#okay so time for essay 2 in the tags | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunshineyuyu · 16 days ago

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chained (c. jh)

★ summary: jongho wears a silver chain that you’re obsessed with, and you finally get his attention after some calculated flirting with yunho and some beer pong. ★ pairing: jongho x f!reader (ft. yunho) ★ genre: friends to lovers, college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 5.4k ★ tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, jongho calls reader babygirl and yunho calls reader princess, features friend!san and previous hookup!yunho, some jealousy/tension, reader also kinda uses yunho… but he’s okay with it, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny. there may or may not be a yunho prequel coming soon hehehehe. also please let me know if i’ve missed any warnings! ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | part 2

you feel your eyelids droop, heavy from the burden of attempting to stay away in this godforsaken class. it doesn’t help that the seats in this lecture hall are so damn comfortable: plush and tall enough for full back and neck support and a slight give that lets you lean back. you’re one lecture slide away from calling it a day—even though class started just ten minutes ago—when you feel something at your left shoulder.

it’s choi jongho, leaning closer towards you over the armrest dividing your seats.

hot, attractive choi jongho, with broad shoulders and strong arms and thick thighs.

you stare adamantly at your laptop screen, at the blank google doc open, at the blinking cursor teasing you for almost falling asleep. you focus on literally anything except jongho’s overwhelming presence at your side–the subtle scent of his musky shampoo, his hot breath fanning over your shoulder.

the silver chain that he normally hides behind the collar of his shirt hangs out, dangling in a way that has you imagining a different scenario: your string lights illuminating the outline of his body while he presses you into the mattress with his weight, one hand gripping your waist and the other on the headboard, that goddamn silver chain swinging above you while he—

“late night last night?” jongho says, voice low because you’re in class, and deliciously deep. it’s unintentionally sultry, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together.

“shut up,” you say. “i was finishing an essay.”

jongho hums, and you start to aimlessly copy down the words of the lecture slide. you know that jongho sees right through you; the slides will be posted online later, so there’s no point regurgitating the content.

but you cannot let yourself look at jongho, because you’d probably try to kiss him right then and there.

“weren’t you with yunho?” he says.

“not like that,” you grit out. “we’re just in the same class so he was helping me.”

jongho hums, and he finally returns to the confines of his own seat. you let out a breath of relief. you continue copying down words from the powerpoint, even letting yourself tune into the professor’s voice; at least you’re wide awake now, a nagging feeling of want coursing through you.

you feel a nudge at your other elbow. this presence is comfortable, familiar. it’s san, your first friend at university who is conveniently the same major as you. even though he’s just as big and built as jongho, he’s less intimidating. he’s soft and nice, and he’s showing you a topical meme on his phone from some computer science joke twitter account.

unfortunately, jongho notices san’s phone turned towards you and leans over again, except this time he’s closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as he tries to make sure he’s also included in the joke.

“i don’t get it,” he says.

“it’s because you’re not actually a computer science major,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing jongho back into his seat—you exert more effort than you anticipated because of how solid jongho is.

“tsk,” jongho says. “at least i actually understand what’s going on in this class.”

this shuts you up, and you go back to glaring at your laptop and reformatting your bullets because you’ve already lost track of the lecture.

you last another fifteen minutes of attempting to pay attention, before you resign yourself to scrolling through instagram and mentally planning how you can coerce jongho into sharing his immaculately organized notes.

in the final minute of class, the whole class begins unceremoniously packing up, even though the professor is still droning on about greedy algorithms. everyone shuffles out of their row and through the doors at the back of the lecture hall, and jongho falls into step with san, talking about working on the homework tonight. you walk a step behind them, because your legs are shorter and because you want plausible deniability while admiring the shear breadth of jongho’s shoulders.

you leave the lecture hall, and san heads to the academic quad for his next class.

“see you later,” you say to him and jongho, who usually has to work at the library after class, but you notice him following you to the coffeehouse.

“don’t you have work?” you say.

“i changed my schedule,” jongho says. “are you gonna go work at the cafe?”

you nod, and he follows you to the campus coffeehouse where you stand in a fifteen minute line. jongho only gets drip coffee, so you end up ordering something frivolous to make the wait worth it. the two of you squeeze into a small table in the corner, your knees constantly brushing against each other as you read over the essay you wrote last night in a red bull induced haze.

most of it is thankfully salvageable, and the hit of caffeine helps you.

every once in a while, you find yourself glancing over the top of your laptop at jongho. at the lines of concentration etched into his handsome, tanned face. how his hair is getting scruffy and how he pouts when he’s deep in thought.

you’re so hopelessly in love with choi jongho.

at some point, he gets up to get a napkin, and when he returns, he doesn’t sit back down in his own seat. no—instead he hovers behind you, invading your space with one hand on the back of your chair and the other stretched onto the table to keep himself stable.

and that chain—that goddamn silver chain dances over your shoulder again.

“what do you want?” you mumble, skin prickling at the sensation of his proximity.

“this is not bad,” jongho says, eyes skimming over your essay.

“what’s with the tone of surprise?” you retort.

jongho shrugs. “just thought you would’ve been distracted last night.”

you finally chance a look at him, if only to stare at him puzzled until it finally clicks. you shove him off—subconsciously admiring, once again, just how solid he feels.

“for the last time,” you say. “it’s not like that. yunho’s just a friend.”

jongho sits back down, patting the napkin on a part of his laptop.

“good.”

you stop typing and gape at jongho, who’s returned to focusing on his own work. did he- did he just—? your brain works at miles a minute, offering bold assumptions and then instantly refuting them and then rebutting those and then raising new anxieties and then being hopeful and then—

you spend the rest of the time at the coffeehouse overanalyzing one word you’re not even sure you heard.

⋆⋆⋆

the three of you are sat around the coffee table in the living room of jongho and san’s apartment on the west side of campus. their apartment has become the haven for your discrete math class, where jongho blesses you and san with his knowledge in a class he’s taking pass/fail that isn’t even a major requirement for him. their apartment also has plenty of alcohol for when the nights get particularly rough and a good stash of unhealthy stacks.

it’s 1 am now, and the three of you have finished three out of five of the homework questions, eaten five packets of ramen, two sleeves of strawberry pocky, downed six bottles of yakult, and watched an eighteen minute youtube video theorizing that bakugou might become the second user of one for all.

you’d consider this a productive night.

now, you’re perched on the couch, san leaning against your legs while you play with his hair. it’s softer than yours, which frustrates you to no end because you know for a fact that he uses 5-in-1—how are there even five things to incorporate into one bottle?

jongho’s in the kitchen, contemplating a late night—or early morning—beer.

“seonghwa’s throwing a party this weekend,” jongho says, when he returns with another bottle of yakult instead of the beer. the bottle is already small, but it’s positively dwarfed by the size of his hands.

“if seonghwa’s hosting, then yunho will be there,” jongho continues. he looks pointedly at you.

“i thought,” you say, tugging a little on san’s hair and earning a sharp shout of pain, “we established that i don’t. like. yunho.””

“but didn’t you hook up with him?” san says, removing himself from your vindictive fingers and rubbing his scalp. as he sits up to look at you, he instantly regrets bringing up this point as you glare daggers at him. he’s not wrong; you and yunho had hooked up once, at the birthday party of an acquaintance, after seeing jongho chatting up some other pretty girl.

“you guys hooked up?” jongho says, breaking the stare-off you’re having with san for betraying your trust like that.

“it didn’t mean anything,” you say quickly, glancing up at jongho and double-taking at the shadow that’s fallen over his expression. how his jaw looks tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“but you guys hooked up,” he repeats.

“just the one time,” you say, not quite understanding why it feels like you’re being accused of something far worse than a hookup between two consenting and single adults. “we were high and he was just there and it happened.”

“when?” jongho says, continuing the interrogation and maintaining eye contact with you while san switches his attention between the two of you, the instigator but certainly not the mediator of this conversation.

“at yeji’s birthday party,” you say.

“so that’s why we had to pick you up from the burger place on 8th,” jongho says. “because you were at his place.”

“yeah,” you say. “but it literally does not matter because i don’t like him. we’re just friends, and i’m not gonna hook up with him again.”

jongho stares at you.

“good.”

there it is again. that word, said under his breath. barely there, but enough that you feel a mix of doubt and hope.

you hate it.

“hey!” san says, forcefully cheerful in a way that means he’s trying to change the subject to diffuse the situation. “i found another my hero theory video. the one has 100k views!”

you drop jongho’s gaze first, letting your attention shift to the video san has pulled up on his laptop. “i just don’t think my hero is that deep,” you sigh, trying to ignore the way you can still feel jongho’s eyes on you.

“well, 100 thousand people do,” san sniffs. “including me.”

finally, jongho takes the bait. “how long is it?” he asks.

“thirty minutes!” san says cheerfully.

you and jongho both groan, but dutifully allow san to press play.

over the next thirty minutes, you tune in and out of the overdramatic video as you turn over the previous conversation in your head. you can’t help but read into the situation: clearly jongho is bothered that you’re close with yunho and hooked up with him once. in fact, he’s so bothered that you could even interpret it as being… jealous.

but if he is, why doesn’t he do anything about it?

you’re half asleep by the time the video ends. san nudges you and gives you an sheepish, apologetic smile.

“it’s late,” he says. “do you want us to drive you home?”

“nah,” you say. “can i just stay over? i’m too tired to move.”

it’s not your first time staying over. your apartment is on the other side of campus, so after most long nights of working you sleep on the couch. san lets you borrow the same old high school volleyball shirt every time, and you slip into it and pull off your jeans. the shirt is thankfully long enough to cover your butt, and the no-pants thing has never been a problem.

until now, when you step out of the bathroom, and jongho’s just entering his bedroom, and he looks at you. you clearly see his eyes roam down your legs before springing back up to meet yours.

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he says, voice gruff and deep.

