled. “I’ve made myself to be like them in every way. When I was overwhelmed trying to abide by my mom’s rules, I’d turn to the Queen of Hearts because her rules were simple. I could follow them. I was always right by her standards. But if she was wrong all along and so was my mother then… what does that make me?” 

You were unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t your intention to leave the boy’s ideals crumbling with the realization that his top role models weren’t deserving of such an incredible, dedicated follower. You wanted him to see that he didn’t need them anymore, but whenever everything he built his seventeen years of life upon could be linked back to his mother or the Queen of Hearts, you realized telling him might have been more detrimental to his health than anything else. And your silence to his question only further engrained this inferiority into his collapsing psyche. 

“I’m just as horrible, aren’t I?” He whispered loathingly. 

Once again you were silent. 

“ANSWER ME!” He shouted, tiny fists bawled in an attempt to deny their shaking. If only he knew that his entire body was quivering as he seethed, every ounce of showcased hostility suddenly evaporating as he backed into the wall again, almost cowering away as he became aware of his sudden lash out.

The trauma you unveiled, the bittersweet fairytale you wanted to share the true nature of despite Riddle’s solid belief in the tale he’s always been told, it was incomprehensible for someone so faithful. But what were you to do when your idea of showing him the grim reality wasn’t associated with the potential need to reassure such a fragmented boy of his own personal good deeds? 

“If you have nothing else to say,” he straightened his posture and hardened his expression, though the anxiety in his frame was still evident. “I’d appreciate it if you left.” 

“But-”

“Don’t. Just return to your dorm,” he more so pleaded than commanded. “Please.”

So you left him to his feelings like he asked you to. It was a mercy you stayed quiet if you truly viewed him as suffocating as those he idolized for their severe disciplines and the success that seeped like bitter sap from following such intensive mandates. He didn’t want to know the truth behind your maze-like emotions for him just as he didn’t care to uncover the honest goals of those he strived to imitate when he thought he already knew and lived by them anyway. But if everything he was boiled down to the distorted perception of a nonsensical empress and an imperious, overbearing mother, then what original shards of himself could he rely upon for revision of his old ways? How could he become more than a Queen’s foolish prophet or the successor of an illustrious healer?

Most importantly, where did their wicked influences end and his own sense of identity begin? 

If you enjoyed this, maybe I can write more following this realization of Riddle’s? I’ve also been told I write Riddle and his mom’s relationship really well so be prepared for more oofs involving that whole mess I’ll gladly accept headcanons you’d like to see play out between them. I’m here for your angsty needs, by all means ask away

[icantbraintoday-tryagainlater]

You are Expendable

You are a hard working individual Pride yourself on your work You show up early and stay late You never miss a meeting or an email “We are lucky to have you, You are such a great asset to the team. With everything you do, to show our gratitude We will fire you without question.” You work hard every day Put your heart and soul into the job You encourage your coworkers, teammates Take that overtime and bust your ass You don’t sleep, you think of what You can do better tomorrow Yet you are expendable. Your job does not need you You will be replaced by the end of the day. Your job does not value you, You are a commodity that can be replaced. Your skill is teachable, Your knowledge is common. The truth is you are expendable And they’ll replace you for their financial gain.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I should have known from the 1st day of training my job as a claim associate for a Big Name National Insurance Company that I would regret my decision to apply.

I should have known when within two days of training I was pulled to the side and written up. For my neighbor talking to me.

I should have known.

So this is all on me, I know, but I thought that this company would treat me right and it was only these two bitter old employees who were about to retire.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

the first year was amazing! I met new friends, I was great at my job, I had the best manager in the world! I was surprised that I could like working in Insurance. I was being talked to about advancement, different areas of the company I would excel at, and the right path to follow to achieve my goals.

Then She came along. Covid hit, we were all sent home, and a brand new manager took over my team. I didn’t think much of it, because honestly? She seemed fine. She was new to managing, but not new to the job. My biggest critique then had just been how much time she seemed to take off. She was NEVER there. Every other day she was taking a partial day. She took long weekends, took weeks off at a time. It was weird to say the least. 

But then the snippy emails came. The bitchy remarks.

My team suffered GREATLY. We went from being one of the top performing teams to suddenly being at the bottom. And all of these Outliers Reports that we had never heard of started becoming this huge deal.

Literally never heard of these reports, and then one week we were all on them. And it was a BIG DEAL (TM). Then we were getting in trouble for being in the wrong call states (the call states we have been told to be in for specific situations since we were trained were suddenly the wrong call states).

All of this I was willing to just deal with. But then...

Then my mom got sick. I got a call from my father at around 1 or 2PM Thursday, November 19, 2020. My mom was going to the ER because they thought she was having a stroke. I told my boss I couldn’t be at work and left for the day. Found out that it was a tumor, possibly cancer. Within 2 weeks she was in surgery to remove the mass and we found out it was Glioblastoma. The worst brain cancer.

And my friends and family kept asking “Is your work understanding? Being accommodating?” And I couldn’t say they were. They were the complete opposite of understanding.

I fought for a while to make them understand and to just ask for simple accommodations only to be met with “If you can’t do your job then go home.”

Below is a letter I wrote to HR.

“To whom it may concern,

My name is ______, and I work as a claims representative in the Auto Property Claims, Express. I am writing to you today to bring up some issues I have recently run into with the way Express is run, and I would like to discuss these with you and hopefully find a solution so if someone else is ever in my position, they are treated better.

Specifically, I would like to discuss how I was treated when I found out my mother was diagnosed with brain cancer.

I received a call on my first break on Thursday, November 19th, from my father. He told me that my mother was on her way to the ER. I immediately IM’d my manager, *blacked out*, and requested to leave, as my father cannot take care of my mother alone since he is blind. She simply said that she logged me out, and I did not think anything of her short reply.

I came back to work on Monday, November 23rd, because I had no more PTO, despite still waiting for my mother’s MRIs to come back with the official diagnosis. She was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on her brain.  I could not afford to take time off (and also welcomed a distraction), but knew I would not be much help on phones, so I asked for tasks and waited 40 minutes for a response.  However, She simply stated that it wasn't possible for me to do other tasks - that either I could answer calls and talk to customers while in crisis and crying or miss work and not get paid.

I understand there are rules and managers cannot change our schedules on a whim; however, it felt crass that she would not even discuss an alternative. In the past I know that myself and others have been given courtesy during extreme circumstances, so I had spoken with another team manager about it, and he told me he would speak with Jessica for me.

Right before close, however, I received a very snippy IM from Her stating the following: “Just so you know, I had spoken with my boss, *blocked*, about this. And she said we couldn’t do that. And you were logged out for 40 minutes earlier today so I took the liberty of changing your T2 for that as an Unscheduled PTO.”

Those 40 minutes were while I was waiting for her response and trying to get myself together after learning horribly devastating news. I also felt very attacked and that if I were to do anything that she did not like from now on that she would retaliate against me. I still feel as though she will retaliate against me just because I went to another manager with an issue that she did not appear to care about at all. 

She has also consistently been lacking in manager experience, as well. The most prominent example of this is that she will not (or possibly does not know how to) help with personal development, either within the company nor in my current job position. When she brings up any areas where I could do better, she simply tells me “do better,” and when I ask for advice on how to go about doing so because I feel as though I am doing all I can she simply tells me again “do better." I can provide examples if you would like.

I attempted to speak about this with HR, but they simply asked why I was upset that my manager was asking me to do my job. I felt isolated afterwards, and felt as though Big National Insurance Company in general does not care about their employees in the least. Our motto is Remarkable. But my experience during this tragic time of learning that my mother might not just have brain cancer, but may never regain control or strength of her left side (her dominant side) ever again, coupled with the fact that my father only went blind 3 years ago so I now have 2 disabled parents whom I may need to start taking care of on a regular basis, has been anything but remarkable

I was told to get CIGNA to look into ADA accommodations. However, I needed the accommodation immediately, and CIGNA can take weeks, if not months, to get established. In that moment I needed to know that I could do my job while also helping my family through this horribly difficult time, and I was told to jump through hoops like a circus animal and maybe I would still have a job after, but probably would not be paid for the time off. I could apply for the Employee Grant, but that’s not a guarantee, and I have to apply for it after I’ve already lost the pay. As I’m living paycheck to paycheck right now, that would mean I would probably be facing eviction by the time I would receive any assistance. 

Accommodations were simply thrown out the window and when my friends ask how I’m doing and if my job is being understanding, I cannot say that they are. Between the points system, which punishes you for being ill or having to care for family, and my boss’s cold, indifferent, and unsympathetic attitude towards me, I feel as though I am literally just a number, an expendable employee who is simply there to be a robot. 

As I stated at the beginning of this email, I would love the chance to discuss this with you to find a solution. So if anyone else is ever put in this position, they are treated with dignity, respect, and sympathy, rather than cold, unfeeling retaliation and robotic responses. So future employees do not have to jump through hoops in order to have simple and understandable accommodations made as they work on getting the rest lined up.

You can reach me at this email, my personal email *blocked*, or through text or calls at my cell number *blocked*. 

Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

*my name*

We had a lovely conversation with my boss, her boss, and a new HR rep. But did anything change? No. If anything, I started getting micromanaged even more.

