#like... all of them are so smart and talented

[achillesangst]

The thing they don’t tell you about applying for magical apprenticeships is that it sucks. Seriously. Picture the humiliating ritual of uni applications, but by Ancient Mages who for some godforsaken reason are petty enough to insult you in the damn rejection letter. My magical readings are pretty respectable, enough that my mum pestered me into applying to all the biggest mages, which was a grim and lengthy process which yielded precisely no results, apart from some new insecurities when the insults got particularly biting.

Unhappily, the rejection letter from Prospero took months to arrive, long enough that I’d- well. It’s difficult not to hope for things, isn’t it? It was a humiliating defeat in a long line of humiliating defeats, and I was going to have to inform my entire wildly optimistic extended family that I wasn’t a good enough magic user to get anywhere good, actually. Great. I was skulking around at home, desperately avoiding relatives and wondering about emigrating to Australia instead of showing my face in the village. Everyone had always insisted I was smart and talented enough to go somewhere, and now I had to go and tell them all that I wasn’t. Not, I think you’ll agree, a great moment for me.

So when the doorbell went, my response was irritation mixed with dread. My family were all at work or school, which presumably meant some nosy fucker had seen me get my letter delivered and had come to ask for the result directly. Shit. I dragged myself miserably from the kitchen, and swung the door open.

It was Not someone nosy from the village. Holy fuck. I think I aged about ten years from sheer blind terror. The figure on my doorstep was a good six feet tall, broad, and wrapped in a battered green travelling cloak. A duelling pistol swung prominently from one hip, marking him as a rather old-fashioned magic user. He had a giant fuckoff sword slung over his back, which could only have been wielded by a mage because it was about the same size I was. I gaped. Then I rallied.

“Are you. Uh, looking for directions? Because the coach station is actually right over t-“

“I’m not.” Fuck. Well, then. “Are you Amelie Jones?”

I was, unfortunately. “Yes. Yep. Um. Why?”

That made the mage laugh, for some goddamn reason. He pushed back his hood, revealing a cascade of silver braids and a massive fucking scar over one eye, like a cartoon pirate. I tried not to stare.

“I believe Prospero recently rejected you, is that so?” Obviously it was so, but how the hell he knew, I couldn’t imagine. “That’s, uh. Right.”

The mage smiled. He had a lot of teeth. “I believe that was a mistake on his part. If you are in need of a tutor, I would be happy to make you my apprentice.”

What.

“Oh? Oh! That’s very kind, Mr-?”

Another smile. “You may call me Sycorax, if you wish. I do not require an honorific.”

Every mage I’d written to had demanded to be addressed as Sir, Madam or once, memorably, The Esteemed One. No title at all was a new one.

“Sycorax.” I opened my mouth to say it was a lovely offer but I couldn’t possibly. Instead, I found myself saying, “Your terms?”

“A year’s pupillage, more if we get on and you take to the work. I’m considered old-fashioned, but fair. I will teach you as much as I’m able, and expect you to work as hard as you can in return. Food and board will not be an issue. You may have public holidays off. And,” his eyes glittered. “A… special condition. It is… important, to me, that you befriend Prospero’s new apprentice.”

Well that was alarmingly specific. “Why?”

“Ah, the most important question for any young mage. I suppose you could say I have unfinished business with Prospero, and it would help me greatly were you to have access to his apprentice.”

Jesus fucking Christ alive. “I’m not killing some kid so you can-“

“There will be no killing,” Sycorax said smoothly over my protests. “Our business was not pretty, but I assure you I have no intention of hurting any apprentices, nor do I want you to do so. I simply,” he grinned at me, “need an in, and you need a tutor”

It was a bad idea. It was clearly, undeniably a bad idea, but it was a bad idea that would let me avoid telling my relatives I had failed them. And sue me, I’ll admit: I was curious.

“Sure.” I told him. “I’m in.”

The most powerful mage has rejected you as an apprentice. You are then approached by a mysterious stranger who offers to train you. However, there is a catch.

[idiasweat]

caught in inaction

idia | rook catching gn!yuu skipping class in the bathroom warnings: self-deprecating language, anxiety, self-harm (in rook's) word count: 3k (idia) 2.1k (rook)

10:23.

Your phone is dying.

You forgot to plug it in last night... again.

And you've beaten the rest of the battery to death with mobile gaming and the music blaring through your earbuds. You're sure to be half-deaf by next semester, the way this one's been going- the two-thaumark things you found in the bargain bin at a thrift in Foothill Town were the only kind that matched your archaic phone's jack, and every beat felt like your ears were being full-body tackled to the floor. But anything is better than the unforgivable silence of Monday morning. You had just barely managed to convince Crowley that wearing earbuds in every class is an important custom in your world, and you wouldn't be able to function or focus without them.

He was either really gullible, or he just wanted you to get the hell out of his office before his lunch break started (which you had accounted for, of course. You wanted to be there about as much as he did...)

10:25. Six percent left. You're not going to be able to survive the rest of the day without the sweet oblivion of fuzzy earbud feedback and the white noise between tracks. Sigh. Your music taste has really refined itself since the start of the semester- after craftily finding out which music shuffle app was best by listening in on your desk neighbor's conversation, you'd just been letting the songs play without skipping a single one. You didn't know any of the bands from this world, after all. Folk music between classes, classical in the bath, showtunes walking back from the library... right now, it's an ad. Great. You're about to be thrown to the wolves with a vanilla body spray advertisement as a parting gift.

You shift, drawing your knees to your chest on the chipped toilet seat. There's not exactly a lot of space to sit, but that's to be expected from a room that's only designed for temporary use. Most of the boys that come into the desolate hall bathroom are only here to exchange homework answers and sometimes take swings at the hanging lights with socks full of pebbles. Typical teenage boy things, you supposed. You'd spent a good week testing out different hiding spots around campus before settling on the third-floor east-wing bathroom, the smaller one, tucked between a dusty, vacant trophy shelf, and a closet with a rusted lock. You would've really preferred an empty classroom with a view of the courtyards to tuck yourself away in, like the protagonist of a slice-of-life anime, but all of the ones you found (and there were many) were locked with some stupid magic spell you couldn't undo even if you knew how.

So, smelly bathroom is was. You're sure there must be mold in the vents here- no one actually uses this place to pee, it's too far from the actual classrooms, but there's a pervasive musty smell that never worsens nor improves. You're probably going to start hallucinating and having weird nightmares. Well, more than usual, anyway.

10:30. Your phone dies without warning, drained of all life after you hit 3%. Damn it!!! You were really hoping you had a few more minutes. It wouldn't have done you any good but to take the weight of skipping another class off your mind, which was all you wanted, really.

You just couldn't do it today- again- presentations.