“san’s getting—”

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he repeats.

it feels like an olive branch, and you fall asleep surrounded by jongho’s scent. distinctly masculine and musky and oddly soothing.

⋆⋆⋆

when you wake up the next morning, it’s to the sound of whirring from the kitchen. from your spot on the couch, you can vaguely make out the blurry shape of someone in the kitchen. your hand flails around the coffee table, blindly slapping until you find your glasses and shove them onto your face.

it’s jongho, wearing gray sweats and no shirt, leaning against the counter while making coffee. you take the time to admire his back, feeling your cheeks warm as you do. in all honesty, you’re surprised that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him shirtless, and you’d be dumb not to take advantage of it.

you run your eyes over the contours of the muscles in his back, the way they flex and ripple as he crosses and uncrosses his arms.

you yawn and wipe at the sleep still in your eyes. this noise gets to jongho, and he turns around. this action draws a sound out of you, something that comes from the back of your throat, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. because jongho—

jongho’s shirtless, and he’s facing you, his naked torso completely exposed to you. you stare at that goddamn silver chain, nestled against his substantial chest. at the miles and miles of smooth, tanned skin and his fucking arms.

you clap a hand over your mouth and pretend to yawn again.

“you want coffee?” jongho calls.

“yeah,” you manage to say, while laying back onto your back and averting your eyes to the ceiling.

a little while later, you hear jongho pad towards you and you sit back up again. he gives you a mug of coffee and sits down at the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and stretching out his offensively nice upper body. the light from outside peeks in from the blinds of the large balcony windows and bathes his skin in golden stripes.

“is san—?”

“he’s at his 8 am,” jongho says. “when’s your first class again?”

“not until 10:45,” you say. “i’m gonna go home and shower and stuff first.”

“i’ll give you a ride,” jongho says.

you protest politely, mostly because you don’t know if you’ll be able to stand being in such a small space with him, especially when he drives a sleek black mercedes with silky black leather that’s just begging for someone to ruin with some steamy car sex.

but jongho manages to convince you that he needs to drop by the convenience store on the east side of campus anyway, so you find yourself following him down to the apartment parking lot, wearing yesterday’s clothes and hair tied up in a bun to disguise how oily it is.

when he backs out of his spot, he does that thing: wraps his arm around the back of your seat and backs out with one hand. it’s disgustingly attractive.

you sink lower into the heated seat, staring out the window to avoid daydreaming about car sex with jongho.

⋆⋆⋆

you do end up going to seonghwa’s party that friday, after your girlfriends unceremoniously invite themselves into your apartment carrying a huge case of peach soju and a twelve pack of beer.

after a beer and two shots of soju, you’ve changed into a crop top, a silky leopard print skirt, and cute black boots.

thankfully, seonghwa’s place is only a block away from your apartment, but you and your friends still find a way to get lost on the way there. it takes ten minutes longer than necessary, but you’re finally crashing into the living room of seonghwa’s townhouse.

it’s already packed, but roomy enough that you can move freely without having to slide against other sweaty and drunk people. you break off from your friends to seek out san (and jongho). as you pass the kitchen, you swipe a red solo and a meager amount of whatever mixed drink atrocity they’ve made for the night that you immediately water down. you’re man enough to acknowledge that you’re a lightweight, and you’ll be damned if you end the night puking into a toilet rather than flirting with jongho.

you find san first. he’s lurking near the beer pong table, leaning against the wall and talking to wooyoung. you sneak up on him and he jumps when you give his side a big poke.

“san!” you say, wrapping him a big hug. you’re known to be more affectionate with alcohol in your system. after san clumsily returns your hug to avoid spilling his drink on you, you release him and give wooyoung a similar hug.

“where’s jongho?” you ask, standing on your toes to speak directly into san’s ear.

san points to the other side of the pong table, where you see jongho huddled in a corner with some blonde girl who looks suspiciously like the one from yeji’s birthday party. your reaction is immediate, something joining the alcohol to course through your veins—something fiery and prickling. jealousy, you think numbly.

“we’re playing next,” san says. “me and jongho. you should stay to watch.”

you hum noncommittally, peering at the ids lined up on the pong table and seeing only jongho’s. an idea strikes you, and you give san a peck on the cheek and some excuse about using the bathroom.

you wander back through the crowd of people, occasionally saying hi to people you know as you seek out one individual in particular. you find him on the couch, arm hung lazily on the back, hovering behind some girl. he’s clearly chatting her up, leaning close to her ear and hooded eyes making generous peeks at her cleavage.

you down the rest of your diluted mixed drink and throw yourself at him.

“yunho!” you cry, squeezing into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, meaning you’re basically sitting on him. “thank you so much for helping me with the essay! i definitely would’ve failed without you.” you flutter your eyelashes at him and simper.

the girl scowls visibly, crossing her arms in a way that makes her tits swell, but yunho barely notices—you know he has a sweet spot for you ever since that one night stand, and besides, he could get any girl he wants.

“y/n,” yunho says, shifting his body so that his back is to the girl now. she scoffs and leaves. “you good?”

“i’m great,” you giggle.

“you look good,” yunho says, shamelessly running his eyes over your figure.

“let’s play beer pong,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you think you’re good for pong?” he says, a little dubiously as you let out a hiccup.

“yeah, because i know you’ll carry,” you say.

“alright, princess,” he says. “let’s go.”

you tumble off of him and pretend to be wobbly on your feet to let him steady you as you walk towards the beer pong table. yunho slips his wallet out of his pocket and slides his id onto the table to get in line to play the winner.

when he notices jongho, yunho lets out a chuckle.

“ah, y/n,” he says, catching your wrist and pulling you into him. “i see what’s happening.”

your cheeks heat up at being caught so quickly. “i’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “he keeps bringing you up and being weird, but now, he’s got that girl with him…”

“don’t worry, princess,” yunho says. “i know how to put on a show.”

jongho and san are playing now, and it looks like they’re winning. that same chick from before is hanging off of his arm, acting like a cheerleader. you catch jongho’s gaze, and the cheery smile he’s wearing slips off immediately when he notices yunho behind you, hands on either side of your waist.

you shiver as jongho gives you a salacious up-down that has you convinced you’ve pressed the right buttons to make something happen tonight. you giggle, tugging your lower lip in between your teeth and leaning a little closer to yunho.

something must snap inside jongho, because he and san end the game with three cups in quick succession. the losers slink off, as you and yunho take their place. yunho reracks the cups and refills them with a thin layer of beer. jongho rolls a ping pong ball towards you.

“eyes,” he says.

when yours lock onto his, you smirk. he grimaces.

to decide who gets to start, you have to hold eye contact with each other and try to make a cup. whoever makes one first gets to start the actual game. jongho misses, but you don’t, so you and yunho get to go first.

you and yunho go toe to toe with jongho and san, which is surprising considering how little beer pong you play. by the fourth turn, the blonde girl has left, unsatisfied with the lack of attention she’s received from jongho. by the seventh turn, you and yunho have two cups left, and jongho and san have three.

yunho goes, and makes the first. you cheer and jump up to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. he steps behind you, massaging your shoulders theatrically. you close your left eye, lining up your shot. just as you’re about to let go of the ball, you turn around and pull yunho down to your height.

“give me a good luck kiss!”

he smiles into the kiss, which turns out to have a lot more tongue than you’d expected, but yunho is a good kisser so you don’t mind.

“let’s go, princess,” yunho says, slapping your ass as you turn back to the pong table.

jongho’s positively glowering at this point, and you smirk at him as you map out your shot again.

you miss.

you’re not entirely surprised.

yunho’s not even mad, and begins grossly comforting you with arms wrapped around your shoulders and kisses to the crown of your head.

jongho and san make the last two cups easily.

“too bad, princess,” yunho says into your hair. “you were doing so well.”

you pull yourself out of his grasp. “bathroom,” you explain sheepishly. yunho gives you a knowing look and a wink.

you’ve been to seonghwa’s house enough to know about the secret bathroom on the second floor that he doesn’t allow partygoers to use, so you slink up the stairs when million dollar baby starts playing and the crowd swells with renewed enthusiasm.

just as you’re closing the door behind you, a shoe shoots out to stop the action. someone pushes the door back open, and who else but—

jongho.

“i thought you said you didn’t like yunho,” he hisses down at you.

“i need to pee,” you reply, cocking your head to one side and widening your eyes at him.

he considers you for a second before stepping inside the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

“alright,” he says. “pee.”

“i don’t- are you going to watch me?” you say.

“didn’t seem like you minded people seeing you and yunho all wrapped up downstairs,” jongho says, crossing his arms over his chest, and you hate the way his biceps bulge when he does.

“that’s different from- from peeing,” you mumble.

“fine,” jongho says, and he turns around to stare at the bathroom door.

you’re not entirely satisfied, but you really do need to pee, so you pull down your underwear and sit on the toilet.

it’s awkward, but at least the music and noise downstairs mask the sound. you end up peeing for a surprisingly long time, and even jongho feels the need to break the tension with a poorly timed,

“damn, you’re like a waterfall.”

“i’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you snap.

“you’re that drunk?”

“no—i’m drinking water, too, you bastard,” you say, finally finished. “don’t want to be hungover tomorrow.”

you flush and wash your hands, and then you’re leaning against the sink and saying, “okay, you can turn around.”

he does. “so. yunho?” he prompts again.

“i told you,” you say, staring directly above jongho’s shoulder. “i don’t like him.”

“then why were you all over him?”

“why do you care?” you sneer.

“just answer the question, y/n,” jongho says.

“why are you so obsessed with yunho?” you say. “if you want to fuck him, be my guest! i won’t get in the way.”

this hits a sore spot, because jongho moves quickly, crowding you into the sink in one step.

“it’s not him i want to fuck,” he breathes.

your breath hitches in your throat. you feel your heartbeat in your mouth.

“what do you mean,” you say, mouth unbelievably dry.

