#it needs to be studied under a microscope

[tapiocasaturn404]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Chapter Two ࿐ྂ

Word Count: 1,3k

Summary: Lizzie arrives at the studio for her first official training session with Minho, who is skeptical about her addition to the group. He puts her to the test, challenging her to prove herself through an impromptu freestyle.

A day later

The practice room was shrouded in a gentle, dim light as Lizzie stepped inside, her footsteps barely audible on the polished wooden floor. The soft creak of the door echoed through the stillness of the early morning, a solitary sound that seemed to momentarily disrupt the tranquil silence that enveloped the room. Pale beams of dawn filtered through the high windows, casting a soft glow on the music stands and scattered sheet music, creating an atmosphere of quiet anticipation.

She had worn her favourite practice clothes, a lavender off shoulder sweater and snug, soft pink yoga pants, hoping she would feel extra confident in them.

Her stomach was in knots, anticipation and anxiety battling within her. She had barely slept the night before, her mind replaying yesterday’s meeting with Chan over and over again.

Today was her first real test.

Across the expansive rehearsal space, a lone figure stood with his back to her, his silhouette highlighted by the dim studio lights. He raised his arms high above his head, muscles taut and defined beneath his fitted black shirt. Even in the hushed atmosphere, Lizzie instantly identified him. Lee Minho. The main dancer of Stray Kids. Renowned for his flawless precision, captivating artistry, and his quick, cutting wit.

She swallowed hard. If anyone in the group was going to be skeptical about her addition, it was him.

As if sensing her presence, Minho turned, his eyes narrowing as they studied her with an intensity that made Lizzie feel like she was being assessed under a microscope. He wore this black shirt and gray sweatpants that hung casually on his lean frame, and his brown hair was tousled, suggesting he'd been here for hours already. His expression was unreadable—cool, detached.

“You’re early,” he noted, crossing his arms.

Lizzie's lips curved into a faint, strained smile as she adjusted her bag, the strap digging into her shoulder. Her fingers fumbled briefly with the zipper, and she shifted her stance, trying to balance the weight more comfortably.

“Figured I should be.”

Minho nodded, his eyes flickering toward the mirror before he tilted his head slightly. “Let’s get something straight. I didn’t ask for this.” His tone was calm, but firm. “I don’t know why the company decided to do this, and I definitely don’t know why Chan agreed. But since you’re here, I have one rule.”

Lizzie locked eyes with him. She could feel the tension in the air, like the calm before a storm. “You work,” Minho stated bluntly, his voice as steady as a drumbeat. “Every second counts, every movement needs purpose. You work just like everyone else. There’s no special treatment here for being new, and certainly none for being a girl. Got it?”

Lizzie nodded, her heart pounding. “Understood.”

Minho tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her with curiosity. After a brief pause, he nodded toward the sleek, black sound system sitting on the shelf. “Plug in your phone.”

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

“Plug it in. Hit shuffle.”

Her stomach twisted, but she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.

She connected it to the speaker, the click of the cable sounding louder than usual in the silence of the room. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating for a moment, before she took a deep breath and pressed play on her entire music library.

A beat of silence. Then—

“I stay out too late~”

Lizzie’s blood ran cold.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“Got nothing in my brain~”

Taylor Swift. Shake It Off.

Of all the songs in her library—of all the thousands of songs she could have landed on—she got a high-energy, bubblegum pop track? In front of Lee Minho?

Minho’s eyebrow twitched. He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “This should be interesting.”

Lizzie took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed with frustration. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she straightened her shoulders

This was a test, and she wasn’t about to fail it.

So she moved.

At first, she leaned into the song’s natural rhythm, keeping it light, bouncy—letting the music guide her. She resisted the urge to cringe as Taylor’s voice rang through the speakers, instead choosing to own it.

She let her footwork loosen, adding playful spins between controlled isolations.

By the time the chorus hit, Lizzie had a choice.

She could either half-ass it and let Minho think she wasn’t capable—or she could own it.

So she did.

“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play~”

She rolled her shoulders back with a satisfying crack, adding a playful spring to her steps as she danced across the room.

“And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate~”

She moved with a sharp, controlled isolation of her shoulder, sending a ripple down her arm. Her hips followed with a smooth, rhythmic sway, capturing the beat perfectly. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, confident and teasing.

Fine. If this was what she had to work with, she would work with it.

By the time the second chorus rolled in, Lizzie had forgotten about Minho. It was just her, the music, and the fire in her chest.

She hit the final beat cleanly, landing in a controlled stance, breath steady.

Silence.

She looked at Minho, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

He stood motionless, arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes unwavering as they bore into hers with an unyielding intensity.

The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in anticipation. Then, after a moment that stretched like an eternity, he began a single, deliberate clap.