Not yours, mind you. Yours is on Thursday. But today you'd have to sit through an hour of watching your talented, smart, funny classmates rake in laughter and applause for their stupid puns and award-winning smiles and Wikipedia-tier research. Which is not as bad as presenting yourself (you'll probably skip on Thursday, too) but it is torture on par with waterboarding. And after ten minutes of imagining the ceiling tiles falling on your classmate's heads, you got kinda bored.

This is infinitely better. You're failing, but failing in style, right?

Somewhere nearby, a leaky faucet drips.

The last light in the room fizzles out and dies.

Now would have been a good time to have your phone. You're not afraid of the dark! It's just... there are puddles of... liquid... all over, and you can't navigate around them in pitch black. The newer bathrooms on the lower levels all have windows, low and close to the ceiling, hugging the helm of the wall and sucking up all the darkness and bad smells. This room has vents full of mold and... puddles. Not really unlike Ramshackle, but it's not like you're crazy about that, either.

Crap. Now what? You can't even check the time, so you won't be sure when class is over unless you venture outside for a clock. It could be an hour from now, or thirty minutes. How is anyone supposed to live like this?!

Creeeeak... click.

You tense. Maybe not being on your phone is best, especially in a dark room anyone else can see in.

The stall you've locked yourself in is the only one with a working-slash-existent door, the others having been smashed in or melted or taken off their hinges and carried into the night, or whatever else happens at this fucking school. That's all to say, if you were blissfully on your phone when whoever just came in came in, they'd see the blue light and know there was someone on the only usable toilet. Then they'd probably say something like, "Woah, dude, it must be huge!" because you won't leave and you'd be shaking so hard from the nerves that it'd rattle the walls.

Please, don't try the door... don't... this bathroom is disgusting!!!! And MINE!! Go find your own mold poisoning!!! FUCK YOU!!

Your bathroom-mate doesn't seem to get the angry memos your mind is rapidly firing at them (who would've thought?) and the sound of sneakers scuffing the damp tile floor follows. DAMN YOU!!!

There's still a door on the stall, sure, but the lock has been busted since you found it. There's a suspiciously rock-shaped dent where it should be, indicating a teenage boy-related event may have occurred there. You shrink into the furthest corner of the stall, hands against either side as if bracing yourself for the walls to collapse in on you. Don't try the door... it's not worth it, I promise!

Click, swoosh. "EEEEEK!"

You should be the one screaming, if anyone, especially since there's a giant blue gumball blocking your only exit. With the lights going out, the foreboding cracks and creaks, and the stranger in the doorway, you could see this as a corny horror movie... if the slasher wasn't sheet-white and shaking.

You blink. "O-occupied..."

His hair falls over his face in waves, a soft, blue light, not unlike that of your recently deceased phone, glowing around him like a halo. He doesn't look much like an angel otherwise.

He stares at you, processing your half-baked response and the sight of a person sat like a spider in the corner of the toilets.

And then... he glares.

"Get out,"

EXCUSE ME??

"Guh?" is all you can manage.

He frowns. "I-I said, get out. This is my hiding spot,"

No way! Who does this guy think he is?! He's really defending this nasty bathroom stall!?

"...Wh-whuh?"

He swallows thickly. "...C...c'mon... please?"

His arms, firmly at his sides, seem uncomfortably stiff. He clenches and unclenches his fists, clearly not as mean or scary as he's trying to come off as. You narrow your eyes.

"I-I found this spot fair and square!"

"I-I've been coming here to hide since my first year! I found it first!"

He shuffles a step forward and the door swings shut behind him, forcing him a little further. It's not a big stall, so he's practically in your lap.

You blink, and he rolls his eyes, turning his back to you and fidgeting with the lock on the bathroom door.

"It's broken," you say, stupidly. The stranger turns it at an angle and then hits it over its top with a closed fist, the click of the lock following.

You stare. "...Ah-ah..."

He turns to look at you from over his shoulder, and you awkwardly slink away from the toilet to give the grimy porcelain seat to him, which he takes with an exasperated huff, crossing his arms and leaning against the graffiti-etched wall.

You do the same, mimicking his posture, but against the door. He blows a strand of hair out of his face.

"...So... skipping, huh?"

It's still dark in the stall, but the light coming from his hair is enough to make out his features. You wonder if he can do the same for you.

You nod, and then: "O-oh, uh... do you have the time?"

The stranger starts to reach for his pocket, but his hand stills at the last moment, and he rolls up his sleeve to show off a pricey-looking digital watch instead. You can't tell if that was to impress you, or if he just didn't feel comfortable taking out his phone in front of a weirdo he found pressed up against the wall of a toilet.

"It's ten thirty-eight,"

You slump. You were somehow hoping more time had passed since he first spoke to you.

The stranger observes your body language, the sweat beading on your upper lip, the awkward, uncomfortable way you shift against the wall.

"Forgot your homework?" he asks, prodding for answers. He's a lot less anxious than he was when he found you- you must make him feel at ease. There's something both relieving and aggravating about that- what's a bathroom-dweller doing judging you, anyway? He doesn't know you!!!! Maybe you're really popular, and you're meeting a lover here... well, you're not, but he doesn't know that!

"I-I just didn't want to go," you mutter.

He looks at his feet. "Yeah, okay. Me, too,"

Figures. You sniffle, crossing your arms.

"Presentations?"

"Whuh?" he says, eyes darting up to meet yours before swiftly away, back at his feet. "N-no, I just... don't go to class in person often, but the wi-fi is down for maintenance, so I..."

He trails off. A spark of envy ignites in your chest. What's he got to complain about?! You have to go to class in person every day! It's not like anyone's asked you if that's what you want to do, either...

You stifle the flicker of frustration tickling your throat and shift again. "But you're not going?"

"No," he says. "...Can't."

Can't is much heavier of a word than want, and you find yourself envious again, at least of his ability to make you feel bad for him. No one feels bad for you, and yet here you are, giving sympathies to a stranger who's life sounds a hell of a lot easier than yours...

You bite down the bile of insecurity.

"...I... me, too," you say, half-wanting to make him feel more comfortable, half-wanting him to feel bad for you, too. For some reason.

"Can't, I mean."

He nods. "Y-you chose a good hiding place, then... I guess I'm not so opposed to sharing it as long as we're using it for the same thing..."

You'll count that as a win. "Thanks..."

"NP," he says, sitting up straight again and rolling his shoulders with a soft grunt. Bad posture. "I-I didn't realize anyone else was, uh... yeah. I'm... Idia."

He didn't give you much to work with, but you're not asking for much, either. You're really just grateful he didn't kick you out.

You give him your name, in no uncertain terms, and he nods, looking away again. The stall suddenly seems so small, with two people in it... Idia seems like he's realizing this, too, the way he's looking around and bouncing his legs like he wants nothing more than to stretch them out... but there is, of course, nowhere else for you to go.

