#skipping my spiel at the end for this one because you know what's up

[jasper-tarot-reader]

I'm Khajiit, they/them.

My question is! What is something I can/should look forward to in the future, whenever that may be? If that wording doesn't work, feel free to rephrase it to your delight. (And if this accidentally falls under the time-related/time-sensitive outlaw feel free to bonk me, I don't think it does but I could always be wrong)

My background is that I've been feeling a little down lately and while I'm trying my best to remain positive, that's a bit hard to do sometimes. I love pulling my own encouragement from my own cards, but also love hearing encouragement from other people because it has its own joys to it that doing it yourself doesn't quite scratch (and vice versa, honestly.)

I hope you have a good rest of your day, Jasper!

Welcome back to the ask box, Khajiit! For this reading, we're gonna test-run one of my newest babies, the Magic The Gathering Oracle Deck! This has given us Iroas: The Warrior reversed to answer your question!

"One day, you won't have to fight anymore."

Iroas is Theros's god of victory and warriors. He is the physical manifestation of indomitable will and determination.

A warrior needs focus and discipline. You've shown this in spades. You will see what all of that was worth in the future. But the only way you'll be able to see the fruits of your labor is to be there.

...Lowkey, it feels like this reading was not in my hands. Fun! Anyway, enjoy both the card and the in-game cards for the figure depicted on it! Iroas is a very interesting god, though he's kind of overshadowed by the five monocolored gods of Theros.

~Jasper

[kingstarkingslay]

Okay so I have this headcannon.

After Sirius and Remus started dating, Remus had a strange habit of trying to break up with him every single week.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Sirius—quite the opposite. Remus cared so much, it terrified him. He would look at Sirius, this bright, beautiful, brilliant person with his wild grin and reckless charm, and think How on earth did I end up with him? He thought it was only a matter of time before Sirius realized he was way too good for Remus and would eventually get tired of him.

So, once a week, without fail, Remus would sit Sirius down, his face full of nervous anxiety, and go through the same spiel:

“Sirius, I think we need to talk,” Remus would begin, pacing in front of him, running a hand through his hair. “This whole thing—us—it’s not working. I’m just not… good enough for you. You deserve someone better. Someone who—��

“Moony, please.” Sirius would interrupt, leaning back against the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if Remus' emotional crises were just another Tuesday. “Not this again.”

Remus would stop, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘not this again’?”

Sirius would look up, eyes twinkling with a lazy smile. “I mean, every week, you try to break up with me. Every. Single. Week. And every single week, I just tell you that I’m not going anywhere. So can we skip the part where you act like I’m gonna leave you, because it’s getting a bit predictable.”

“But…” Remus would stammer, his face a mix of frustration and genuine panic, “But you’re Sirius Black. You’re… you’re perfect! You’re so out of my league, I’m not even sure how we’re in the same room, let alone together!”

Sirius would grin, that mischievous grin Remus had come to adore. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Yes!” Remus would exclaim, sitting down beside him, his voice filled with exasperation. “You’re funny, charming, ridiculously good-looking, and—let’s face it—you could have anyone. Anyone, and you chose me.”

Sirius would chuckle, pulling Remus into his side and leaning his head on top of his. “You think I chose you because I’m settling for second best?” He would press a kiss to Remus' temple, his voice warm with affection. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m not going anywhere, so stop trying to break up with me.”

Remus would stare at him, completely dumbfounded. “But I’m boring,” Remus would mutter, almost to himself, his insecurity slipping through. “I’m awkward, I get sick a lot, and I don’t exactly know how to be the person you deserve.”

Sirius would smile that soft, knowing smile that made Remus' heart skip a beat. “I don’t want anyone else, Remus. I just want you. All of you. The awkward, messy, brilliant, and yes, sometimes a bit ridiculous, you.” He’d squeeze Remus' hand. “You’re not boring, Moony. You’re everything.”

Remus would blink, trying to find the words to respond, but Sirius would just chuckle and kiss him, as if to say “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

Every week, it went the same. Remus would try to push him away because he was convinced he wasn’t good enough, and every week, Sirius would smile that warm, patient smile and gently pull him back in. It didn’t matter how many times Remus tried to convince himself that he couldn’t possibly be worthy of someone like Sirius, because Sirius never, ever wavered.

And every week, when Remus would finally give in, he’d find himself feeling a little less insecure, a little more loved, and a whole lot more certain that maybe, just maybe, Sirius wasn’t as crazy as he seemed.

But the best part? Sirius never once got angry, never once got frustrated. He just kept showing Remus, in the most nonchalant way possible, that there was no one else he wanted but him.

[inkveined]

could we perhaps get some headcanons for the ishgardian trio realizing the moment they fell for the reader/wol 👀👀👀

ishgardian trio ➳ — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

A/N: ooh i love this request so much!! i hope these are to your liking dearest anon ♡

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

it was in the way you sliced not only your foes but the way you sliced through the air as well when you were in battle

you may or may not worship halone but either way you were clearly bestowed the gift of combat prowess by her grace

when you’d have sparring matches together, estinien would never go easy on you as he finds that disrespectful but you knock the breath out of him physically and metaphorically whenever you win

there was a day where the practice match ended in you managing to get estinien’s back to fall atop the ground and you were pointing your weapon’s tip at him proudly from your standing position

“don’t tell me you’ve gone easy on me, wyrmblood,” you smirk

estinien stares up at you with wide eyes as he feels his heart skip a beat

but he quickly schools his elegant elezen features into his usual scowl

“of course not. who do you take me for?”

laughing, you help him up and he swears the contact between your hands ignited something within him, something different and incomparable to nidhogg’s rage that he felt all the time

he comes to find your laugh is like music to his ears

he also realizes he wants to hear more of the sound, and he uses that dry humor of his to elicit more of them from you from that day onwards which results in more small smiles from him

he’s doomed

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

when he wrote and poured his heart into the missive that would later grant you and the scions access to ishgard, he stopped at one point after going on a spiel about you in ink

he had unwittingly went on to sing your highest praises and much of it read like a love letter

it was during his reminiscing of your good deeds as he wrote did he realize the pure adoration and emotion he felt for you

haurchefant gets embarrassed by himself, a blush rising to his cheeks as he sets the paper aside to start anew

he was nervous such a prodigious hero as yourself would not return his feelings

not only that but he did not want to risk his father blabbering about the contents of the missive to you

later, he sees you that day and feels his stomach doing somersaults

you were just so radiant, bringing hope and happiness wherever you tread

“be still my beating heart…” he mumbles to himself before he approaches you with a smile

as usual, he was his jovial and enthusiastic, caring self

but if one were to look closely enough, the dead giveaway of his love for you was evident within his eyes as they’d crinkle at the corners with his genuine smiles

𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐋

he had always admired you from the moment he started following your expeditions and learning of your successes

but he never knew the extent of how deep his feelings ran for you as time had passed with working with you

it wasn’t until he invites you for a one-on-one dinner within the Borel manor

that evening he got to know you better, and the back and forth conversations you had over steak and wine did nothing but stoke the flames of his growing love

when the topic had shifted to romance, he felt heat circulating within his cheeks

the way you talked about your past lovers however, caused a different heat within him; one that bespoke of jealousy

it was an ugly feeling that twisted him on the inside, one he was not quite familiar with but nevertheless he hid it well

he had asked what you found attractive in a partner eventually totally for the sake of carrying conversation and not because he was curious to see if he was the warrior of light’s type nooooo

aymeric found himself comparing his likeness to your standards and it suddenly hit him with startling clarity mid-way through rejoicing internally that he shared your type’s physical attributes

uh oh

the concern on your face when he lets his mask slip for just a moment makes him fall even harder for you if anything

with his newfound revelation, he says nothing is amiss and diverts your attention towards sharing your experiences with beastmen

all the while he’s screaming inside

[lovemyromance]

Let's talk about the dreaded pliant bones argument in ACOTAR

First of all, I don't ever want to see this stupid argument anywhere, especially after HOFAS. Second of all, none of the Archeron sisters are Illyrian so they do not have Illyrian anatomy suitable for childbirth. And yet, we see Feysand and Nessian as mates. So it's not like SJM even cared about that herself.

Then ACOSF happens, and oh no, c-sections don't apparently seem to exist and it becomes a BIG DEAL™ that Nesta changed only her own body and Feyre's body to have Illyrian anatomy.

People have been latching onto this argument like Rose on the goddamn Titanic, anything to cling to their sinking ship.

Let's not forget that Elain & Nesta had their bodies changed already once before, against their will. Why the hell would Nesta change Elain's body without obtaining consent after that traumatic experience? That would be a gross violation of bodily autonomy.

And Nesta was shown how to change the bodies. Which could hint that she still knows how, should a similar situation arise again.

But none of that even matters! What matter is that it's 2024 and we are still saying a woman can't be with the man she loves because she can't give him biological children. That is the crux of the argument Gw*nriels always try to skip around and say without saying. Like "oh no!! She can't have his babies!! Ship sank. It's over. The End."

As if a woman should be reduced down to her ability to procreate. This is not the middle ages people! Wake up!

Also, not to mention, even if we use that disgusting logic - The only other female in this series that is mentioned to have Illyrian anatomy is Emerie. Are we shipping Azriel with Emerie now? Because she can FOR SURE have his babies, if that's all that matters. Who cares about her own desires and personality and sexual preferences if she can have illyrian kids??

Now let's consider what people have been latching onto:

Gwyn...is flexible and adapts to training moves quickly. That's why Nesta commented she had "pliant bones", that's IT. She is part nymph and "has different anatomy than high fae", sure, but is that anatomy in any way, Illyrian? Water nymphs don't have Illyrian leathery wings either so I don't understand why insisting Gwyn has "pliant bones" is in any way endgame ship material. Why would her half-water nymph heritage give her the anatomy to birth a full grown illyrian-winged baby??

And then there's the cowards that use this argument by hiding behind SJM herself by saying "Well, I hate it too, but SJM is *kinda* known for writing like this and her characters are all male-dominated, fae-territorial blah blah, she is *kinda* hinting at endgame because the womb thing–" NO. No.

Don't hide. Tell the room exactly what you are saying. Which is the exact same misogynistic spiel as above, where you try to use gross medieval logic to justify your mf fictional ship, but you hide your faces when you say it. Because you know it's wrong, but you're still not above using that as "evidence" in your ship's favor.

I've even said before, I don't care what SJM says. If I don't like a misogynistic take, I am not using that as evidence in any capacity for any reason.

I'm not even being biased by my preferred ship. I genuinely just want people to stop using this argument because it's hurtful to women as a whole. Ship wars are fine, but ffs, when did we get to the point where we are pitting two women against each other based on whose uterus is more suitable??

And before you even say "I just have a problem because I ship Elriel" No. No.

It's about these kinds of cheap arguments in general. I have also never been one to go off saying how Gwyn can't be a valid love interest because her past SA trauma - That argument is also archaic and hurtful. I've never once used it. I don't like seeing it.

Can we just - Not do it? The only reason such arguments have gained traction is because they're constantly echoed by the toxic sides of the fandom online. It's gross and I don't want to be a part of a group that condones that.

Ship who you want, but let's just be respectful about it. We should not have to resort to cheap arguments like the above.

[melishade]

I'm so sorry. Everytime you answer a question another one pops up. I blame my ELA students, they always are asking me about the novels and then I have to shrug and give them the retort "I don't have this author on speed dial, we don't know for sure and can only speculate." But simultaneously one of our rules is "always ask a question, even if I have to go home and read the novel or sequel or find the answer, I will give you one" about literature.

Of course no student is going to raise their hand and ask "do you know why Reiner died in Chapter XX of Attack on Prime?"

But every time a student asks a question, if I have to research it and then have more questions myself or we tumble into a 10 minute spiel of the rabbit hole I went down at 10pm at night to find the answer to Jonny's original question. It's the nature of teaching analytical reading.

Back story is I remember AOP on Fanfiction net. I had found it after my own watching of AOT Season 1 and watching Transformers with my nephew during winter break in college. I know I didn't follow the story much, just enjoying the little bit of relevance to the fandoms I was into at the time. Fast forward and I find it on AO3 one day and went "huh" only to see it had increased to just before Megatron infiltrated Marley. I followed a bit chapter by chapter until one day it just became back burner as an adult with things to do.

Anyways the question is a bit in proportion to the previous question I asked. As you said Attack on Prime started over 11 years ago which was in between S1 and S2 when there was A LOT to speculate on because the manga wasn't even caught up at that point if I remember correctly. Which is why we have fanfictions with different endings to the story, audio stories like Attack on Space or Survey Corpse, the obsession over the 104th because there was a whole 4 (I think?) years of just fans developing them in their own directions.

Knowing the entire Attack on Titan story now and knowing what direction the characters take would you do anything different, utilize a character more, kill off someone else, elaborate on scenes basing it on some of the later season/manga we received? For the Season 1 portion of AOP we mostly see it as an -insert Optimus here- and saving people or just having him be reacting to the AOT universe but not much of a "I don't care what the manga does I am doing what I want to do" where you still keep it in line with the AOT arcs but no differ too much. Once we hit the Clash of the Titans Arc is when I start to see a "oh I am going to do a bit more now because I know more" in the writing and then the beginning on some pretty dang good characterization and world building. We don't see it fully until we hit the 4 year gap where you can just do whatever you want at that point because in the manga and anime, we only know a skeleton of what the 4 year gap was. So I'm curious as a person who has seen the development from Fanfiction net story into a very strong story if you were to be able to pull an Eren and influence your 10 year in the past self, would you want to do anything different?