“c’mon, y/n,” jongho says, voice husky. he’s looking at you, eyes darting to your lips. “you can figure this out.”

it’s the same phrase he always uses when you’re struggling through a discrete math problem that he’s already solved, but normally he’s nice, barely teasing.

right now, he sounds downright condescending.

so, you snap. you grab him by his chain and tug him down to your height, slot your lips over his and kiss him.

his lips are nice. soft. he tastes like minty chapstick and bitter beer. his tongue slips into your mouth, and suddenly the kiss takes a turn from intense to lewd.

his hands find your waist, his palms burning into the exposed skin between your crop top and your skirt. his thick thigh pushes apart your legs, and your skirt rucks up above your hips. you gasp and break away to tug at the hem, but jongho stops you.

“that’s counter productive,” he whispers.

“okay,” you say. “i’ll be productive then.” and you pull off your crop top to reveal a lacy black bra and pull up your skirt all the way to reveal a matching lacy black thong. you hear jongho inhale, and then a deep chuckle.

“fuck,” he says, drawing out the word. he meets your eyes again. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“that’s you,” you say.

he dives back in to mouth at your pulse point, as his hands slip down to your ass, palming the flesh and leading you to grind against his thigh. he’s flexing, and the fabric of your underwear is thin and you can already feel a wet patch spreading, and the combination along with the friction of the movement has you moaning.

“that’s what i like to hear.”

you hear the muted opening strums of mr.brightside just as jongho’s thumb begins circling your clit over your underwear. you moan into his shoulder and buck against his hand. he continues to work you until the crotch of your panties is practically soaked, and you’re a whining mess.

“p- please,” you whisper, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, and he’s drawing aside the lace and pushing two fingers into you. you throw your head back at the feeling of being filled and stretched; his fingers are long and thick, nothing like your own or any of your previous hook-ups.

“shit, you’re so wet,” he says, pulling back to watch his fingers fucking you. the sound it makes is positively vulgar, and you pant with every motion. at some point, he starts curling his fingers so that they hit that perfect spot in the back and rubbing his thumb across your clit, and you can feel your high building.

“fuck, jongho,” you whine.

“shit, babygirl, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep talking like that,” jongho says, smiling into your neck.

“don’t,” you say. “you can- you can- please, fuck me. you can- cum in me.”

jongho stops, only the tips of his fingers teasing at your entrance, and you whimper as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“are you serious?” he asks, as you circle your hips in an attempt at some relief.

“yes,” you hiss.

“fuck, babygirl,” jongho says, taking a step back and a new glint in his eyes.

but just as he puts his hand on the button of his jeans, there’s a sharp rap on the door that makes both of you jump.

“oi! this bathroom is off-limits!” it’s seonghwa, and to be fair, he’s right.

“give us a second!” jongho calls, wincing at the subtext. you jump off of the bathroom sink, swaying a little with how jittery your legs are. jongho stabilizes you with a hand on your hip and hands you your shirt.

“jongho? is that you?” seonghwa says. “little shit. this is the third time—”

your head snaps up to look at jongho, who’s unlocking the door and pushing it open, effectively interrupting seonghwa’s rant. he nudges you out first, standing behind you, and you suspect it’s to hide the very visible tent in his pants that’s currently pressed against your ass.

“oh,” seonghwa says, as his eyes fall onto you. he takes a second, glancing back and forth between the two of you, running over your mussed hair and flushed cheeks, jongho’s screwed up face and his right hand still grasping your hip, the wrinkles in your skirt and finally—

“oh,” seonghwa repeats. “oh, shit. okay, well congrats and all that—” and here he punches jongho in the shoulder “—but that doesn’t mean you can fuck in my bathroom!” he finishes cheerfully. he steps behind jongho and begins ushering the two of you back down the stairs and through the living room until you’re on his front porch.

“if you’re going to be doing the nasty, i’d rather you do that at home!” seonghwa says, wagging a finger in your face. “make sure you use protection! love you both!” and he shuts the door.

he leaves you and jongho in a stunned silence, both staring at the closed door.

“uh—” jongho tries.

“what did he mean third time?” you say.

“oh,” jongho says, and his big dick energy dissipates as a sheepish expression takes over. “well, i- i might’ve… y’know… a couple times in seonghwa’s bathroom.” he rubs the back of his neck and offers you an apologetic, gummy smile.

“and you got mad at me for fucking yunho once in his own apartment?” you demand, actually stopping your foot to emphasize the clear double standard at play. “while you were off playing merry-go-fuck-around in seonghwa’s private bathroom?”

“i wasn’t mad at you,” jongho says. “i was just—”

“just what?” you say. “slut-shaming me for having consensual sex?”

“no!” jongho says quickly. “i was jealous.”

“oh,” you say. so, you’d been right. he has been jealous of you and yunho. but somehow, you don’t feel vindicated in the slightest. “i mean—that doesn’t make it any better. i’m not some object—”

“i know that,” jongho says, exasperated. “but i just wanted to be… with you.”

“with me?” you say, wrinkling your nose. “you wanted to fuck me, too? like those other girls you had up in seonghwa’s bathroom?”

“no! with you, like—” jongho’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip “—like as your boyfriend.”

oh.

well, you hadn’t been expecting that. you blink at him once, then twice. you open your mouth and close it again, gaping like a goldfish.

“do you- do you like me?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“well, yeah,” jongho says. “do… you like me?”

“yes!” you nearly shout the word. “yes—i’ve been in lo- i’ve liked you for at least a whole semester!”

“oh,” jongho says, looking as dumbfounded as you feel. “well, me too.”

you look at each other, and then start laughing. you hiccup, and jongho moves closer to you, wrapping his substantial arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his firm, warm chest. your cheek presses against that goddamn silver chain, but it’s no longer a source of stress for you. he peppers the crown of your forehead with kisses, until you finally look up at him and he kisses your lips softly.

“so,” he says, “can i?”

you raise your eyebrows. “can you what?”

“be your boyfriend?”

you pretend to contemplate the question, and when it takes you longer than a few seconds to respond, he knocks his chin against your temple affectionately.

“yeah,” you say, grinning. “yeah, you can be my boyfriend.”

“so then, what do you say about going back to my place and finishing what we started?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

continued in part 2!

#jongho #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jongho smut #jongho fic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#ateez smut #sunshineyuyu fic

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jingler · 2 months ago

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Wizard101 Pov: you're scrolling on spiralblr some point around arc 2

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👀 lail-brighteyes Follow

I'm never going on a field trip again THEY PUT ME IN A FUCKIBG ZOO

🌈 gayrizzleheim Follow

A field trip to a zoo doesn't seem too bad??

👀 lail-brighteyes Follow

No you misheard me. I'm not at the zoo, I'm in the zoo. As in, I'm in one of the cages and people are taking pictures of me.

35 notes

🏡 chillin-like-a-titon Follow

Can there stop being attacks on the spiral for FIVE FUCKING MINUTES????

140.1k notes

✅️ wiz-polls-daily Follow

8,341 notes

🪦 is-malistaire-dead-yet Follow

YES.

🪦 is-malistaire-dead-yet Follow

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

33.2k notes

🌋 spawnofhellhound Follow

Idk if I'm just dumb but I truly don't understand colonization in the spiral. Like you travel through time and space and through the stars and find an entirely different world doing just fine and you say, "that's mine now" ???????

🕶 beyondbonetts-deactivated

spiralblr simplifying and overexageratting other worlds' problems. why am I not surprised.

🐠 luckyhooker Follow

🕶 beyondbonetts-deactivated

NOT WHAT WE'RE CALLED

12.3k notes

⚰️ wolf-deathsinger Follow

stopped by the back of ravenwood for the first time in a while and malorn ashthorn was there still lmao I guess it makes sense for the younger students to be taught there so they don't have to go all the way to nightside but what a flashback

☠️ malice-and-ash Follow

If you think I'm mentally prepared to take on the real world after Ravenswood you got another thing coming. I'm guarding that pit til I die.

⚰️ wolf-deathsinger Follow

ok first of all didnt know you have spiralblr hi second of all does....does ambrose know you're still squatting there teaching the younger students?

☠️ malice-and-ash Follow

Titan knows. I don't think that man leaves his office. I get a sack of gold each month but I think gamma is in charge of finance.

🧙‍♂️ wizardstrong456 Follow

The owl? That's why my student loans got fucked up 🤦‍♂️

�� coral-oceanswimmer Follow

ew, what is a specieist doing here

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🕶 beyondbonetts-deactivated

I am sick and tired of all you pretend activists calling me marleyboner. It's literally a slur. Idc if you think it's funny to shit on worlds you deem ~problematic~ but disrespecting an entire world's name like that is unacceptable.

🪩 spiral-gayte Follow

this you?

👑 amul3twh0re Follow

i love posts where you can see exactly why the op is deactivated

30.4k notes

🦀 underdaseamen Follow

listen i have nothing against wizards visiting celestia but if you do can you please use a mount that makes sense for the area. yall have no idea how terrifying it is when you leave your house with your crab friends and a fucking horse starts swimming toward you.

