#please i kind of want more than two other people in the server.

[malcriada]

Help save Bilal's family!

i want to talk about my friend Bilal @bilal-salah0. for over a year now, Bilal has been living in germany, trying to adjust to his new living situation in a foreign country, learning a new language and working full time. 

when the war started, he was far away from home and his family and has been living in daily fear for their lives ever since. 

being forced to work long hours and promoting his family’s fundraiser at the same time, he has taken on more responsibility than anyone ever should. still, he managed to raise money for their evacuation fund and helped take care of his family’s daily needs with the money he was making while working. 

in a cruel twist of fate, all of this got taken away in an instant. he lost his job and his apartment and even his residence permit. which means he is at danger of deportation from germany that could happen as soon as next week!

i have been in daily contact with Bilal for a while now and connected him with some of my friends in germany. together, we are trying our utmost to make sure he can stay in the country. anyone who knows german bureaucracy knows what kind of hell it is. but we won't give up.

without his job, he was forced to dip into the money of his family’s evacuation fund to cover their daily expenses like food and shelter. this meant he had to raise his goal from €70,000 to €100,000. this was not an easy decision for him to make, he even asked for my advice on whether or not to do it, because he did not want anyone to think he was scamming people. 

even in such a desperate situation, Bilal does not want to be seen as someone who would ever take advantage of people's generosity

his family is comprised of 18 members, 10 of them are adults and 8 are children under 16 years old, some of them newborns who were born amidst the chaos of war and displacement.

currently, he is sitting at:

€71,817 / €100,000

donations have been slowing down ever since he reached his original goal. i cannot stress how important it is that they pick back up!

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME! HE NEEDS TO REACH HIS GOAL BY AUGUST 15TH!

THAT MEANS HE HAS TO RAISE NEARLY 30K IN THE NEXT TEN DAYS. THIS CANT WAIT.

his campaign has been verified and can be found on @/el-shab-hussein’s and @/nabulsi’s list of vetted fundraisers here (#132, line 136) so PLEASE don't hesitate to share and donate.

With such a tight deadline, i cant do this on my own. So i implore you to PLEASE share this wherever you can– on your whatsapp groups, on your discord servers, please share his story on other platforms wherever you have reach! Please share his story wherever you can, so that we can ease this burden from his shoulders.

[ID: a gfm link with a picture of two small children sitting in the sand in front of a cooking pot. they are looking up a the camera, eyes half-closed. the title reads "Donate to Help Evacuate My Family from Gaza to Safety, organized by Bilal salah" End ID]

tagging for reach under the cut, please let me know if you'd like to be removed:

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@decolonize-solidarity @palipunk @gothhabiba

[ugh-yoongi]

ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don���t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[msnihilist]

I wanna make a quick post for those closeted proshippers or people who are scared to put themselves out there in general.

It's no secret that antis send a lot of hate. In fact, I used to collect screencaps. Please, take a look.

Do you see that number at the top? 763. I have more screenshots in other folders, so let's round up to 800.

800 pieces of hate. These anti messages are filled with suicide baiting, racism, sexism, graphic threats, and all kind of horrible things. You can zoom in on the image and read some of the image previews for a little taste of it.

I've been collecting these for two years. There's a lot of them, to be sure. Some of them I've collected from other proshippers putting people on blast, but most of them I've collected because I went looking for them. I engaged in discourse and went into the anti proshipping tags and I amassed quite the collection.

Of these, about 60 of them are directed at me, personally. (I know because I keep them organized.)

So that's 60 horrible mean nasty messages over the course of two years. That's a lot. It's not optimal.

Do you want to see my AO3, though?

Admittedly, I have been posting fic on AO3 for seven years now. So let's be fair and do the math.

That's 730 comments on my fics per year.

That's double the collective amount of anti hate that I see.

Not the hate that I get, but all of the hate that I see, as someone who goes out of their way to find it.

And that's not all of the positivity, either! I've made friends in Discord servers and gushed about my favs there. I've got hundreds of followers and a dozen or so who are incredibly supportive. Every time I post about getting a hate message, I get four positive ones reassuring me. I've even got a lovely anon in my ask box right now that I still need to reply to!

All of this to say, yes, you will get anon hate. Yes, people will say horrible things to you. No, there's nothing you can do about it other than simply not sharing yourself at all.

But all of the positivity is so, so worth it. It blows that hate out of the fucking water, it really does. And you will feel so much happier with yourself once you stop pretending to be something you're not.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

can you write relationship headcanons for hyugo please? he's so underrated oh my god- btw love your blog, i'm so happy there's more people in the tkatb fandom <33 thank you for your service!!

My Exaltation (Hyugo x MC/Reader - Relationship HCs)

Thank you for the ask, Anon! And especially thank you for the kind words! :D

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer Exaltation: a feeling or state of extreme happiness. Trigger Warnings: NSFW and sexual mentions (nothing too crazy though).

A/N: (Check down the bottom for more info: but here's the server skeleton I've made: Link: TKATB Server).

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

SFW

I see Hyugo as somebody very affectionate, like a puppy. (He literally gives puppy-dog eyes like c’mon). Also is capable of becoming as feral as one.

Definitely will be the type to walk up to you randomly and beg on his knees request to do something, considering I feel like part of the reason he has so much on his plate is due to the fact he can't stand having the same routine day after day. He needs spice. And you'll happily oblige.

Also very protective. Hell, this guy killed someone(s), so he’d be more than willing to defend you if it comes to that. Owns weapons 110%. Is also very capable at using them.

Hides all his suspicious activity from you. Not because he doesn't trust you, but mostly due to the fact he doesn't want you to get involved.

When If you move in together, he will make sure to enroll you in self-defense/weapon training classes (or he'll teach you himself, who cares about the law he's committed about 56 crimes in the span of a month /jkjk).

Is alarmingly strong, for someone of his stature and build, he often ensures to work out, because, well, he never knows when someone will come after him now does he?

Is paranoid about your safety 25/8, he's alert and vigil every waking moment. Ever since the cinema incident, he's been freaking out internally. (What if they find out about you? What if you go missing too?). Will hide it though, he can't afford you to be scared of him, now can he?

Crime hustles aside, Hyugo is genuinely a very loving and #goldenretriever boyfriend. Will use petnames as much as humanely possible, usually the flirty ones like 'darling'.

If you are a clothesnapper, expect him to start stealing back, eventually both your wardrobes will be swapped. You both don't care though, because both your horny asses will be relishing in the smell of each other in secret teehee.

Will be pulling the biggest 'Aww you look so adorable!!!!!' face known to man the first time you stole his clothes (probs a sweater or overshirt). Will tease you about it.

Makes puns 24/7, actually a master at them, it's kind of unnerving.

If you're ticklish, do not, under ANY circumstance, let him find out. You will be on the verge of dying each time he tickles you.

Hyugo's heart melts if you wanna watch his favourite movies with him: "Uh...Oh my God! MC! The new *insert movie title* came out...wanna watch it together this Sunday?" *insert massive puppy dog eyes, a cutesy little pout and two slender hands clasped together in a praying motion*

You agree, because...of fucking course you will.

Doesn't care enough to cook most of the time, but will try for you. :]

If you're cooking (or baking desserts), he'll spawn right behind you and hug you.

Will make you game with him, you don't have a choice, this guy needs action in his life (totally not like he doesn't already have any right-)

He's the little spoon, loves being smushed into your tits/pecs pressed against your torso, it means he can hear your heartbeat. It means he can fall asleep knowing you're safe.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

NSFW (I am aware these may seem short. But. uh. I'm rusty cut me some slack).

I see Hyugo as a power bottom, or even a switch. (Emphasis on the 'power' part, this guy is strong).

Is capable of serving cunt/cock scarily well. Like you have no clue how he got this good.

Don't pull his hair too hard, a bit'll make him whine groan, but he doesn't seem the type to be into hair pulling unlike Sol and Crowe teehee

More funny during sex imo, depending on how intimate it is. If it's a sudden need then he'll be silent as the grave and going all out on dishing his horniness out, but if you're both chill and happy then he's much more jovial.

Masterful at aftercare, will murmur praises for how good you were, how much he loves you, etc. into your collarbone.

You are everything to him, his lover, his vehement source of peace, and his exaltation.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: So, @hayooni mentioned that we should probably have a Discord server or something, so I made one. It's pretty mid so far, and I'm definitely going to hand off admins to other people who're superior when it comes to Discord server making, but hell, how about we make sure this community is as nontoxic and interconnected as possible. We're the OGs and veterans of this fandom; we might as well make it a fucking good one.

Link: TKATB Server

[celestesinsight]

Kalki 2898AD Release Trailer - Bhairava Character Analysis!

There are many theories circulating about Bhairava's character and its importance in the movie. Here's my two cents regarding this. And to be honest, it isn't entirely my views too. It's what we came up when discussing in the Varadeva Discord Server.

First of all, there's a huge chance that Deepika's baby is red herring and Bhairava is the real Kalki. Ashwathama will realise this at the end of the movie and change his stance.

But my favourite theory is Bhairava being Lord Shiva. When Bhairava called himself the 'living legend in Kashi' in the Bujji & Bhairava series, it kind of stuck with me. Who's more legendary than Lord Shiva in Kashi? And the story goes that Shiva gave Kalki the divine weapon, the all-knowing talking parrot and the white horse. Bhairava have all the three; we saw the weapon in the first promo and Bujji's brain and body are the talking parrot and white horse equivalent. if Bhairava is Shiva, he's actually protecting the baby while pretending to hunt him for the Complex as well as testing Ashwathama's determination for redemption. In Mahabharata, Ashwathama was born after Dronacharya performed several years of severe penance to please Shiva as he wanted a son who possessed the strength and bravery of Shiva. So, it would make sense that Shiva aids him in his journey of redemption.

What if Bhairava is neither Kalki nor Shiva? Then what is his character doing in the movie?

"Despite the endless opportunities spanning over the generations, man fails to redeem himself and he never will."

I think this quote by Kamal Haasan's character, Kali is the key to Bhairava's significance in the movie, if he is not the titular character 'Kalki'.

There are many worlds in Hinduism, but our Puranas predominantly talk about the Swarga (abode of Devas), Prithvi (abode of humans) and Patal (abode of demons). There are also three worlds in the film: Complex, Shambala and Kashi. Unlike Puranas, where there were three races inhabiting the three worlds, in the film, the three worlds are inhabited by the humans only.