Are you kidding me?! I love it when I get asks like this! Long detailed asks talking about my thought process when it comes to writing this story! Like seriously!

All jokes aside, let's answer the question.

So there were some things that I've been proud of that I would tell my younger self, like Megatron's character development, the Primus twist, elaborating on the four-year time skip, the OVAs. But there are a few things that I would choose to do differently.

For example, I realized I didn't utilize the pure titans pumped with energon in an actual fight with Paradis. It was really a steppingstone for the titan shifters with energon. Initially, I was going to incorporate them with the Rumbling and have them running on the ground trying to eat people, but because of the whole Zeke/wine debacle and the use of dark energon I just didn't get the chance to work it in there. I should have and that was a failure on my part.

Fix chapters 2 and 3. It was really just a repeat of the episodes with Optimus reacting to the situation. I should have changed the chapters more to focus on Optimus' perspective, maybe have Optimus carrying the boulder instead, forcing the government to question the usefulness of Eren. Eren was a wild card and titan with no control. They would rather dispose of him and keep Optimus. I'd probably have Optimus fight for Eren in that situation instead, stating that Eren's power shouldn't go to waste and that he needs proper training. Having Optimus come to Eren's defense like that could have made more of an impact.

Make a few more tweaks to Eren's descent into madness. I feel like if I had told my younger self about Eren activating the Rumbling and destroying the world. I was trying to expand and show how exactly that happened because if you're going to make a good guy become a villain, go for it. Don't make everyone praise him and hold him in high regard like Isayama did in the manga. However, I've been told that AOP Eren didn't seem like someone that would activate the Rumbling based on how he was developed in prior chapters. And even I was struggling with writing Eren's descent, so maybe like an extra chapter or two to add to Eren's whole thing. Maybe I should have added Eren's perspective while he was alone in Marley. That probably would have helped.

Additionally, I would have told my younger self to get more bolder when it comes to kills or maybe even show more mercy. Sure, I've decided that adding Optimus to the story would help reduce the mortality rate, but it's still AOT. I probably could have killed Jean or spared one or two people from Levi's squad. Believe or not, I was so close to having Eren kill Wheeljack to make the Autobot's hatred against him more personal. But I go back to the whole Arcee situation because I don't want to add another partner dead to her trauma.

Guess I could've added something regarding the people of Paradis trying to get along with the Marleyans during the four year time skip. I have more head canons and what not, but maybe adding a scene or two would have been nice.

There are definitely a few more things I would have wanted to change, but I think it would have just depended on how certain changes impacted the story. It's part of why I do all of these AOP AU. It allows me to experiment and take gambles with certain story aspects, like Optimus killing Reiner in the Episode 1 Timeline, having the Decepticons hijack the story in the War Timeline, Predaking being considered a deity, Starscream and Shockwave taking over the world, etc.

Other than that, I'm just happy I was able to finish the story. I still have one more chapter, but I made it to the end and I'm proud.

[nat-space-obsessed]

"I'm 23." "No, You're Not."

Crossposted on AO3!

It turns out to be very hard to get a tattoo when you look eternally 14.

Prompt by @charcoalhawk

"Kid, You're like twelve. That's a fake ID. I'll get in trouble if I let you get a tattoo here." 

"As I said, I am literally 23. I've been 23 for five months now. It is on my ID. I swear to you that my ID is real." Danny repeated for the third time that hour. 

Danny had been going to get a tattoo, his second, actually, and both times so far he had come across one issue: 

His eternally 14 year old face. 

"I told you, this can't be a real ID, you look twelve."

"I look fourteen, thank you very much."

"You realize that doesn't help, don't you?" The girl behind the counter retorted. 

No, it doesn't. 

One thing about being immortal is that you forget that you are immortal. Danny's ID has his birth date and his current photo. It's not his fault that he looks fourteen!

Actually it is. He's the one who died. 

"If I told you it's a health condition, would you believe me?"

"Not without a doctor's note. Either way, kid, even if you are somehow older than 16, you can't get a tattoo even with parental consent. We live in Illinois."

Danny hated being locked out of things due to his perceived age. Even when he was in college, and all of his classmates thought he skipped a bunch of grades to get where he was. Every time he met someone new he had to go through the same spiel. 

'I'm nineteen, yes I look young, it's a medical condition, yes I am in my second year of college' yadda yadda yadda. It had been four years and it only got worse. 

It was worse when he was going to different age restricted places, such as bars and tattoo parlors, which thought that he was a literal kid. 

"Look. I already have a tattoo, isn't that enough??"

"How do I know you didn't have a friend do that for you, huh? I remember middle school with all of the stick-n-pokes."

"Does this look like a stick-n-poke???" No, it doesn't. It was a full color three quarter arm in a neo-traditional style. It was a ghost, because he loves his irony. 

Danny kept staring at the girl behind the counter, not blinking the whole time, as she stared at him incredulously. 

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you keep being a problem."

"I'm not being a problem! You're the one who isn't listening as I try to explain my situation!"

"Kid, you aren't going to get a tattoo from this place." She sighed. "Look, I can call my boss and she can make the final call on it." 

"Yes! Please! Do!"

The girl in front of him walked into the back room and called a name that Danny hadn't heard since high school. "Hey! Star!"

Wait, Star? 

"What is it now, Kay?" A familiar voice rang out, in an exasperated voice. 

"Look, there's this kid at the front who says he's 23, he has an ID that looks like it checks out, but he looks twelve. Literally twelve." 

"God, Kay. Just tell him no!" A woman walked out from the back room, and looked at Kay, then made eye contact with Danny.

"Wait, FENTON? Damn, you literally haven't changed since freshman year!" The blonde girl laughed. 

"Star! It's been so long, I can't believe you recognize me!" Danny smiled. "You started a tattoo parlor?" 

"Yeah, after high school, I decided to apprentice at that one parlor down the road from school? Yeah you know the one, right?"

"I got my first tattoo there! this one," Danny pointed to his three quarter. 

"Was it James? I apprenticed under him." Star smiled at Danny. 

"Wait, Star, you know this kid?" 

"We went to high school together. I was a bit of an asshole, but we made up at the end of senior year! We'd all been through a lot together, you know what they say about trauma bringing people together!"

Danny smirked at Star. "You still in contact with Paulina?" He started, "Have you heard about her new girlfriend?"

"Oh yeah! We had a double date not too long ago, you know, me and Kwan."

"I always thought you and Kwan would get together! You guys were always pretty good with each other."

"WAIT, wait wait, so Star, he's not lying about his age??" The girl behind the counter said. 