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🐷 randolf-spellshine Follow

about to go fight this wizard in the spiral cup ill post the video later

🐷 randolf-spellshine Follow

i got my ass beat bruh im not posting that shit

1,243 notes

🦡 baddestbadger-inavalon Follow

4,371 notes

🦋 ladyorielfan23 Follow

Why we should have expected the y**ng w*z*rd destroying Azteca (part 1)

yw crit under the cut

i have to put something here but i do not have the energy to write an entire essay from ladyorielfan23's perspective so imagine a super angry rant here about how problematic the young wizard is omg why would you say that ladyorielfan23 also my apologies for fucking up the lore in the last dashboard simulator i have no idea what this game's plot is

#intellectual monologue #wizzy #wizard101 #long post #fake post #unreality #dashboard simulator

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sherbertquake56 · 2 months ago

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okay I’m dropping some of my fable arcane au thoughts before the new episodes drop tomorrow even tho most of it is based on season 1 anyway—

so some basic taggings for you that I based the AU around:

1. Icarus as Jinx.

powder vs jinx is just the sherbert vs icarus name thing. toxic father. unhealthy relationship with sibling. a lil crazy and maybe evil. thinks that they are at fault for the things around them. lil bombs? nah- little SPLASH potions. hearing and seeing mylo and claggor? it’s Haley- it’s literally Haley—

2. Fable as Silco.

okay fable’s design WAS partially inspired by silco— they literally look the same— they’re both a man with two priorities: take over and make his own nation & care for child.

you know the ending scene of season 1? where they’re sitting at the table? THAT. With Jinx assuming that he’s gonna give her up to topside and him getting the first chance to talk and saying “her name is JINX!” i could write an essay on that for icarus. they’re so toxic and it’s so perfect. also that scene at the start of s2 ep2? YEAH THAT—

3. Centross as Ekko

This one is controversial and up to debate but i will die on this hill— SO THE S1 BRIDGE FIGHT. I am so willing to put aside any possible prison duo gay-ness in this AU for that rivalry/fight. they were friends!!! they were so good!! and now they wanna KILL EACH OTHER!! it’s great.

It’s also specifically thinking of Ekko’s tree home as solstice— older Ekko very much has the vibe of Violet specifically-

4. Arisanna as Sevika

I DONT KNOW WHY BUT IT MAKES SENSE TO ME. It’s specifically vexed Ari during the coworkers era but idk it just feels right— I look at her relationship with Silco and Jinx and go ‘hmmm this could be something’

[I will also say there is an argument here for swapping Centross and Ari tho— big tree city as Ari rebuilding the records goes hard, and angsty fighty toxic with jinx centross is also good— it’s like 50/50 for me]

5. Isla as Vander

LET ISLA BE A BADASS IN THIS AU. SHE DESERVES IT— something something raising vi and powder alone, something something the backstory with silco— there’s something there and it hits really hard in scenes where vi sees vander and helps her get back up— also I look at jinx and vander and I go “mmmm this is in fact how icarus sees Isla”

6. Rae as Vi

This was obvious given the above but LISTEN— in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF EVENTS I think it would be fun- do I think that vi perfectly fits canon rae? no. But in this world it would KICK ASS. rae deserves to beat some people up— got kicked out of the overworld (zaun) by fable (silco) and had to go to the end (piltover) to get away from him?? rae end prince aus are already here so why not end rae also punching people huh??? also. gay people.

———

Okay— here’s where I need some help, thoughts, and opinions from you all…

1. Caitlyn.

POLYAMORY IS HARD TO TAG AND I DONT KNOW WHO FITS BEST?? For me, season 1 Caitlyn fits best as Caspian, but season 2 Caitlyn is more for Fenris— so I’m very stuck. yes absolutely give thoughts on this please—

2. Viktor as Aax (but how does that work)

Viktor absolutely should be Aax— mr. Scientist / lab experiment / turned religious figure vessel for god is CORRECT. But honestly the rest of Piltover gang is really hard with Rae as Vi— Jayce/Viktor/Mel is yelling at me to be the polycule but aGH— ya know??? very stuck on this so I instead look at the coworkers and go “mm good yes—”

Random other tags I think also make sense:

- Ulysses as that Telchin looking mf Stev— mans took out one lil medical device as his fish self and I said YUP

- The hexcore big orb thing underground as Quixis— big white glitch orb room make things go wack. couldn’t be easier than that.

———

Anyways that’s all— I’ve been rotating this in my mind for like a week and have had way too many thoughts about it thank you for your time—

#this was so long and I’m not even mad #it goes hard #season 1 specifically works so well #fable smp #arcane #fablesmp arcane au #icarus morningstar

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infamous-if · 1 year ago

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Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

#update #December update #Amy the chatterbox

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cjlouwho · 23 days ago

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Twelve Christmases

Chapter tags: drunk parent, abusive behavior, physical abuse (slap across the face)

Read below or on ao3

Day 2: 1993

“Before you go today, I have a bit of homework for you all.”

Mrs. Davidson was met with a classroom of groans.

“I know, I know,” she said, “but this is a fun one, I promise. Over Christmas break, I want you guys to write about your dream Christmas when you grow up. If you could choose anyway to celebrate, what would you do? Who would you be with? How many presents would you want under the tree? What foods would you cook? You can write it as a list, or a story, or an essay. However you want. Just make sure you write something.”

She looked at the time on her watch. “Alright, the bell is about to ring, so you can start gathering up your things. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas, and I will see you all in 1994!”

*****

Tommy slammed his door shut, locking it quickly before his dad could reach for the knob.

It had been a terrible day. The worst Christmas of Tommy's life, he was sure.

Michael spent every Christmas out at the bar, drinking the day away. He'd come home at night, usually, and spew out a few angry words before passing out on the couch.

But the bar he always went to decided to close this year for Christmas.

A part of Tommy had been excited. His dad would get to watch him open his presents for the first time!

It didn't quite work out that way though.

Instead, Michael had gone to the store on Christmas Eve and bought two cases of beer. He'd started drinking that night. Turns out, before he got to the point of passing out, he was loud. So damn loud.

Tommy spent half the night waking up up to bottles clanging, or his dad yelling at the TV.

By the time the sun started coming up, things had quieted down. Tommy crept down the hall to see his dad sprawled out on the couch. One arm flopped down the side of the couch, the other halfway down his pants.

He looked over at the tree where, at some point during the night, nearly half their ornaments had fallen off of it. Michael was known to dance with inanimate objects when he got drunk, so that's what Tommy figured had happened.

“Tommy,” his mom whispered from behind him. He turned to see his mom peeking out of the bedroom. She looked as tired as Tommy felt. She had dark circles under her eyes and had lost so much weight that she nearly swam in her size small nightgown. Her smile didn't reach her eyes anymore.

Still, she beckoned Tommy to her. “I kept your presents in here, Baby,” she said as he came into the room. “Didn't want to put them under the tree last night with your dad.”

She shut the door behind Tommy and locked it. “You sit on the bed,” she instructed, going into the closet.

He did as he was told, still feeling just as excited to have his presents in the bedroom instead of in the living room next to the tree.

She came out of the closet with three gifts in her hands, smiling as she handed them to him. “I couldn't get everything you asked for,” she said, kneeling down on the floor to watch him open, “but I think you'll like it.”

He smiled back at her, taking a deep breath. He always needed a moment before he opened his gifts. He'd get so happy it sometimes felt hard to breathe.

The first gift was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas. Tommy had seen them at the mall one day and begged for them, but Vicky had told him no. He'd been so upset, having no idea she already had them stored away for Christmas.

The next gift was a remote controlled monster truck. His eyes had gone super wide with that one! He hadn't expected it at all. He couldn't wait to get outside and play.

The third present was an art set. Tommy had gotten into drawing dinosaurs and zombies lately, and Vicky wanted to make sure he kept drawing.

As soon as he was done opening his presents, he wrapped his mom in a big hug, thanked her, then asked if he could go outside and play.

“Just make sure you're quite when you're in the living room, okay? Shut the door gently.”

With a promise, and one more hug, Tommy had been on his way.

Everything was fine until Tommy got back home. He was smiling up until he reached the top step and heard his parents arguing through the door. He wanted to turn around. Leave for a few more hours and come back.

It was too late though. His dad saw him through the window and came straight to the door, tossing it open and all but yelling for him to come inside.

“I was here for you, Tommy!” he exclaimed, his words slurred as usual. “Here ta watch you and you didn't even let me!”

“Michael, he has no idea what you're talking about,” Vicky replied. Her voice stayed calm, measured... tired.

“Well 'e should! I stay home to watch my boy open 'is gifts an I don't even getta see it!”

“I thought you stayed home because the bar was closed today?” Tommy questioned. He knew right away that was the wrong thing to say.

His dad came over and jerked the remote controlled car from his hands.

Vicky sighed. “Don't break it,” she said, already walking over to get it from him.

He pointed down at Tommy once Vicky had taken the car. “You'll get it back once you apologize,” he said, teeth nearly gritting together.

His day was already ruined, and it was all his dad's fault.

Tommy was angry.

“Apologize for what?” he asked, matching his dad's glare.

“For being dis- dis- disrespectful!” Michael exclaimed.

“I wasn't being disrespectful!” Tommy fought back.

“Tommy,” Vicky warned.

“Hey! I loved you 'nough to stay home and see my boy op'n gifts!”

“You don't love me!”

The back of Michael's hand met his face so hard, and so fast, that Tommy stumbled backward before falling flat on his butt.

His dad had never hit him before.

He'd gotten angry. That happened a lot.

But he'd never hit him.

“Tommy!” Vicky exclaimed, hurrying over to him. Before she could even reach out and check on him, he was flying to his feet and running down the hall to his room.

He heard footsteps behind him. Knew it was his dad. But he slammed the door and locked it.

Michael banged on the door a few times. Begging for Tommy to open it, let him talk to him. The slap seemed to sober him up pretty quickly.

Tommy ignored him. Brought a hand to his face, touching it gently. His cheek felt like it was on fire. He moved his jaw around, trying to loosen it up a bit.

Once Michael gave up at his door, Tommy walked over to his desk and sat down. His eyes stung as he grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper and started on his homework.

One day I will have my own house. I will have a family. We will celabrate Christmas. We will be happy. Maybe mom can come be at my house with me. We will have lots of food on a big table. We will laugh and play games. My dad will not be there or he will be there but be diferent. Christmas will be like it is in the movies with people smiling and there will be lots of snow. I just want a grate day where mom doesn't feel sad. I will get my kids whatever they want and tell them it was Santa. I wish I still beleived in Santa. I will also have big monster trucks in my front yard and a big pile of dirt to play in. That is a prefect Christmas.

He stayed in his room the rest of the day, using his new art set to draw a make believe land where the monster didn't win.

*****

On his first day back at school, Tommy overheard a few kids in his class talking about what they wrote for their assignment.