There is so much more to the story than this, but I - I just don’t have the time or energy to type it up.

Maybe I will another day.

But in conclusion - I should have known. Shame on me for allowing myself to be fooled.

[noisyquokka]

A Whole Mess - Part 1

pairing: Felix x Reader (Ft. Chan & Changbin)

genre: Fluff

length: 3.2k

warnings: N/A

Gist- You and Felix spend an evening baking a gingerbread house from scratch and well… this isn’t the great Christmas bake-off.

A/N: I wrote this on a whim during one of my 3 am dazes so I apologize if this is mediocre compared to some of my other works. I was in a ‘cuddly bake with lixie’ kind of mood so maybe some of this makes no heckin’ sense haha uwu :’)

____________________________________________________________

“Felix!!!”

“Y/N!!!!”

You walked through the door of the dorms, grocery bags in hand. Today was five days before Christmas. Lucky for you and Felix, he and the boys had some time off. What did this mean, exactly?

Baking!

That’s right! You had stopped at the local shops to pick up what was needed for today and made your way to the dorms. So, here you were!

“Hey, you guys actually put the tree up before Christmas?!” You teased, placing the bags on the counter. You easily caught the eye-roll from the Aussie, playfully punching his arm.

“Ah! What was that for?!” He asked, his hand aiding the sore spot. You turned your head, eyebrows raised.

“What are you, a pillow?”

You made your way into the living area, plopping down on the couch next to Changbin. “Y/N!? I didn’t know you were coming!” You wrap your arms around him, grabbing the TV remote in the process.

“Felix!”

“What?! I didn’t tell anyone because of this!” He said, gesturing to the scene in front of him. It was your turn to roll your eyes. Almost every time you saw the boys, you and Changbin were basically inseparable. More often than not, it bothered Felix. After all, he was the one who introduced you to the guys. Why should Changbin get all your affection?

“Ah, come on Felix,” Changbin piped up beside you. “There’s no need to be jealous! I’m not gonna steal your precious Y/N today.”

You glanced up at the fiery-haired boy, whose tinted lips held a pout. “I’m not jealous…” You chuckled at his response, watching him turn towards the hallway. “Why would I be jealous of two of my favorite people cuddling without me?!”

“Ohh! Felix, come here!” You tried grasping his hand, only for him to shake his head and make his way to his bedroom, you following him like a puppy. Changbin watched in amusement, shaking his head.

“Buncha’ lovebirds…”

You scurried up to Felix’s door just in time for you to slip in and tackle him on his bed, giggles escaping you.

“You are so dramatic. And jealous!” You groaned, rolling off him.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!”

You both bickered back and forth a few minutes, the temperature of the room suddenly dipping. You sat up, rubbing your arms. Was the furnace broken?!

“Uh, Felix?” He lay beside you, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah?” He asked.

“Why’s your room about as cold as an icebox?”

“What do you mean? I’m comfortable!” He said, to which you sent him a look. “You’re joking right?” A shake of his head was all you needed in response. “I’m freezing! How on earth can you be comfortable??”

Felix shrugged, sitting up next to you. Then it hit you; the dude’s wearing a damn hoodie! As if you were surprised. Most of the time you spotted him wearing one, so the thought didn’t even occur to you that hey, that’s most likely why he feels totally comfy. While you feel like you’re visiting the North Pole! …Okay, okay. Too much?

Either way, Felix had taken off the hoodie and started to drape it over your shoulders, but you stopped him.

“What? If you’re cold, take my hoodie.” He insisted, still holding the piece of fabric.

“No! If you’re gonna make me suffer through this cold front, then you’re hoodie just won’t do!” He sat there, eyebrows furrowed in confusion until you spoke up once more.

“I’m gonna need some koala action, bud!”

With that, Felix pulled you down on the soft mattress next to him. His arm cradled you into his side, body heat quickly radiating onto you. You could already feel yourself slowly drifting into a slumber when Felix spoke up.

“Better?”

“Much!” You replied, relaxing in his embrace. It had been a while since the two of you cuddled like this. Considering the amount of traveling and promoting the boys had done the past year, you agreed with the fact that they definitely deserved a break.

You’d been so close to falling asleep again until you felt something hit your back. You would’ve let it go, too, had it not happened two more times. The familiar laugh had you feeling around for a pillow, throwing it carelessly towards the door.

“Ey! You have no respect for your elders!”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll throw another, Chan!”

You heard Felix chuckle, his chest vibrating beneath your head. Chan gave you two a teasing grin, pointing the nerf gun at you. “You two are ridiculous!” You smiled, wrapping your arms around Felix more. “Ah, I know! I’m soooo disgusted!” You cooed, squeezing him like a plushie.

“My god, I see the light! Goodbye cruel world!”

You let go, playfully ruffling his hair before sitting up. You turned your attention back to the blond in the doorway. “We having a nerf war?” You asked, earning a grin from Chan. He shrugged, glancing down at the piece of plastic in his grip. “Nah, I just saw you guys being all cuddly. Thought I’d drop in and interrupt!” He said, popping you in the shoulder with another foam bullet.

“How old are you again?” You joked, picking up the 4 bullets from the mattress. Chan scrunched his nose, dropping the nerf gun on the floor next to him. “Hey, adults can be childish sometimes too!” He said, defending himself. Felix sat up shaking his head at the both of you. “We were trying to enjoy Christmas break here, in case you couldn’t tell!” Chan glanced between you and Felix, furrowing his brow.

“Would you two just start dating already!?”

This earned Chan not one, but two pillows to the head. “Come on, bro. You know we’re just really good friends.” Felix said, pulling you into his side. You nodded in agreement, giggling at how affectionate he could be. “Really good friends is the equivalent of literal lovebirds in this case,” Chan remarked, gesturing to the scene in front of him.

“You see it too?”

Changbin stuck his head in the room, a teasing smirk on his lips. Chan nodded, gesturing him to come in. “A blind man could see this!” You and Felix groaned in unison, pulling one another back on the mattress. Chan slapped Changbin’s arm, pointing at you guys. “See, they’re even doing that thing!” Changbin nodded in agreement. “They are!”

“What the hell are you two on about?” You asked, bringing a hand up to your face. “Yes, what ‘thing’ are you talking about?” Felix added.

“Like…. that couples intuition thing!” Changbin said. Both of you sat up again, in unison…

“No, we’re not!”

O-Okay… maybe you did have that type of intuition. You and Felix shared a look, both of you looking away at the same time. Chan jumped on the opportunity to tease you about it. “See! You did it again!!”

“Would you two just get out!” You groaned, not even hiding the smile on your lips. “You’re about as creepy as the twins from The Shining,” Changbin mumbled, glancing between the two of you. You looked around for another pillow to throw at them, only to come up short. Until your eyes landed on the nerf gun Chan had dropped in the doorway. You quickly shot up from the bed, grabbed the gun off the floor and aimed it at the guys. A quick two shots were fired, one for each boy. “Ow! Ow! Quit it, will you!” Chan yelled, attempts to cover his body completely futile. You trained the gun on him once more, sending the leader a glare. “You two grandpas better find your way out!” You teased, Felix’s laugh erupting from beneath his blankets. When did he do that?

“Who you calling grandpa, Y/N! I’m older than you!” Changbin reminded, bringing his hand up to snatch the nerf gun from your grasp. “Yeah, if anyone’s a grandpa, it’s Chan!” Felix said, pulling another nerf gun from beneath the blankets and shooting him square in the chest. Changbin laughed, causing Chan to smack him on the back of the head. “You guys can’t switch this around on me! We were talking about you and Felix!” He scolded, but the three of you were too busy collectively giggling to hear Chan’s words.

“Oh, by the way! You guys left the grocery bags out in the kitchen. You should put the stuff away before something spoils.”

That’s right! The groceries.

“Chan! You’re a lifesaver!” You shouted, dropping the nerf gun and wrapping your arms around the taller blond. “Hey, last I heard I was a grandpa! Don’t try to sweet-talk me now!” He teased, before finally reciprocating the embrace. “Okay, okay. Break it up! Felix is getting jealous again!” Changbin announced, quickly earning a flick to the head by the ginger-haired boy. “Ah! Stop!”

You grabbed a hoodie off Felix’s bed, slipping it on before wrapping your arms around said boy to keep him from attacking his best friend. “I think it’s time you and I head out to the kitchen and start baking that gingerbread before the stuff goes bad.” You murmured, resting your chin atop Felix’s right shoulder. He relaxed in your embrace, nodding in agreement. The boy then turned his head to place a kiss on your cheek, quickly escaping your grasp and breaking for the hallway.

“Hurry up, then! We’re making a masterpiece tonight!”

The two boys exchanged a look before quickly turning to you, eyebrows raised. You sighed, knowing exactly what those looks were for. “You’re telling me you two aren’t hopelessly in love with each other?” Changbin deadpanned, Chan chuckling next to him. You smacked him on the arm, standing up from the bed. “It was just a peck on the cheek! You know he does it all the time, leave him be!” You said, blood rushing to your cheeks. And you knew the guys couldn’t let that go!

“If he does it all the time, then what’s this?” Chan asked, bringing a hand up to brush your hair out of your face. Chan was right. Why were you blushing? You swatted his hand away, crossing your arms. Both of them ahhed at your reaction, your eyes looking anywhere but at the two boys before you.