Unless...

No. Those sorts of things only happen in crummy fanfiction written for hormonal losers, and you're anything but that. Obviously!

Idia lasts all of two minutes before he asks you to move, his voice crackling with a renewed twinge of anxiety. "C-could you...?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go," you say, telling him exactly what you'd been rehearsing in your head, in case he asked.

Idia swallows a rebuttal and turns around himself in the tight space. There really isn't much in the way of comfort, and by the look on his face, he already feels guilty for making you get up. At least there's that!

"D-do you wanna... could you... um, we just have a lot of time left, and..."

You'd been so quick to dismiss any sympathetic, sappy thoughts like that, but he spoke up so easily... maybe he'd been thinking the same thing? But, no, that'd be...

He's just being nice.

Still, you can't say no, even if you really wanted to. You shuffle closer, suddenly feeling very aware (and very afraid) of your own weight, though Idia doesn't seem too concerned. If anything, the terrified look of anticipation that's on his face tells you he's thinking a lot about his own body. You move slowly, both for his and your own benefit, fitting yourself in his lap with a touch of grace you weren't aware you had. Idia stiffens at first contact, but he doesn't seem completely repulsed by you, which is a relief.

"Is this... are you comfortable?"

Something like that, you think. You nod, sat neatly in his lap like a present under a Christmas tree... or maybe more like a lump of coal in a stocking, but he's nice to sit on, and that's all that matters.

A few moments of familiar silence pass before Idia shifts, the sounds of shuffling fabric following, and he pulls out his phone.

Despite the less-than-charming atmosphere, the musty smell of mold, the incessant drip, drip, drip of the tap, the darkness, the looming threat of moving time and the outside world, this is... strangely... nice. He's watching car crash compilations on his phone (the screen lowered, so you can see, too) with his chin on your head, which is actually somewhat uncomfortable, but it's romantic, too. Dreamy, even. Something you'd see in a romcom, if romcoms were written about people like you.

You sit there in silence, quietly contemplating the nature of time, existence, and foreign-language dashcam videos, until you're suddenly... not contemplating anything.

bbbbbbrrrrRRRING!

You jolt, hand flying to your bedside table to slam your stupid alarm off and cram in an extra ten minutes of sleep, just to punch straight into a metal wall. Ow.

Cradling your sore fist, you sit up, eyes adjusting to the desolate darkness of your room. Not... your room, you remind yourself.

bbbbbbrrrrRRRING!

You blink, reaching out in the darkness for the source of the sound and finding only metal, metal, metal... something soft. Fabric. Hoodie, pocket lining, and then, phone! It's not yours, remember- yours died.

You remember that this pocket is attached to a person, who's happily snoozing through the loudest alarm you've ever heard. You contemplate the situation for a moment, and then decide it would be best not to dawdle. And so you hold the phone speaker right up to Idia's ear and let it ring again.

He wakes with a start, his hips snapping up and jostling you in his lap, and he just barely has the mind to grab hold of your waist and keep you upright before you fall onto the bathroom floor. You hold his phone as if it were a sickly swaddled newborn baby, close to your chest.

bbbbbbrrrrRRRING!

Loud, too loud. You hand the phone to Idia and, in his sleepy stupor, he tries to answer his alarm like a call. It'd be entertaining if you hadn't just been woken up from a... nine hour nap.

No, that can't be right. You squint at Idia's digital watch again, reading the screen as he paws at his phone, trying to turn off his alarm.

Almost evening. You slept in a dirty bathroom with a stranger for an entire day... missed all your classes getting mold poisoning.

...Could have been worse.

Besides, it's not every day a human being willingly touches you.

"That's for dinner," Idia mutters, slipping his phone back in his pocket with an exasperated, sleepy sigh. "Gotta set a reminder or I'll forget to eat... I'm, uh... I get busy..."

He doesn't have to explain anything to you, but the fact that he likes you enough to want to look good is pretty nice.

You nod.

"Y-yeah... me, too..." you mutter.

Idia unlocks the stall door with a jab of his elbow and walks you into the hall. It's already dark, and you can't see anything but inky blackness through the tall, imposing windows of the school, and the air is impossibly clear here. You're going to smell like raw sewage and mildew for a month...

Idia sniffles, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The events of the day haven't caught up to him yet, it seems. You wonder how he's going to react once he's fully awake.

"Eh, uh..." he starts from behind you, and you turn over your shoulder.

In the moon of early evening, where you can make out more of his face and less of the glowy halo that hides it, he looks more... like himself. You suppose that's a nonsensical thing to think, but his brow is knotted, his eyes turned away, his lower lip caught between his teeth, but all in that stubborn side of him you met first.

"...Same time tomorrow?"

You blink. No... not really, does he mean that?

"Uh..." shit... "I have... potionology, this- that time tomorrow. But Thursday! Th-Thursday I'll definitely be here..."

Idia nods, looking mildly relieved that you didn't turn him down (how could you?)

"Thursday, it is,"

You part in opposite directions (even though your dorm is the way he's going), your feet padding against the stone floor, the-

"W-wait!"

You turn. He's staring at you, wide-eyed.

"W-we don't have to do that in the toilets. You can just come to my room,"

Today marks the third time this week you've missed History of Magic.

You really shouldn't be skipping. It's not like you haven't had every opportunity to succeed, after all; Professor Trein has been extending deadlines since the start of the semester, which, as his syllabus would indicate, is strictly against his classroom rules and expectations. You're a "special case". Always have been.

So, he's not totally heartless, but he is pretty oblivious. It would take a blindfolded fool to not notice the way you cower in the back of the class, avoiding eye contact and praying you don't draw any unwanted attention to yourself. There might've been a point in time where you wanted to be noticed, admired, befriended, loved like your classmates were, in this world and the last, but that fantasy had been long abandoned in the abyssal blackness of your mind. Since September, you've been focusing on one thing, and one thing only: staying out of people's way. If you could survive school at home, then you could here, too... or you'd die trying, which wasn't the worst route.

Not like you had much of a choice either way. You couldn't just ignore the main storyline to focus on sidequests, or you'd never move forward. No matter how daunting that was.

But you could allow yourself breaks, and since Monday, every day had been a sidequest day. As evident by the tiny bandages dotting your skin, you had successfully been abdicated to the infirmary for a full three days worth of classes. Of course, the injuries you littered your skin with weren't that serious- a bruise, a scratch with the end of your quill, a paper cut here and there, "accidentally" stapling the soft flesh of your palm... enough to make you bleed, but not to cause permanent damage. It was the perfect plan. And once you had secured ointment and a colorful bandage from the nurse ghosts, you got to wander the halls until class had concluded. You had quite the reputation for being clumsy, but it was worth it- you'll have to milk this as much as you can before Trein bans you from using the pencil sharpener on a permanent basis.