“I said that one day I'd live in a big, huge mansion with like fifty cars and I'd get even more cars for Christmas, and I'd drive them wherever I wanted to go,” one boy said.

“Well, I wrote that when I'm older I will make Christmas a whole month and people will have to give me presents every single day.”

“I wrote about the food my mom and dad cook and how when I'm older they can't tell me not to get more dessert. I can just eat, eat, eat whatever I want! It'll be great.”

One of the kids turned back and looked at Tommy. “What'd you say?” they asked.

“Oh, um, I- I forgot to do it,” he replied. Before class began he reached into his backpack and took out his paper, crumbling it up into a ball and tossing it in the trash.

He didn't care if he got an F. Christmas was stupid anyway.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #911 abc #911 #12 days of tommy #day 2 #you'll have to give me a bit for day 3

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bamboozledbird · 5 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 2 / next.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader (You), Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, emetophobia, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. You, on the other hand, aren't interested in discussing your ex-best friend; you're much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far. So many of y'all have been so sweet :') Comments and reblogs are love.

Monday came, and you’d forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, you almost forgot your essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—you’d also forgotten if you’d taken your pills before you left for school.

You crinkled your nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. You flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, you’d definitely forgotten to take your pills. However, on your list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so your day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that you should spend at least five minutes every morning changing your ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking your meds was imperative to your mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; you were killing it.

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

You lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows. You peered through the mass of shoulders in front of you and cupped your hand over your eyes. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: you realized. They were claw marks.

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling.

Awful, you quickly corrected yourself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. You chewed on your bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but Beacon Hills was a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, on the other hand, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on the occasional unaccompanied support animal. Still, you doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges.

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while you were lost in your own head. You managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing your airpods into your ears, you turned up the volume on your phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of your mind. Oh my.

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention.

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention.

You grabbed your chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from your locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into your crowded arms.

Positive: You hadn’t gotten the chance to organize your notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor.

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, you crouched down and gathered your notecards into a messy heap. You stretched across the scuffed tile for your highlighters; one brushed past your fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. You glanced up, apology ready, but your tongue went cottony when you locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but you supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. You understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating.

Lydia was…sublime. That was the only word for it. She was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of your eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest you could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with you, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over your copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like you were just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like you were a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. You watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was your best friend.

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, you wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality to a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water turned cold and shampoo stung your eyes. After the funeral, you could taste decay in your conversations, in your silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. You saw the end coming weeks before you stopped speaking, and you didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either.

On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She’d always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. You made her human; that must have been the problem. You were babies together. You were more than family. Now, you sat across from each other in a class you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, and you did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

You snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like you could force your body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to your skin. You darted your gaze across the hall and almost snorted when you saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side in the span of no more than thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her.

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; you could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating.

You resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and you frowned. Glancing up, your frown cemented when you saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that you still had his sweatshirt wadded on your desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

You nodded and shut your locker with your elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in your arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

You stared intently at your notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.”

You glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.”

“So it is a thing.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under your arms.

You refused to feel grateful, even as you readjusted your grip on your cards and freed one of your hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. You met his gaze and smiled, quick and sickly-sweet, before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

You ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind you. You wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have your books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, you focused your itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of your desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to you—without permission. You changed your mind; he was annoying.

Stiles scooted the desk closer to yours with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for you. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

You sighed heavily and lined your pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” you grumbled, low in your throat, and scowled at your picked-apart cuticles like they had done you a particular disservice.

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” you finally turned around in your seat to face him at the accusation.

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. You deflated a little; you’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. You snatched your books off of his desk before your lives could become further entangled and replied flatly, “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky, “I’m a good guy like that.”

You tapped your pencil against your chin, eraser side up, and cocked your head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and you were a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind you. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.”

“Sorry,” you grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

You turned to get a better look at him and didn’t mask the doubt in your eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s homeplanet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.

You folded your arms over your chest and leaned back against your seat, “Have you even talked to her?”

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

You just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” you pulled a face. You weren't sure if you were referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a guy out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of your desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of your pens careening towards the edge.

You caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” You returned the pen to its rightful place between your pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. You straightened your row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of your locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” you bristled. After a long exhale, you crumpled in on yourself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Your brows scrunched, and your eyes went lidded as you flipped through your mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.”

You were startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before you could deny such blasphemy, you were distracted by the boy who usually sat next to you—Greg something, you were pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between you and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler.

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and you wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch.

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom.

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of your face.

You smirked slightly at your notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of your notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. You added a long feathered tail to your bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. You both watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” you shook your head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles clicked his pen aggressively with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before you could succumb to your base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth.

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed everyone to turn their essays in.

You hastily wrote your name across the top of your paper and pointedly kept your eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” you interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but you’d worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all your teachers.

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” you jotted down the daily prompt in your notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.”

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and you were pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

You opened your mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of you. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers.

“Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott you gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

You were distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind you. Her jaw could cut glass. You dropped your chin onto your folded arms and refused to let yourself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life.

Lydia was…prickly, so you were just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, you thought as you risked a peek over your shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over you, and you found yourself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until you remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault.

“Hey.” You flinched when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You reluctantly shifted in your chair so that you could see Allison. You just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” You blinked and licked your dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on your desk that you’d missed during your lengthy period of dissociation. You kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under your breath.

Allison looked at you for a moment, and you didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.”

You could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. You felt that ugly feeling slip into your mouth again, bitterness coating your tongue, and you wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle.

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around your neck.

A heavy pendant rested just over your sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. You weren’t sure exactly what it was made of; your mother never said when she gave it to you, and you never asked. It didn’t matter much now.

“Thanks,” you finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and you were a normal person. Mostly. You swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of your bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” You did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. You would wear it yourself if you didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid.

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and you quashed the sigh rising in your throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

You didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, you scraped up a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” You felt a dizzying heat crawl up your neck to your ears once you realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests.

“Sorry,” you mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for you before you turned around. Damn. You liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. You almost wished that Stiles was still pestering you so that you had a real reason to be upset—until you finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. You flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions?

Positive: At least, you found a legitimate excuse to sulk.

Negative: You felt a migraine coming on.

Blessedly, whatever Scott had said to Stiles at the beginning of class was distracting enough to keep his, frankly obsessive, focus on him for the rest of first-period. You were even able to finish the final essay question without interruption—which was plenty difficult without being interrogated about your ex-best friend. You almost scoffed when you read the prompt: Whom do you sympathize with more, Gregor or his family? Who in their right mind would side with a pathetic parasite who couldn’t love anyone more than he hated himself? An uncomfortable, undeniable pang of melancholy sliced through your throat, and you were actually grateful for the distraction when the bell rang for second period and you had to pack up for chemistry.

The impending chemistry midterm, however, was evidently a touch too distracting because you didn’t notice that you’d regained your lanky shadow until you were in Mr. Harris’s classroom and he stole the flashcard in your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned across the lab table and rocked onto your tiptoes. Your outstretched arm shook as you struggled to even brush your fingers against the cardstock, “I haven’t talked to her in years. Lurk elsewhere.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again, head bobbing helplessly for a moment, “I was just going to ask you about…Gregor. That last question was a real piece of work, huh.”

You plucked the card out of his grasp while he was distracted by his social ineptitude, “Uh huh.”

“Scout’s honor,” Stiles placed his hand over his chest and somehow made his big eyes rounder. His pink bottom lip jutted out ever-so slightly, but the quivering at the edges of his mouth gave him away. Sighing, he leaned his weight onto his palm: flat against the tabletop, fingers spread, and far too close to your own. He gestured erratically with his other hand, and you jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face. “Personally, I’m on Grete’s side. I mean, you can only take care of your werebug brother for so long without some kind of recognition before you snap.” Stiles shot a pointed look over his shoulder at his friend from first-period, and you thought the glare Scott returned was well-deserved. You could be biased, but probably not.

“He was a little preoccupied by being, y’know, a bug.” You shuffled your notecards and frowned pensively at the question that ended up on top of the stack: What is the formula for Calcium acetate?

“He could’ve said thank you in Morse code.” Stiles looked over your shoulder and added, “C4H6CaO4.”

You flipped the card over and pursed your lips. He was right. “I actually said the same thing,” you admitted begrudgingly as you grabbed the next flashcard from the pile. “Not the Morse code bit, that’s objectively insane. I did say that the best thing he did for her was die.”

“Damn.” Stiles’s forehead wrinkled as he let out a puff of air, “A little harsh.”

You picked at your raw cuticles and wished you could pull your bottom lip over your head. “It’s like you said,” you muttered as you folded your arms firmly over your chest, ducking your chin towards the divot in your breastbone, “she could only deal with his depressed bullshit for so long before she got on with her life and made new, sane, non-insect friends who actually go outside, and have fun at parties, and respond to texts.” You paused and remembered that you needed air to function when your lungs started to burn. Exhaling shallowly, you pressed your calves against the stool’s frigid legs until it hurt. Maybe, if you crushed your limbs together tightly enough, curled in on yourself closely enough, you could disappear. “And don’t, y’know, crawl on the ceiling and projectile vomit Exorcist style,” you finished weakly.

Stiles studied you for a moment, and it was like he could see every painfully tender spot inside you. You felt ants crawling underneath your skin and him seeing you, and you wanted to bolt before you came completely unstitched at the seams. “Well,” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, “in all fairness, being there…that’s kind of the deal when you’re friends—even if they turn into a disgusting bug.” You didn’t know that someone so caustic could sound so gentle, like ink running across paper.

“Siblings.” You swallowed and looked away from his unyielding gaze, but you still saw amber and understanding every time you blinked. “You mean siblings.”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled a little and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “Siblings.”