The Complex is the place where God is banned. They treat Supreme Yaskin as the God. They have conquered the world and taken all the resources for themselves. In appearance, the Complex gives the illusion of Swarga, but it actually embodies the demonic qualities of Patal.

Shambala is the place where they still believe in God and hope for his return to save them. They fight the Complex and their unjust actions. They are safe haven for anyone who wants to escape the hold of the Complex. In appearance, they are an underground society (Patal), but they are actually the forces of righteousness in the desolate world, fighting on the side of God and thus symbolises Devas of Swarga.

Then there is Kashi, the last surviving city. They are neutral. They are neither the evil conqueror nor the righteous warriors. They are humans who are trying to survive in an unfair world. They are not on anyone's side, but their own side. They represent the humans of Prithvi.

"In this world, there's only one side to be on. Your own side."

Bhairava and the bounty hunters of Kashi are the representation of the man in Kali's quote. They embody the qualities of selfishness, greed, and going to any extent to accomplish their goals, without caring about the consequences of their actions.

To be fair, Bhairava isn't doing anything wrong. He's trying to survive in a world which has lost all hopes. But he's so caught up in this mode of survival that he can't recognise this new hope for a better tomorrow, that Ashwathama and the people of Shambala are seeing in Sumati and her baby. All he sees the 5-star bounty that is his one shot at entering the Complex. He's not realising that he's fighting for the wrong side, that he's fighting to keep the old hierarchies intact that had made this world a hopeless place for him and others like him in the first place. He's helping the people who are the cause of all his problems under the illusion of becoming one of them.

Bhairava represents the man who is given numerous chances by the God, but he's so trapped in the Maya (worldly illusion) that he fails to recognise him and hence, is forever doomed to be trapped in the cycle of suffering.

Will Bhairava recognise the truth before it's too late? Or he will handover Sumati over to the Complex?

Bhairava's action would decide if the world is worth saving or not. If God should keep his promise and take birth to save all the humans? Or he should just let the humans rot in the hell, they have turned the Earth into.

The movie is not just about Ashwathama's redemption, but also the redemption of the mankind, represented by Bhairava.

As Kali said, humans have given numerous opportunities by the God to redeem themselves, but they have failed each time. Like Duryodhana failed when he refused to give even five villages to Pandavas, when Krishna asked, leading to his defeat in the Mahabharata war. Maybe that's why Ashwathama is having flashbacks of Mahabharata when fighting with Bhairava. He is seeing his past self in him. When he went against the Lord himself, blinded by his ambition and loyalty for Duryodhana.

Humanity is given another chance. Kali is sure we will fail this time too. It's up to Bhairava now, if humans fail again or they finally succeed in redeeming themselves this time.

[chloeangelic]

I’ve spent the past week getting slandered in this community with not a shred of evidence, proof, or receipts of me being a mean girl, “Wish Regina George”, a bully, an asshole, someone who spends more time answering anons than I do writing, or any of the other things I’ve seen people say about me out of absolutely fucking nowhere, seemingly because people have grievances towards Gracie that I know nothing about. I appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and asked how I’m doing. 

ETA: I have spoken to one of the people who posted statements and anons about me and we have squashed the beef. The statements made about me have been debunked and they have deleted their posts. Please leave me and my friends alone - I've gotten harassed directly and indirectly by anons and posts for two months and I'm tired. I'm not gonna prostrate myself and try to convince the internet that I'm a good person when I know I've done my best to always be kind and respectful in this community. My words will inevitably be twisted and I feel paralyzed. The damage to my reputation has already been done.

This is the only time I’ll address this, and my anons will not be turned back on because this is literally slander and a waste of everyone’s time. I’ve seen multiple vague posts about me as well and I’ve chosen to ignore it all, but it gets to a point where it feels like bullying and I’m done with it. When someone goes on tumblr live to rehash the same shallow shit talking post about me (i.e. talking shit about people they’re accusing of talking shit), that’s when I feel like my limit has been crossed, and since that same live devolved into an advertisement for the host’s own writing… This no longer reads like vigilante justice. 

Let me get one thing straight: I am here to write about dick, cock and that old man. I am extremely grateful for the friends I’ve made along the way, and I am beyond appreciative for my readers who support me and who like what I come up with. I am 27 years old, I have a fulltime job, and this is one of my hobbies. If you think I’m going to spend my time in a fandom spamming group chats and being catty, I literally don’t know what to tell you. The few uncomfortable situations I’ve had on here have been addressed and squashed very quickly, whether that’s misunderstandings, accusations or anything else. In a creative space, you are bound to butt heads with people occasionally, or have people who dislike you, and that is fine. I know I have an aloof persona on here, I don’t expect everyone to like me. 

I didn’t block anyone up until two days ago when this tumblr live host posted three anon asks in a row about me, and I decided to block the people who seemingly agreed with anons insisting I’m a mean girl, asshole etc. cause why the fuck wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t anyone? I don’t understand why on earth they’re so mad about me blocking them if they dislike me so much already. My shit is still on ao3 if they want to read it. 

I don’t know what my mutuals do in their own DM’s, or group chats they’re in that I don’t participate in, because I stay in my lane and I spend my time writing. Of course I don’t condone bad behavior but how am I supposed to know what happens in GCs and servers I’m literally not in? Or conversations in servers where I’m not active? I have not witnessed any of my mutuals talking shit in any GCs, period. That’s all I can say. Additionally, this whole big/elite writers discord people were talking about a while ago - if that exists, I wasn’t even invited lmfao how’s that for being a big writer? 

One anon said I was an asshole when they tried to have a conversation with me months back, and I assume this was my Rendezvous anon who I was snarky to cause they were snarky to me. I make it very clear that I have limited patience for anons, and when people in my comments respond back to them, they are responding to a statement that is separate from the person who sent it. 

I am not entertaining this insanity any further than this. I will continue to post my old man porn and interact with my mutuals and reblog gif sets of that same old man cause that’s what I’m on here for. If you don’t like me, you are well within your rights, I assume you have your reasons, and that is ultimately none of my business. Everyone has the right to curate their own experience on a website like this. 

Love, 

Daddy

[forever-will-last]

Mean Girls Fanfic Gift Exchange!

A few of us in the fandom are organizing an AO3 gift exchange for Mean Girls Day (October 3rd)! If you would like to participate, check out the link above! Rules are below, and FAQs are under the cut!

Rules:

1. All works must be centered around Mean Girls. You may add side fandoms or center around specific renditions of it (2004, Broadway, Tour, 2024, etc) but it must be around the Mean Girls Universe.

2. All gift fics must be at least 500 words in length. There is no maximum limit on words, so go wild!

3. If you don’t think you’re able to finish a work, please contact one of the mods. This is in order to prevent people from not getting anything gifted.

4. All gift art must be fully finished. Submissions of only partially completed works will be removed.

5. All gifters must respect their giftee's triggers/DNWs. Any gift fics submitted that contain content that was specifically marked as triggering or unwanted by the giftee will be deleted, and you will be removed from the challenge.

Q: I’m not in the Discord Server, can I participate?

Of course! Anyone in the fandom can participate. But! If you want to join, feel free to ask us for a link.

Q: What do I have to do to participate?

You must send a request of something you want someone to make a work about, and do an offer for a piece you're willing to work on. Everyone must do at least one work and will receive at least one work.

Q: Do I need to have two separate requests for my sign-up?

A: No. You are allowed to submit up to two so your gifter has the ability to choose a prompt they feel most confident creating a gift for. You are welcome to submit only one. We can only guarantee at least one request to be fulfilled.

Q: When are the gifts due?

A: Your gift must be submitted by Oct 3rd, 2024.

Q: Can I create a gift for more than one of my giftee's requests?

A: Yes. You can put up to two offers and in case there’s a match, you can do up to two works.

Q: Do my request prompts have to be specific?

A: No. Your prompts can be anything you would like, from one word up to a summary for a complex plot idea.

Q: What is an offer, and what do I put in it?

A: Your offer is where you list what kind of gift you would like to make, and what your limitations are. Any pairing you list, for example, is one you are offering to write/draw/etc. Be specific about what you will and will not create in the offer description as this will help to better match you with a giftee. You can post up to two offers with different limitations.

Q: Can I create art rather than writing a fic?

A: Yes. However, if you create art, you must post it on AO3 so completion of your assignment can be verified. If you need help with how to do this, please contact Belén.

Q: If I want to add another request to my sign-up/edit one of my requests, can I?

A: Yes. If you go to your AO3 dashboard, select "My Sign-Ups," and click on this challenge, you will be able to add to or edit your requests and offer until the sign-up period closes at 12:00 AM EDT September 10th, 2024.

For any other question, feel free to contact any of the mods! @forever-will-last @pinkkrypto @acetone4veins @chisamayas!!!

[nix-writes-mcyt]

Yup, I'm obsessed.

Hello! It's the anon that sent 3 paragraphs in one single... I'm not really sure what to call it because it wasn't exactly a request. I'm glad I was able to brighten your evening, and honestly I was a bit worried you'd think I was being a bit over the top (social anxiety, my number one enemy). Surprise, though! I actually have a request this time! I loved your yan!grian drabble and one-shots so much I couldn't wait to finish the EVO smp before sending in a request of my own.

If you could, do you think you could write a yan!grian x reader one-shot. I was daydreaming a bit and it wandered off to a plot where basically, the reader acted as almost a lost puppy with grian. Following him everywhere, showing a clear fondess towards him with their loyalty, and just constantly being by his side. As time goes on, he's so used to their company that when they aren't near him, it becomes almost maddening. It's almost an obsessive need to have them around him, to protect them, to keep them with him.

It's a very rough idea, but it's been on my mind for a while, and maybe you could play with it a bit more in your own way (if you'd like to that is!). And my goodness, this one was just as long, or maybe even longer then the other message(?) I sent to your inbox. I am once again apologizing for that fact.

It's okay anon, I had a lot of fun with this and I hope you enjoy it. I really hope it's the kind of thing you were looking for! P.s this is my first S10 fic!!

How Could You Say No?

Oneshot Contains: Low key yandere, Fluff (unhealthy), manipulation

Warning: This is not healthy behaviour! I write for entertainment but please be aware than in real life this type of behaviour from both parties is not healthy nor acceptable. If you find yourself in a situation like this please let someone know and stay safe! ----------------------

With a new season came new opportunities. It had been an interesting start, that was for sure.