“Why do you guys always pull this?”

“It’s not a regular thing, Y/n,” Changbin said, a grin setting on his lips. “But you totally have a crush on Felix!” You scoffed at the word. Crush? Ha, no way!

It was true, Felix always did cheesy things like that. It seemed to be the basis to your friendship. If you were being honest, you loved when he did it. It made you feel special in a way, and Felix loved hearing the giggles that escaped you every time. Yeah, your friendship could be and had been mistaken for more than… on a few occasions, actually. But you agreed with Felix; you were both happy to be 'very good friends’ – as he’d said earlier – and neither of you had time for relationships anyway. You were busy with college, Felix was busy with Stray Kids. Things just weren’t right for a serious relationship at the moment, and that wasn’t a bad thing. You both made more than enough memories to last more than a dozen relationships anyway, so what was the point?

“You do realize he’s gonna eat most of the batter before the gingerbread is even finished, right?” Chan said, changing the subject as you both made your way out of the bedroom. Changbin walked behind slowly, phone in hand. “Oh, I do! That’s why I bought extra ingredients.”

“What?!”

You chuckled. “I know Felix too well! There’s no way he’s gonna ruin our Christmas festivities because he wants to sneak batter every 3 minutes.” Even Changbin snorted at that, almost running into the corner of the wall from looking down at his phone. You made your way into the kitchen, all the ingredients out on the counter to your surprise. Your eyes trailed to the boy sitting behind the kitchen island, hands under chin, a Cheshire smile on his lips.

“You took so long, I almost started without you!”

You scoffed, setting your tablet on the counter. “We were, what? Like 2 minutes behind you, Felix. Plus you don’t have the recipe, I do!” You told him, pulling up said recipe on the screen. He groaned, hopping off the stool to stand beside you.

“Would you be a dear and grab some bowls?” You asked, sifting through one of the drawers for the needed measuring cups.

“Yes, Grandma…”

Chan caught that instantly, his laughter echoing throughout the dorm. And this time, you didn’t have any pillows or nerf guns around. Only plastic measuring cups… Yeah, those will work!

“Shit, alright! Alright, Y/N! I’m sor- Ah, Felix! Help me out here!”

The measuring cup in your hand was quickly ripped from your fingers, and instead, you opted to flick the boy next to you in the forehead. “Call me a grandma again and I’ll lock you out with nothing but your undies on!” You warned a playful smirk finding its way to Felix’s lips. “I’d love to see you try! But really, of all the options you had!! You know I couldn’t help myself!” Felix said, trying to defend his remark. You rolled your eyes, grabbing the bowls from him. “You are such a dork!”

He stuck his tongue out like a child, starting to gather the ingredients listed on your tablet. Meanwhile, you started on the icing so it’d be ready when the gingerbread was done baking. Things were going great until you had passed by Felix to grab a measuring cup.

“Felix, you’re gonna get sick if you keep eating that raw!”

He glanced up at you, rolling his eyes in the process. The batter was stuck above his lip, which you quickly wiped off with your thumb. “You’re like a child!” You muttered.

“Do you know how many times I’ve eaten raw cookie dough and have been just fine?” He asked, taking another spoonful from the bowl. You knew this was going to be a losing fight, so you just sighed.

“You get sick, don’t cry for me to take care of you! Talk to Changbin!” You said, going back to the icing. “You didn’t mix that completely either. The batter should be smooth.” At this, Felix looked down at the mixture, batter still in his mouth. He shrugged, continuing to mix the ingredients until it became smooth enough to move on to the next step.

“Alright, now what?”

You looked up from your mixing bowl.

“Get 2 cups of water, I got the flour.” You said, grabbing the needed measuring cup. You both set to work, measuring the last two things needed for the batter. Everything was going swimmingly, too! Until Chan popped back in. And when one says popped in, he literally popped in! You sighed, staring down at the flour that now spread across the kitchen floor.

“Christopher!”

His eyes widened at your tone. Felix had turned around, too. You sounded like a parent getting ready to scold your child. Chan’s expression didn’t change, looking to Felix as if he didn’t believe what he’d heard.

“Did you just-”

You had only realized what you’d said after a moment. You bent down to pick the measuring cup off the floor, using the kitchen island as a sort of cover from your embarrassment. Only from Chan really, considering Felix stood right behind you with a knowing grin on his face. You picked up the measuring cup, setting it on the counter before poking your head over the edge to get a look at Chan. A blush accompanied your cheeks at his expression.

You never called Chan by his birth name. Ever since you started hanging with the guys, you had always referred to the leader as Chan. Nothing else. Funny thing was, you couldn’t wrap your head around why you didn’t. Now all you could do was sit there in embarrassment over something as small as a name! You stifled a giggle, slipping back behind the counter. The more you thought about it, though, the more it cracked you up. Soon enough your giggles turned into full-on laughter.

“What’s she laughing at?” You heard Chan ask. Felix glanced down at you, honestly confused as ever. But your giggles were music to his ears.

“I uh, I think she’s broken, Chan.” He said, trying to stifle his own laughter. And to him your laugh was contagious, no matter the reason. Your cover quickly became useless when Chan made his way around the counter to get a glimpse of you. You were leaned against the cupboard door, one arm around your stomach, the other over your mouth. Felix leaned against the opposite counter, taking in your current state.

“Alright, I’m gonna go grab a broom,” Chan muttered, his own smile tugging at his lips as he walked away. You finally calmed down a bit, getting a hand up from Felix. Who was still very amused over all of this!

“I can’t believe after a year and a half, I finally broke!”

You covered your face as Chan came walking back in, broom in hand. He grinned at your sudden shy state around him, his dimples showing as he walked up to you with open arms.

“And here I thought you’d never call me Chris. Like, ever!” He said, resting his chin on your head. You let out a groan. Will he ever let you live this down now? “Why haven’t you, anyway?”

“Yeah, I’m curious about that too,” Felix added, getting back to the gingerbread mix. You sighed in defeat.

“If I’m being completely honest, I have no idea! I guess I just got so used to calling you Chan that Chris was out of the question?” You admitted as Chan let you go. You leaned over the counter next to Felix, watching him mix the rest of the ingredients together.

“I’m not sure I wanna hear you call me Christopher ever again after that.” He joked, sweeping up the mess he had caused. “You took me back to my childhood with that tone you used!” You chuckled, making sure there was room in the fridge to chill the dough.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out in that tone! I was more surprised than I was angry.” You said. Felix shot you a side-eye glance at your response, handing you the mixing bowl. “What?!”

“You totally meant for it to come out that way!”

You placed the bowl in the fridge, closing the door as Felix preheated the oven.

“I did not!” You argued, starting to clean up what wrappers and empty containers had been strewn across the kitchen island. You set the timer for checking on the dough, turning to Felix.

“Alright, we’ve got a half-hour or so to sit back and wait.” You said, clapping your hands together. “What do we wanna do in the meantime?” Chan had finished cleaning up the spilled flour, washing his hands at the sink. Felix shrugged, grabbing your tablet off the kitchen counter.

“How about you and I pla-”

Your hand was over his mouth in seconds, interrupting his suggestion.

“We’re not playing Fortnite again, Felix!” You said, taking your tablet from his hands. You heard him groan, a pout visible on his lips.

“Fine, back to the bedroom it is then!” He muttered. And before you could protest, he was sweeping you off your feet and racing towards the hall. Your squealing and laughter caused Changbin to take his eyes off the TV, catching the smirk on Chan’s face as he followed Felix only as far as the living room.

“Not saying they’re gonna date in the future…” Chan trailed off, snatching his notebook off the coffee table as he sat down. The rapper next to him scoffed.

“Who are you shitting? They’re definitely gonna date in the future!”

Both boys chuckled amongst themselves, Chan shaking his head before finally getting back to the lyrics in his notebook.

___________________________________________________________

There will be a part 2 since my dazed ass is capable of writing a 300 page essay at 3 am so stay tuned for that 🤙🏻

[minijenn]

Universe Falls Chapter 77, Part 1

Ah boy time to start arc 8′s mini arc that everyone keeps forgetting about in the shortest chapter UF has had in a LONG while. Also I wrote this in like, the span of 12 hours so... ya know. Enjoy! (also please don’t read this on here, dumblr won’t carry over how this is SUPPOSED to be formatted so please go read it on Ao3 or FF.net to get the experience of how this chapter is SUPPOSED to look) 

Previous: https://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/190860858504/universe-falls-chapter-76

***

Chapter 77: Adventures in the Multiverse

Part 1: The Nightmare Realm

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Within the quiet solitude of his private study in the second sublevel below the shack, Ford had always found that he’d been able to find comfort and solace solely in the simplicity of his own research. Even thirty years ago, the author would frequently retreat to this tranquil space, take a seat in his favorite chair at his favorite desk, and lose himself in his work on the journals, eagerly documenting his latest discoveries within the pages of his trio of journals. Away from the world and awash in his own thoughts, reflections, and recollections, a better place to be some nights than others, especially when it came to the nights when it had still been him sitting at that desk, only with someone else taking the reigns of his mind instead. 