You swallowed again, couldn’t even manage a ‘see'ya’ or an eyeroll when he saluted you goodbye, and watched him saunter towards his seat next to Scott through your lashes with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You felt a little sick once you realized that you weren’t relieved by his absence. It was all you’d wanted at the beginning of his inquisition, and yet…you wanted him to sit next to you. The epiphany struck you right in the stomach, and you felt a bit like one of your dad’s rare butterflies—tissue paper wings pinned to paper, fervently yearning to fly away, even if it meant ripping yourself apart.

Normally, you thoroughly enjoyed not having a lab partner. The class had an odd number of students, and Mr. Harris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that you never joined another pair during labs. It was a toss-up, considering he seemed to loathe his job as much as he loved devoting his undivided attention to mocking Stiles. Speak of the bifocal-ed Devil.

“Mr. Stilinski,” the contempt in Mr. Harris’s voice was sickeningly viscous. You imagined mucus dripping from his thin lips; it helped quell some of the righteous anger in your gut. He continued, and now he was spitting up slugs and snot, “If that’s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

“No–” Stiles’s jaw hung open as he shook his head violently.

Mr. Harris silenced him with a glare, and your fingers curled into your palms as you watched the condescension gloss over his smirk when Stiles complied. Your jagged, bitten-down nails pinched your skin; you quickly flattened your hands on top of the table before you did something stupid like draw attention to yourself. It was none of your business, after all, and you had a test to prepare for.

You stared at your notes, reread the same sentence over and over again without comprehending a single word, until you felt the uneasy sensation of someone sneaking up behind you.

“Hey,” Stiles sat down on the empty stool next to you and kicked at your shoe lightly under the table. You hummed in recognition and slid your textbook over to make room for his things.

Stiles’s face scrunched as he flipped through his own notes. You couldn’t read most of it—not that you were looking; his hand-writing was just glaringly atrocious. Everything was smooshed together and most of the letters were partially incomplete, like his pencil couldn’t keep up with his brain. You looked back at your own notebook, at the meticulously symmetrical loops and compulsively straight lines, and the corner of your mouth curled into a brief smile.

The quiet was nice, but you couldn’t shake the irritation sticking to your fingers. You tapped your pencil against your notebook a few times, bit down on the inside of your cheek, and then said, “He’s a dick.” You spoke quietly, but Stiles still flinched. The highlighter in his hand left a long yellow streak across his textbook, and you winced. Truthfully, you were equally startled that you’d voluntarily broken a perfect moment of silence.

Stiles didn’t seem bothered by the new mark permanently defacing his book, most likely because a good portion of the glossy pages were already more yellow than they were white. He angled his chin towards you and smirked, “Are you legally allowed to call a teacher a dick? Y’know, as the resident teacher’s pet.”

You grinned at your notes, “I have the utmost authority, actually.”

Stiles leaned forward onto his forearms and struggled to keep his mouth impassive, “Oh, yeah?”

A loud, grating squeal of metal on tile and an even louder yelp interrupted your reply. A girl near the front of the classroom shot up out of her seat, almost sending her stool toppling to the ground, and then bolted towards the window overlooking the parking lot, “I think they found something!”

Mr. Harris quickly lost control of the classroom as the rest of the class surrounded her, practically pressing their stupefied faces against the glass to get a better look at what, or rather whom, the EMTs were wheeling out of the thicket of trees just beyond the school’s perimeter. You hesitated for a moment before joining the stragglers. Morbid fascination dwindled after you were confronted with the reality of it—you weren't in any rush to see another dead body.

You weren't ever supposed to actually see the photos; they were strictly evidence for the potential arson investigation. The coroner didn’t even want your dad to see the body. There hadn’t been any point, after all; it was completely unidentifiable. At the time, you thought it would help. You thought peeking at the case file while the Sheriff was on the phone might remind you of some crucial detail, hidden in the depths of your blackout—and, well, you thought it might finally make it real. Maybe, if you saw the proof, you’d finally believe that your mom wasn’t coming back.

You’d been wrong, of course. Seeing what was left of your mom, seeing her like…that, it’d just made you puke. Your whole body had trembled from the retching, and then you were paralyzed, held hostage by a glacial streak of terror. Sheriff Stilinski had been so terribly understanding about the whole thing, like it was nothing: vomit on his office floor, trembling hands invading his private files. He’d just wiped the corners of your mouth with a tissue and rubbed your upper back in slow circles, just like her your mom did when you were sick—which ultimately sent you into another round of dry-heaving. You never felt the temptation to look again.

You let out a deep breath when you looked out the window and saw the man on the gurney twitch. His jacket and pants were black, and his shirt was charcoal gray, dark enough to hide any blood stains. The only injury you could make out was a large gash on his face; it was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a sticky red trail from his jaw to his neck. Your grip on your forearms tightened as your stomach lurched.

The paramedics began to load the gurney into the ambulance, and the man surged forward without a single warning. His screams were raw, like they’d been ripped from his throat along with the flesh on his cheek, and every single one of the students crowded against the windows recoiled from the wailing. You swallowed the bile burning your throat. It was like they were watching their own, personal horror movie and couldn’t decide if they were more exhilarated or horrified—just itching for the jump scare.

You stumbled back towards the door and bumped into Stiles and Scott. Stiles gripped your arm gently until you regained your footing.

“That’s not a rabbit,” Scott said under his breath. He looked as queasy as you felt.

“Or a cat,” you added quietly.

“But he’s alive,” Stiles nudged Scott a little, “that’s good, right? Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott still looked like he was going to hurl all over Stiles’s white Vans, and you felt a flutter of sympathy. The only thing worse than puking was doing it in front of other people. “You might want to take him somewhere,” you spoke softly to Stiles. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded a little and wrapped an arm around Scott’s rigid shoulders, “good call.”

His eyes darted around the classroom: big, and brown, and frantic—like a lost fawn. You nodded towards the dark corner Mr. Harris was dissociating in, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled a little, but he looked weary down to his bones as he started shuffling Scott towards the door.

“Yeah,” your smile was a bit wobbly at the edges, “but only ‘cause I get a sick thrill out of fucking with dicks.”

Your weak attempt to ease some of the tension in the air was semi-successful; Scott was still staring into another dimension, but Stiles looked positively giddy at the prospect of such a perfect setup. “I have, just, so many thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for after Scott—” he gave Scott a long look and scratched the back of his buzzed head, “gets his blood sugar up.”

It was sweet, you thought as you watched Stiles guide Scott into the hallway, lying to spare Scott’s pride. You thought Stiles would be a better liar, but maybe that was the downfall of being raised by a police officer. It was either that or the general social impotence. Not that you had much room to talk; silence was your preferred method of social interaction.

The classroom was far from silent now. Students were spread out across the room in little clumps. Some spoke in furious whispers. Others weren’t as discreet, and you could hear every single preposterous word that left their mouths. The amount of sophomores who didn’t know that the California grizzly bear went extinct almost a century ago was a very depressing glimpse into the public education system, but at least there were only two boys howling obnoxiously at a few giggling volleyball girls. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and typed ‘Beacon Hills bus attack’ into the search bar.

You refreshed the webpage obsessively, all throughout chemistry and art class, until an article finally popped up on your screen at lunch. You bit into your slightly bruised apple and squinted at your phone, immensely grateful for the empty courtyard as you came across the grittier details.

You always ate lunch outside; it was quieter without the echoes of gossip and laughter, and the heady scent of cut grass was far preferable to whatever monstrosity the cafeteria was serving that day. Today, the afternoon heat made the earthy warmth especially thick in the air. Normally, you loved that smell, the smell of summer. It reminded you of frenzied August afternoons, running through Lydia’s sprawling backyard and swinging into brisk lake water, but the smell was quickly becoming suffocating the more you read.

The man who was attacked was a bus driver. He was smiling in the photo they’d chosen to include before pictures of the crime scene, like a warped ‘before and after’ ad. You dropped your half-eaten apple into your lunch sack and shoved it to the side when you got to the background bits. Garrison Myers had a family, a wife and two daughters; they were praying for his unlikely survival. Your throat hurt, and you wondered if there was an apple chunk lodged in your esophagus. Swallowing hard, you scrolled down to the police interview. The deputy they managed to get a quote from clearly knew next to nothing, though he did posit the possibility of a mountain lion attack. You rolled your eyes. Maybe on PCP.

The only thing you were sure of was that whatever kind of beast ripped a woman in half and slashed a man to ribbons in the span of a week wasn’t going to stop. At least, not until it was killed.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagines #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x you

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 6 months ago

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Back on my analysis nonsense but not quite awake enough to write a full essay right now so please enjoy this snippet of analysis about Inej, language, and the word “girl”. It’s all stuff I’ve talked about before but I haven’t given it’s own post before and I’ve been rereading some of my old stuff to get back in the mindset so I thought I’d bring this back up because I find it really interesting - I’m also really hoping to write the post about Fruszi that I’ve been planning on doing for basically since season 2 came out tomorrow or at least very soon so hopefully that won’t be too long

Inej Ghafa, Language, and the Word “Girl”

⚠️As always in my analyses, constant spoilers ahead!! 🖤

⚠️I’m going to talk about Inej’s trauma and her ptsd, and this post will also possibly include references to the other characters’ trauma and ptsd as well

Hi okay it’s been a while since we did this and I realise it’s probably the reason most of you follow me so sorry about that but let’s jump right in - I often say it’s after midnight and I’m thinking about Soc so let’s talk but today I actually have to say it’s almost midnight and I’m thinking about Six of Crows, so let’s talk: Inej’s internalised misunderstanding of the Kerch word for “girl”.