This time around many people had decided to take it slow and enjoy the new world, which of course you decided to do as well. You'd been invited on an adventure to find a home, an adventure where your crush was going too. How could you say no?

So to the mountain you'd gone, messing around. But soon enough people began to claim land. You claimed some right next to Grian.

You'd had a crush on him for some time, but never had the chance to get to know him, this season you wanted to change that.

Then the fishing began. You liked fishing, but it was much more enjoyable being around Grian. Plus, that change did happen, the two of you got to know each other well, talking all the while catching fish and treasure. You fished for hours upon hours, day after day. Grian even built a little fishing hut for the two of you to have some shelter, which was incredibly sweet of him.

It hadn't taken much longer for Grian to build a house either, yours popped up about a week after than. All the while the two of you still spent time together. Grian would invite you everywhere, mining, fishing, of course you'd go.

You'd been surprised when he asked you to be his, but happy. So very happy. The next day he gifted you a fully enchanted pickaxe, which of course you couldn't refuse. It was a gift after all.

When shops started popping up the two of you would go together, spending diamonds Grian insisted you have a share of. He helped you gather resources, although soon enough there was no need for them. Grian asked you to base with him, how could you say no?

The two of you spent even more time together, chopping down trees, mining through stone. Anything and everything you did, you did together. You have done ever since the server began.

Which brings us to today, you and Grian, sitting by the sea. Today there is no fishing, no need to fish, but Grian had asked you to come with him to sit by the ocean. So you did.

Your thoughts were left to wander, and suddenly you were left thinking of the empty wall in the kitchen and how you had the perfect painting at your house. Not that you had lived there, or even visited, in some time.

"G, I've figured out a solution to our empty wall problem." You say, breaking the silence. "Oh yeah?" "Yes, I know the perfect painting. I'll have to go get it though."

"Go get it? Now?" He asks. "I can, probably should really. You know what I'm like for remembering this kind of thing." You laugh sheepishly.

"But we're enjoying the ocean, like we used to. Can we go another time?" "I can go myself, it's only at my old house." You say.

Suddenly Grian's eyes are on you, you can feel them almost burning a hole in the side of your skull. "You can't go there alone, it could be dangerous." You turn to look at him, shrugging. "It can't be that dangerous, besides, I can handle myself." His eyes darken.

"I don't want you to get hurt, you know that. What would I do if you got hurt and I wasn't there to help?" You didn't think about that. "I, well, you can come with me then. I want to get this painting, it'll be perfect."

Grian sighs, taking your hand in his. "Okay, we'll go get it. I can't let you go alone." You smile at his words. He stands, helping you up.

The walk to the house is longer than you remember, and sure enough it's in a bit of a state. Nature has very much taken over, you didn't think it was that long since you'd left.

When Grian had asked you to move in it was done very quickly, most of your furniture wasn't needed, so it was either given to other hermits or left in the house for you to collect at a later date. Looking around inside you don't think you'll be back for most of the things you left.

The floorboards squeak under your weight and Grian's. Moss covers much of the floor, vines crawl along your walls. You move carefully towards the office, not wanting to hurt yourself. You're glad Grian came.

As you reach for the door handle Grian pulls you away, startling you. "Let me, just in case. I don't know what I'd do if something bad happened." You stare at him for a second, but nod "okay." It's not exactly like you can say no. He only wants to protect you.

Grian pulls open the door with ease, scraping at the moss on the floor as the wood moves. The office window is clearly broken, but the rest of the room looks okay. Grian steps in, holding your hand and pulling you gently along.

You spot the painting, propped up in the corner of the room. Many of the colours have faded from time in the sun, plus it seems to be cracked and peeling. You feel so disappointed seeing the state it's in now, knowing how beautiful it once was.

The piece was so unique, and now it mirrors its surroundings. You can't bring yourself to even pick it up, it's inseparable from this house now, a worn down broken place, no longer a home.

Noticing your increasing upset Grian gently guides you out of the house. You can't bring yourself to say no. He does more than that, holding your hand tightly and taking you all the way home.

The walk is silent, full of sorrow. You can't even bare to look back.

Grian doesn't take you into the house, he takes you up to the swing in the garden. He'd built it for you, a place where the two of you could relax, read, look out at the ocean from a distance. Compared to your old home this one is beautiful, perfectly crafted, delicately detailed. This is your home now. You try remind yourself of that, but still feel sad.

After some time in silence Grian speaks up. "I had something I wanted to ask you earlier, when we were on the beach. It's why I didn't want to leave, but you know I'd do anything for you." You nod slightly, knowing his words are true. His home changed for you, he changed for you. He looks after you and gets you gifts and allows you to be creative. He protects you from harm, takes care of you when you're sick, takes you on days out and adventures.

You turn your attention to him as he begins to speak again. "You're very special to me, truly you are. I don't want to spend a day of my life without you, ever. You mean too much to me. You've become a part of my home, my comfort, I can't lose you. I need you to be by my side, forever." You see the box, you see the ring. A beautiful piece, you wonder if he crafted it himself.

You look at the ring, at him. You glance at your surroundings, what a beautiful life he has created for you here. A life you don't have anywhere else with anyone else. "Marry me?" How could you say no?

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Two - Dainty

W/C: 4.6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

You need a job, The Bourbon needs a server. The math is there but the owner won't acknowledge it. How will you win over such a crabby man that only sees you as a gnat forcing its way into his space?

A/N: The response I received on the first part fic was so unexpected but I'm so glad everyone liked it!! I can't wait to get deeper into this story

Masterlist

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I’m sorry for running out so fast yesterday.

No.  Too forward.

I think we got off on the wrong foot, by we I mean me.

No, not sincere enough.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly—

“Excuse me, dear?”

Your train of thought was dissolved within seconds as you turned your focus to the older gentleman that had called for your attention.  A hum in place of an answer as your brows raised expectantly but ever so friendly awaited his follow up question.

“Can I just squeeze past you to grab that jar of peaches?”  He asks, wrinkles around his eyes upturned in perfect harmony with his smile.

“Of course.  Yes!”  Panicked, you rush to the other side of the aisle, the older man waving you off, insisting that it was ‘quite alright’ while he reached for his beloved peaches.

You’d been bouncing back and forth, up and down between several opening statements to provide Donnie, a sour taste left in your own mouth at the way you left her hanging the day before when she was merely being kind to you.  It was something you couldn’t stop, the anxiety eating away at your flesh like bacteria from the fact that you could’ve caused someone to be less than satisfied with their interaction with you, as if you were some kind of service.  People pleasing was a disease.

Sometimes the affected party was blind to its symptoms, oblivious to the way their illness consumed them.  And that’s why you found yourself purchasing a single pack of gum, eyes large and sorrowful before you were even next in line.  Various ways to get the point across were mentally rehearsed and the closer you got to the register, the more you focused on one singular sentence, clinging onto the desire to not stutter or mess it up.  

“Hey you’re back!”  Donnie greets.  “Thought for sure we’d scare you off by now.”

With a wince, you hand her your pathetic excuse of a conversation starter, a pack of spearmint gum with your trembling hand.  If she notices she doesn’t bring attention to it, instead she gracefully takes the pack and rings you up. 

“N-no, no.  I don’t scare that easily.”  You try to convince yourself more than her.

You note that the shop is nearly empty once again just after a handful of customers had done their shopping and went on with their day.  A few patrons still linger, carefully picking out each item from their weekly grocery list; however, you wouldn’t know they were there if not for the squeak of their carts every few feet as they inched forward.

“Could’ve fooled me.”  Donnie respectfully hands back the gum in exchange for your cash.  A crinkled five that had seen better days.

For a moment you debate fleeing once again, nerves tingling and breathing becoming shallow before internally reprimanding yourself.  You can cry all you damn well please in private but right now you need to stand up to the little voice in your head.  “Yeah.  Um, I just–I wanted to say I’m sorry for running out so suddenly like that.”  It didn’t come out as smooth as you’d planned but you’re hoping it came across as sincere enough.  If you could at least look forward to a friendly face at the supermarket every week, well it would be a win.

“Honey, I don’t get offended easily and it seemed like you had places to be.”  She waves a dismissive hand in the air at your apology, not unkindly, more so letting you know you didn’t need to be so formal with her.  And yet you couldn’t help yourself, an unwanted backstory spilling from your lips almost like second nature.  Excuses plucked from the top of your brain.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to leave and just not introduce myself.  I just got caught up, with moving and all–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.  Just your name and we’ll call it good.”  A genuine smile stretches across her face, contagious enough that your lips tug upward as well as you offer your name, a proper introduction this time.

Your shoulders relax ever so slightly, not fully letting your guard down but no longer feeling the need to tense every muscle in your body.  It’s then that you realize that this is the only grocery store that you ever found visually appealing, with its darker toned walls and red checkered floors, the lighting not being so fluorescent and in your face, a bit dim even.  Which for some may be a flaw but for you it was perfect.  You don’t feel so exposed and couldn't be perceived so clearly, the ideal cocktail of a situation for someone so socially anxious.

“I, um, I saw your sign.”  You gesture to the letters reading ‘help wanted’ posted against the window.  If you could land a decent job then maybe living wouldn’t feel so terrifying.  Then again, several things would come into factor other than just your means of income.  

Donnie’s expression turns empathetic and you can feel your breath hitch in anticipation for a brutal rejection.  To be told that you had it all wrong, that you were too unprofessional and too meek and that your help was most definitely not wanted here, that you shouldn’t have even stepped foot in this town to begin with.  The five stages of grief practically take over in mourning over the loss of a potential job.

“I’m real sorry but we already filled the position.  Tom was supposed to take that down around two weeks ago.”  She sounds irritated at the mention of what you assumed to be her coworker.  “Can’t rely on anyone.”  She sighs, striding over to the window and pulling the sign from its temporary home only to abandon it behind the shelf that displayed several boxes of cigarettes.  

“Oh I’m–”

Before you can even begin to apologize for something completely out of your control, Donnie’s eyes light up at something, or rather, someone behind you.

“Hey, Ed!  Isn’t The Bourbon hiring?”

All she receives in return is silence and when you dare to peek over your shoulder behind you, you briefly meet the eyes of the neighbor you had the displeasure of running into twice the day before.  Today he fronts with a black leather jacket and the same black jeans with rips in the knees.  The only thing noticeably different is the chain now dangling at his side and the band shirt you’re unable to read, the letters obscured from your view.  Oh, and a few chunky rings decorating his hand that should make him look tacky as hell but somehow they pull the look together.  