Yet that was far from the case on this particular night as Ford described the latest happenings in the later pages of his lattermost journal. A rather uneventful entry given that the day had been sparse of any supernatural or alien encounters, yet the author still found documenting his thoughts and observations a worthy use of his time all the same. 

Once again I was faced with an all-too familiar question today, one that I’ve been hearing more and more frequently from the children as of late. First it came from Dipper, not surprising given his admirable drive to learn and discover everything and anything he can (not unlike myself when I was younger). Then it came from Steven, likely as a result of the Gems leaving him out of the loop (I’ve come to understand they tend to do that to him from time to time, poor lad). But oddly enough, today it came from Mabel, which admittedly caught me off guard. Perhaps curiosity has been getting the better of all three of them in their recent idle time. Even so, as usual, I had no suitable answer to that inquiry. Sometimes it seems as though I never really will either. 

The author paused his pen, letting out a long sigh as he glanced up from the journal to the flickering candlelight coming from the wick set before him. He’d never been particularly fond of dwelling on the past and yet he constantly found himself doing so all the same whether he wanted to or not. And yet this, like many things he’d been through back in the day, was one lengthy span of time he was far from keen on dwelling on. 

Which was exactly why he tried everything he could to avoid it. And yet that familiar question, whether it was from one of the kids, one of the Gems, or someone else entirely, still always seemed to follow him all the same: 

“Where were you for the past 30 years?”

It’s not that I’m afraid or even that hesitant to discuss any of it. The problem is, I never know how to begin or what to reveal. A lot can happen in the span of 30 years, and in my case, a great deal did happen. Moments of triumph, moments of despair, moments of fear, spread so far and so broad across so many scattered dimensions. Some days it feels as though it’s not over yet, even now that I’m back in the comfort of my own home. It’s hard to say if I’ll ever truly be able to make sense of it all, but… maybe it might be worth the effort to, at the very least, try. 

Try. Try to confront something that he’d been avoiding ever since he stepped through the portal back into his basement lab. Try to stitch together the pieces of a story that spanned worlds, galaxies, even dimensions themselves. Try to face a past he’d just as rather leave behind entirely. 

I suppose trying is the best I can do in this case. And perhaps writing about some of it here will help me get my thoughts in order. Perhaps it’s time I finally reveal… 

My Journey

I remember those first moments after I was cast into the portal like it was yesterday. 

"Stanley! Please! Tell Rose Quartz I’m sorry!” His last message to his brother, or more precisely, to the pink Gem, echoed all around him through the bright white void he’d found himself sucked into. A void that led to what could very well become his demise, a thought that he barely even had time to grapple with as he tumbled through the empty light. 

The sudden feeling of weightlessness, the helpless terror, knowing that I would soon face whatever mysterious horror had driven Fiddleford to madness. 

As I felt myself being sucked away from my home (a dimension I would come to learn is referred to in the multiverse as 514÷Y), I held my breath and accepted that this could be the end. 

As luck would have it, it was only the beginning. 

In a startling flash, the white void faded away, finally allowing Ford his first (albeit somewhat blurry) glimpse as to what lay beyond it. Initially, it almost looked like a vast expanse of endless stars, much like an earthly spacescape would appear. Yet in a striking instant, that all changed, the stars burning out as the dark skies turned blood crimson. From there, that red violently exploded into a sickening shade of green, mingled with clashing pinks and oranges. Over and over again, the expanse shifted colors, constantly changing on its own wild whims as it swirled with a chaotic, unstable sort of energy, one that Ford could feel from the moment he found himself caught within it. 

Swimming through the gravity-free area of lightning and swirling colors, I reached into my pocket for a spare pair of glasses (always handy, considering how often I break them) and found myself staring at, quite literally, a living nightmare. 

As a speeding torrent of blazing asteroids rushed past him, the author jolted with fear, still largely overwhelmed with shock to do much else. Disoriented as he was, some small part of his mind still tried clinging onto logic amidst the dangerous disorder he was now lost within. And as he took another look around his hectic new surroundings, he starkly realized where it all was.

“And what is on the other side of that portal, Ford?” Rose had asked him, her voice tight and intense with growing dread. 

“What did you really have us build down here, Stanford?” Pearl had demanded harshly, glaring at him with immense suspicion all the while. “A portal to another dimension, or something far more sinister?” 

“I know what I saw in there!” Fiddleford had cried in a wild-eyed panic as he pointed an accusing finger at the portal he’d just barely been recovered from. “It was a nightmare, plain n’ simple!”

“Let’s just say that when that portal finishes charging up, your dimension is really gonna learn how to PARTY! Right guys?” Bill had cheerfully encouraged his “friends”, a group of ghouls and monsters all eagerly awaiting the portal’s completion just as much as the dream demon himself was. Something that their sinister whispers had been reminding him of on a near-constant, maddening loop for the past several weeks now: 

“The door is open…”

Ford gasped, much louder than he had meant to as the sound echoed through the immense empty space around him. His heart was hammering his chest, his panic rising as he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt exactly where he now was. 

I found myself sucked through the door to the place Bill had designated the portal to access, a place called many different things: the dimension between dimensions, the in-between space, the gateway to other worlds… 

The Nightmare Realm. The very place Bill Cipher himself calls home. 

Bill’s universe is not exactly a dimension, but rather a boiling, shifting, intergalactic foam between dimensions--a lawless, unstable crawl space between worlds that only the strangest and most unknowable beings call home. And as the portal closed behind me, I found myself trapped there, possibly for eternity. 

The entirety of the Nightmare Realm rippled with yet another wave of electric, chaotic energy, one that rattled Ford to the core with terror just as much as all of the others had before it. And yet, this one was the most terrifying by far as he spun around in the weightless space-scape, only to find a sight that made his heart sink all the way to his stomach. For the very same white void he’d emerged here from, the portal itself, his sole gateway back home to everything he’d ever known, simply exploded. In a burst of blinding, bitter light, it was wiped away like a star in a supernova, leaving nothing, no gateway out, no way to escape, left in its wake. 

He was trapped here, armed with only the clothes on his back and nothing else to ensure his survival. The chances of which, he knew, were likely ridiculously low, if they were even existent at all. He was lost, with no hope and no help. For certainly, no one would be able to come to his rescue in a place like this; not Stan, not Fiddleford, not any of the Gems, not even Rose herself. And that was perhaps the very worst part of it all: he was alone. 

Though the truth of it was, he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Though considering the company that was about to find him, he’d very soon wish he was. 

The constant dull, inconsistent clamor that filled the Nightmare Realm was suddenly broken, shattered like glass with a piercing, shrill laugh that Ford was far too familiar with by this point. Once again, the realm shifted, landing the author in another setting entirely, one streaked in sharp shadows and the bright, bizarre sets of eyes that belonged to those shadows. Yet Ford hardly paid them any mind as he instead seized up with fear while that laugh, that wild, insane, undeniable laugh rang loud and clear in his ears, just as it had in the fitful nightmares he’d been having as of late. 

He knew exactly what he’d find if he turned around, exactly who he’d have to face. And worse yet, this time, he wouldn’t merely be facing him in dreams; he’d be facing him on his own home turf. Quite frankly, he was surprised that the dream demon hadn’t already killed him the moment he found him in his realm. But Bill was never one to get to the point, which was why Ford figured he’d do so instead. 

Before I had a moment to properly panic over my fate, I realized that I was hovering before Bill himself, who was perched on a bizarre throne made of optical illusions, flanked by an army of strange and shadowy beasts. 

On his throne, Bill sat surprisingly calmly, as if he was hardly even surprised to see Ford, of all people in the dimension he called home. If anything, the dream demon seemed delighted, leaning forward slightly as he finally greeted the terrified author as brightly as he always did. “Look who finally decided to pay me a visit!” he quipped, his voice echoing through the infinity all around them. “Not that I wasn’t expecting you to show up, Sixer. After your poor buddy Glasses got a glimpse of the place a few weeks ago, I knew you wouldn’t be too far behind!”

This callous mention of his former friend was finally enough to shake Ford out of his initial fear, setting him off with a fuel of righteous fury toward the demon who had been tormenting him for so long now. “B-Bill…” he began, forcing himself to be steady in the face of his hated foe. “I-if you think you’ve won, then you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t know if you just saw what I did, but the portal closed. It’s over, Cipher. You lose!”

Despite this bold claim, Bill simply let out another haughty laugh, hovering off his throne a bit to gain even more height as he towered high above the author. “Aw, c’mon, Fordsy, don’t tell me you’re THAT deluded! You really think that portal of yours shutting itself down is gonna stop me? Some dumb sap is bound to come along and get it running again eventually. And till then, I’ve got all the time in the world to wait. Unlike you, Sixer. Get it? ‘Cause your time is about to run out? It’s FUNNY!”

“You’re wrong!” Ford shot back fiercely. “That portal will never reopen again, Rose will make sure of it! I know she will!”

“Oh yeah, cause ol’ Quartzy is soooo reliable,” Bill rolled his eye. “That’s why she left you hanging out to dry when your first test run went south, huh? Or why she’s NOT here to save you, her human of the week or the decade or whatever, from me! Right? RIGHT?”