You drum your fingers on the stall door, the steady rhythm and melodic taps motivating you to turn the textbook page you'd been perusing. Who said you have to go to class to learn, anyway? You can just cram for exams from the comfort of your porcelain throne! You'll pass, easy peasy.

And if not...

...You don't want to think about it. A summer course might not be so bad, since there'd be less people, but you're not even sure if NRC offers those.

And to retake this miserable class next year...

Shudder. You swallow your worries and return to the page on ancient sorcery. Midterms are coming, and the last thing you want to do is make an idiot of yourself by having your low scores posted on the corridor wall.

Or, worse... Trein will read them aloud to the class. You'd seen that in a light novel once, though you're not sure if it happens here. But it might, and that's plenty enough motivation to keep you reading.

Each turn of the page echoes in the impossibly empty bathroom. Besides the drip, drip, drip of a leaky pipe somewhere off to your left, the only sound is your own breath, and the flutter of paper. You could be taking notes, too, but this is plenty enough sound for now. You just have to get a passing grade, after all. You're not aiming for points. Just not to be humiliated when the grades are posted...

You swallow. Your throat is dry and scratchy, no doubt from staying up too late again. But who could blame you? Night is the only time when you actually get to be alone, and you don't have to worry about these... things. No textbooks or tests, no snickering classmates, no whispers and stares, no angry Trein demanding to know how you accidentally slammed your hand in the door... again.

You really hope he doesn't report you to Crowley.

Having a heart-to-heart with the Headmage is truly a fate worse than death... or retaking a class. You try to reassure yourself that Trein wouldn't do that, no one truly suspects that you're hurting yourself on purpose... right? You're just clumsy and accident-prone. There's nothing worth reporting there!!!

But, truthfully, you don't know what's going through the old man's head. Or anyone's. You get teased for your clumsiness, but does anyone really mean it, or are they just saying that because the reality is more uncomfortable than a simple lack of poise? You shudder to think of it, your fingers digging into the pages of the book and crinkling the smooth paper. You can't focus on the paragraph anymore, rereading the same line over, and over, and over...

What could they be thinking? you ponder. Maybe Trein will report you, or he'll think you're playing hooky like some idiot kid and give you detention... maybe he'll make you stay after class to catch up.. oh, the horror...

You swallow the painful lump in your throat, your spit stinging the red rawness all the way down.

Don't be ridiculous, you reason, or try to, at least. Trein teaches hundreds of students. He wouldn't take any interest in someone as insignificant as you...

"Helloooo in there~"

What- FUCK!

Someone is knocking on your stall. You didn't even hear the door opening- who the fuck is it?

"O-occupied," you manage.

"Je sais," the voice says. "You cannot hide all day. Come out, now, I will tell you what you missed!"

Threatening. Overconfident. French. Your stomach drops.

The door opens (how did he unlock that???) and there's Rook Hunt. You shrink as far as you can into the corner of the water closet, sitting on the toilet with your feet on the seat and your hands on either side of the stall, your textbook slipping out of your lap and onto the dirty ground.

"C-can you not see I'm busy?"

"Eh?" he hums, looking down at where you had locked the door. "Ohh... oui, I see. I have been sent as your personal aide to class. You seem to have forgotten again. I will escort you!"

Perhaps you would have had some pity for Rook Hunt, the boy who collects friends like they're novelty bobbleheads but never really makes them, never keeps them, if he were not... Rook Hunt. If he had not spent the last few months justifying his want to follow you around like a hungry hunting dog with the excuse that you were... what did he say?

"Mysterious"

Never in your life did you think you'd one day be hoping for someone to regard you as worthless and leave you be.

But you're pressed here, both physically and metaphorically, and you can't summon the confidence to say "no", and so you do something stupid instead.

Run for it.

You were once taught never to turn your back to predators, like bears and big, rabid dogs. Your tablemate had been reading something from his scout book to his friend in first period. They'll see you as prey, he had said, and then to you, with an evil smile: I bet they would run. They're so afraid of everything.

His friend had scolded him for teasing you and ruining your morning, but you hadn't been planning on enjoying it anyhow.

Stupid, you had thought, you would never be caught dead outside of your room, let alone in the woods. Useless information.

There were no angry bears or hungry lions at Night Raven College. But you did have Rook.

Your tablemate should have learned something fucking useful at his stupid scouts training. Like, for instance, what to do when a tall, scary extrovert takes your running as an invitation to hunt you like an animal.

You're so out of shape. When did that happen? You suppose you can only blame your piss-poor diet of noodle cups and sweets for that. You're winded and worn in two minutes, using the wall as a crutch to support your weight down the hall.

For a fleeting, terrifying moment, you have a very scary thought: I wish someone else were here.

And then it goes away, with your energy, with the feeling in your feet, with whatever was left of your pride, and the air in your lungs.

Shouldn't have run... Stupid, stupid, stupid...

SMACK.

Had there always been a wall there? You can only somewhat register the shooting pain in your skull and the purple bruise forming on your forehead as you fall backwards. It's not graceful; you hit your tailbone on the stone floor and curl in the fetal position.

If anything went right in your pitiful life, this is where you'd die. But it's only an ache behind your eyes and a bruise on your butt, and then Rook Hunt crouching over you like you're his latest kill.

"Zut alors... you have injured yourself yet again!" he trills picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, not even flinching once at the weight.

"You are quite the tricky one, you know! And here I was, thinking that your injuries were all faked... tch, it looks like you are a clumsy one... non?" he smirks knowingly at you, paying little attention to where his feet are going but walking gracefully nonetheless.

You don't respond. This is the most anyone has touched you in... years, probably... and it sucks. It's miserable. And uncomfortable.

"Wh-where are we going?" you manage.

Rook tsks. "Ah, the infirmary, of course. You are in no state to study after that fall!"

Maybe running for it wasn't such a stupid idea, after all...

"And I will stay dutifully by your side, nursing you back to health!"

Never mind.

You wince at his words, a sharp sting of panic shooting down your spine and right into your bruised tailbone, making your butt ache. Ow. "Y-you don't-"

"But of course!" he interrupts before you even get to finish. He knew you were going to object, damn it. "It was my doing, was it not? I should have known better than to spook un petit lapin such as yourself... small, easily-startled creatures should be handled in traps, or at long distances!"

He's talking about shooting you now, which honestly isn't the worst thing you've heard about yourself here. At least he's being honest, rather than saying it behind your back.

You don't even try to fight it. What's the point? Besides, your head really does hurt, and you don't have any access to ice in Ramshackle (as Rook would also go on to remind you).