“I dunno, who’s asking?”  He counters, brow raised as he glances at you once more.  You’d barely even spoken a few words to the guy and he was acting as if you committed the most heinous act against him.

“Ed.”  Donnie warns.

“Don, she wouldn’t last a day.”

You were beginning to think that this so-called ‘Ed’ was going to turn into an issue…fast.  Who was he to judge a stranger who he knew absolutely nothing about.  His audacity startled you and while you should step in and defend yourself, you can’t bring yourself to do it, tongue tied in every literal sense, words caught in the back of your throat like they were physical refrigerator magnets lodged in place.

“You don’t know that!”  She grins at him, a grin that silently says ‘watch it’.  “Honey, you got any work experience?”  Attention shifting to you, you felt as if you were burdening two people who had everything figured out in their quaint little lives, guilt plaguing your mind at the fact that you’d shaken things up between what seemed to be good friends or maybe even just well acquainted individuals.

“I–uh–yes.  Yes, I’ve worked at the–at the library and-and–”

“The library?”  Ed questions.  You didn’t dare answer, knowing very well he wasn’t seeking a response.  “What good would that do me in a bar?”

“Well I–”

“Think The Bourbon’s too rowdy for someone like you.”  He continues, only fueling your inner rage as well as pricking the embarrassment that held a permanent home within you, your cheeks flushing hot and palms becoming clammy.

“I’ve also worked at a diner.  Back home.”  Somehow you find a voice, one that isn’t shaky and timid but rather more calm and collected regardless of the absolute fear that pounded in your heart.  

Both Donnie and Ed stare, seconds passing that only feel like lightyears.  Ed still seems bored beyond comprehension, opening and shutting his wallet as he narrows his big brown eyes.  You aren’t sure what to do next, if you should make a dramatic exit once again or continue proving yourself to some stranger who had no business even making you do such a thing in the first place.

“A diner.”  

He says it like a statement rather than a question, as if to mock and discredit you.  

Tears are not an option, tears are not an option.  

“See she’s got experience!”  Donnie attempts to mend the situation, acting as an unofficial moderator.

“Don, no offense but I came here to buy the usual, not recruit.”  Some cash is slapped onto the counter, his patience clearly wearing thin by the way he begs with his eyes.  Donnie’s tolerance appears to be at a dangerously low level based on the glare she forces upon him.  You were beyond unprepared to witness a standoff in the middle of the supermarket at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday.

“Thought you were desperate for a server.”

There’s some bite behind her words, focus never wavering, the two seeming to have a telepathic conversation right before your eyes until Ed breaks the stillness in the air.

“Not in the slightest.  Can I have my shit now?”

Donnie’s sigh lets you know Ed has won and in the process, drained her energy.  Reluctantly, she snatches the cash from the counter and opens the register before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind her and handing them to him along with his change, an unfriendly exchange.  It doesn’t seem to bother him as he clutches the cash and the pack in his hand, not even sparing you another glance on his way out.

Clearing your throat, you pull Donnie’s attention away from the insufferable man now making his way down the cobblestone sidewalk outside.  “It’s okay.  I’m sure other places are hiring.”  

She rolls her eyes and you know it’s not meant for you but you can’t shake the paranoia that screams that she might be fed up with you as well.  “Don’t mind Eddie.  He acts like a hardass but he’ll come around.”

So his name is Eddie.  You only nod in response, unsure of where to steer the conversation from here.

“He’s like a scary dog.  He’ll roll over for the right people.  So if he doesn’t take to you, don’t take it personally.”  She advises.

“Yeah.”  You whisper.  

You were so going to take it personally.

–

As it turns out, no one in Knife’s Edge was hiring, not a single soul seeking a random girl from out of town who urgently needed a job.  Not that you could blame them, they had it all figured out.  Many of the shops were owned by families thus being run by said families and not requiring the additional expense that would come with hiring another person.  And those that did seem to hire outside of their family had already filled in every necessary position.  

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.  This is what you get for uprooting your life and sticking it somewhere it probably didn’t belong.

And now you were moping along the cobblestone, trying to figure out how to pay the bills, working out how much of your savings you could survive off of until you’d run out.  Then The Bourbon came into view.  Almost like it wanted you to see it, the beaming red lights spelling out its name specifically for you to see.  Mainly because it was the only place you knew to be hiring despite what Ed–or–Eddie–whatever his name was, had said in his unpleasant remarks from earlier.  It seemed to be your only shot at employment.

The bar had a few neon signs flashing in the window, one being the very obvious ‘open’ sign and then of course one that read ‘happy hour’ with a margarita.  The rest appeared to be different beers they might have on tap.  It didn’t look like anything fancy but didn’t seem like a hole in the wall either.  The exterior was paneled in wood just like almost every other building in the area, giving it a cabin feel without actually being a cabin.

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach from just staring at the place so if you were going to act, it needed to be now, before said dread morphed into pure panic.  This was going to determine your foreseeable future, if you couldn’t land this job then you might as well toss yourself right back down that mountain with no money and no plan, right back to square one.

The door was heavy, built out of metal and a bell ringing just above, notifying any staff and patrons of your presence which you could do without but you had to push yourself.  If they were staring, your gaze was glued to the ground and you didn’t notice, too occupied in rehearsing an improvised script in your head.  Some kind of rock or metal song blasted through the bar and you weren’t sure if it was overstimulating or comforting.  Your initial thought was that for being in a small town, they would be inclined to play country music so it only relieved you that your possible future workplace wouldn’t be subjecting you to the unbearable twang you just couldn’t seem to stand.  You’d endure it when all was said and done but it was appreciated that it was one less nuisance in your life.

It was a standard bar, the atmosphere mellow with dull lighting and a haziness smelling of tobacco swirling throughout the room.  What immediately drew you in was the obvious game of bingo, suddenly shifting what was a designated spot for happy hour and a cheap therapy session with the bartender into a retirement home full of seniors.  A man that looked to be in his fifties sat on a stool on the tiny stage in the corner, calling out numbers, which elicited a few victory yells from those who had obviously been having better luck.  

However odd the scene may be, several senior citizens occupying the tables of a bar at happy hour, business still seemed to be booming considering that it was a weekday.  Aside from the group of elderly yet energetic individuals, there were also what looked to be the regulars perched on their assigned stools at the actual bar.  They paid no mind to the intense game happening behind them, sipping away at their beers and mixed drinks leisurely.

A vacant seat called to you, two more on each side guaranteeing that you could sit comfortably without awkwardly scooting in next to someone and disturbing their possible winding down time, no doubt trying to blow off some steam after work.  That’s why people came to bars, right?  It was lost on you, this wasn’t your scene and if you’re truthful, you’re not even sure you should be here begging for a job in the first place.  That Ed guy clearly didn’t take a liking to you and though you didn’t exactly have any knowledge on his role within The Bourbon, he seemed like he had a say in the day to day operations just based on the tiny snippets of information you picked up on.  Hopefully someone with the same level of authority would be working now and actually respect you as a person enough to at least give you a chance.  

Playing it cool—as cool as one could be with constant nagging thoughts and shot nerves, you decide to plant yourself down on the stool, the worn leather material partially squeaking in protest as you wiggle into a comfortable enough position, setting your bag in your lap and clutching it in paranoia.  A glance from the left to the right and back to the left lets you know that no one seems to mind your presence though you still close in on yourself regardless, taking up the least amount of space possible.

The bartender, a man maybe in his early twenties who had short dark hair seems preoccupied as he shakes a drink while balancing a conversation with another man at the end of the bar, the two laughing every other sentence like old friends.  And so you wait.  Never intentionally draw attention to yourself and never disturb anyone else’s night until you find it polite to chime in when the bartender doesn’t seem as busy.  Even then, he doesn’t hear your small ‘excuse me’ every time he rushes by onto his next task.

A sad little ghost settled among lively customers, you don’t seek pity, only a glance your way so that you could get this over with and either face rejection or anxiously resume the job search.  Though no one seems to bother looking your way, you can’t help the heat traveling to your cheeks in pure humiliation, the fact that you’re the only thing out of place weighing heavily on your mind.  More celebratory howls and yells sound from behind you, the room erupting into laughter shortly after from a joke you didn’t care to understand.  Even a few select chuckles are heard from the men scattered along the bar.

“Do you just not listen?”

A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to peek up from where your focus remained on the bartop, where moments before you’d seemed entranced by the surface.  In reality you were running in circles in your head, hoping to make sense of your current situation.  Through your lashes you saw him.  Ed.  Or Eddie.  You didn’t put much effort into feeling too bad for not remembering his actual name, especially when he’d never even had the decency to ask for yours.  His leather jacket was absent from his torso, now only showing off a plain black t-shirt that also allowed you a view of various tattoos scattered along his arms.  You were first drawn to the faded bats on his forearm before becoming puzzled by what seemed to be some kind of a doodle on his inner bicep, not a very good one at that.  And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“I’m not allowed to have a drink?”  You ask innocently.  Genuine innocence.  No sarcasm.  You weren’t brave enough for that.

“Only if you’re not here to also beg for a job.”  He grumbles.  A man a few stools over gestures down for another round and in response, Eddie nods coolly.  With a certain kind of smoothness, he pulls a new glass out before slamming it down on the counter.  “If you are, the answer is still no.”  The way he quickly pours liquor into the shaker seems so effortless, measurements probably burned into his brain that allow for more efficiency on busy nights.

“Can I at least speak to someone in charge?”  You do your best to keep your voice steady and unwavering in the presence of someone with infinitely more confidence than you, his eye contact never breaking.

“You’re lookin’ at him, doll.”

His voice drips with his signature condescending tone, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smirk.  One that tells you that you’ve hit a dead end. 

“You—oh.”  Like an idiot, you swallowed any words that bubbled in your throat, unable to find it within yourself to at least come up with a snarky comeback.

“We’re not hiring.”

“That-that’s not what Donnie said.”  Lousy.  The argument just seemed to fall from your tongue involuntarily, not much thought put behind it before coming to fruition.  It would only give him more ammo.

His eyes further surveyed you, meticulously analyzing your every move, every twitch of every muscle in your face.  An unwanted spotlight shining on you, revealing every flaw in your approach to the current conversation.  You wanted a job and he wanted nothing to do with you, your last statement only sealing your fate, only giving him more reason to deny your advances.