“I-I don’t want her to come here to save me!” the author argued, his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides. “I don’t want anyone ever opening that portal; it should have been destroyed, just like Rose said.” Ford paused at this, letting out a sad, remorseful sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “And if I’d just listened to her in the first place, then I wouldn’t have ended up here…”

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve, but you DIDN’T!” the dream demon mocked almost mirthfully, clearly taking pleasure in this entire situation as a whole. “But tell me, Sixer; wouldn’t you want somebody to get that portal up and running again? It’d give you a chance to get out of here, prolong your ultimately destined-to-end-anyway life a bit instead of having it cut short just by being here! After all, humans don’t tend to last long in the Nightmare Realm. We play a bit… rough around here, don’t we, boys?”

Bill’s horde of accompanying, unknown demons all let out a round of hearty, sadistic chuckles at this, laughter that sent a chill down Ford’s spine yet he refused to back down regardless. “I don’t care about going back to my own dimension,” he said firmly, and he meant it. After all, it wasn’t like there was very much left there for him anyway now. “Just as long as you’re kept out of it too, that’s all that matters to me.”

“Aw, so Brainiac wants to play the big, tough hero now, huh?” Bill scoffed flippantly. “Hate to break it to ya, Sixer, but I’m bound to get what I want either way. But it’s a shame you won’t be around to watch me tear the fabric of your dimension to shreds and grind those Crystal Chumps you care so much about to spacedust. ‘Cause ya see, Stanford, I’m not the one who’s about to lose here. YOU ARE!”

The dream demon’s golden form turned a harsh, deadly red at this, his eye pitch black as its white pupil glared down at the frightened author relentlessly. And as his usual bright blue flames erupted all around him, his eagerly watching cronies and cohorts all began to gather in closer, ready to attack. 

“CARE FOR A GAME OF INTERGALACTIC CHESS?!” Bill shrieked, his booming voice rattling the entire Nightmare Realm as it took on the same sort of aggressive crimson as its king. “THIS TIME, YOU’RE THE PAWN!” 

He snapped his fingers and one of his beasts, a 60-foot-fall ball of fingers and teeth, let out a howl like a humpback whale and charged a me, fingers and teeth wiggling and gnashing! Though I hadn’t had much time to think or plan since my arrival in the Nightmare Realm, I knew right off the bat that escaping was my only chance at survival. 

Acting on adrenaline and instinct, Ford forced himself to spin around amidst the gravity-free expanse, frantically swimming forward in midair as the monster lunged toward him hungrily. It nearly caught him too, though the author barely managed to outmaneuver it, dodging its path in just the nick of time. Still, he was close enough to it as it passed him by to give him a window of opportunity, exactly the one he needed to get away. 

For right as the creature began turning itself back around, Ford pushed himself to “jump” onto one of its many massive hands, using it as something of a springboard to propel himself away from the monster entirely. With this newfound momentum, the author sailed through the ever-changing realm quite a distance, putting some much-needed distance between himself and the monster as it attempted to right itself and go after him. 

And in time, it did so, tailing him as he continued pushing himself through space with as much force and speed as he possibly could. However, the monster was every bit as persistent as he was, intent on acting on Bill’s orders and catching its prey as it continued the chase without any signs of ceasing. Fortunately for Ford, however, as he turned his sights forward once again, he found just the cover he needed to end it. Or at the very least, give him a much-needed chance to breathe amidst all of the endless insanity he was up against. 

I managed to hide behind an asteroid field in the nick of time as the monstrosity passed me by, and I swam through the air in a panic as multiple beasts tore through the space rocks, searching for me.

As the author took refuge in a dense collection of asteroids, he could hear a series of approaching roars and rumbles, no doubt from all of Bill’s other beasts as they all assembled to go after him as well. Unsure of what else to do, Ford pressed tight against one of the larger rocks, hoping that he wouldn't be seen. Without any sort of weapon to speak of, there would be no fighting back against creatures as dangerous and unpredictable as these, which meant that escaping from them as all he could really do. Or, at the very least, hiding in the hopes that he could come up with some sort of plan to put an end to this madness before it was too late. And fortunately, it seemed as though some small shamble of luck was still somehow on his side in his otherwise luckless plight. For as he dashed toward another asteroid to hide behind, he happened to spot an even better escape instead. 

Fleeing for my life, I miraculously managed to take shelter in the crater of a large passing asteroid as the monsters swarmed by. Hidden deep within the recesses of the stony caverns, I could hear Bill’s shrill voice: 

“SIXER WANTS TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK! FIRST ONE TO FIND HIM AND BRING HiM TO ME GETS THEIR OWN GALAXY!”

It was followed by the manic laughter of creatures large and small racing off to locate me. I was so crazed from fatigue and rage that my first impulse was to give myself up to Bill so I could curse him right to his face. And at the time, I figured I might as well do exactly that since the chances of me realistically making it out of the hellish dimension I was now trapped in here were essentially none. 

With Bill’s horde of monsters and demons successfully evaded for the time being, Ford had finally found a moment to rest, not that he actually found any such solace in it though. Instead, the author slumped down against the cavern wall, staring off into the immense darkness ahead so he wouldn’t have to look back into the endlessly shifting scape of the Nightmare Realm in its place. 

Had it really just been mere moments ago that he had been standing back in his own basement lab, face to face with his twin brother? Had it really been a mere moment, just one unfortunate second that had turned his life upside down, or rather, had ruined it completely? The author knew he had a long list of people he could pin the blame on for his disastrous plight: Stan, Bill, himself. And yet that blame would hardly do him much good here. Because as long as he remained entrenched in the horrors of the Nightmare Realm, then he was essentially just waiting to die. 

The moment he realized this fact was the same moment he realized he was shaking, his hands trembling with cold fear that had filled him from the second he arrived in this awful place. When he had been a young, innocent boy, he’d always dreamed of going on some grand, high-stakes adventure, a dream that both him and Stan had shared. But now that he was actually living that dream, or nightmare rather, it was far from anything he’d once hoped it would be. 

Amidst that chilling terror, he could also feel warmth, building up behind his eyes as they started to turn wet. A small sob choked its way out of his throat as he hugged his knees close to his chest. Briefly, he was finally able to take stock of his tattered lab coat, his fresh pair of glasses already slightly cracked from the fray he’d narrowly managed to escape. Yet none of that even remotely mattered to him now. What did matter were all of the things he was all-too-quickly realizing he’d never get to do. 

He’d never see his home again, be within the familiarity of the house that sat in the shadow of a temple he’d come to see as a beacon of hope and security. He’d never see the constant stars resting over the peaceful waters of the lake or hear the morning birds greet another crisp Oregonian morning. He’d never write within the pages of his treasured journals, or explore all that the strange, yet beautiful town of Gravity Falls, a place he’d come to lose so much in such a short amount of time.

He’d never get to make amends with Fiddleford for the harrowing experience he’d put him through. He’d never get to apologize to Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl for dragging them into his disaster. He’d never be able to tell Rose just how much he valued her friendship, how much he wished he could win her trust back and how much he had trusted her, how he still trusted her, even despite everything, in turn. And even though some part of him was furious, outraged that Stan’s foolishness had gotten him into this mess in the first place, another part of him still mourned that he’d never get to see his brother again either. 

He would never be able to go home again. And given the mounting list of disastrous mistakes he’d made, it was probably the only fate he knew he really deserved.

Ford had all but lost himself to grief over that fact when suddenly, a small, yet still prominent noise coming from deeper within the cave he’d taken shelter in. Slowly and carefully, the author rose to stand, peering deeper into the darkness where the faint whispers were coming from. He was hesitant to follow them, initially believing them to be coming from more of Bill’s henchmen, lurking in the shadows, just waiting to attack. And yet, these soft, almost scared whispers were a far cry from the raving, manic screams and shrieks of the monsters outside. Which was exactly why Ford allowed curiosity to get the better of him as he stepped into the darkness, not knowing what he’d find. 

What he did manage to find, however, was perhaps the last thing he could have ever expected. 

Pressing further ahead into the cavern, I discovered that I was sharing my hiding spot with a shivering family of intergalactic refugees. 

Sure enough, a group of four alien creatures of varying species and sizes sat, each of them bandaged and war-torn in different ways as they desperately tried to keep themselves warm around their small, strangely glittering purple fire. Ford stopped short just shy of approaching them, stunned by their presence as they were by his when they caught sight of him. And yet, instead of pulling out any sort of weapons to attack, the group offered the author a series of sympathetic, consoling looks as their leader, squat, snaggletoothed, guinea pig-like creature with an eyepatch and a mechanical arm, calmly beckoned him forward. 

“You lost your way out there too?” he asked with something of a folksy draw to his tone. “Can’t blame ya, you wouldn’t be the first. C'mere and join the rest of us lost souls. Warmin’ up ‘round the fire is leagues better than tryin’ your chances out there, that’s for sure.”

Ford said nothing at first, eyeing the group warily until he realized their leader was right. At the very least, these creatures didn’t see intent on eating him alive like Bill’s were. 

“T-thank you,” the author said, holding his hands out toward the violet flames in the hopes that the warmth would finally cease their endless shaking. “If you don’t mind me asking… what exactly are all of you and… what are you doing in… well, to put it lightly, here?”