"Yeah, he's looked that way since freshman year, some sort of medical condition, right?"

"It was a whole thing in senior year, we were comparing yearbook photos, it was so funny to see Dash freak out like that."

Danny and Star laughed at the memory. 

"So, can I get my tattoo now?" 

"Oh for sure! I'd love to get you started on that, do a quick consultation." Star led Danny to her office in the back. 

The girl at the front counter grasped her head in frustration. 

[snootlestheangel]

COD Boys play a Board Game

*This starts with a long explanation of the game featured in this short because it's a very rare game. If you want to skip the explanation and go in unaware, skip to the squiggles*

The board game in question is a really obscure one called "Kill Dr. Lucky" If you've heard of it, we are now besties. It's from an old game company called "Cheap Ass Games" and my parents loved playing it with their friends (right before they had kids, so roughly twenty something years ago) and it's hilarious.

Basically, the game only comes with cards for weapons, these things called failure points, and move cards. You are also provided a few pieces of paper that have a mansion layout printed on them, with each main room being numbered (there's a few smaller rooms that aren't numbered and that's important information).

And that's it. You get the stuff above and the rules, but no character pieces, nothing. You have to obtain your own character pieces, which includes Dr. Lucky (this is how you end up with one person playing a cheeto and it being replaced after each turn because it got eaten). The players' goal is to kill Dr. Lucky (pretty obvious) but it's an every man for himself scenario. You cannot be in line of sight of another player, and the other players can make you "fail" your murder attempt with the failure cards. Each weapon has a given number of failure points, one of the highest being 8. Every player CAN play a failure point, but they don't have to. Sometimes, this means just letting someone win the game. No one can say how many failure points they have (at least until they're completely out) and once you pass, you cannot take it back.

Once a failure card is used, it cannot be put back in the deck. Move cards and weapon cards, once used, get reshuffled into the deck once necessary.