“Donnie doesn’t work here does she?”  Without expression, he begins expertly shaking his concoction, forearms flexing with the movement.  He was a character, some kind of figment of your imagination.  He had to be.  You’d never encountered someone so standoffish, so ill-tempered, especially toward someone he’d never even met before, already passing judgment on you based on seconds of interaction.

Ignoring his rhetorical question, which came off as more of a deterrent than anything, you pursue a fair conversation, a deserving interview at the very least.  “Listen, I’m a really hard worker and—“

“And a fast learner right?”

The interruption was unwelcomed though you gave no indication that it was, face set in a straight expression as you processed his uncivil personality.  You couldn’t even find it in you to convey shock, your brain malfunctioning upon his words, outdoing himself with every sentence he uttered.

“Well, yes.”

“Of course.  And you can multitask too I bet?”

This wasn’t the interview you were hoping for, this was downright degrading.

“If you would just let me talk.”  You plead, fingers digging into the wood of the bartop.

“Listen, kid.”  The liquid he had been shaking for quite some time is poured into the glass, an amber colored liquor filled to the brim.

Kid?  

If you had the guts you would degrade him right back.  But you were you and you could only sit and take each hit to your fragile mental state with as much grace as possible.  And soon after the tears would come.  Not yet, though.  Not just yet.

“You look like you’re about to cry and you haven’t even been hired.  What makes you think you can handle a full house on a Friday night?”  The drink is topped off with an orange twist and a black cherry before he slides it to its awaiting consumer, not a drop spilling over the edge of the glass, clearly a perfected craft that he was proud of.

When he’s met with silence you gather that he thinks he’s won just by the smug look on his face, barely there but still evident nonetheless.  That little voice inside your head screams at you to keep pushing, keep bugging him until he has to give in.  Even if by pure annoyance.  And although you can feel yourself trembling in terror, something urges you to just gulp down the fear and prod at the arrogant man just beyond the bar.

“I work well under pressure, I’m very organized, I’ll clean on my down time…”  You begin to list off your abilities and if he wanted to stop listening, the way he glared at you wasn’t convincing you that he was going to.

This time his response is delayed rather than the other way around, suddenly at a loss for words as his large eyes take in your sudden change in demeanor.  Your slight assertiveness takes him by surprise, you can tell from his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.  It’s all a front for you to at least get one foot in the door but as they say, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

“No.”  He answers suddenly, sternly.  His disinterest is obvious when he pulls out a rag and starts wiping down the counter, no longer letting his gaze fall on you but instead, the droplets he works vigorously to clean up.

If he wants a fight, then a fight he shall receive. 

“I’m a team player, I’m super reliable, my time is flexible, if you need me in a pinch consider it done–”

“Do you understand social cues?”  

Ouch.  If you had an inflated ego it would’ve surely been destroyed by now but you were already working with close to nothing.

“Yes.”  You reply, not a trace of sarcasm, only an honest answer.

“So I think by now you’d understand.  We.  Are.  Not.  Hiring.”  Each word is enunciated and slathered thickly with bitterness, topped with the intention to send you running like a dog with its tail tucked in between its legs.  

What he doesn’t know is that your soft spoken voice and bashful exterior isn’t all there is to you and that deep down, if you wanted something, you were stubborn and able to manipulate the situation should it be required in the most dire of situations.  Whether it would work on him seeing as he was also just as stubborn, if not more, you weren’t sure yet.

“Are you turning me away because I’m a woman?”  

The pure horror in his eyes almost makes you chuckle because now you know you have the upper hand and had anyone overheard, they would probably question their beloved local bartender’s work ethic.  

“I mean–not that I’m accusing you…”  You were definitely accusing.  “I just don’t see any other women working and–”

It doesn’t have the effect you’re hoping for as he leans toward you, forearms resting on the bar, his eyes returning back to their spiteful nature while he taps his clunky rings against the surface in thought.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this.  Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.”  His voice is much more hushed than before but his expression remains serious, without a trace of that stupid smirk.

Dainty?  Dainty.  Noted.

“What–you don’t think a woman can handle–”

“It’s not about you being a woman.”  He seethes.  “It’s about the fact that you are dainty.  Polite.  Shy.  I can’t have that when I’ve got a few drunks refusing to leave at 2:00 AM.”  

“I know when to hold my own.  Especially if it's for a job.”  You attempt to convince him.

“What, so you’re just gonna respectfully tell them to leave, then what?  These guys get out of hand, I can’t be babysitting you, I’ve got a business to run.”  He reasons, straightening his posture, conversation already forgotten as he starts to turn away before you speak up again.

“At least let me prove you wrong before you dismiss me.”  You quietly demand, hands clasped in front of you.  “Think I can handle a group of senior citizens.”  You motion to the intense bingo game still going strong behind you.  

With a roll of his eyes, he seems to ponder his thoughts, bouncing them around in his head.  An exasperated sigh escapes his parted lips while a hand drags down his tired face.  

“One night.  A trial.  If you can handle it, fine.  You’ve got a job.”  He finally declares.  “But if I have to stop what I’m doing to babysit you or you so much as–”

“I’ll find another job.  Promise.”  You nod persuasively, a glimmer in your eyes that he doesn’t miss but quickly ignores.

“Good.  Tomorrow night.  Eight.  And just this one time you can park in the back lot.”

He tries to dismiss himself again but your next question forces him to linger a little bit longer.  He was patient, you’d give him that.

“Wait–what, what’s the dress code?”  You ask sheepishly, a contrast to the business woman you’d molded into just seconds before.

He does a once over, as if to judge your fashion choices but what he ends the conversation with only leads you to think that he favors one word way too much.  

“Casual.  Nothing too dainty.”

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel

[marsplastic13]

Knock Knock - Part 2

Part 1

"You have to tell me how all of this thing between you and Kaz started" Jesper and Vik were sharing a cigarette on the roof of the Crow Club while the others were downstairs partying. Vik blow out the smoke "You know Kaz would be really disappointed if I share any of this" "Oh come on, I'm dying here all alone without anyone to talk about the biggest scandal of the Barrel" the girl reaised her eyebrows. "Please" said him in a really high pitched voice. "Fine" the girl sighed "I'll tell you how we met, but it's very less exiting than you expect" she turned to Jesper with a grin "The story of how we started dating is way better" "Oh I knew you had good gossip, I'm all ears". So Vik started talking.

Before she started working with the Dregs, she found a job as a dancer in a club. She would just dance on a little stage, sometimes she would be a server for the night and other times men could pay to make her sit on their laps while playing cards or doing business. Trying to have any kind of inappropriate contact with the girls was forbidden by the club's rules, the owners were very proud of not being a brothel. Vik managed to keep the job while going to University, the pay was good and making money from rich pathetic men made her feel a bit powerful. And that's were she met Kaz Brekker.

One night she was requested by one of her usuals to stay at his table while he talked business with other people. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for a really young boy sitting across from her. Usually that place was for older men, but as she discovered some time later, Kaz was trying to enter a few legit businesses, now the he was officially the leader of the Dregs. For hours she looked at him, while batting her eyes and complimenting her clients. He must have been around her age, really charming, knew exactly what he was doing, even if he was decades younger than the other men at the table, and, most important thing, he was doing everything in his power to not look at her.

Vik could also sense some kind of pain radiating from him, it was diffused in multiple regions of his body and she had a confermation when she noticed his cane. His leg was hurting like probably all of his side and the arm he used for the cane. A few drinks made her brave, she got up excusing herself and while passing Kaz she faked a little fall, using his shoulder to steady herself. "I'm so sorry, I should quit drinking for tonight" she said with a little giggle. He flinched at her touch, but before the usual sense of nausea that human contact gave him, he felt a wave of relief, all of his pain just vanished until she removed her hand. Kaz's head turned up from the table, locking eyes with the girl that smiled a bit. "Such a clumsy girl that you are, let's get you free for tonight" her client got up to accompany her back to the bar, but he was so starteled that his gaze kept following them until the others started to joke about the fact that he was cosumming her with his eyes.

He came back with the other businessmen a few other times to close various deals, and he showed more interest in the girl, leaving her tips, buying her drinks, but she was always hired from this other man, so he couldn't have a moment alone with her. And then one night, he came alone.

The boy choose a booth in the most private corners of the club and started working on his papers. That night Vik had a shift has a server, but her boss told her that someone paid a lot of cash to have her at his table, so she changed into her dancer outfit, grabbed two drinks and head to the client. "You" Finally. she said almost excited "What are you doing here all alone?" Kaz lifted his head slowly, looking her up and down. "I came to talk to you" she faked a surprised face "And what do you want to talk about?" "Drop the act, I know who you are" "And who am I, Kaz Brekker?" Of course Vik acquired as much information as possible as soon as a young, rich business man set foot in her Club. Bonus point that he was even hot and kind of mysterious.

She moved closer to him, almost whispering in his ear, letting him take in her vanilla scented bodywash. The sudden proximity and the fact that she revealed that she knew who he was made Kaz lost his focus for a moment and the papers that he was fiddling with scratched his finger. Previously he had to remove his gloves because that place was insanely hot, and know he was looking at a single drop of blood coming put of his finger. "I'll take care of that" "Don't-" in one swift movement she took his hand and licked his finger, the scratch was gone.

"A Healer, you're a Healer" he said snatching his hand from hers and putting back his gloves. "I know that you're studying to become a medik, the youngest one in Ketterdam if you keep those grades" "You checked my grades?" She said laying back on the chair, raising her eyebrows. "I read your essays" Kaz turned to look at her smirking. "I'm here to offer you a job-" "Oh I'm not a whore" Kaz had just started to feel better after her unexpected touch and now he was almost choking on his drink "WHAT?" She did everything in her power to keep a serious face "I said I don't have sex for money" the boy was completely red and Vik couldn't hold her laugh anymore "As a healer, a job as a healer, and medik for the Dregs" Kaz sounded rather annoyed, she took a sip of her drink, that offer was completely unexpected. "Does it pay as good as this?" "We can make a few arrengements" "Well I have to think about it" she shrugged "What do you want to do now, I'm yours for another hour" before he could think of an answer she was on her feet.

"I can dance for you" "Please don't start dancing" Kaz was trying to look everywhere except in her direction "My boss is going to think it's very weird if you just came here to talk to me. Come on you can look, if you don't I'll be forced to get another client" Vik started to move along with the music, just for the sake of making the famous Dirtyhands uncomfortable, in fact, no one would make her change clients, Kaz had already paid for her and he could do whatever he wanted in that time.