But you could do without the boy at your sickbed, legs crossed, elbows on his knees and chin in his hand as he studies you like a piece of fine art, or, more likely, an ant under a magnifying glass. He bats his long eyelashes at you as you cautiously eat the soup he had "specially prepared" for your health. There's probably something weird in the warm, swirling broth, but you can't find it within yourself to care. It's good soup, anyway.

"...Are you going to sit there all night?" you weakly ask him, your fingers absently feeling over the thick bandage on your forehead. You'd bled a little, when you hit it.

Rook nods eagerly. "Ah, yes, to study such a rare specimen... of course, I would have preferred to do it in your natural habitat, but under controlled conditions is acceptable..."

Like you're a rat, or something. Well, you've been called worse. You set the lukewarm bowl to the side and sink into the bed. Firm, uncomfortable, just like home. Your dorm, that is.

You're not too keen on being... "observed", or whatever he said, but it's not like you have much of a choice. He wouldn't leave even if you asked him to.

"..." you wring your hands, quiet for a moment. "...Can you at least get more ice, then...?"

"Ah, it would be my honor!" Rook says, shooting up from his seat. You're almost surprised that he doesn't salute you, too.

He does, though, return with a bag of ice, place it by your abandoned bowl, and press a fleeting kiss to your forehead.

It's swift and painless, like being decapitated- and not unlike a headless body, it leaves you silent and stunned. You sit there for a moment longer before Rook presses the ice to your head himself.

"Just as I thought," he says. "I will have to take note of this... ah, how my heart leaps at such an opportunity to study an elusive creature such as yourself! Rest easy, lapine, I have many more trials to conduct!"

[oneforthemunny]

i think especially bc of nb and eddie’s childhoods (her mom, hawkins in general) they are SO set on positive speak and encouragement and stuff towards the girls. like growing up none of them have ever doubted that they are smart and talented and beautiful because why would they??? even when some of the girls get some shit when they’re older because social media is evil, they don’t even register it because ?? it’s factually incorrect ??

nb was super big about it. like a big believer that our bodies are like plants and we have to nourish them with positivity and good things.

eddie did too, he just falls short sometimes. i’ve talked a lot about how he feels intimidated by her parenting because it seems to come so much more natural to her than it does him.

but he’s still a girl dad at heart and very good at making them feel affirmed and supported and being positive. mainly because he does believe everything he says?? yes they are the best girls. yes they are the sweetest and they’re so kind and so smart. duh, that’s his fucking babies.

i had a little ask maybe blurb type thing that nb gets into her hippy shit when she becomes a mom and will do morning affirmations outside in the sun, and all the girls love to join her and do them to especially when they’re little. they’ll sit in the garden on their little mats and say their positive intentions for the day.

eddie’s managed to snap a few photos but a few are shaky bc this mf is sobbing. he’s so emotional it’s sick lol.

[loviwonnie]

— COOL WITH YOU

018. let her cook + written (3k)

you decided to ignore hanni's suspicious tweet — mostly because it’s hanni, and she’s friends with eunchae, so whatever cursed activity they’re up to this time… it’s probably just business as usual. no one questions it anymore. you figured you shouldn’t either.

especially now, when this two friend groups are getting weirdly close. and fast.

it gave you a strange feeling, watching it all happen — because everything felt different. off.

it wasn’t like this before you transferred to this school.

flashback

first year of high school, 2020

it was the start of high school for students like wonyoung, hanni, and gyuvin — and they were already running the place. smart, popular, talented, and basically allergic to mediocrity, they ruled Decelis Academy like it was their birthright.

they were the leaders. the standard.

loved by teachers. feared by rivals. worshipped by normies.

they had everything: grades, charm, influence — and their names were whispered like spells in the halls of every nearby school. before long, the entire heart of Seoul was buzzing about them.

adored since middle school, they built a safe zone around themselves — a place of loyalty, ambition, and a little bit of chaos. they were the first to start debate, basketball, and archery clubs. everyone wanted in. especially the younger students, who called them the “The Topliners”

because being friends with them? it meant access. it meant safety. it meant you’d already made it.

but not everyone in the group cared about that.

the students a year younger — all from group 2 of grade 9 — wished they could be just like them.

niki, taki, haerin, and eunchae were a group of chaotic, unpredictable friends. they were bold, brave, and playful — but also full of justice and loyalty to each other. they were completely different, yet bonded by the same desire to be better, smarter, more.

fate threw them together at their very first trial lesson of the debate club, led by none other than wonyoung. loudest and most rebellious of them all, the group was quickly noticed by the club head. she suggested they try out other clubs, maybe find something closer to their hearts.

and just like that, hanni ended up dragging eunchae and taki to the archery club, while niki and haerin were soon tossing basketballs with gyuvin.

it was the beginning of something unbreakable. at least, that’s what they thought.

present day

haerin's message caught you off guard while you were zoning out in class. mr baeck's literature class was so boring and slow it made you yawn since the beginning. the only thing that cheered you up was the sudden hang out plan with your friends. you couldn't take your eyes off the group chat attacking taki for not keeping his promise. but its not a big deal, because this was the only time he forgot about something.

"kim yn, will you please put down your phone and tell me what does jane mean when she says, ‘i am no bird; and no net ensnares me'?" mr baeck suddenly raises his voice and looks at you with his classic annoyed expression.

okay, who is jane? what are we even reading now. you quickly look at the screen behind the teacher. it was jane eyre by charlotte brontë. oh so we are in western literature section, got it.

"no control" whispers your seatmate jisu. something snapped in your head and you quickly used the hint she gave.

"she refuses to be controlled – she wants freedom on her own terms." you pause. "thats what she meant" an awkward smile appears on your face and you sigh the moment mr baeck loses his interest in you. "thanks" you whisper back to jisu, who winked at you as a 'i got you, girl'.

soon he tortured other half sleepy students, which made you continue your daydreaming and unconsciously think about recent events.

rumors. rumors about me. and oh, they looked so real. those screenshots of chats would make anyone believe that. but who would have done that? who's so damn miserable and lonely that decided to ruin someone else's life? my life! i don't even talk to half of the school.

and they made me look bad in front of jungwon. ah him again. i still feel bad for saying those words in cafeteria. i think i understand him? he was like brainwashed and he never saw me, so he created this bully image of me.

but why would NONE of my friends tell me about this or assure him that they are fake? could there be a chance that they believed them too? i am so tired and confused. i don't wanna deal with them, but i have to. but shit! i don't want to. i guess i am the miserable one here.

after school day ended, haerin gave you strict deadline to change your clothes and be ready in front of your school gates. 40 minutes. "no being late, no lame excuses" she said. thats actually funny and somehow scary how the youngest one controls all of you. "yes ma'am" you all synced and run off in different directions.

fortunately you live the closest to the school. 10 minute walk and you are already fighting with your key hole and violently shaking the keys, because they won't open and let you in. after dealing with that, you quickly changed your uniform to something more comfortable and stylish. year in los angeles paid off and did wonders for your fashion sense. thank god.

you quickly wore white mini skirt and blue striped shirt. changed your favorite worn out adidas sneakers to cute black flats. combed your hair, put some lipstick on and you were ready to leave. 15 minutes left and there is already a chaos in your group chat. haerin was texting how much time was left every 5 minutes.

i bet taki is cussing her out. hehe. and gyuvin kissing eumpapa goodbye like they don't cuddle every night.

after you flew out of your apartments, the road suddenly became a running track, training for the olympics, racing for haerin's praise–

only to arrive last.