“Heh,” one of the other members of the group, a small, somewhat pig-like creature chuckled bitterly. “Ain’t that the story of the multiverse?”

“A tale of great sadness and woe indeed,” the most reptilian creature of the group, complete with a long neck and a bandaged stub of an arm shook his head morosely. 

“One that’s probably not bound to get a happy ending at this point,” the final member of the group, a horned, fanged creature sighed tiredly. 

“But before we get into that depress fest,” the leader grumbled, shaking his head at his despairing friends. “Allow us to introduce ourselves first. The name’s Yottos. Put ‘er there.” Ford shook the robotic hand Yottos offered to him before he began to go through the rest of the refugees. “That’s Hocoh,” he nodded to the pig-like creature on the other side of the fire. “He’s Qharquains.” The reptilian creature waved his stub of a bandaged arm in greeting. “And he’s-”

“I’m George,” the horned creature finished bluntly, catching the author quite off guard. 

“Huh… that’s a… surprisingly normal name,” Ford pointed out with a frown. 

“You kiddin’? It’s the strangest name in the whole dang multiverse!” Hocoh laughed, slapping his knee. Likewise, Yottos and Qharquains also joined in on the bout of laughter, flustering George in the process. 

“So you guys keep saying!” he grumbled petulantly. “Y-you’re just mad ‘cause your names aren’t as cool as mine! You!” he looked to Ford somewhat suspiciously. “What’s your name, newbie?”

“Oh, I-I’m Stanford,” the author introduced himself. “Stanford Pines.”

The refugees fell silent at this as they all looked to the author incredulously. “Hm. And I thought George was an odd name...” Qharquains remarked, eliciting another frustrated growl from George as the other two refugees laughed once more. 

“Guys! Stop it!” 

“Now then, Stanford Pines,” Yottos began, his tone turning serious as he looked to the author once more. “Ya asked for our story and here it is. We were just a bunch of humble asteroid miners, hard at work for an honest day’s livin on the stardust fields just off of Oloxion 9.”

“We were just ‘bout to head home for the day when BAM! FLASH!” Hocoh exclaimed dramatically. “A GIANT wormhole shows up, clean outta nowhere, and sucks our ship inside with all us on it!”

“When we all came to, we found ourselves drifting here, within the forbidden gateway between worlds,” Qharquains explained evenly. “With our ship irreparably damaged, we were lost, in the very place where all things in the multiverse that go missing tend to end up in.”

“We barely managed to escape from all of those… horrible monsters…” George shuddered fearfully. “And we’ve been hiding out here ever since, both from them… and… f-from him…”

“...You mean… Bill?” Ford ventured, only to receive a sharp and sudden reaction from the refugees. A round of horrified shrieks rose up from the group, panic filling their expressions as they covered their ears to try to avoid hearing the dream demon’s name in any way possible. Somewhat confused, the author looked between the frightened members of the group, both understanding their alarm and trying to make sense of it all at the same time. “Is… something wrong?”

“Do not speak the demon’s name!” Qharquains warned fearfully. “He has ears everywhere here…”

“He’ll hear you, t-then show up here, a-and DESTROY US ALL!” George cried, shaking as he pulled his hood over his eyes. 

“If you’re here, then you gotta know,” Hocoh said sternly, seriously. “That demon, nah, that monster is nothin’ but trouble!”

“Tch, don’t I know it,” Ford scoffed bitterly, crossing his arms. “Believe it or not, I used to consider Bill--er, t-that… demon,” the author corrected himself as the refugees shrunk back in terror once more. “To be my muse. I let him influence me, trick me, into building an interdimensional portal and it’s because of that portal that I ended up here in the first place… And all because I stubbornly refused to listen to my closest friend when she told me he was not to be trusted…”

“Your friend sounds like she’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Yottos nodded in agreement. “Cause she’s right. Ya can’t trust a monster like him. In fact, you’d be pretty stupid to even listen to a single word he has to say!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” George shook his head incredulously. “That demon’s one of the most feared beings in the whole multiverse! Everybody, and I mean everybody knows he’s always been bad news and will always be bad news!”

“Legend has it that he took over this realm eons ago,” Qharquains said gravely. “He used it as a hideout for himself and his equally chaotic allies, a place just as lawless and insane as they are. However, the Nightmare Realm is doomed for destruction. It has no consistent physics that it can adhere to, nothing to keep it stable. Which is why, in time, it will eventually implode, taking everything and everyone that calls it home with it.”

“So… that must be why Bill was so intent on that portal being built…” Ford muttered to himself, finally understanding the scope of the dream demon’s plan. 

The Nightmare Realm… a dimension between dimensions that was never meant to exist in the first place. A plane of chaos and disaster so immense that even the multiverse itself wants it gone. That’s why Bill seeks a new, more stable dimension to take over, much like he had his current ruinous home, and a foolish mind willing to let him in. A mind like mine. 

“I’m going to stop him!” Ford exclaimed, largely without thinking. The refugees all turned to him, dumbfounded and stunned, especially as he explained himself further. “If Bill--if that demon really does pose such a large threat to both my home and the the multiverse as a whole as you say, then someone needs to put an end to his destructive plans. And that someone is going to be me.”

“B-but that’s crazy!” George balked in utter disbelief.

“What makes you think you’ll stand a chance against someone as powerful as that demon?” Hocoh asked, not buying the author’s verve. “Nobody who’s ever tried standin’ up to him has ever lived to tell the tale.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ford shook his head, resolved. “He has to be stopped, some way or another. Before he really can escape the Nightmare Realm. Too many lives have been ruined because of his antics, including my own. That’s why it’s time to put an end to him, to prevent him from ruining any more.”

“Tch, you’re not all there, are ya, Stanford Pines?” Yottos asked, finally cracking a wry smile. “Still, ya got guts, and we can’t help but respect that, can we, boys?” The other refugees all nodded in agreement at this, though it was clear they were still rather baffled by Ford’s unflinching determination all the same. “If you’re really dead set on facin’ that demon, then let us help ya out.” Yottos dug into his bag of supplies, pulling out a few sets of rations, mostly made up of odd, compressed mush that the author was completely unfamiliar with. Though at this point, he knew he couldn’t really afford to be picky when it came to what he ate out here. “Take these, and also this.” The leader presented him with some sort of electronic, bracelet-like device, one that the author couldn’t help but look over curiously as soon as he received it. 

“What is it?” he asked, fascinated. 

“Dimensional translator,” Yottos said, poking at the fire a bit. “No offense, but ya seem a bit new to the whole ‘dimensional travel’ game, so that’ll give ya a bit of an easier time when it comes to folks out there that aren’t as ‘well-spoken’ as we are. Now, it’s a bit of an older model, but it should still work just fine.”

“Right,” Ford nodded with a grateful smile as he slipped the translator on his wrist and the rations into the empty supply bag Qharquains also gave him. “Thank you all for your help. I really do hope all of you find your way back to your own home someday.”

“Eh, at this point we’re honestly just satisfied with surviving from day to day,” George shrugged. “And not getting eaten by the occasional gloop monster or eyeball beast.”

“...Um… well then,” the author cleared his throat as he segwayed into a different topic instead. “You… wouldn’t happen to know what the odds are of a portal or a wormhole opening up that would lead back to Earth, would you?”

“What’s a ‘Earth’?” Hocoh asked, completely confused. 

“I’ve never heard of that dimension before,” Qharquains said, shaking his head. “But if that is the place you call home, then I’m afraid to say that the possibility of you returning there from here, by all accounts, is quite slim.”

“That’s… exactly what I was afraid of…” Ford sighed, still just as aware as he was before of his fate. A fate that seemed quite uncertain, even now. And yet despite that uncertainty, he still clung onto a sliver of hope all the same. Not the hope that he’d ever return home; he knew that ship had sailed and sunk. But rather, the hope that he’d finally be able to stop Bill and save the world, even if it was a word he’d never be able to see again. 

So a plan began to form in my mind. I would travel from dimension to dimension, learning what I could about Bill--his weaknesses, his secrets. I’d gain my strength, bide my time, and once I was ready, I would return to the Nightmare Realm and destroy him once and for all. I might never see home again, but at least I could save the multiverse from his wrath, and wreak vengeance for the life he stole from me. 

And that was exactly what he was going to set out to do. He’d risk anything and everything just to see Bill Cipher finally meet his end. Even if his own end came right along with it. 

The refugees excitedly hailed me as a hero as I prepared to leave, bidding me the best of luck in my quest as I waved them goodbye, setting off from their asteroid to swim toward the nearest wormhole. I was ready, ready to do whatever it took to not just survive, but thrive, as I cast my fate to the wind to discover what new worlds awaited me. 

Yet as I left the Nightmare Realm and all its terrors behind, I still caught wind of one final cheer the refugees offered me. One that I still don’t know the meaning behind, even to this very day:

“Praise the Axolotl!” 

Next: 

[howrry]

malibu

i wanna be a writer™ so i wrote this on a whim. enjoy

warning: smut lmao

w/c: 2.7k

You flipped through your Snapchat stories, tapping through videos of your girlfriends dancing in cages at some bar. They'd all invited you to go, but frankly spending money on the cover fee and overpriced, watered-down drinks (only to end up sweating off all your makeup) was starting to get kind of old. And it wasn't exactly like the selection of men in those places was worth all the hassle.