But her little plan worked and he reclutantly laid back in his chair and started to look at her, her exposed body, inhaling the sweet scent that filled his nostrils whenever she moved.

For someone who despised skin to skin contact as he did, this girl was really starting to test his boundaries, and his nerves. The fact that she was totally unbothered by who he was was weird for him, no one dared to play with him like she was. Kaz had to admit that the girl had something interesting, she made him curious. Why aren't you scared? 

After a while, he found himself thinking about the fact that he would have gladly gave away the rubys he had as shirt cufflinks to put his hands on her, to trace the lines of her tattoos with his fingers. Saints, these drinks are strong. Dirtyhands wanted to ask her if she had any idea of how dangerous he was. Another part of him that rarely came out was thriving for how careless Vik was. Careless gets you killed in the Barrel.

"Now you're looking at me like you want to eat me" before he could connect his brain, his mouth responded "Maybe I do" Vik was so surprised that she stopped her private show to look at him with her eyebrows so raised that he thought that must've hurt. He cleared his voice trying to regain his composure, cursing himself to have let that really weird thing slip out of his mouth. He got on his feet and moved away from her in a hurry while she called his name. "I'll pay for the rest of your shift, so go home and think of my proposal, if you say yes come tomorrow at eight bells at the Crow Club" he didn't even turned to look at her. Vik saw him talking to her boss, than he left some money on the counter and left the club without sparing her another glance.

"Saints he was that into you from the start" Jesper said when she finished her story. "I can be a very charming person when I want" she winked. He let out a laugh "Oh I have no doubt on that, if you charmed the bastard of the Barrel himself I can only imagine your effect on a common person". They kept smocking in silence for a while. "And so you went to the club and he hired you?" "Yes it basically went like that, I started to work that night. I believe you were my very first patient at the Slat" "That's such a sweet thing, and now I'm the first to know all your dirty secrets" "I guess you are". Jesper throw his arm around her shoulder, leaving a little kiss on her hair. "And then what happened between you two?" she chuckled "Well he tried to stay away from me as much as he could, even if I was healing him he just wouldn't talk, but one night I totally saved his life" "What?!" Vik took another cigarette a started another story.

Part 3

[solargeist]

wait wait please elaborate the storyline for if he agreed to become a watcher, PLEASE!! I actually kinda want to dive into that idea.. i hadnt heard of the theory before, why did he agree? when did he? what was it like after? did he know anything about the watchers?

ok but doesnt this also kind of fit his personality more?

oh man, I'll try my best, its been awhile since i've watched Evo, and words are not my friends !

Grian knows about the Watchers, they were a common occurrence in Evo, the portals, the pranks, the traps, and the symbols were normal in his day-to-day.

He was their favourite even, gifting him a diamond, in a chest full of coal, a diamond in the rough, in their many eyes. I'm not sure if he knew this though.

I do think at his core, he has a Watcher's personality. He pranks people, he sets traps, he leaves symbols even of his own face, he makes secret bases under other's bases so he can watch them, he likes spying. They must've taken notice of this.

Its not actual lore, but Taurtis makes fun of Grian multiple times for talking to the Audience, which, fourth wall, is us! But I like the idea of it being story, its the Watchers, already leading him down this path from the beginning, hes so promising ! Taurtis calls them the voices in his head, Grian doesn't argue, "Are the voices in your head telling you that?" "Hm..... No, the voices don't even know, its a secret!" The voices, the audience, the watchers, all the same thing. Grian says he's meant to be the hero of the story.

Anyway, Grian meets the Watchers after the server all teams up and slays the dragon, they reach the End. He is 25 years old.

The portal leads him somewhere different than everyone else, everyone else goes home. He goes beyond the credits, who knows where it spawns him, but it doesn't matter, he's being offered a deal, a chance to ascend.... I don't know the exact reason he'd agree, but I'm leaning towards a selfish reason, he's gotten bored with his limitations, he wants to be better, do better, those updates.. They're enticing and he's envious, in the beginning he was punished for being greedy, but now he's being rewarded.

After ? I guess he just lives with the Watchers, in an End city somewhere ? Learning how to craft portals by hand, update ideas, watching players, pranks, traps, symbols, fun ! its fun ! hes having fun !

He starts growing wings ! Its not really fun anymore !! That was the one thing they didn't tell him about, not directly, he agreed to be a Watcher, he clicked his heels and said I wanna be a watcher, but he didn't understand it meant really becoming one physically, yknow, it could've been a title! a role he's meant to play !

I write two paths from this point. 1) He runs away from the Watchers and ends up in Hermitcraft, still with those brilliant white wings.

2) He just sticks with it, creature mode, he grows wings, it sucks, but things can be fun again, back to it, he grows talons, it hurts, but still, he spends his time digging through servers and player lists, he grows two more eyes and feathers peek through his skin. He's 25 years old, he likes pranks, and traps, and symbols. This is more the bad end friends version LOL that I use for fanart fun.

Thats, all the storyline ? That I draw ? Its nothing crazy, just a tinyyyy bit more than canon . My version, my theory, my boy !!

But at the end of the day, regardless, I do think the Watchers genuinely love him, maybe in the way you love a puppy and give them treats when they sit and be quiet, but they're extremely fond of him.

[pwyzzaori]

Where do people think they're going to get by harassing old Hellpark Ri mods?

NOBODY CAN STAND THIS ANYMORE, IT'S ALREADY REACHING AN ABSURD LEVEL, and the most we can do is write loooong texts asking these people to stop AND THAT'S NOT ENOUGH

It's okay if you don't like the project, no one is obliged to like it, BUT ANY NORMAL HUMAN BEING WOULD DO IS IGNORE IT AND MOVE ON, BUT NO, THERE ARE PRIMATES DOXING US AND SPREADING LIES

in fact, you don't even need two brain cells to realize that you won't get anywhere doing this SINCE THESE PEOPLE NO LONGER HAVE ANY CONNECTION WITH THE PROJECT

I don't know what goes through these people's heads to commit this type of act, because it is a VERY SERIOUS thing

We already have to go through so many things every day for countless reasons and now this?

The worst part is knowing that many of the mods that were there were minors who just wanted to have fun drawing their favorite characters, doing redesigns and giving ideas for the story

I really hope this doesn't affect them like it affected me some time ago and recently it's affecting more people

Please leave us alone, we no longer have any involvement with this project, stop doxxing old mods, it won't get you anywhere

thank you(my english sucks sorry)

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I also wanted to vent a little, it's not a very recent situation but it started happening again these days and it's bothering me A LOT

When I discovered Hellpark I fell in love with the artstyle and started to practice drawing with it, consequently I reached a level where if someone saw my drawing without analyzing it, they could come to the conclusion that it was an official drawing (people have actually told me this already)

At first I felt very special about it, but as soon as I joined the project, DMs from all my social midia (except Discord) started to arrive from people asking if I was Wire

I always answered: no, I'm not Wire

and I started to get afraid that people would start to bother Wire themself, or idk some of the og mods from Hellpark (I don't know if this kind of thing really happened, but I hope not)

These messages didn't stop until I completely disassociated myself from the project (after the old mods left I ended up staying on the project for a few more months to help peeks while new moderators didn't join), but a week ago not only ppl started asking if I was Wire again, but they also started literally insulting me or asking me to come back to the project via discord like whaaaat

I've never given my primary Discord account username to anyone other than acquaintances

and now I'm a little scared to be honest

like this morning I got one message from a person I've never even seen in my life

I just changed my username and left some servers related to Hellpark. I hope this solves it, I really don't want to have to change accounts

I just wanted to vent about this, on one hand it's kind of worrying because someone literally leaked my old username, but other than that nothing too "horrible" happened to me :p

[many-but-one]

Hey! Why did I split over something not even THAT traumatic??

I'm here to tell you. :)

So, this particular discussion has come up in our system server before and it's actually something I've wanted to talk about for a long time on Tumblr because I've never actually seen someone talk about this, and I am being hit with a sudden god-like hubris at 3 in the morning, so here we go!

So your question was "Why did I just split? What just happened wasn't even that traumatic. I've been through so much worse in the past, I don't even feel that stressed. What the hell? Am I just making this new part up?" and on and on. The idea that only the most awful and traumatic things are what cause splits in DID (especially later in life, after the childhood trauma window of 7-9ish has ended and especially in adulthood) is actually incredibly false, and I am about to explain why.

Note: This is about traumagenic DID systems, so endogenic systems, please stay off of this post thank you. :) /not mad

Note number two: I do want to get out of the way, that all parts DO split for a reason, there's no parts that exist for no reason (even if the reason doesn't seem relevant to you now, it may have been relevant at the time of the split, OR may have been somehow relevant to your brain even if it doesn't make sense to you now.) So I want to make it really clear that splits do not occur only because of hyperfixations. There typically has to be something going on for a split to occur, and hyperfixation alone will not cut it. Alright, now that I've got that out of the way, let's talk about how DID brains run on patterns.

DID brains run on patterns, like I said. All brains do, actually, but DID brains take it to an nth degree because these patterns that it learns are what help it stay alive in a distressing and traumatic environment during childhood. Our brains are remarkably plastic and they will do whatever is necessary to survive a given situation. It's why something like DID can even exist.

So what kind of patterns do we typically see in brains with DID? Well, the easiest one is that a lot of people with DID have pretty similar alter "types" or "roles." This is just a widespread pattern that you see across a large demographic of systems. It's why terms like "gatekeeper" and "protector" and "caretaker" exist. Because nearly all DID systems have parts that fill those roles, even if those roles aren't filled in the most "traditional" sense. DID is rarely random, every part exists for an express reason, and that reason is almost always symbolic in some way, even if it doesn't seem like it now. Once you start learning trauma memories and WHY parts exist, you very quickly start to see the symbolism and sometimes it is absolutely fucking terrifying, to say the least.

What other patterns are common?

Well, patterns we see in our own system and in other systems are something quite literally called "splitting patterns" which are more common in polyfragmented systems but not exclusive to them. This has various ways of showing itself, and the user @foreverfragmented made a post awhile back that I'm having a really hard time finding, HOWEVER I did screenshot the section about splitting patterns when I first read it, attached below:

Wow that photo ended up bigger than I thought it would be. lol. Anyway. Those are another example of splitting patterns. (Note: in the original post, FF talks about how some of the terms above were coined by them or other systems, so not recognized medically, however I think they were worded perfectly which is why I shared them here.)