"well well well. look at her. dashing here like usain bolt" gyuvin grins, arms crossed. "bad news for you, champ. you buy us snacks for being last"

"yup. that's the rule" haerin adds, face all smug and righteous.

"you just made that up" you roll your eyes, moving gyuvin out of the way.

"that's always been a thing! don't break the law, you law violator" taki adds as he walked next to you.

"is giving me nicknames became a thing too?" you pinch taki's arm.

"stop annoying yn, monkeys. you better get us a taxi now" wonyoung scolds two boys, pointing at their phones.

"why taxi? metro is way cheaper and faster" gyuvin replys, leading the whole group to the nearest metro station.

"metros down, buses are dead. its taxi or teleportation. pick one, dorks" haerin shuts them down with one sentence.

after 20 minute of your most quietest taxi ride ever, you got off that car like someone was forcibly covering your mouth shut.

“i’ve never known silence like that in my life,” haerin mutters, cracking open her water bottle and downing it like she just escaped a spiritual retreat in the world’s driest desert — also known as their cursed taxi ride.

“i thought about jumping out at the red light just to feel something.” you deadpan. your friends laugh, but you're serious. like, serious serious.

if growing up means turning into that driver, i want out.

since you lost their "last buys snacks" game, you headed to the market and felt like a parent spoiling your kids aka your grown friends. but they couldn't enjoy the torture of your wallet too much, because you had to rush to the cinema, so haerin could watch all the ads and new movie trailers before your movie starts. haerin is the boss today. no objections are allowed.

"seriously, why did you have to drag us here to watch the trailers?" gyuvin whines as he carried everyones drinks and snacks.

"sweiosly, blah blah blah" haerin mocks and mimics his face.

"wow, thats so mature" he says before she punched his arm. and you? you punch him too. just because it was a good opportunity.

you were walking to the cinema hall unbothered by all the looks of other people gave you for being so loud. as soon as you entered the hall, you were all quite surprised for it being empty. or so you thought.

"the entire place for us! " taki yells while jumping up and down looking sooo happy.

"no one to cuss you out this time" you add, nudging him.

"someone cussed you out before?" wonyoung frowns. "thats our job"

taki's face changed. "thank you, you guys are so nice".

"who are this loud monkeys?" eunchae mutters as she was poking around niki's popcorn. "and why you bought a plain popcorn? you know damn right i love salted caramel" she looks at him.

"stop touching my popcorn, eat your nachos, weirdo" niki grabs his popcorn bucket and hugged it tight so eunchae won't get it.

"this is my last time hanging out with you guys" jungwon scrolls through his phone, reading the reviews of the movie they are about to watch

"you don't have a choice anyways" hanni says, her evil laugh making everyone side eye her.

as you and your friend group came out of mini tunnel to the cinema hall, you were first to notice several familiar faces sitting on the top rows. one of them jumped out of their seats and pointed at you.

"no way! our dancers are here too" niki said tossing his popcorn bucket at eunchae.

"what the hell, dude?" she shrieks as popcorn rains on her.

"what are the chances that this isn't someone's big scheme?" you looked at wonyoung, just to avoid jungwon's burning gaze.

"you mean haerin and hanni's? they're giggling like goblins" taki appeared next to you, handing yours and wonyoungs ticket.

"row 7" you looked up at them grinning at you like bunch of weirdos. "cool, we're sharing a row with them"

"okay lovebirds, you're blocking the line. move it" haerin smirks evily again and dragged you to your row.

as soon as everyone sat down, you realized that the last seat left was yours next to jungwon. there were no chances to run away or sit somewhere else and pretend that you don't know this guys, because you were surrounded by them. so you obediently sat down and took a short glance at jungwon.

it's not that you hate or feel uncomfortable around him, you just know that it's going to be super awkward and hard to start a conversation after everything that has happened. you really wish that your first encounter with him was different. that doesn't start with misunderstanding, hate or unnecessary drama and gossip. for no reason, you felt that you should change it, you have to do the first move. but while you were gathering your strength and courage, he already did his move.

"hey, yn. after everything that happened, i am hoping that we're good" he said so softly and confidently at the same time, it made you startle for a bit. "well, you don't have to do this, but i really do hope, just so you know"

you smiled. you licked your lips and looked down. you realized that you probably looked very silly in front of him. shit. he was still looking at you with those big beautiful eyes. you could feel his eyes on you.

"we're good," you smiled at him again and couldn't help but notice the slight smile that crossed his face.

"cool" he was still looking at you, which made your stomach do backflips over and over again.

you have to admit that jungwon was and is ridiculously handsome boy you have ever met. his eyes were both pretty and haunting, smile so soft and warm. he has that rare aura and charisma, that not many people do.

ughhhh why are we still looking at each other. we probably look like idiots.

for a moment you thought that eucnhae read your mind, because you heard her annoyed voice telling you guys to stop this lovey dovey nonsense.

"we were talking" jungwon brushed off, adjusting his hair, still having his whole body turned to you.

"yeah, sure" eunchae muttered and continued munching niki's popcorn.

₊˚.༄

2 hours after the movie

the friend group — now basically a merged company of chaos — sat scattered around the food court table, still recovering from the horror movie they’d just watched.

“never. ever. let haerin pick a movie again. i'm not surviving another psycho clown with a chainsaw,” ricky muttered dramatically, hiding his face behind shaky fingers.

haerin rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t still glued to wonyoung's side like a shaken chihuahua in designer heels.

“it wasn’t that bad,” you blurted out, not realizing you had just made a fatal mistake.

“i wouldn’t be scared either if i got to cling onto jungwon the whole time,” niki smirked, raising his eyebrows with intent.

you blinked. “i didn’t cling to jungwon,” you scoffed, a little too quickly. “it was my other neighbor — gyuvin.”

you tried to recall it confidently. were you sure it wasn’t gyuvin? right?

“no, babygirl. it was definitely jungwon,” hanni chimed in, shaking her head with the smirk of someone who saw everything. “you even hid your face in his shoulder.”

you gulped.

jungwon had been looking away the entire time. or so you thought. But now that you looked at him… was that a smile tugging at the corner of his lips?

you weren’t sure what was more shocking — your betrayal of gyuvin or jungwon soft-smiling like he had a secret.