For a brief moment, you wonder what your best friend H is up to, before quickly remembering that he's with his girlfriend Anya. He'd mentioned a few days prior that they'd be going to some house party (which, of course, you mocked him for. Who goes to house parties after 20?).

You liked Anya. She was beautiful yet multifaceted-- she loved playing all kinds of instruments and even impressed you by effortlessly playing a song on a harp that was out at a work get-together. You also learned of her passion for animals, as she'd spent her youth working in and out of animal shelters. She was kind and warm, much like Harry, and her sense of humor was impeccable. She even respected your friendship with H and trusted the both of you. It wasn't often that you supported H's girlfriends, but you really thought he'd hit the nail on the head with her.

You often wondered why you were so critical of his past partners. This one has no fashion sense, that one is too judgmental of H's friends, that one eats a paleo diet and won't shut up about it, on and on. Your other male friends would bring home the trashiest mean girls and you'd high five them like some kind of frat boy, yet you expected some level of perfection with Harry. For the most part, you chalked it up to being so close with him and knowing what he truly deserves. As far as you knew, he deserved Anya.

The marimba tone of your phone spooked you, and you checked it seeing Harry's face pressed up against glass.

"If ya take a picture like this and make it my contact photo, it'll look like 'm trapped in your phone when I call yeh!" He'd giddily explained before smashing his face against the shop window. You couldn't imagine the shop owner was thrilled about having to clean the glass, so you snapped it as quickly as possible before dragging your best friend away.

You smiled at the memory and slid your finger across the screen to answer the call. "Hey, what's up?" you asked, grabbing a glass and filling it with water with your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

"Can we hang t'night?" he muttered without any other introduction.

Your brows furrowed. "Sure, but aren't you supposed to be with An--"

"Change o'plans," he cut you off. "Your place, ten minutes?"

"Sure. See you soon, H." The call cut off before you could even take the phone from your ear. Harry has always been a fast-paced person so you didn't really think much of this.

You drained your glass of water and did some lazy tidying up (not that H would've minded either way, he tended to be just as messy as you). The whole ten minutes hadn't even passed before you heard the powerful knocks at your apartment door.

Upon opening it, he immediately stepped in and engulfed you in a big hug, something not uncommon for him. "How y'doing?"

You pulled away and smiled. "Same as I was earlier today when you called me." You turned around and went back into your living room, him trailing behind you. "Not much excitement going on here, but I figured we could watch Gossip Girl or sommat," you offered, smirking a little. You had shown the series to him a few weeks ago, to his initial disgust.

"It's a bit garbage, don't ya think? It's like New York wankin' itself off," he reprimanded when you'd first suggested it to him. "The plot's fine but its just not realistic. Nobody invests that much time or energy into someone for the sake of gossip." You were ready to accept defeat with this failed recommendation until the next day you walked in on him watching it without you, much to H's chagrin.

"Sounds good, but do you have somethin' t'drink?" he asked, taking off his coat and scarf before tossing them on one of the chairs.

"Water, cranberry juice, I think I have a LaCroix that you left in there last week I refuse to touch..." you listed things that you remember having available, making him smile a little.

"No, no, somethin' more... adult-oriented?" he clarified, following you into the kitchen.

You couldn't help but laugh at his word choice. "I killed off the last of the wine a couple nights ago, but I think I have some Malibu left over, if that's okay?"

His eyebrows knitted together as he leaned back on the counter, arms spread out a little. "Malibu? What are yeh, a little uni party girl?"

"Piss off. You want it or not?" you asked, pulling the handle out of your pantry and presenting it to him like a fancy wine bottle.

Harry bounced off the counter and wrapped his arms around you yet again. "M'sorry, and yes, I would. I'll get the glasses." He knew exactly where all your dishes were and grabbed two identical shot glasses you bought out of impulse. Neither of you two were heavy shot-takers and would rather sip glasses of Chablis and moscato than pound back liquor, but sometimes, like this evening, the purchase proved worth it.

Harry was bartender this evening, and the two of you each tossed back three in a row before you were coughing and scrambling for the aforementioned cranberry juice as a chaser. You drank the juice straight from the bottle while in the meantime, your best friend took two more.

You wiped the juice that had spilled down your chin with the back of your hand and yanked the handle away from him before he could pull another. "Jesus, Harry, slow down. What's with you tonight?"

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, rubbing his face with his big hands. He took the juice from you and drank some from the bottle just like you did. "Just needed t'get my mind off of work n'life n'whatnot."

"Drowning it in white rum is definitely not the best method. Wanna talk about it?" You screwed the cap back on both the juice and the Malibu and put both away in their respective spots before leading Harry back to the couch.

"Not really. Jus' wanna watch the show." He didn't say much after that, but you trusted him to open up when he was ready, so you didn't push him much further.

Your seating arrangement was fairly normal, Harry taking one side of the small couch and spreading his legs. You sat on the left of him and tucked your knees to your chest as you queued up the episode Victor, Victrola.

Without saying anything, Harry grabbed both your legs and turned you so that your legs were on his lap, making you squeal a little in surprise. This position was tried and true between you and Harry, but it had been retired since Anya came into the picture. While a tiny part of you missed the physical touch between you and your best friend, most of you respected the relationship H had. Afraid of freaking him out and making him push you off, you didn't say anything about this sudden change.

"Y/N, get upppppp," he groaned, attempting to pull the blankets off of you. Fortunately, your death grip on your comforter prevented him from exposing you to your room's cold air.

"I'm tired, and it's so cold out. The park is not going anywhere!" you groaned right back, pushing your face into the pillows even more to block out the sunlight Harry'd introduced to the room when he opened your curtains.

"Okay, then." Harry quite literally jumped into bed with you and wrapped his entire body around you, burying his face in your neck. You cried out at his freezing nose pressing into your warm skin and tried to wriggle away from him, but it was his turn to have a death grip, this time on you. "Nope, not lettin' yeh go now. Wanna stay in bed? Fine, you'll stay in bed."

The two of you watched in silence, but you couldn't help but steal glances at him. His face was fairly neutral, fixating on the screen with not much visible emotion.

"'S not polite to stare," he muttered, not drawing his eyes away from Blair giving Chuck a dance in the night club.

You inhaled sharply through your nose. "It's also not polite to hide what's wrong from your best friend," you countered, reaching up and turning his head to face you.

He sighed. "Jus' a lot on my mind. Thanks fo' letting me come over, means a lot." He pushed a ring-clad hand through his dark hair to get it out of his face.

"'Course, Harry, that's what I'm here for," you smiled, which you quickly lost when you realized he was leaning in to you. Your best friend, who very much had a girlfriend, was leaning in for a kiss.

You put your entire hand on his face to stop his movements. "What are you doing?" you asked slowly, emphasizing each word. Your hand slowly dropped, and your thumb caught his bottom lip, making it pull down and pop back into place.

"Didn't know yeh were so foreign to the concept, but I'm trying' t'kiss you," he cooed, "and maybe a little more," his big hand gripped your thigh and started sliding inwards, a move that crossed a boundary the two of you had never even come close to.

Once again, your hand stopped his advancements. "Harry, you're drunk, and you have a girlfriend!" You tried to get up off the couch but he grabbed your legs and pulled you even closer to him.

"T'be completely fair, you're drunk too," he giggled, pushing his hair off his face again (and damn him if he wasn't right). "And I don't have a girlfriend anymore."

You reared your head back in shock. "What? When did that happen?"

He shrugged. "Was at a party tonight and I lost her, so when I went looking for her I caught her making out with... with Clare," he spat.

You gasped. "Clare?! I didn't... but I thought... she--"

"Doesn' matter what we thought 'cause we were wrong," he cut you off. "But now that I don't have to worry about tha', all I can think about is how much I wanna kiss you."

You sighed, weighing your options. "You're sure this isn't a heartbroken rebound?" you asked, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

He lifted to kiss it, leaving a small wet patch. "'M not that heartbroken anymore, was just in shock. Besides, if it was that, I wouldn't have come here," he paused to stroke your cheek with his free hand. "You mean too much to me to be a rebound." He'd almost seemed disgusted at the idea of you being something so quick and meaningless.

You smiled softly and looked down at your lap, but he caught your chin and lifted you back up. You barely had time to react when he pushed his plushy lips against yours.

He tasted like rum and mint, and his lips were so soft you couldn't help but lean in more. One of his arms snaked around the small of your back and pulled you in closer so you were now fully sitting on his lap. You wrapped one of your arms around his neck and his mouth opened, giving you access to his tongue. The kiss deepened even more, and you decided to get a little bold.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you were just drunk on Harry, but your teeth grabbed onto his bottom lip gently and pulled it back before letting go, leaving him pink-cheeked and wide-eyed. "Darling, please, you must let me do more," he croaked, his voice a little hoarse from kissing.

You simply nodded and whispered, "My bedroom?" before he scooped his arms under you and carried you to the bed and tossed you on it.

In two swift moves, he removed your shirt and popped the hooks on your bra, leaving you bare-chested. He didn't have to break the kiss to wiggle down your shorts and underwear, and before you knew it, you were completely naked in front of your best friend. Or, whatever you were now.