In the Bathroom Scene during Crooked Kingdom (which I have a full analysis posted of if anyone would like to read it; I can tag you or you can follow the link in my pinned post), we see Inej at the point she allows herself to be most vulnerable with another character. I think we forget this because we know much more about it than they do, but the other Crows know very little about what Inej went through at the Menagerie - Kaz himself in that very scene describes having “the barest inkling of what she’d endured there” - and previously when we’ve learnt anything about her experiences they have mostly been through flashbacks that Inej experienced during other events of the book. On the boat to Fjerda, in the surgeon’s cabin with Nina, Inej battles with flashbacks and insists Nina sing to her and teach her the chorus of the song to try and distract herself - Nina of course knows that something is going on, but only the reader is actually told what’s happening in Inej’s head - and when she has a flashback at Sweet Reef (the man who smelled of vanilla) she’s alone until Dunyasha arrives. This scene with Kaz is really the only time we see her express herself and, as openly as she can, attempt to speak about some extent of what she went through out loud. I’ve dissected a lot of what she says in this scene in the past and formed theories about it before, but I haven’t talked as much about this quote:

“Tante Heleen wasn’t always cruel”

After this introduction she goes on to explain the emotional abuse and manipulation that Heleen put her through, going so far as to specify that because endearment became something akin to danger she flinched the first time Nina hugged her, and she also mentions in the scene that sometimes when Jesper puts his arm around her she feels like she’s going to vanish. This particular description of Heleen has very strong parallels to descriptions of Van Eck’s abuse of Wylan, and though I don’t want to go into that in too much detail now bc I’ve talked about it before and how their parallels are what create a lot of the Wylan/Inej parallels I do think that it’s a relevant thing to mention as I bridge into the next quote I want to bring up; when Van Eck takes Inej captive and is claiming that he has treated her like this because this is what he know her to expect from her life experiences, she internally comments that he sounds like Heleen and we get a memory of this quote:

“Why do you make me do these things? You bring these punishments on yourself, girl”.

This obviously had very strong links to the way Van Eck abuses Wylan and teaches him to actively blame himself, which I’ve talked about in the last, but I also want to add that it’s so interesting when we see Heleen call Inej “girl” because she very rarely uses terms that don’t actively dehumanise her/any of the other children at the Menagerie. Of course the use of the epithet is still a big part of the way Inej was denied identity at the Menagerie, remember she audibly sobbed when Kaz said her real name out loud the night she left, but it doesn’t necessarily hold the same immediate, discomforting effect that other epithets Heleen uses, such as “little Lynx” (actively diminishing and dehumanising Inej whilst using an oxymoronic phrase to effectively imply that she is a tamed animal and even though she should be able to fight free she never will. As a side note linked to this, the word “little” is often used derogatorily towards Inej, most obviously by Heleen and Van Eck and most notably when she breaks his nose and he shouts “you little wretch! You little whore!” and she replies “go on Van Eck, tell me all the little things I am”). But I would actually argue that when Heleen uses the word “girl”, she intends it with all the same dehumanisation as she does “Lynx”.

Throughout Inej’s experiences in the duology, the word “girl” is used almost exclusively in two ways: 1) as an insult, 2) possessively. Whenever the children at the Menagerie are referred to as “girls” it is always in a possessive context, for example these quotes are the Ice Court Heist when Inej is wearing the Lynx silks:

“… in front of her girls”

“Your girl will be returned to you”

“Where is my girl?”

“That is not my girl”

And this is an ongoing theme throughout the books. However, the idea is most obviously presented in a quote by Inej herself, and this is where it quite truly breaks my heart:

“not really people, not even really girls.”

Okay I'm really tired and this post is already longer than I was planning so from this point forth everything in the quotation marks is directly taken from another post where I talked more briefly about this:

' As if “girls” and “people” are two separate entities. As if “girls” are not human. This is the language and the attitude that she was surrounded by at the Menagerie and is still surrounded by in the city, and what was forced upon her throughout her experiences in the country. But you know what else might be a genuinely horrifying little detail of this????? Inej may have actually taught herself that the words “people” and “girls” are not synonymous. Because when Inej was brought to Kerch she wasn’t fluent in the language, she spoke some of it and quickly learnt the rest through circumstance, so if this was the way she heard Kerch people use the word “girl” this is how she would internalise the definition of it. I hope this makes sense I’m not sure if I’m relating my thoughts very clearly, it’s kind of like how Matthias was forced to learn Kerch because he was in a Kerch prison so he doesn’t know words that would easily come to him in Fjerdan, like the snow goggles, but instead of simply having gaps Inej has actually learnt a false grammar system that defines “girl” as a dehumanising term because it means someone who is less than or someone who is property. '

I feel like I might have had something to add but if I did then I have forgotten it; if it return to me in the morning then I will return to add it but for now I am going to bid you all goodnight. Thank you for reading these mad ramblings and I hope they made some semblance of sense and/or were interesting <33

⚠️This is a theory and this is my personal literary interpretation; I am not saying that this is an intentional choice made by Leigh Bardugo, though it may be I have no idea, and I am not saying that you have to agree with me. Literary analysis is not about presenting one definitive answer, and if you have either differing interpretations or further points you’d like to add then please do as I would love to read them! <3

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idylls-of-the-divine-romance · 1 month ago

Note

Would love to hear you elaborate on God is a SA victim if you’re up for it -Jo blood-is-the-life

Hiii @blood-is-the-life (tagging you so you'll get a notif when I answer). @ray-moo you also wanted to know about this. Also: @prosphoramuncher and @theclonehusband

*sighs* I meant to write this essay about God and androgyny and duality in Genesis 1-3 (which connects into the idea of God as being an sa victim) for a while now. @joanofarcs-stigmata I told you I'd tag you in this essay when I wrote it so here we go.

Okay, so let's start with ha-adam, the human, in Genesis 2. "Then the Yahweh God molded the human, humus from the soil, and breathed into their nostrils the breath of life; and the human became a living being." So there is one human, and as you can tell I side with the interpretation that said human is a hermaphrodite. I don't find in the word "adam" any indication that the human is male, and think rather the pronoun "he" is used just as a default.

Next however, Yahweh looks and "Yahweh God said, 'It is not good for the human to be alone, I shall make them a delivering counterpart. [...] And Yahweh God cast an deep sleep on the human, and they slept, and He took one of their sides and closed over the flesh where it had been, and Yahweh God built the side into a woman and He brought her to the human. And the human said, "This one at last, bone of my bones/and flesh of my flesh,/This one will be called "Woman" for from "Man" she was taken."

So there was 1 human that became 2 humans both man and woman. But then, Genesis 2:24 - the man and woman are married, cling to one another, and become one flesh (@sapphosremains I will respond to your question, but in short: I do believe Adam and Eve had sex in the garden, for the sake of union, pleasure, and expression of love tho not for procreation). So now the 1 that became 2 has become 1 again.

Basically this train of thought then led me to have some admittedly weird thoughts about the tree of life.

So the man and woman are invited to "eat eat" (literally what it says in hebrew lol) from the Tree of Life. Now, because God is the source of all Life, especially Eternal Life, and the Tree of Life gives eternal life to it's consumer, it stands to reason that eating of the Tree of Life is either physically or spiritually (take your pick) taking the wisdom, love, and life-giving presence of The Divine into yourself. Basically the tree is like a proto-Eucharist of sorts. It's communion by consumption. And consummation.

Now here's the weirder part: taking and eating fruit is a very common symbol for sex in the Tanakh, especially in the Song of Songs. The image is typically that of a man "eating" a woman's "fruit", which would put both Adam and Eve in the role, so to speak, of the "man/consumer" and God in the role of the "woman/fruit-giver" (think of like gender as theatre for how this logic works). The reverse is also true though: the point of the tree is to give birth to life inside of the humans, and in that way God is in the role of "man/seed-giver", and the humans are playing the role of "woman/birther".

Focusing on the first image tho, is how we get to the idea that God is a victim of sexual assault. The Tree of Life is not the only tree in the midst of the garden; The Tree of the Knowing of Good and Bad is also there, and since the Garden of Eden is a temple (do not have time to go into rn. Chart here) that means to me that the Tree of the Knowing of Good and Bad is also representative in some way of entering the Holy of Hollies taking of God's divine presence.

Except wrongly. It's like Aaron's sons storming into to God's presence and doing something violate God. But it's also like rape.

Part of the way biblical scholars read the bible is by paying attention to words and language. In Genesis 3 words like "see" and "beautiful/desirable to the eyes/sight as well as "take" and "gave" are all words that get used in similar scenes latter in the narrative. The woman "sees" that the fruit is "beautiful to the eyes" and she "takes" the fruit and "gave" it to her husband.

In Genesis 6 the Sons of God "see" that the daughters of humanity are "beautiful to the eyes" and then they "take" them as wives.

In Genesis 16 Sarai "sees" Hagar her slave girl, "takes" her and "gives" her to her husband. In the following Generation, Leah and Rachel will also "take and give" their slave girls to their husband.

In Genesis 19, it's horrible and the hyperlinks are moreso. There are 2 messengers of Yahweh going into a place that looks like Eden ("the Garden of Yahweh") to rain down fire on the city (the first time fire is mentioned is in Genesis 3 with the 2 cherubim). Incredibly suggestively. They go into Lot's house and all the men in the city, young and old, all the men of the city call out to lot so they can "know" these men (first time "knowledge" shows up is Genesis 2/3 with the Tree and then Genesis 4 with Adam and Eve). By which ofc they mean gang rape. Lot tells them not to do this "ra" thing" (Tree of Tov and Ra, Good and Bad) and offers up his daughters (!!!) instead. Because he is also a horrible guy. Anyway, he tells them to "do to them what is good in your eyes" ("the woman say the fruit was good to the eyes"). The men do not like this. Saying that because Lot is an immigrant he cannot bring justice on them. So they threaten to rape and kill him as well. Thankfully the messengers pull Lot to safety and blind the rapists so they cannot find the door (there is something important about the door but i need to meditate on it). The messengers tell Lot they are going to destroy the city because of "the outcry" which has reached Yahweh ("the outcry" is a reference to Cain's city in Gen 4, and the rape of human women and the violent warrior kings of Genesis 6). So the messengers then "rain down fire from the skies" (same language as the Great Flood which happened because spiritual beings raped human women and had violent children. Now violent human beings are trying to gang rape spiritual beings). After Lot and his daughters escape the city, the duaghters of Lot get him drunk with wine (which is ofc made from fruit) and then rape him (Ham did the same to Noah/Noah's Wife after the Flood).