“well,” jungwon suddenly shrugged, finally turning fully toward the group like he was accepting his role in this roast session. “if any of you knew yn's the only one here who can’t watch horror… that wouldn’t have happened.”

he said it so chill, like he was defending you. or maybe defending himself. you couldn’t really tell — boy had has limited usage of his emotions.

“whatever,” wonyoung said, clapping her hands like a ceo ending a meeting. "let’s just admit it — it was cute, okay?”

everyone murmured in agreement.

“now someone get me food,” she added. “ i'm officially quitting my diet.”

you expected picking a place to eat at the food court would be chaos — loud debates, dramatic coin flips, maybe a betrayal or two — but somehow, everyone ended up stopping at the same burger chain without question. peaceful. suspiciously peaceful.

while waiting for the food, most of the group wandered off to play some kind of mobile game.

well, everyone except for you and jungwon.

you had no idea what game it was — the rules were confusing, and honestly, the energy was too much — so the two of you stayed behind as quiet observers. spectators watching a bunch of overgrown children scream over a game that clearly had no structure.

“they’re all really close,” you said, watching haerin yank niki's hair hard enough to make him yell loud enough for the whole court to turn and stare.

jungwon looked over at you. “was it like this before we came here?”

you hesitated. “i don’t know. i've never seen them all together like this before.”

you shrugged and looked away, catching his eyes lingering on you just a second too long. your stomach tightened, that weird nervous flutter showing up uninvited again.

then, the customer pager on your table buzzed and lit up. no one noticed. except you and jungwon. so you both stood up, silently volunteering to be the responsible ones.

you picked the lightest tray — just a small one with fries — but the second you lifted it, your hands began to tremble. subtle at first, then annoyingly obvious.

“hey… you okay?” jungwon asked, eyes catching the way the tray wobbled slightly in your grip.

“yeah, i'm fine,” you said quickly, forcing a small smile, trying to breathe through the tension and focus on not dropping your tray in the middle of the food court.

“if it’s heavy, I can take it.”

“you’re already holding two,” you said, surprised. “seriously, jungwon, it’s fine.”

you smiled again. this one felt more stable. he gave a slow nod and looked away, but not without glancing at you again a few times on the walk back.

when you returned, everyone was still too focused on their game to notice. loud arguing, dramatic pointing, eunchae accusing someone of cheating.

jungwon glanced over at you. “what if we just took our food and left?”

you looked at him. a laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“wouldn’t that be fun,” you said softly, meeting his gaze just for a second longer than usual.

after dropping everyone’s food at the table (still completely unnoticed, by the way), jungwon grabbed your drinks and fries, and you took off with the burgers like it was a heist.

you were laughing all the way to the exit, nearly tripping over the tiled floor, but jungwon caught your arm just in time — nearly spilling your coke all over your shirt in the process.

“careful,” he said, trying not to laugh too hard himself.

you both ended up collapsing onto a bench nearby, breathless from the run, unwrapping burgers and stealing fries from each other while giggling at the fact that no one had noticed your disappearance.

“should we tell them?” you asked, mid-chew.

“nah,” jungwon smirked, leaning back. “let them suffer.”

“so what’s the plan now?” you ask, sipping your coke like it’s a martini and you’re a spy on the run.

jungwon wipes ketchup off his thumb with a napkin, then tosses it like a pro into the nearby trash. “we change our names and live in the mountains.”

“as burger bandits?” you raise an eyebrow.

“exactly. feared across all food courts nationwide.”

you snort. “right. the great fry heist of skyline mall.”

“we’ll go down in history,” he nods solemnly.

you both laugh again, and then just… sit there for a second, your shoulders almost touching, watching people walk by, but don’t get soft. you’re still running from the law (aka haerin).

prev — masterlist — next

iris notes :: damn, this came out so huge

୨୧ taglist ! @kpopstanmeg @super-amberlynn @kxr0mir0ll @enhaz1 @jwsflower @ilovewonyo @lprww @nishimurasgirl @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @love-4-keum @fakeuwus @wtfhyuck @aerivrs @miumiuo @soomelon @nichoswag @wonhoonsluv @gothhyucks @dimplewonie @daniellaismyname @mochamvgz @moons-v @ashy1um @won-der5 @jena4real @gyuulvr @enhalovie @ibsysbsfsunsbs @iraa567

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[eastofedean]

I think my mutuals are the kindest and most talented people on earth

[sideblogdotjpeg]

have been thinking about professor sol even. professor bufo with no clearly discernable lesson plan. sol bufo ostensibly martial arts professor who spent two weeks running a yoga and meditation program and shows up to the next class with crochet hooks for everyone. professor bufo who is technically supposed to be assigning grades to students but hasnt given anyone less than an A because "i think they worked really hard and they did a great job :)" (referring to the ugliest and most malformed pot holder anyone has laid eyes upon in their life). professor bufo who is on his way to cluelessly kickstart the sexual awakening of about half the cohort of the academys new students. sol bufo adjunct professor who is gone half the year and his first class back is so immediately and easily baited into going into a long tangent about how cool his friends are. sol who is pretty sure hes easily the most useless professor on campus and almost cries when he sees his little desk overflowing with thank you notes at the end of the year. professor bufo absolutely fucking gloriously hot in the tightest little sweater vest because there were faculty complaints when he wore a crop top to class.

[drop--pop--candy]

feeling a lot like ichika in that one 4koma rn

[imadhatt3r]

No video game series will ever piss me off more than p/ersona, because it has literally everything I love in fiction: A cast of characters where each one has a side story, hidden parts of their psyche, and harbors some kind of deep secret that tortures them every day? Character interaction in different scenarios? Exploration of different characters' psyches that look like personalized, abstract dungeons that you have to literally fight through? Exploring themes like innevability of death and different ways people cope with it or societal injustice? Tarot motifs? Use of Jung's psychological theories (which are BOGUS, but make for AMAZING addition to fictional stories)? Every element, including UI, is heavily and consistently stylized? Music that goes INSANELY hard???