Sorry for the long ass introduction to this little spiel, but this game is so obscure I doubt any of you actually know anything about it, so I felt the need to explain beforehand. Anywho, enjoy!

~~~~~~~

Ghost narrows his eyes at the ratty old box Price threw on the table just moments ago. Soap instantly reaches for it, tearing the lid off and peering at the contents inside.

"What is this?" Gaz asks, picking up a cream colored paper that had been recently laminated.

"This week's team exercise. The winner gets a month without recruit duty." Soap's eyes widen at the incentive for playing, and playing well that is. Gaz lets out an evil chuckle as he continues getting the rest of the game board set up. Ghost remains leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed at Price.

"There's no character pieces." Gaz says and Price's grin only widens.

"Exactly. You guys have to pick them." Gaz and Soap frown at each other before tentatively looking over at their captain.

"What's the point of the game?" Ghost asks as he grabs the rules.

"Kill Dr. Lucky. This is an every man for himself situation. Your goal is to take out a target, unseen by anyone. Use your resources wisely, track your target, and execute without getting caught. But, you're also trying to foil anyone else attempting the very same thing." Soap and Gaz stare at each other, evil yet mildly scared grins forming.

"Where are the character pieces?" Ghost asks, throwing aside the empty box.

"There are none. You boys to get to pick them." Soap lets out a loud laugh as he suddenly jumps from the table. He disappears in search of his player piece, while Gaz and Ghost just frown in confusion.

"What the fuck am I supposed to use?" Gaz asks, searching around the room for something small to use.

"Whatever you want." Price's grin widens impossibly, prompting Ghost to sigh and roll his eyes. He remains seated, almost expecting Soap to bring him something back. Price doesn't comment, but instead grabs an unused tea bag from the cabinets.

"This will be your target, Dr. Lucky." Price sets the tea bag down on the board in the center, on the spot marked "Parlor." Soap suddenly barrels back into the room, a wicked grin glued to his face. He places a small pin of the Scottish flag on the table with a giggle.

"I dinnae have to be that, so Ghost if ye still need somethin', just say the word and it's yours." Ghost rolls his eyes, almost in annoyance but mostly in offense.

"I'm not a Scot."

"But ye are fuckin' one, Lt." Soap winks in response, to which Gaz loudly fake gags as he places a blue M&M on the game board.

"We can be food?" Soap's eyes widen at the tea bag and the candy and Price only chuckles in response.

"Be whatever you want, Soap. Ghost, you still need to pick something."

"Ye can be the Scottish flag."

"I'd rather die."

"You'd rather die than do a lot, Ghost." Gaz comments, prompting a very dirty glare from the lieutenant. With a sigh, Ghost leans over and digs into one of his pockets for something. He pulls out the shell of a rifle bullet and places it next to the pin. Price grabs the deck of cards and begins shuffling them.

"Alright, rock paper scissors to see who starts the turn order." Price says and immediately Soap and Gaz are aggressively staring at each other, fists ready for the countdown. Soap loses to Gaz, Gaz loses to Ghost, and Soap beats Ghost. Price begins to hand each person five cards before setting the deck down next to the game board.

"Okay, so Soap first, then Ghost, Gaz, and Dr. Lucky. I'll move him around to make it easy on you boys. You can move one space at a time, all hallways and nonnumbered rooms count as spaces, and you can search the room. You'll draw a card from the deck when you do so. Use a move card on yourself or on Dr. Lucky, since he only moves between the numbered rooms. Make sense?" Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are all frowning at their hands while they listen.

"What the fuck are failure points?" Soap asks and Price chuckles evilly.

"If, say for example, Ghost were to be alone with Dr. Lucky, no one can see him, and he has a weapon, he can attempt to eliminate the target. However, the other two of you can play those failure points to make his attempt fail." Silence falls on the table, mischievous grins alighting all their faces, even Ghost's from under his mask.

"Happy hunting boys. Soap, start us off."

The first couple of turns are rather boring, as the three spend most of it in silence, collecting cards and planning their target's demise. They try to separate, but akin to real life, Ghost is quietly following Soap around the mansion. It takes him longer than he's willing to admit to notice what Ghost is doing, and when he does, all hell breaks loose.

"Ghost, ya spooky bitch, leave me alone!" Soap cries out as he reaches the armory, where he and Dr. Lucky both are. Ghost, however, is in the room next door and has placed the casing in the doorway to appear like he's staring at the Scot. Soap is rightfully upset, as the best weapon in his hand is the Civil War Cannon, worth six failure points in the armory.

"Watcha doin' in there, Johnny?" Ghost lowers his voice to cheeky growl, and Soap kicks him in the shin in response.

"Away an bile yer heid, Si! I'm busy in here!"

"Doing what?"

"I'm cheating on you." Ghost dramatically gasps.

"How dare you?" Price snorts and covers his face with a hand, trying to stifle his laughter. Gaz is completely still to his right, staring at the board in intense concentration. Ghost's turn comes and goes, as he similarly cannot do anything with Soap nearby, and thus it's Gaz's turn. He places down a move card and quickly ushers the tea bag to his space. Now, Gaz is left alone with the target, no one with line of sight. He has a poor weapon, but it's the only one he has.

"I am going to use the revolver to shoot him." Gaz declares, slamming down the weapon card. Soap and Ghost exchange unspoken words in a single glance. Soap throws down a failure card worth two, and Ghost throws down the last two in individual cards.

"Fucking hell!" Gaz shouts, slamming his fist on the table. Price raises his eyebrows at his usually calm sergeant, but decides to not intervene in any way. The turns continue to come and go, Ghost and Soap eventually parting ways only for Soap to not leave Gaz's side.

"Soap, you fucker! I swear, you move another space closer to me and I'm killing you in real life!" Gaz screams, shoving a very angry finger into Soap's face as the man just cackles. Ghost has fallen silent now, and Price watches him curiously move around the mansion with no rhyme or reason.

At one point, Gaz gets a chance alone with the doctor and attempts to use the monkey paw in the parlor, worth eight failure points. Soap makes a face as he places most of the failure points after Ghost immediately drops 2. Price tilts his head at Ghost, who only blankly stares back in response.

And so, the back and forth between Gaz and Soap continues, and Ghost fades into the background, just like on the field. Price smiles, proud his lieutenant is so good at what he does he can just disappear in a board game. The game has gone on for quite some time and Price knows both sergeants are out of failure points, meaning whomever gets alone time with the target is sure to be the winner.

"I use the rope." Ghost gently places a card on the board and Price resists the urge to bust out laughing. The rope is normally a weak weapon, but is worth eight from the balcony. It's the most open line of sight place on the entire board, yet neither Soap or Gaz are anywhere nearby. Soap is already walking away from the table, cursing loudly in Scots. Gaz is frozen, mouth wide open as he stares.

"And with that, Ghost wins. Congrats, lieutenant." Price nods at Ghost, who merely shrugs in response.

"GHOST YOU FUCKER!" Gaz is now standing, reaching out to strangle Ghost.

"I played the game like you're supposed to! For anything, Soap is the one that kept distracting you!" The man shouts in defense, effectively silencing the cursing sergeant behind him.

"SOAP I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU! THIS IS THE THIRD BLOODY GAME I'VE LOST IN A ROW BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR DISGUSTING INFATUATION WITH THE LIEUTENANT! I'VE FUCKING HAD IT!" Soap lets out an embarrassingly high pitched scream as Gaz literally lunges over the table at him. The two run around the room before Soap takes off outside, Gaz running after him still screaming profanities.

"I think we'll take a break from games for a bit." Price comments, absently running a hand over his beard.

"You think?" Ghost responds after another loud Soap scream is heard.

"I should intervene."

"If you don't want to be buried under the paperwork that comes with one of your sergeants murdering the other." Ghost replies and Price nods.

"As well as trying to keep my lieutenant from trying to murder the remaining sergeant." Ghost lets out a huff that can be interpreted as a laugh. Soap lets out another scream from somewhere outside, and Price sighs heavily.

"Yeah, I think we're done with the games."

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Sorry if it's bad, I just wanted an excuse to write something. Also @cod-dump )

[iolaussharpe-24]

Hypothetically speaking... if I could improve my Wednesday doll, or make another Jenna Ortega character (I'm thinking maybe Astrid Deetz or Tara Carpenter or something.) how could I do it?