Another few examples include alter templates (AKA, splitting the same alter over and over in varying iterations), the same parts going out for the same types of trauma every single time, and why certain alter roles very often have the same "flavor" of personality.

For example, gatekeepers are often considered a bit cold and distant, and can be very analytically minded and rarely react purely on emotion alone. (I feel like the most common gatekeeper Myers-Briggs has gotta be INTJ...that was a joke, lmao.) This is typically for a reason. You have to have a certain mindset and a certain way of handling things to be able to properly manage a system. And this is not to say all gatekeepers are this way, but the pattern of a LOT of gatekeepers being like this is not unnoticed. Our DID specialist could tell pretty early on that our primary gatekeeper (James) was a gatekeeper long before he ever told her he was simply because of how he held himself, how he spoke about others in the system, and how much he despised her for "stepping on his toes"😂 They work together much better now, FYI, but it was rough in the beginning.

An example of alter templates in our system in particular is what we call the "Michaels." They were some of our earliest alters, and our brain was like "hey this guy is working really well, so I'm just gonna keep doing it." And it worked! Then, when trauma shifted to something completely different but in the same vein (CSA) our brain once again attempted to use this "Michael" template. It didn't work quite the same. And so our brain had to figure out these new patterns, which it was fucking desperate to do because we were going through some heinous shit that it could hardly even comprehend. I've learned that basically every blue-eyed white-haired motherfucker in here was a Michael copy at one point, but had elaborated into some other version that suited its job more.

Now, for the example that is going to actually help me explain the answer to the question posed at the very beginning of this post: alters who go out for the same things over and over.

So, depending on splitting tolerance, or whatever you happen to be going through in your childhood, you will likely have various "groups" of alters that handle certain things. If you had a particularly tumultuous childhood with several varying types of traumas, you will probably have several of these groups. And depending on length of trauma time, severity of trauma time, and levels of support during trauma time, these groups may be very large.

For example, if you had a situation like domestic violence (DV) happening in your household, you will have a part or parts dedicated just for DV, and if you also had CSA going on, you will have a separate group of parts (or a single part) who handles only the CSA. Unless your system is quite small and you have alters take multiple types of abuses, this is pretty commonly the case. [Note: want to say this is not subsystems unless these groups are highly separated via either amnesia barriers or inner world (IW) barriers, and have better communication with each other versus the rest of the system. The definition of subsystem gets a little funky, but we're not talking about that. Just wanted to make that clear. You can have groups of alters without them being subsystems.]

"Okay, so yeah, you're right. I have alter groups for [insert various traumas] what does that have to do with me splitting over [insert mundane thing that isn't even really traumatic]?"

Continuing on the "DID brains run on patterns" line of thinking, if your brain has patterns set and understood for the various traumas that you lived through in your childhood, usually up until teen years or adulthood, your brain knows what to do when those traumas occur again. The patterns are set. It's why it's super common for people with DID who experience SA in teen or adult years and don't end up having a split. Unless they have an extremely low splitting tolerance or the situation is extremely unique, the brain will just recycle what it already has. No need to go through the literally massively painful and traumatic experience of splitting again for something it already knows how to handle. This being said, the part that experiences this might end up splitting at a much later date if this trauma is far too difficult for it to handle, this is also common because sometimes it's "easy" to handle the trauma in the moment because they're used to this flavor of trauma but the processing of said trauma afterward can be just as traumatic and can cause a split.

Same if your father was super abusive to your mother, or vise versa, and you happen to have an abusive partner. That pattern is known and comfortable. That's what professionals mean by "DID systems are more likely to be victims of abuse than perpetrators." They return to the comfortable patterns, which, with DID, equals abuse. Things outside of those patterns are dangerous and confusing to navigate and the brain will avoid that at all costs.

However, and this is the answer to the question. What happens when something happens that the brain doesn't recognize in its "pattern database"? I'll give an example.

Say you were very high achieving in school. This is pretty common of systems who were diagnosed in adulthood, so far as I've seen. You likely did really well, had really high marks because your parents expected it of you or were abusive and angry if you didn't constantly constantly succeed in their eyes. This can also reflect in sports, clubs, musical talents, etc. This pattern continues on in adulthood. You push yourself very hard to be high achieving. Whether this be in a college setting, a work setting, etc. You are likely often doing well in those fields pre-system discovery, at least. Post discovery often leads to the "spiraling" phase, which sucks but again that's not what we're discussing.

So, say you have a job. You're hella good at it. You are always receiving praise, you are always getting raises, your reviews are always hella good. You're like "okay yeah, I'm good at this job, so I'm going to apply to a higher paid position in the company that just opened up."

And then...you don't get the job. Well, that sucks. Better luck next time, right?

Wrong. Well, not entirely. That's completely true. But that's not how your brain is actually processing this, is it?

You might tell yourself "oh well" but in your high achieving brain's POV, it's like "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???? WE DON'T DO THE FAILURE STUFF!!! WHAT THE F***!!!" And it might panic, and several alters might panic, and the host might panic, and suddenly they're spiraling out of control over something that is mildly disappointing at best. Because WE DON'T HAVE A GUY FOR THIS?! We have a guy for SA, we have a guy for DV, we have a guy for medical trauma, we have a guy for bullying, etc. But we don't have a guy for REJECTION?! AHHH! [splits a part just to handle rejection.]

In adulthood, I've noticed both in myself and other systems I frequently speak to, these highly specialized parts are more commonly split in adulthood. Because while patterns are super helpful in childhood when you're experiencing the generally same shit over and over, in adulthood or even late teen years, there's so many effing unknowns that the brain is just like "what the actual fuck is this, this doesn't follow the fucking SCRIPT you guys. The PATTERNS?? Do they mean nothing to you??"

DID is a disorder that is incredibly helpful for survival in childhood and is an absolutely miserable crutch to live with in adulthood. And that's not me saying it super sucks all the time, but the disorder is not meant to happen, it shouldn't have happened, and coping with it without therapy and proper integration of parts and memories just makes adulthood kind of a hellscape, to be frank. There are tons of positives, I am so thankful, don't get me wrong. But there are a lot of downsides too.

So, to kind of drive home some examples of things that can cause a split that might not even be inherently traumatic based on my own experience and the experiences of some folks in our system server:

-(TW: mild NSFW in this one) We had our first consensual sexual experience when we were 19. We didn't have a guy for that. Everything we'd ever experienced throughout our childhood and teen years was not consensual. So when we were having consensual sex with our girlfriend, we were losing our mind because we didn't have this pattern integrated. So we split a guy whose literal only job was "consensual sex" and he was pretty much made to be the "perfect partner" for our girlfriend.

-We have a part whose only job is to play video games. We didn't know why until we realized he was fronting during stressful family gatherings and was playing videogames to pass the time until they were allowed to leave.

-We have a part that split only to handle our irrational fear of getting sick with a deadly illness right around COVID lockdown time.

-We had a part split just to internalize the feeling of "going to hell" due to our religious beliefs at the time.

-We have a lot of parts that split just to hold feelings of anger, sadness, or fear, even in adulthood. This is common in situations where anger or showing emotions was not allowed in childhood, so if the brain decides that's not allowed, when a part gets overly angry they might split a part to hold that anger, which then typically gets buried deep down.

Note about the above example: Trauma therapists often say that anger is one of the last emotions processed when processing traumatic events. Which is why "anger holding alters" are so so so fucking common. Kids and teens and adults get angry and if that's not allowed in some way shape or form, the brain will suppress it. It's also why it's common for people with DID to be able to "turn off" emotions or if triggered, will have a sudden intense burst of emotions (typically anger or frustration) because of how intensely repressed emotions often have to be just to survive living in a toxic environment that would cause something like DID. When you were a kid, you couldn't cry in front of your parents because you would be ridiculed or punished. So you will "turn it off" and go hide to cry later. But if, as an adult, you never let yourself "go cry later," that shit will build up and cause those intense emotional breakdowns, even after something that's considerably smaller scale than what you're used to. Kind of considered the "straw that broke the camel's back." You can be having a shit week with horrible thing after horrible thing and you're doing really well at "shutting it off" especially when around others, because god forbid you let the mask fall, and then suddenly you can't open a cheese stick or you can't find your keys so you might be late, or there's a stain on your shirt right before work, or the entire contents of your bag get dumped onto the floor of your car because you had to brake too hard...and that's when the breakdown happens.

Anyway, to get back on track, there are probably a plethora of other ways a system could split that seem mundane or "not that traumatizing" or alter roles might be super hyper-specific and the reasoning for that is because ✨patterns✨ We love to see it. /sar

Hope this was helpful! If you have further questions, feel free to hit up the ask box or the replies. :)

-Dori🌹

(Again, endos please don't interact, this is not for you. This is for the folks whose DID was caused via childhood trauma. These patterns likely would not exist in someone whose system didn't form from repeated traumas.)

[teddybearsandspaceships]

Again, way too detailed notes about a Cleo stream (15.3.2024) because it was great and I want to remember. (Please Cleo upload your VODs again please.) Featuring an Ancient City, Hermit scariness ratings, a new Emerald Daddy, and Life series reminiscing with the Clockers.

Plan for today: Ancient City raiding!, to get books

She´s definitely going alone because Ancient City raiding on her own is terrifying but you know what else is terrifying? The other people on the server.

The only person on the server Cleo is afraid of is False. Not Gem, Gem´s a kitten. False could take Cleo in a fight and kill her dead, but more importantly False can scare Cleo because she´s quite sinister. 5am Pearl is kinda cute. “can kill you, probably won´t,” if you entertain her. Cub isn´t scary either, the only thing to be scared of with Cub is the grind. Doc is 95% bark.

(In hindsight, finding a Swift Sneak II book so early is a tease knowing that it´ll be the only one.)

Chat is way more scared of the Ancient City than Cleo is. Worst that can happen, you summon a warden, you die, and your gear despawns, so what. Cleo thinks people are trying to freak her out and scare her into making mistakes.

This stream was right after or during Mumbo´s video on Hermits´ weird playing habits came out so there were plenty of questions about Cleo´s set-up. Cleo defends their choices, also they have a desk now.

Hypno drops by to show off his new armor and announce a raid. Cleo calls Cub her Emerald Daddy because he supplies her with emeralds.