That was a lot. This literature is incredibly sophisticated and this story is incredibly dense. And dark.

My point here is that one of the main ways the biblical authors talk about the abuse of women, is by using these sets of words: men see that a woman is beautiful to the eyes and take her for themselves. Or a woman sees that her slave girl is beautiful to the eyes and good for childbearing and so they take her and give them to their husbands. Eve and Adam do the same thing. They look at the tree (which I said is God's intimate presence), and then violate God by breaching a boundary that They had laid out. The analogy that came into my head when i first realized that was that of a boyfriend and girlfriend, and the girlfriend wants to wait to have sex, not as in "never" but as in "not yet", but then her boyfriend goes and assaults her. That's the same thing happening in the Garden of Eden before the Tree and why it makes me soooooo mad when people act like God was unjust in her banishment of the humans. All the language used here, is that of rape.

So... yeah. This is poorly written and I probably could've done much better writing this but it does make me very uncomfortable (to put it lightly). But I also think that seeing this in the narrative can be helpful for people who have experience the same thing or something similar. God suffers with her people.

You all owe me a nap and some cookies now lol. God bless <333

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yichens · 6 days ago

Text

edits i made in 2024 ✨

thanks for tagging me krish @i-got-the-feels [x] ♥ am also trying to incorporate the tumblr top ten posts into this bc i don't want to do that as it is, so thank you for tagging me into that antania @riggerbison [x] and zey @fadelsburger [x] ♥

Post your most popular and/or favorite edit/gifset for each month (it’s okay to skip months!)

tagging: @forcebook @thamepo @chezlalune @ruanbaijie @luna-lina @srnileforme @wanderlust-in-my-soul no pressure and if you've done this or something like this already, please send it my way or tag me into the post's replies! i'd love to look at everybody's creations and give them some love :')

JANUARY: morkday + holding hands [x]

the most popular and tbh my personal favorite was this morkday edit i made based on a quote that is from the damn city of bones (2007) by cassandra clare. i didn't know that back when this quote punched me in the face and made me think about it for a couple of days but i honestly laughed when i finally googled it... worked out very well tho! i love hand symbolism, especially in last twilight, and the golden colors are lovely for them ♥ i also ended up loving the last image in this set even if i first struggled with the composition.

this was my number 1 post on my tumblr top ten.

(also gotta add that it still feels insane that last twilight was still going on in 2024... it feels like it was ages ago. i barely remember most of it anymore, probably bc of the heartbreak and trauma. i'm a changed person in january 2025)

rest of the months under the cut bc i ramble!

FEBRUARY: valentine's day vice versa rewatch [x]

my best decision for last year was to rewatch both my school president and vice versa during the time before valentine's day. it healed me, held me gently, filled me with love and warmth. am happy that the set i made after that to show love, once again, for the romance show and soulmates couple of all time was both my most popular and personal fave ♥ i love how the set turned out and how the colors work in this. i will forever be thankful to vice versa for its colors and overall brilliance.

this was my number 8 post on my tumblr top ten.

MARCH: 23.5 episode 3 [x]

it's a close call between several of my 23.5 episode edits but this happens to be the most popular one during this month. i never finished 23.5 which somehow saddens me, but towards the end, i just lost interest, and so this edit series was also left unfinished. i liked the concept tho and loved playing with the colors each week!

tribute to mork methas [x]

personal favorite cannot be any other edit than this bc i put all my heart into creating it. i am still so angry about what last twilight did to mork as a character; how all his trauma and pain was pushed aside, how the story never gave him the space and time he needed, how on top of all else they managed to butcher this amazing man. i don't even want to look at him in episode 12 bc i cannot recognize mork there. he is no that person, at least not to me. mork my beloved, i wish the writers didn't hate you so much </3

(btw i have this whole explanation/essay written under this post in my drafts. it's mostly me sharing in detail the thought process behind me making this edit and going through the several elements in it. if anyone is curious, i can post it, just holler haha)

APRIL: us / thamepo pilot crossover [x] [x]

the most popular edit for this month deserves to be the edit i made for the us pilot that was revealed during gmmtv 2024 part 2. i am still very excited to see the show itself and follow their filming journey occasionally on twt. i am just soooo ready to break my heart over the tragic lesbians woven together with strings of comfort, self-discovery, and heart ache.

this was my number 2 post on my tumblr top ten.

i picked the thamepo sister set as my personal fave bc i cannot separate these two. it was fun to connect them together and switch around the dialogues we hear in these pilots bc they just worked. they had very similar vibes and both talked about somewhat forbidden love. no wonder am currently so into thamepo (i hope it stays that way, am done with all the disappointment i've experienced with shows lately).

this was my number 4 post on my tumblr top ten.

MAY: 23.5 episode 9 [x]

the most popular set of the month. not much else to comment. i love the shot of ciize in this one, she's so cute :(

puentalay k-i-s-s-i-n-g [x]

my favorite for this month! a very impulsive edit that happened solely bc this ear worm of a song (that puen would def listen to) wouldn't leave me alone. it's silly, it's fun, it's cute, it's sexy, it's passionate. it's everything i could ask for! i honestly had a ton of fun with this edit despite having to edit a bazillion (26) separate images for this. the fact that those images are mostly of puentalay kisses makes it worth it.

JUNE: we are episode 12 [x] / 11 [x]

during summer, i was deep in my we are era. i honestly loved each set i made for the series bc for the longest time, i've wanted to make sets like this. i had my struggles with some of them but they all worked out in the end! episode 12 was the most popular one and episode 11 is just my personal favorite bc i love the purple + hints of yellow/golden -combo.

JULY: we are final episode [x]

to honor this show and all its relationships, from romantic to platonic, i decided on a rainbow set. it worked super well and i am happy it was so popular ^^ i miss this whole bunch and the amazing summer we had together. (sorry about the quality of this screenshot, the set is too long to fit it on my screen hhh)

this was my number 10 post on my tumblr top ten.

morkday + pvris songs [x]

probably my favorite set i've made this year overall. my whole year was defined by pvris's music (my spotify top artist) and it felt appropriate to link it together with morkday (and puentalay). i love the layout of this set, the colors, the noise. getting into the lyrics and choosing fitting parts for each image was the best part. my favorite image in the set is the last one that i started from while creating this set. i love the background image for that so much. another one i like is the green one for anywhere but here, bc of the image itself but also bc of the song and its message.

AUGUST: we are couples [x]

due to traveling around a lot in august and being exhausted from that, i didn't create much. but i am extremely happy with this set that is both the most popular and my personal favorite! everything about this one just worked out. i feel like it really summarizes all of these couples and shows their different sides.

as a fun fact, i have to say that i never put too much thought into choosing the animals for each couple, other than picking the bird for chainpun (for obvious reasons). cat for phumpeem came through peem more than phum who is very dog coded to me. instead, dog (or wolf?) ended up with tanfang bc of tan's puppy-like nature. qtoey getting the bunny feels like a stroke of genius given to me during the making of this set bc looking at it now, it's perfect. they have that sweetness and energy in them i connect with rabbits.

SEPTEMBER: sanvee + moon phases [x]

ok i might have lied in the july part bc this might be my overall favorite edit i made in 2024. creating it was a battle tho, and i felt like screaming for the best part of the process bc nothing felt like it was working out and i had a ton of problems while figuring out the aesthetic and the typo and the texts. but it all came together better than i ever expected and i just love this set now. i was happy to see ppl liked this too, so this is the most popular edit of this month.

(oab)plawan + hurt by sleeping at last [x]

it's hard to pick a favorite for this month – despite the sanvee edit already being my obvious FavoriteTM – bc i also love my set for miss mhon (day's mother) [x] that let me went my frustration towards her and my puen x phum parallels set [x] that makes me feel wrong in the head. but i loved this love doesn't have long beans a crazy amount compared to how short and silly that show was. there's just something about oab and plawan - about sailub and pon. they dragged me deep into places with this show and this edit is my ode to that. it was fun to make in its simplicity, i love the colors in it, and pon as plawan is just too pretty (especially when he cries).

OCTOBER: pluto episode 1 [x]

considering how popular pluto has been and how desperate we all are for gls, am not surprised this set is the most popular one for this month. tbh all my pluto edits have been doing quite well in my standards. i love making these so am just happy you guys like looking at them ♥

pit babe pairs + cartomancy [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

never thought 2024 had a sudden pit babe obsession in its sleeve for me but i decided to embrace it. they've talked that the second season would start airing in april, after boys' journey s2 has ended most likely, and i am so very normal about all thi. i've fallen in love with all these boys, both the characters (more than i already was) and the actors, and this edit series only made everything worse. i haven't spent this much time researching things for an edit in a while and i just loved all the analysis i got to do. the process had its ups and downs but overall, i have to say i had a blast.

(picture chosen purely bc i vibed with this kim picture today, tho the kentakim edit might also be my favorite in the set bc the yellow is so good)

NOVEMBER: pluto episode 4 [x]

absolutely deserves to be the most popular set of this month! it's also my personal favorite out of all the edits i've made for pluto. the colors for this one just worked super well and the scenes are perfect, too. let's see how the series ends in two days, i hope i manage to find some fitting colors for the last episode, too :'D

this was my number 6 post on my tumblr top ten.

DECEMBER: yuanyi + you can love him, but you can't keep him [x]

the most popular set and also my favorite of this month, all bc i've gone down the rabbit hole with fangs of fortune. i spent an embarrassing amount of time making this set with all its details; starting from screenshotting the whole damn show and then picking the pictures for this edit from the over 400 images i got, to drawing the golden lines by myself on my drawing tablet so i got them just like i wanted. i shall be making so many more edits for this show, be warned.

this was my number 7 post on my tumblr top ten.