Like with everything, I have thoughts.

One thing I've been thinking a lot about is the face sculpt. Yes, even after I went nuts looking for the one I eventually got and am currently using. I saw another sculpt that I really liked, and through that I found another one.

Here's the lineup:

My Froggy Stuff made a Wednesday with this Barbie, Fashionista 188. She cut, dyed, and styled the hair, colored the eyes, darkened the eyeshadow, and added freckles for the likeness and I'm pretty sure I've seen other people use this same doll to do custom Wednesdays.

I made mine with this Pink Passport Barbie. She's not perfect, you could argue that she's not even good, but I did what I could and I'm not posting a picture of her for discussion. Yall have heard my spiel.

However, I recently discovered the Claudette face mold and I really like it, but I don't see one with a skin tone that really matches what I'm going for. The closest I found was the black Holiday Barbie from 2016. The rest with this sculpt I found were either way too dark or way too pale.

I'm gonna start looking for this one (secondhand of course, cause that's how I get the majority of my dolls) but I won't know if she'll work or not until I see her in person. I got the BMR 1959 doll with this face recently, and that's when I noticed it kind of gave me the vibes I've been after even if my doll doesn't.

While looking at the Claudette sculpt, I discovered this one and... I love it. It's like a softer version of the other one, and I think that works really well. It's like the perfect middle ground between the two other sculpts on this post.

So much. But I don't know if she's the right pick either which kind of breaks my heart. This is Barbie Looks number 1 with the Lina face sculpt. The one that I think may be best out of all the ones with the sculpt that I've seen.

I love this sculpt a lot. She's so pretty and I've actually brought it up before because Barbie Looks 19 is one that I've been imagining as a Morticia for my dollhouse.

I think I'd like to use yarn to reroot one of these dolls if I could, because I think that would just be a nice texture and, if this hypothetical doll were going to just be an improved Wednesday, I think yarn fibers would result in really small braids. That's what I gathered from Hextian's Wednesday Addams video anyway.

(Roughly 12:27 if you want to skip straight to it.)

Another reason is that I think it would be easier to style. I've handled material like it before and it stood on end when I moved it before slowly falling flat much later. One of my biggest issues when trying to style doll hair, is that it slides out of whatever I'm trying to do with it before I can get anywhere near finished with it.

I've said before that I like Integrity Toys type bodies because I think that they have some more realistic details than most Barbie bodies while still being poseable (Barbie bodies with some of those details I'm talking about only have the five points.)

Most of those Integrity Toys type bodies are really tall though, and I'm trying to be accurate so... that wouldn't work. Best pick would be a petite Barbie body or maybe a Poppy Parker (but that's really not that small so the petite is preferable). Jenna is only about 5 '1 after all.

But, I want to point out that I love the hands that go with those bodies. They're so much more realistic than Barbie hands are. Even the basic ones. Another note to make is that I'd want to paint the nails. Probably black since so many of Jenna Ortega's movies and shows are really freaking dark. (Wednesday, You, X, Scream, The Babysitter: Killer Queen, etc.) Maybe red.

I'd want to do the lipstick too. Similar to the nails. Though, I will be the first to admit that she doesn't really wear a lot of bold lip colors. They usually look pretty natural.

So... what do you guys think?

[actualbird]

shima 🤝 luke similarities definately. but consider SHIMA 🤝 MARIUS COMPARISONS???

though marius definately isn't golden retriever(tm) but both marius and shima i think had to deal with their whole lives scrutinized under a microscope of the public eyes, having to navigate through people who are only trying to take advantage of them, and how they have to put on a facade, keeping people at arms length... they both just seem... like very lonely people.

i honestly i kinda want to see marius go through a skip and loafer(tm) treatment and I JUST THINK HE NEEDS MORE GENUINE FRIENDS (WHEN HE MENTIONED HOW HE WANTED TO SHARE SNACKS AND RIDE ON SWINGS, HOW IS THIS OKAY)

shima might as well be a mariluke lovechild.

yeYSYYYEYEYEESS YES YESSSS YESSSSSSSSS OH MY GOSH YES ANON UR SO RIGHT

while "shima 🤝 luke" is more on the general outward demeanor and over-attachment to people pleasing, "shima 🤝 marius" is probably.....like Everything Else

i so absolutely agree with what u listed down there. in the same chapter shima had his "this is my role [...]" spiel that lives in my brain rent free, two other lines in that spiel gut punched me and is So mariuscore: "[i'm] a status symbol" and "we're both using each other, after all. it's not worth it."

(sidenote: ...ch 46 warm picnic is really one of my dang favorite chapters of this whole manga. because of the shima brain deep dive, but also because of mitsumi's "whether i fall in love with you or not" response that was one THE most wholesome and beautiful declarations of unconditional love ever. MITSUMI IWAKURA IF UR OUT THERE, PLS KNOW I LOVE YOU!!!!!)

BACK TO THE SHIMA 🤝 MARIUS ALLIANCE, UR SO RIGHT!!!! both of them ended up in a "special" kind of role as children, shima's being his job and marius' being his family, and all it did was isolate them both immensely and make them wary of others, make them second guess every kindness because whats the ulterior motive there, whats the transaction, what do they really want from me?

marius SHOULD go through skip and loafer treatment it would be so healing for him jhvjHVJjJKHVKJ HE NEEDS FRIENDS!!! //PUSHES THE WHOLE NXX TEAM TOWARDS HIM! ALL OF U HAVE BRUNCH TOGETHER RIGHT NOW, OR ELSE!!!

(sidenote 2: in my dreams, the team has more lighthearted happy group moments together that arent just the sliding puzzle minigame event prologues jvfkjjVJH. but the hoyoland event story has a special place in my heart for unexpectedly granting such good nxx team friendship togetherness moments....)

also "shima might as well be a mariluke lovechild" ........anon oh my god i think you mightve cracked the code on why shima immediately hooked my attention and then drove me insANE AKJHVASJF, it's the well written traits and backstory that r similar to my two tot favesies!!!!

anyway my god. im so emo about all these boys.

[demonfox38]

Completed - Final Fantasy IV

Okay, what would you prefer to call this? "Final Fantasy IV Easy Type"? Just "Final Fantasy II"? What's in a number, anyway?

So, my sister got married!

In all honesty, this was a point of stress for my parents and me for the last six months. Not that we had any qualms with the groom! He's solid. The issue was that the wedding was taking place in Colorado. You may have heard me mention that I live in Iowa. So, okay. Just take a flight, right? And you would be right, if your family wasn't paranoid or had any available back-up help. It was my parents, three dogs, and my ass in a van for a day one way, each way, hoping to God that some emergency didn't crop up.

I drove in a hailstorm, man. In a vehicle type that I had never driven before.

And then I had to give a speech at the wedding!

Everything went about as well as could be expected! Well, minus the COVID-19 outbreak that happened afterwards. (Yours truly did not fall ill. Yay for vaccines and a functioning immune system!) But, I had to do a lot of preparing to get to that point. Readying outfits and a speech, practicing stress reduction techniques and mindfulness, accepting what I could and could not control, staying focused on the present moment. Stuff like that. Several of the games I picked this year were selected to help that process. "Super Mario Bros." was some kind of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy session. "Resident Evil 4" was…well, we all know about what "Resident Evil 4" does to one's nerves. "Baroque" ended up being a good exercise in rolling with the punches. "Star Fox Zero" and "Star Fox 64" were last minute confidence boosters, helping me to remember what I had learned. I'm sure "Lunar 2" did something as well, but honestly, sometimes you just need a break, too.

Finally free of all obligations, I decided to spend my Memorial Day weekend in total hedonism. Given the circumstances, weddings were still on my mind. "Say," my thoughts went, "I should play a video game with a wedding in it. What do I have at home for that?"

"Final Fantasy IV" and "The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask" came to mind.

I decided that the first five months of my year was enough of an anxiety attack without adding "Majora's Mask" to it.

"Final Fantasy IV" chronicles the tales of Cecil Harvey, a dark knight with a troubled conscience. After witnessing and participating in multiple atrocities, he gets it in his head that Golly Jee Wilikers, maybe his king and army sucks. Along his path to redemption, he recruits (and frequently loses) multiple people to aid him in his quest to reclass himself into a better person and maybe stop the dickheads he was working for from ruining the entire planet and its moons.