The sound echoed through the silence, each clap measured and slow, resonating with a mix of admiration and irony.

Lizzie’s looked at him wide eyed, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you—are you mocking me?”

Minho exhaled through his nose, smirking. “Maybe.”

Lizzie scowled. “I got unlucky, okay? Not exactly the best freestyle song.”

Minho shrugged. “Excuses?”

She clenched her jaw tightly as tension rippled through her. He took a deliberate step forward, his eyes piercing and intense, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. "Your movements are precise, fluid even," he observed, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, "but there's a pause, a hesitation. You're holding back."

Lizzie straightened. “I—”

Minho leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, scrutinizing the newcomer with a critical eye. "You're good," he admitted, nodding slightly. His gaze was intense, measuring every ounce of potential. "But if you're joining us," he continued, his voice firm and unwavering, "you can't just be good. You have to be flawless. Every beat needs to hit with precision, every breath synchronized with the rhythm."

His gaze hardened. “No doubts. No hesitation.”

Lizzie clenched her fists. Fine.

“Again,” Minho ordered.

Her pulse spiked. “Another shuffle?”

Minho smirked. “Unless you wanna quit now.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes and hit shuffle.

A hard-hitting bass beat filled the room. A dance track.

Lizzie didn’t hesitate.

She hit the ground running with a newfound intensity, sharper and stronger than ever before. Her movements were precise and powerful as she popped and locked with perfect timing, each motion transitioning seamlessly into fluid waves. There was no trace of awkwardness now—only pure instinct guiding her every move.

And this time, when she finished—

Minho nodded.

“Better,” he said.

Lizzie wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, her breath still coming in heavy, labored gasps. Her eyes met her companion's with a determined gaze. "You don't believe I belong here, do you?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of challenge and vulnerability.

Minho didn’t answer right away.

Then, after a long pause, he simply said—

“That’s up to you to prove.”

Lizzie met his gaze, determination burning in her chest.

Fine.

If Minho wanted proof—she would give him proof. Even if she would stay all day in this studio.

next chapter ->

[gaym3bo1]

i've said it before and i'll say it again

thame and po have Such a wild mix of fantastic communication and bad communication going, i need to study them under a microscope

[lesharl-eclair]

just two old men in glaringly bright team colours reminiscing on a past they could have had

[userarmand]

Armand recreating Amadeo in the penthouse

[twifairy]

Viago de Riva when I fucking get you.

[icebear4president]

Tommyinnit is either an enigma or a blunder of god.

He can say ‘I was a sex worker for 8 months’ and no one bats an eye, but he announces his book almost named after one of the best fics in the dsmp fandom and we collectedly go crazy. There is no plausible way to describe his behavior.

His middle name is also Michael. He’s already British, pick a struggle dude.

[sharpjay217]

I desperately need Imp and Skizz to convince Etho to pay Phasmophobia with them. He doesn’t need to stream it, I just need to know how he acts when presented with a series of tasks and a ghost.

[antiadvil]

hold on when did the subreddit add this rule lmao

[bread-that-draws]

Flowey’s so funny and has me so fucked up like he’s a talking flower. He tries to kill you upon your first interaction. He is ten years old. He is damaged beyond repair. He’s a flower named Flowey. He’s become friends with every single character. He’s killed all of them countless times. He knows everything about everyone. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes care of his mom when she can’t take care of herself. He’s killed her before. He doesn’t care if you kill her. He thinks she’s trying to replace him. He just wants to be himself again. He wants to destroy everything. He hates you. You’re the only one who understands him. He wants his best friend back. He’s terrified of them. He believes in kill or be killed because he died by giving mercy to the wrong person. He believes himself to be the wrong person. He doesn’t understand when you show him that kindness he showed others, even when you know he could kill you for it. He’s tried every route. He asks you if you have anything better to do when you try to do the same. He’s a direct reflection of the player. He’s a fucking talking flower named flowey and his only voice line is by Ronald McDonald and his officially licensed plush does a little dance for you

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Billposting because I can’t get enough of this freak.

[squidflavoredsoup]

pony homelander

also this doodle i did of him n my sona

[transrevolutions]

he's a pacifist. he brings guns to a funeral. he's passionate about education. he forgets about his own mother. he's studying to become a doctor. he can give an epic one-line takedown of an opponent's argument. he gives expression to revolution's natural right. in history he would've been known as the wise man. he goes up to his friend during a battle to talk ethical dilemmas. he's "selfish". he can draw a moth from memory. he tries to rescue an enemy soldier. he corrects the dictionary for fun. combeferre lesmisérables, everyone.

[cuntmand]

514 year-old ipad kid armand CONFIRMED!