The fact that it was Harry was absurd enough, but him being ten times more clothed than you left you feeling surprisingly comfortable. With any other guy, at this point, you'd be awkwardly tugging at his clothes to level the playing field, but you felt no such urges at this point.

And neither did Harry, apparently, as he immediately began kissing and sucking at any skin he could get his lips on, leaving you with wet patches and small hickies all over your chest and neck. Eventually, he sat back on his heels straddling your thighs and was carefully running his hands up your entire body. He started at the sides of your thighs before trailing them up to the swell of your lower belly, up to your breasts (his callouses stimulating your nipples but you managed not to arch your back), to your collarbones and finally resting on your jaw.

You were never quite relaxed when this kind of gaze fell on you, but with your closest friend you'd never felt so comfortable in your life. You smirked a little before asking, "What are you doing?"

He smiled back. "You're just so beautiful. Never though' I'd have you like this 'n now that I do I can barely believe it."

You were touched, but before you could reply he was moving his way back to part your thighs, exposing your center to the cold bedroom air. Harry took his time kissing around your legs, intentionally avoiding the one place you needed contact the most. You moaned softly and started giving into that earlier urge to arch your back, and, hey, who was Harry to deny what you so needed?

He gave no warning before diving into your center, eating with an inexplicable passion. He experimented with what elicited more sounds from you, from flat, soft licks to pointed strokes of his tongue. One of his hands snaked up to play with your breasts while the other held your hand, interlocking your fingers in a way that was almost sweet. Your free hand, however, wasn't quite as pure, as you laced it into his dark curls and used it as a method of grinding down onto his mouth.

"'S right, darling, use me t'get yourself off," he moaned into your pussy, making you gasp.

The sounds coming from Harry and his actions was pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and you were so overwhelmed you could barely choke out, "I'm so close, Harry."

This, of course, only spurred him on as his hand left your breast and trailed down to your core. He slipped in two fingers and hooked them up, fully pushing you into your orgasm. You moaned and arched into him and he didn't stop eating until you were trying to pull him off of you by his hair. When you lifted his head with the hand gripping his hair, he came up with a lazy smile on his face, almost childlike. His chin was dripping with your slick.

You were still heaving by the time he crawled back up to lie next to you. "Do you... do you want me to--" you tried to ask in your post-orgasmic haze.

He shook his head. "Nothin' personal, love, but 've had a lot t'drink 'n don't think I could get it up right now," he mumbled before settling into the bed next to you. You couldn't even ask anything else before you heard the soft snoring of your best friend next to you.

Wow, he was really drunk. And, best friend? Was he really that anymore? Could you two even be friends after this? You finally decided that these were morning questions and you'd answer them tomorrow. Imagine your shock, of course, when you woke up the next day and felt around your bed only to find sheets and cold air and no sign of Harry.

[haru-sen]

Out of curiosity, why do you write as a hobby. What do you feel when writing? Do you see the whole plot first and details later?

You’re about to get a whole ass answer complete with childhood trauma.  Mild trigger warning for child abuse?  

So, tumblr ate the first draft of this and I’m annoyed.  Today has been very annoying.  But I digress.  The easiest thing to talk about is the process.  I start everything with a small idea.  It can be a few lines of dialogue, a character prototype, or a “what if” question.  One of the first scenes I thought of for IAL was the “Jack making bad sandwiches” and Lucky asking “Are we poor?”  And I realized I really wanted to write that relationship dynamic.  Obviously that scene came much later in the story, but it was one of the first building blocks.  And then, I have to take that idea and build it into something that can stand on its own.  Because alone, it’s just the ramblings of a maniac.  Great, some OC made a joke about Jack’s cooking skills? Who really cares?  Well, you do, by that point in IAL.  (I assume you do if you made it that far...)

Feng’s an AU version of my main character from a novel series I really need to rework.  Spoiler: the conceptual question was, “what happens when heroes/adventurers settle down and have kids?  What kind of family life do they have?”  And then it turned into an in-depth examination of unhealthy family dynamics and the difficulty of being halfway between worlds both metaphorically and sometimes literally.  Second spoiler: Just because you’re an awesome monster-killer/mercenary duo, doesn’t mean you’re going to be great parents.  

So it’s usually some kind of idea, that I just keep building on till it becomes something that could be a more concrete story.  But it takes time to foment.  I’d been two months into the Overwatch fandom before I started writing IAL.  I had all kinds of ideas, mostly for the Angst!AU and the current timeline.  I’d written a few teaser scenes for that, but on a whim, started IAL instead.  And it grew so much faster than I expected.  

So it’s taken me awhile, but I’ve gotten to the point with ideas (and drafts!) where I can be excited about the shininess of a new thing, but also know that I’m really going to have to work on it to make it better.  It’s rarely just “poof!” and “awesome.”  I have to take an extra step to ask what makes this idea/character/scene stand out from everything else that is out there.  What am I really adding? And you know, sometimes stuff isn’t better/different/greater than everything else out there.  But it’s still enjoyable.  And I’ll take that too.

When I write, it’s planning and creativity.  On good days, I’m entranced in what I’m doing, really planning/living the scene in my head, and really pleased with my progress.  (Heavily focused daydreaming?)  On bad days, it’s a slog to stay on track, nothing feels good/inspired, and I feel like a hack.  I’ve learned that how I feel while creating doesn’t actually guarantee the quality of the work.  When I go back to edit, sometimes the stuff is really good, sometimes it’s not, and the stuff I write when I feel bad can actually be really good and vice versa. But it always needs to be edited.  

On a side note,  all my internet friends groups I made because of writing.  Sometimes we shared fandoms, but it was always the writing/reading that connected us.  (Sometimes, that was bad, because writers are neurotic and sometimes egotistical.  Shocking, I know.)  Put us all together and the insecurities were numerous.  :P    

Now, onto the heavy shit.  In my case, I don’t know if I can call writing a “hobby.”  It’s a coping mechanism.  I know that sounds a little pretentious, but bear with me. I would write even if there was no one else left to read it, because I’ve grown my brain in that direction.  It’s easier for me to work out shit on paper than it is to talk about.  (Or at least, I can make it sound cooler and more coherent on paper than just putting it in stream of consciousness sort of blather.)  

I started writing when I was 12.  I have loved reading all my life, but up till then never considered myself that creative.  I did some fiction writing before that, never very seriously and never with any intention to be a writer.  It might have never caught my interest, but I have immigrant parents who had good intentions and terrible parenting skills. 

 In middle school, things were pretty terrible at home.  I didn’t have outlets. I will flat out say they were abusive and crying got the response “I’ll give you something to cry about.”  I was kind of crybaby when I was five (yes, even for a five year old).  I had an excellent poker face by eleven.    

I used to draw, but I wasn’t very good at it, and my parents didn’t encourage it, because I wasn’t very good, so what was the point? (Yes, I know that logic is wrong, but that’s what I got told.) And also, even if I was good, I wasn’t going to make any money.  So don’t bother. I wasn’t allowed to play sports.  I had no musical talent or inclination.  I wasn’t really allowed to leave the house very often.  If I wanted to go anywhere, I had to take my younger sisters (four and eight years younger than me) with me, because I was the oldest and what kind of sister was I if I went out with people and left them at home?  (Ahem.  More bad logic, I know.) No, they were hardcore serious about this.  And if they didn’t want me to go somewhere, they’d just say that they didn’t trust those people with my sisters.  And let’s not even get into the power dynamic with my sisters and how that worked.  It wasn’t pretty, for any of us.  

My parents, like the Asian stereotype goes, were obsessive on schoolwork.  So if I was doing “homework,” they left me alone.  And if I wanted to use the computer, I had better be doing homework.  I started journaling, for both therapeutic and legal reasons.  It was depressing as fuck recording the nonfiction events of my life.  One day, I wrote a little fanfiction scene from Sailor Moon in crappy script format.  It was so terrible.  But I liked it.  I reread it so many times.  It was empowering. So I wrote another one.  And then started a whole damn series.  It was baaaaad.  I filled multiple notebooks with this saga, in pencil, so it’s probably illegible now, though I have them in trunk somewhere.  I wrote a more polished (but still bad) version for a Sailor Moon fanfic archive and was thrilled when people actually read it and kind of liked it.  (...they had terrible taste, lol) But that’s how I passed the time.  At home. At school.  I just started writing when I was upset, or bored, or just because.  It was melodramatic, self-indulgent, and a coping mechanism.  My teachers encouraged it.  (English teachers usually liked me.)  And gradually, I got better at it.  I stopped writing scripts, started writing proper stories.  My characters became better, more fleshed out. I expanded into original fiction.  

Now seriously, I’m not going to say that I don’t have issues because of it.  But sharing this stuff doesn’t hurt me.  It’s uncomfortable in the sense of “oversharing with people you don’t know super well should be uncomfortable...if only the person in the cubicle beside me would learn that.”  It’s mostly just weird.  So there’s no need for obligatory comforting comments.  It’s cool.  I talk to my parents every few months in a civil fashion, once a month if I’m unlucky.  And it’s not anything to brag about, but there are boundaries in place and I’m good.  So kind of a happy outcome.  

But yeah, that’s why I started writing.  It was that or kill real people.  

*insert serial killer joke because I'm too tired*