Hypno drops off a shulker full of emerald blocks for Cleo, for free. Cleo then tells him he gets free books now. Hypno is astonished and delighted, and asks for a written voucher. Cleo writes him one and calls him Emerald Daddy too. Cleo: “Double Emerald Daddy, I´m good.”

Cleo won´t tell her fellow Hermits that they´re great to their faces because it would ruin her tough guy image.

Fun in chat: Etho sleeps. Bdubs: “sorry dad” Etho: “son I am at your place to give you a scolding” Bdubs: “be right up” – Cleo is sorry she saw that

Cleo discovers Joel´s glow ink shop and the glow squid Joel built from candles and is delighted. Joel is now her absolute favorite person. Armor stand buddies!

Taking advantage of the fact that all words are made up, Cleo makes a few more hoppadingdongs

Bdubs demands quiet because he and Etho are about to record one of their famous Bdubs-and-Etho clips. Cleo says they should get in a group. Etho: “Mum is so bossy, right Bdubs?” Bdubs: “She´s so bossy.” Cleo: […] *hits him* “Don´t talk to me that way.” Bdubs: “I´m sorry.” Cleo: “You will be.” Bdubs: “I´m sorry. That was a no-no, I´m sorry.” Etho: “Never talk back to your mummy.” Bdubs: “No, never.” Cleo: “Yeah, you two role-playing this thing again, it´s weird.” Etho, laughing: “You´re done with it, aren´t you, Cleo.” Cleo, also laughing: “I´m done with it. I was kind of done with it when it started, to be honest.” Bubs: “That shows your level of commitment.” Etho: “I feel like we move on from it and then Scar brings it up once in a while, and then Bdubs…” Cleo: “Me and Etho are kind of over it, so…” Bdubs: “Really? I saw Joel today and I thought, this is my uncle.” Etho: “Baby-sitter, right?” Cleo: “Cousin.”

Cleo offers to mute again but Bdubs asks her not to, having her there is great. Like audience chatter.

Bdubs shows Etho and Cleo his scaffolding challenge as his shop advertisement. Etho: “He´s so clever.” Cleo: “He is, he´s a genius. That´s our special boy.”

Bdubs starts his spiel: “You think you´re so cool…” Etho: “I thought I was…”

Bdubs wins the first game because Etho has trouble ringing the bell. And the second one. Cleo soon realizes that it´s easy to make Bdubs lose by sabotaging the scaffolding. Bdubs swears Etho and Cleo to secrecy about this easily exploitable weakness.

Cleo keeps talking about how wealthy they are. Very profitable shop, after all! (…true but I saw Cub´s stacks of diamond blocks the next day. Fear the grind.) Cleo bankrolled Etho already.

After a conversation about pricing Etho tells Cleo they have to teach Bdubs about peer pressure. Then remembers that “she doesn´t like it when we do that, we gotta stop.” Cleo says it´s fine. (Yay boundaries.)

Cleo asks Bdubs for a horse. Bdubs accuses Keralis of fraud (secretly swapping the horses people bought from him if they don´t buy the extended warranty.) Cleo asks if Keralis is gingering his horses. They talk about the meanings of the word, and why ginger is also used for red-heads. Etho: “Is it ´cause gingers are spicy?” Moment of silence. Cleo: “…sure?” Bdubs: “Yeah…” Etho: “I think we nailed it.”

Some talk abut spelling variations. “You can just say you don´t know how to spell, Etho, it´s fine.” And then talk about British dialects, how they drop the “t” in the middle of words (or phrases). Etho and Bdubs try to imitate it, badly. They don´t seem to understand what “in the middle of a word” means.

Shopping district talk, and some reminiscing about Shade-E-E´s. Cleo steered clear because she didn´t know Etho very well back then. Etho has a different glass prank in mind for this season. Etho and Bdubs also remember an end rod exchange thing they did, they neither remember what started it or how it ended. 

Cleo: “I feel like you´re not spiteful enough, Etho.” He lets too much go. Bdubs protests that Etho lets it go with him, because they have a history – Etho: that´s right – but to anybody else Etho is very spiteful. Cleo: He´s never been particularly spiteful to me, “and I deserve it.” Bdubs, dismissive: nah. Etho: “Well, to be fair, Cleo *builds up a dirt wall like he did between them in Third Life* I am kinda scared of you.” Both crack up. “You´re not necessarily who I wanna be poking.”

Cleo clarifies that the reason why False is the only one who scares her is because False is very quick on the insults. Cleo can be fast, but False can be faster. Bdubs: “Now I´m scared.”

Etho tells Bdubs the story of why he´s scared of Cleo: “I always viewed Cleo as, like, sweet, innocent, you know, quiet…” Cleo cracking up. It was because Cleo stole Pizza, for no reason. “She was laughing the whole time, like a crazy psycho.” Cleo: “It´s a llama.”  “I just thought it was interesting, I had a complete shift of what I thought of you at that moment.” Bdubs: “Yeah, she can do anything.” Bdubs was also shocked at that moment. They hadn´t talked about it, Bdubs just supported her in her plan to cause trouble. Stealing Pizza was more of a crime of opportunity because Scar didn´t want to talk to her and left Pizza there. “Bold move.” “It´s just Scar.” Etho reminds everyone that the Life series was fresh at that point, they know now that this sort of thing happens but they didn´t then. Cleo didn´t know most of the people in the series very well so she went full-on chaos gremlin. She blames Bdubs.

Etho repeats that that´s when his perspective on Cleo shifted. “And it never shifted back. Like, the more stuff she did, it just got further in that way.” Cleo can understand that: she got worse, as time went on, chaos-gremlin-wise. Etho: now we´re in season ten of Hermitcraft, she´s stealing villagers… Cleo points out that it wasn´t her idea, but admits that she fully embraced it. Etho isn´t sure he would have, Bdubs says he wouldn´t have. Cleo: “What´s Doc going to do to me.” Bdubs: “Uh, have you seen the sand dial?” Cleo: “Have you seen what´s inside it?” Bdubs, clearly grinning: “Oh, yes, yes.”

Scar is online and Bdubs invited him over to find out if he was actually upset about Cleo stealing Pizza. Scar arrives on his horse, but stays away a few blocks. Etho walks up to him: “You may approach, Scar.” Scar ender-pearls up to them. Bdubs asks how mad he was at Cleo over Pizza, Scar claims he was looking up tickets to the UK to seek his revenge. “Pizza meant more than I can express.” Does a whole sad monologue. Cleo and Etho think it was funny, Scar demands they take it back. Worse, and what also really threw Etho, when Scar asked Cleo to her face if she stole Pizza she denied it.

Cleo: “Yeah, but I´ve had my punishment now, ´cause now I´m your mother forever.” Scar just realized: “The family! What a wonderful moment.” Etho: “Out shopping together.”

Scar has to wait for Skizz to enforce rules in the shopping district, but Skizz is off on the high seas. Scar: “What if the boat went down.” “What the hell, Scar!” “That´d be awful!” Scar imagines it as, you float for a while, maybe see a shark, then get rescued in a helicopter. Cleo: you might see someone else die, while you survive ´cause you´re the main character. Scar asks after a Titanic character and is surprised Etho immediately knows her name because Etho is usually bad with movie references.

Cleo: “I would never do anything to you guys, you´re my family.” Bdubs: That´s sweet.” Scar: “That was sinister.” Etho: “Trolls us.” Cleo: “Correct.”

Scar got a tip to keep a horse from wandering off inside a circle of berries from an e-mail. Only the best things come from e-mails.

Bdubs tries to prove scaffolding superiority to Scar. Etho and Cleo support the pitch. Scar is disappointed by mom and dad. Etho and Scar agree to give it a try sometimes. Bdubs says Tango puts redstone on scaffolding sometimes, Etho is horrified. Etho shows them that you can use scaffolding to clutch a fall. Scar tries it because it would also work on leaves – unfortunately Etho forgot to tell him that you need to crouch and he dies. He´s not going to be happy, but ultimately it was clearly his own fault. It´ll take him a while to come back, Bdubs feels like he should go get him but Etho and Cleo need to leave.

[pinkie-pop]

🎀Hii!!🎀

Let’s start off, hi, hello, we don’t flicker lights. Complain when you die that you didn’t see them flicker, because they never did, you just have bad hearing ;p

🫧What should you expect from this blog?

Ah, ofc, what is even gonna happen around here?

Well!

—Asks, duh, it’s an askblog.

—Doodle requests + answers

—occasional fanart

—rp!! yay yippee

—whiteboards and pressure servers if enough people want ‘em!

🕷️DNI LIST!!

Every blog has things they do and don’t want in their area, we are no exception! Please read over this so you know you can come in here safely and not irk us or make other people uncomfortable! This is a safe space. (We mean, unless you’re an expendable, hehe.)

—Do not bring any discourse or arguments into here, it is not ok to make it other peoples’ problem, plus we get VERY overwhelmed by things like that!

—Homo/transphobia, anti-furry/therianism, racism, general hate, and discrimination of any and all kinds is strictly prohibited! We mean, come on, we’re a talkin’ fish for cryin’ out loud!!

—People in support of Israel’s actions as of now, Nazis, and problematic and downright illegal mindsets are not allowed. Go away, seek therapy.

Info on the host, Pinkie, tags, and more under the cut~

—🏵️Alright hello hello! Host talking, super excited to do this

Pinkie, a girl, goes by she/it, and refers to herself as ‘we,’ mainly due to the fact she has a whole one extra eye than the other anglers, two if you count froger and four if you count chains.

Host, me, idgaf what you use for my pronouns, but I’m like half girl half whatever. I might make some doodles of my character from time to time, so if you see an expendable you don’t know, it might be my avatar.

Will be updated as time goes on, probably.

—Tags!!

#🏵️ —host

#Expendaskble —anon asks

#hi I have quastion — asks (anon or not)

#Classic —Angler

#DarknSinister —Blitz

#Jumpy —Froger

#Seaweed —Chainsmoker

#Cherry —possibly another Pinkie

#Plural —A-60 ‘The Multi-Monster’

#1nonly —Pande

#Fillet —Sebastian

#Blahäj —Eyefestation

#Leviathan —Searchlights

#b33pb00p —p.AI.nter

#CompressedAir —Wall Dweller

#Scream —rp

#Scratch —Art attached

#FrogJump —reblog

#Cleanslate —whiteboard fox

#Submarine —pressure server