[creantzy]

Defying God - a parallel between Fyolai and Stavrovensky

The Demons brainrot is taking over, and you know what happens when I acquire a new interest: my brain WILL find a way to connect it to my other interests, whether I like it or not!! And this is essentially what it's about xD I've come here to present a parallel I found between Fyolai (Fyodor & Nikolai from BSD) and Stavrovensky (Verkhovensky & Stavrogin from "Demons" by Dostoevsky). Before I start I want to clarify a few things:

• I don't think these two pairings are similar, I just love picking up any crumbs of connections I can find between my interests, even if it'd count as reaching.

• This interpretation (in either character's case) is in no way "the only true way of looking at it". It's merely one interpretation out of many and I chose to focus on just a few aspects out of the many others there are to explore in these complex characters. 

• Feel free to add onto or disagree with anything I say! I'm interested in your thoughts :D

WARNING: There will be spoilers for Bungou Stray Dogs and Demons.

The reason Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor is because he feels affection for him. Emotions are a prison to him, and he basically seeks the opposite of what his emotions make him want to do. Thus, in the face of affection, which makes you want to be closer and wish the best for your friend, he does the opposite and decides to kill said friend, going directly against his feelings in an attempt to prove free will. But here I want to focus more on the "You want to defy God in order to lose sight of yourself" part, specifically the bit about God.

One part of my interpretation is that Nikolai associates God with control. If there is a God who controls all, how can there be a free will? He wants to go against Him and His creations (the human mind, morality, etc.) to prove that it's possible. But God is very abstract - the idea of God is influential but varies depending on cultures, etc. For this point, I'll use the example of the biblical God, or, more specifically, some attributes commonly assigned to the idea of God:

• omnipotence (all-powerful)

• omnipresence (all-present)

• omniscience (all-knowing)

What I am leading up to is the fact that these traits can, in one way or another, be applied to Fyodor. Fyodor's character represents everything Nikolai wants to defy. Nikolai hates control; he wants to fight the idea of God and prove the possibility of complete independence. Fyodor (though not in a "direct" way) could be seen as a symbol for God. He knows everything, he is always present (metaphorically and sometimes literally, the way he spawns sometimes I swear-), and he seems to control everything. Only few people actually see him, but he pulls the strings behind the scenes, and his power is felt everywhere. For Nikolai, to kill Fyodor is not just a protest against his feelings of affection, but can also be a symbolic act of defying "God", of killing "God", by killing Fyodor.

This is supposed to be very symbolic and not taken literally. I feel the need to repeat this because I personally dislike the notion of Fyodor as a literal God (and disagree with the idea of him having a God-complex), so this is merely about the God-like traits he possesses, like a "substitute" for the idea of God, and how it interacts with Nikolai's philosophy. (I've also exaggerated some points for the sake of simplification - for example, I don't actually believe Fyodor is in control of absolutely everything, etc.)

Moving onto Demons:

Pyotr Verkhovensky grew up religious and (assuming based on Stepan's description) with a fear of God.

Now he's an atheist and very anti-religious. He plans to overthrow society, and destroying religion + everything it preaches is part of that plan. But interestingly enough, he picks not himself as the official future "ruler", but someone else: Nikolai Stavrogin. He chooses Stavrogin to be the role of the leader in Verkhovensky's ideal society. But not exactly the "leader" in the traditional sense, because he wouldn't necessarily give Stavrogin all the power. He would simply use him as a "pawn" (for lack of a better word) while himself pulling the strings behind said society. With that, Verkhovensky puts someone else above himself, in a God-like position, but he wants to do it while still keeping full control over Stavrogin. By doing so, he would overcome his childhood fear of God because instead of being controlled by God, *he* will control God.

(Same case here, not the literal God, but the character who he assigns God-like traits to.)

I am undecided (with both Nikolai's and Verkhovensky's character) whether this could be read as a solely subconscious intention or if it would make sense as a conscious one as well. Given that both have a different "main" goal (Nikolai focuses on emotions and Verkhovensky on the revolution) I lean more towards thinking it's subconscious (if present at all - like I said, just interpretations!)

It doesn't help that Verkhovensky describes his vision of Stavrogin's leadership as "hidden": Everyone believes in him and his power, but only very few people are said to actually have laid their eyes upon him. When I first read this part, I was honestly reminded of Big Brother from Orwell's 1984, but eventually realised that similar things can be said about God as well.

While these are parallels, they don't come without differences. Nikolai needs Fyodor dead, Verkhovensky needs Stavrogin alive. Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor for a sense of freedom, Verkhovensky wants to keep Stavrogin for a sense of control. Yet both symbolic goals are bound to fail:

Fyodor turns out to be unkillable, and Stavrogin ends up dead.

At the end, "God" stays untouchable.

[cat-dragron-arts]

Urgggg I keep thinking about Miki... also have some hand studies featuring Murderbot's hands since I wanted to try and solidify how I want to draw them :] Hand images source

[sleeptaken]

he's just vibing.