Does he succeed? Err…

Well, he fails his way up, at least.

The particular version of this "Final Fantasy" that I played was the original NTSC Super Nintendo release. Which, I'm assuming you know by now, was called "Final Fantasy II." I'm guessing if you know about this game, you know about the whole clusterfuck of the naming convention behind it, so I'm going to skip the spiel. I just wanted you to know what variant I played before we got too deep into this. Because damn, does this game have multitudes.

Name shenanigans aside, "Final Fantasy IV" is very much the younger sibling of "Final Fantasy II" in terms of overall tone and progression. Both plots toss characters aside like rejected toys the first chance they get. While "IV" is kinder than "II" in terms of fatalities, it absolutely sets up its roster mutilation as the same bloody mess as its predecessor. It just doesn't have the guts to commit to its vile deeds. Spoilers, but of all the party members that appear to die at one point or another, only one stays truly dead. It's wild, considering the multitudes that come and go.

Where "IV" gets meaner is in how much Cecil is an absolute disaster of a hero. Not that he doesn't try to do the right thing or is anything less than civil about his actions. Everything he tries to do goes to shit. Magical crystals get stolen routinely. His girlfriend gets sick, then kidnapped. His best friend is brainwashed so often that the folds of his cerebrum have gone smooth. Hell, he even loses multiple child co-stars in horrific ways. Not to mention what a disaster his family is! Absolute (multiple) shipwreck(s) of a man. Sometimes, it feels like he only succeeds because he keeps getting new rides from his friends (who then, of course, end up hospitalized for the rest of the game because that's how "Final Fantasy IV" rolls.)

What nerfs this initial experience is the translation for this version of the game. Like, we all have a good laugh about Garland "knock(ing) you all down" and Ted Woosley's particular flavor of "Final Fantasy VI"'s translation. Those at least were generally grammatically correct. This one has a lot of strange, startling errors. Like, mixing up the contracted verbs don’t and wouldn't, frequent fragmented sentences, using weird "Legend of Zelda"-esque possessive patterns (like, "sword of dark force"), and so on. It's understandable, if you look at the credits for this game and what happened to its translators. Only one out of the three did translation work for more than one game, and even she pivoted to different roles after this release. It's better than something like "Samurai-Ghost", but it is still weirdly off. It may have been excessive to get a fourth translator, but man. Another set of eyes could have helped.

I saw a line that was (to paraphrase) something along the lines of "These people can summon monsters! They're known as Callers!" And something within me became anemic.

Nintendo's archaic censorship policies did nothing to help this translation, either. It's very hard to have this overwrought story about interplanetary suffering and fatalities when the translators aren't allowed to use terms like kill, death, or dead. Not to mention how weird it gets when holy becomes white and pray becomes wish. I mean, it reads better than the average TikTok censor-dodging speech, but it's still painfully noticeable.

I'm just saying. "Earthbound" got to have a Pray function not 3 years later. It makes a world of difference to be able to say what you mean. (The ESRB may be a fussy nanny, but if Nintendo's old policy was the alternative, I'll take the fussy nanny any day. Plus, it'll also tell you how newer games will scar you for life on their website! So, wee!)

Another surprisingly wonky feature of this game is its menu system. Like, you don't usually think about menus, right? You just click on things and execute functions. There's an annoying behavior to this game's X menu that didn't sit well with me. Every time you want to use an item or a spell, you would be returned to the root of the submenu in question. So, you couldn't just sit there and spam spells or potions on someone to get them back to full health as soon as possible. It's a little nitpick, but it's one of those irritants that added up for me.

The programmer here did go on to make much better menus for subsequent "Final Fantasy" games, so credit where credit is due! There was just a little growing pain to be had with this title. And really, the battle menu is pretty solid (minus an item duplication glitch, but hey! What's a "Final Fantasy" game without that?) Being able to split spells and pick targets is a nice feature! It's simple and often overlooked, but I think it should still be appreciated. You didn't have that in the first "Final Fantasy." And it also auto-corrects attacking units targeting a dead enemy, so that's also good!

I can be a positive reviewer! I swear!

Aesthetically, this game is a bit split down the middle in terms of quality. I mean, it's the earliest "Final Fantasy" game for the Super Nintendo, and a very early Super Nintendo game to boot. So, you're not exactly getting the beautiful, consistent pixel art from "Final Fantasy VI" here. It definitely looks like something that got upscaled from the Nintendo Entertainment System. However, there are still some cool sprites in the mix. The music is usually pretty good, too! The only one that threw me off was a piece titled "Another Moon." Because, hey. I get it. The moon's gonna be a weird place to go for an RPG. But, listen to that and tell me you weren't thinking of squeaking monkeys or the farty Mansion Basement theme from the Director's Cut of "Resident Evil."

And, hey—if you need a palette cleanser, "The Lunarians" isn't a bad moon piece. Occasionally, the game can handle the moon just right!

Had I played the "Final Fantasy" games in order, I think I would have found this game more challenging. Its latter half loads up on bosses that require more advanced tactics to overcome, particularly for its optional content. I suspect that if you are playing this game, it's going to be after the likes of more popular titles like "VI", "VII", and "X". A lot of those games borrow from this game's bag of tricks. But, once you see things like Reflect Magic Spam boss and Death Countdown boss, having that tossed at you isn't going to be much of a curveball.

I'm not saying you won't ever die. It's just going to be one of those things where you'll quickly see what you did wrong, reset, and knock it out of the park. Past number crunching, all you have to contend with is bastard semi-opaque walls and donking your way around hidden paths. Hell, you might even have the skills for that by now.

Do I like "Final Fantasy IV"? Yeah, in the same way I like an average Disney animated movie. It tries to have fangs from time to time, but its gnawing comes off as more endearing than threatening. It's still a generally good experience! I just wouldn't expect you to have a religious awakening playing it.

Do I think you should play the NTSC SNES variant of "Final Fantasy IV"? You absolutely can do better. You can get versions for various consoles (like the Playstation, Game Boy Advance, Nintendo DS, and Sony PSP), as well as on Steam. The Playstation release seems to be closest aesthetically to the original release, but I do have a fondness for the audio and pixel-crunchy Game Boy Advance release, as that one is a bit closer to "Final Fantasy VI" in appearance. The Nintendo DS version is if you're into low poly 3D models, and the Sony PSP version is for those who like to smear Vaseline into their eyeballs!

Any way you slice it, you can at least get something better to read. Assuming the Vaseline doesn't damage your vision, anyway.

[wrenthetitmouse]

As someone who has been on both sides of the healthcare equation a fair bit (student nurse and person with chronic health issues) it frustrates me to no end when people tell me to 'just go to the ER'. I know what they would do - they would rule out anything that is going to immediately seriously hurt or kill me (hopefully) and then send me home to follow up with my primary care provider. It's not a quick fix for me like it often is for people with no chronic health issues and it's probably just going to end up with me feeling worse and wasting time and resources for both the healthcare system and myself - I could also pick up an infection or illness, because as much as we try to keep things clean, hospitals are full of sick people and as such are dirtier and germier than most people expect. There are only so many spoons to go around and I don't want to use them for something that won't help me and could potentially just make me worse.

I think people genuinely want to help me but they have little to no insight into my lived experience as both patient and provider (in training). For most people who are relatively healthy, their understanding of illness and injury is that you get sick or hurt, then you go to the doctor or to the hospital, and then you get better, or you skip that middle step and get better by yourself. The normal level of pain for people without chronic health conditions is little to none, depending on factors like normal period cramps, the occasional ache or pain, or those odd little bruises and scratches (I see people say the normal level of pain is zero, and whilst I agree with the sentiment, my autistic brain is pedantic AF and won't let me say that lol).