Like this series should be like crack-infused catnip to me, but I just can't get into it bc Atlus always has to include something so tone-deaf and just downright DOGSHIT into these games (usually something relating to the dating system or pretty much anything relating to how they CONSISTENTLY potray queer people in their games) that I just cannot bring myself to seriously attempt to get into it 😔

[digitaldiseas3]

re: my last tag on my last post

[nctjpeg]

how i look after deluding myself for so long thinking this mf actually cared about me because they did things such as “telling me how much they care about me” and “showering me in attention for months and introducing me to all of their friends” and me communicating to them “hey this is super cool and you make me really happy so i hope you don’t lose interest and move onto the next girl once i’m no longer bright and shiny and new to you” and them being like “I would NEVER do that” only for them to do Literally Exactly That™️ so after all that internal work i had to do to even let someone into my life as a potentially significant friend again they just pulled back as soon as I wasn’t fun anymore so NO we were never actually friends and YES i was probably just a sex object meant to boost their ego because they deeply dislike themselves

[bmpmp3]

I NEEED to go back to making art that makes it ABUNDANTLY clear that theres something wrong with my brain BUT NOT in a cool or stylishly interesting way. i need to do it in a way that makes people say "hm." and walk away

[tarmac-rat]

Open to see something cursed

Streetkid!Riley

[linoguy]

no one should ever be taking that many takes of one scene, let alone one shot

[blackcatarts]

man. aggy elesii is one of my favorite people on earth

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[uisceb]

Okay I want to talk about this moment between Morrible and Glinda for a sec because it adds such a wonderfully sinister layer to a scene that is otherwise a triumphant defining moment for Elphaba, and it sets up the dynamics for Part 2 so perfectly.

At this point, we are in the thick of “Defying Gravity.” Everyone’s attention is on Elphaba - and rightfully so, she’s up there declaring war on the Wizard, displaying incredible feats of magic, of course everyone’s attention is on her.

…Everyone, except Morrible.

Morrible has realized that Plan A was a bust, but rather than panicking, she’s already worked over Plans B through Z in her head and has realized that Glinda, not Elphaba, is actually the key figure here. Glinda is actually the best thing that could have happened to them.

Mind you, Morrible hates Glinda. She thinks Glinda is vapid and attention-seeking and completely without talent. It would be extremely easy for her to brand Glinda as an accomplice to Elphaba, have the guards drag her off, imprison her, never have to deal with her again, nice and neat.

Instead, while everyone else is focused on Elphaba, Morrible only has eyes for Glinda. She zeroes in on her, releases her, and comforts her, because she understands what no one else understands, which is that yes, that’s great that the Wizard now has an enemy to unify his people against, but they also need a symbol of hope, something that is the exact antithesis to Elphaba, something to keep everyone at extremes. 

The Wizard himself can’t really be a symbol of hope, because the key to his success is that he remains shrouded in mystery, and yes people think he’s wonderful, but there’s a level of uncertainty and intimidation to him. He is Oz the Great and Terrible, and everyone’s preeeeeetty sure he’s a good guy, but if you have someone like Elphaba out there - who Morrible knows from experience is very smart, very articulate, and has her own sort of magnetism - there’s a potential that she could turn at least enough people against the Wizard to make things very inconvenient.

So what they need, now that they have an enemy, is to have an equally magnetic figurehead representing the Wizard who embodies all these one-dimensional ideas of goodness, someone for the public to adore and fawn over so the association between Wizard and Goodness is crystal clear.

And by bringing Glinda along, Elphaba has unknowingly served that figurehead up on a platter.

Glinda is everything Elphaba isn’t, from personality, to appearance - Morrible has already set Elphaba up by calling her green skin an “outward manifestorium of her twisted nature,” which paves the way for Glinda, who is the perfect conventional beauty, to be an “outward manifestorium” of pure goodness. 

Morrible realizes they need these two lightning rods of Absolute Evil and Absolute Good in order to manipulate people - fear alone isn’t enough; the only way to effectively radicalize the populace is to make sure there is no gray area whatsoever, no room for question: you're either good, or you’re evil. And the Wizard alone isn’t a strong enough representation of “goodness” when by virtue of existing, he has to remain in the shadows. Glinda on the other hand? With her looks and her charm and her openness and her ability to expertly win over a crowd? Perfect for the role.

Now the tricky part for Morrible is taking into consideration that Glinda and Elphaba love each other. But we also know from earlier scenes that Morrible is a master at manipulating emotions. Right from the start when Elphaba is having trouble with her magic, Morrible casually brings up the “Animals should be seen and not heard” disturbance from class, spoon-feeding her just enough to get Elphaba upset, triggering her magic, after which Morrible makes sure to give her assurance and praise to keep Elphaba optimistic about her power.

She’s also aware that Glinda does have quite a bit of influence over Elphaba, because when Elphaba flees, Morrible immediately tasks her with winning her over, rather than simply relying on the guards or even going after Elphaba herself. She knows if anyone has a chance at roping Elphaba back in, it's Glinda.

Obviously, Glinda isn’t successful in getting her back, but while this puts a dent in Morrible’s plans to get control of Elphaba, it does give her an extra weak spot to exploit in Glinda.

So now, at the height of “Defying Gravity” when Elphaba has officially taken her stand against them, Morrible sees Glinda, and Glinda is at her most vulnerable, her most emotionally fragile. Not only is she heartbroken and in shock, she’s also just witnessed in real time exactly how easy it is to turn an entire nation against someone. She’s scared, she’s powerless. She’s just lost the love of her life her only friend, she has no one to turn to - Morrible has definitely picked up on the fact that even though Glinda has countless people who fawn over her, none of them can be considered a true friend except for Elphaba, which means Glinda is completely isolated. Glinda also has a very limited understanding of the bigger picture of what the Wizard is trying to accomplish, and because she’s never been a victim of the system the way Elphaba has, she is still desperately clinging to the idea that everything will be okay as long as she plays by the rules of the people in power.

She has been perfectly primed for Morrible to begin manipulating, not through violence or intimidation, but by offering her comfort when no one else would - when not even Glinda’s only friend would - when no one else is even paying attention to Glinda, because they have the very real and present threat of Elphaba quite literally hanging over them. In this moment, Morrible chooses Glinda, which Glinda has been striving for since the beginning. Elphaba has chosen her principles, the Wizard has chosen his enemy, but Morrible has chosen Glinda, and in this moment of being so alone and so afraid and so betrayed, that makes all the difference.

We also get kind of a parallel shot too - Elphaba really sealed her fate the second her hand closed around the broom. But here, Glinda seals her fate when she gives in and reciprocates Morrible’s hold on her.

THIS is the moment that sets us up for Part 2, with Elphaba and Glinda as our lightning rods for Absolute Evil and Absolute Good, but more to the point, it makes it clear that they’ve BOTH been used, they’ve BOTH played right into these respective roles Morrible and the Wizard need in order to be successful - even if it wasn’t how Morrible originally planned for things to go.

I just love it, because “Defying Gravity” is Elphaba’s song - it’s triumphant, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s everything a defining moment should be for a character. But by injecting this little moment between Morrible and Glinda into the scene, we also get an underlying current of dread because we know we’re about to see the consequences of Elphaba’s defiance versus Glinda’s compliance and how both serve to benefit the Wizard/Morrible’s propaganda.

TL;DR - when I said "I want to talk about this scene between Morrible and Glinda for a sec" I clearly meant "I'm gonna write a whole essay. Like a nerd."