Massive spiel about how I figure out if I need to seek medical attention or not below the cut, I am a yapper at heart and incapable of conciseness.

So, if someone with no chronic pain or health issues experiences something like constant and unrelenting vomiting, persistent shortness of breath, severe chest pain and/or heart racing and palpitations, a blinding headache, or severe abdominal/pelvic pain and tenderness, it's very clear cut for them to go to the ER. For someone with a chronic health issue or chronic pain, this may be their every day or their flare when they are overtired or pick up something like the common cold or a stomach bug. Needless to say, it would be impractical and unhelpful for someone with, for instance, endometriosis, to go to the ER every month when their symptoms flare. (Or randomly, if your cycle is less of a cycle and more of an un-lucky-dip/neverending rollercoaster/Satan's wheel of misfortune like mine is.)

Even medical professionals who work with people with chronic illness and pain every day sometimes struggle to grasp this concept, especially if they don't have any personal experience with it. I feel like this is part of the reason why many chronically ill people find public health information confusing to interpret or near impossible to relate to - it's not really designed with us in mind, because in most cases, our specific condition/set of conditions (and therefore our experience) is a minority. If I went to the hospital every time the communication aimed at the general public tells me to, I would be there every couple of weeks.

The most helpful thing I have found to help me know when it's time to seek urgent medical attention is to follow these principles:

Know your normal. If you know what symptoms are normal for you and when, and what they feel like, it'll be easier for you to recognize a change or deviation from your norm. This is one of the many reasons why even vague and inconsistent symptom tracking/journaling can be really useful for those of us with chronic health issues. (I use an app called QENDO and the period tracker Clue to track my symptoms of suspected endo.)

When you do see a doctor or specialist or health professional, ask them a butt-ton of questions about what to watch for so you can make a plan (kind of like the personalized asthma management plans that we have in Australia that say when to take your medication, when to see your doctor, and when to call an ambulance). This is helpful mainly for understanding when you should seek medical attention for the condition(s) you have or are suspected to have - for instance, if I were to pass out then I would need to go to urgent care or the ER to check on my heart and blood pressure because I've talked with some doctors who think that I might have POTS. This will be different for everyone, some people regularly pass out, have seizures etc... and that is their normal. If you don't have access to a provider that is willing to help or listen then doing your own research about your conditions can be helpful but it doesn't really replace individualized professional medical advice.

Know which conditions and complications you are at increased risk for. This might sound obvious, but it's important. As a young woman who takes hormonal birth control and has gastro-oesophageal reflux disease, I am at an increased risk for things like strokes, blood clots, stomach ulcers, and GI tract bleeds compared to the general population. That way I know that if I experience something like one-sided weakness and paralysis, vomiting or coughing up blood, or throbbing pain/swelling in one leg, I need to seek urgent medical attention. On the other hand, severe lower abdominal or pelvic pain, very heavy menstrual bleeding, severe headaches and severe pain in my lower back and both legs is normal for me, especially around my period (please remember these symptoms shouldn't be ignored. They should always be taken seriously and it's really important to talk to a medical provider about them if you haven't before. I talked to my doctors about these symptoms and made a plan for how to manage and investigate them).

As always just a disclaimer that nothing I post on here should be taken as medical advice at all ever. I have like... half a qualification at best and I'm not acting or speaking on behalf of anyone but myself and I'm not acting or speaking in any professional capacity - just casual blogging on the internet.

*If you are concerned at all about your health and you go to the ER or urgent care this does not mean you are wasting time and resources! please don't put off seeking medical attention because you are worried about 'wasting time', ruling out a serious issue and making sure you are OK is never a waste of time. If you are seriously worried about your health then please seek professional help.

There is nearly nothing as frustrating as being told to go to the ER for symptoms that you experience on the regular, and the person not understanding that their solution isn't an option.

Like, I was told to go the ER for my repetitive vomiting, when I experience that once a month from endometriosis. How would a once a month ER trip be practical?

Literally what will they do? Why would I spend 5 + hours at an ER being so sick I want to die when I could do the same thing at home in bed? Able bodied people are truly in a different reality, the ER will not help me.

[ylangelegy]

the loser and lover both die at the end ꩜ yeonjun.

── .✦ 💌 inspired by adam silvera's they both die at the end, major character death, alternate universe: non-idol, [heavy] angst, grief/mourning, last day on earth, platonic relationships, slice of life, [possibly] unrequited love.

── .✦ 🚏 this is the last of my non-svt/skz fanfiction for now! first published on ao3... at a time where i was admittedly very obsessed with yeonjun's watermelon sugar x blow dance cover (lol). this is thematically heavy, so please look out for yourself. it's also my first ever kpop fic (whew!) and so my writing style isn't like this anymore, but it's a good time capsule of some sorts.

── .✦ 📟 wc: 12,000+

On the day that he’s supposed to die, Choi Yeonjun learns what it means to be alive.

Choi Yeonjun was in the locker room when he got the call.

It was cruel, really. Everything had been so perfect until then. The cold noodles he had for breakfast were divine. There wasn’t any traffic on the way to the dance studio. And it took him only three hours to film his dance cover of Watermelon Sugar, as opposed to his other routines that usually ate up his whole day.

He had ducked into the locker room to send the group chat a quick text about their dinner plans when his phone started ringing. It was an unregistered number, which Yeonjun wouldn’t usually have bothered to answer— but he was in such a good mood, and how could anything go wrong on a day like this? 

“Yeonjun speaking,” he chirped, using his free hand to sift through the mess of his locker. He was pretty sure he’d packed an extra pair of clothes somewhere. “Who’s this?” 

“Hello. I’m calling from Death-cast.”

A beat.

“Could you please confirm that you are Choi Yeonjun, born September 13, 1999?” the monotone voice on the other end of the line asked.

It wasn’t until later that Yeonjun would realize how standard the entire spiel was. He’d already mentioned his name on the get-go; this stranger was just calmly reading off a script as if it weren’t the worst call of Yeonjun’s life.

“Hello, Yeonjun? Are you there?” 

“Yes,” Yeonjun said quickly. Pulling away from his locker, he slumped down onto the nearest bench. “Yes, this is Choi Yeonjun.” 

“Thank you, Yeonjun. I regret to inform you that sometime in the next 24 hours, you will be meeting an untimely death.” The caller paused, as if to let the information sink in. 

“On behalf of Death-cast, we are sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest, okay?” 

“Okay,” Yeonjun responded dazedly. Then, more out of habit than anything, he weakly added, “Thank you.” 

The call cut without another word.

Yeonjun sat in his seat for what felt like an eternity, staring at his phone log. Three minutes. His entire conversation with the Death-cast had lasted only three minutes. 

This had happened to him before. He’d be having a Good Day, but then something small would come around and trip him up.

Maybe the master CD would refuse to play. Maybe Soobin nicked the kimbap he’d been saving. There was always something.

Beomgyu jokingly called them hiccups, and Yeonjun found himself waiting for them; holding his breath for whatever might take away his day’s joy.

The Death-cast call was today’s hiccup. The worst hiccup he’d ever gotten.

His phone pinged, snapping him out of his shell-shocked state. It was Soobin. 

do u still need a ride? 

Ping. Another text from Soobin. 

reply asap i wont hv time 2 make a uturn if u dont reply NOW 

Despite himself, Yeonjun chuckled. What did Soobin know about not having time?

As he keyed in his response, he contemplated skipping out on dinner. Maybe he could just disappear. No one would ever have to know he was dying, and they’d also never know when he died. 

I’ll meet you there, Yeonjun responded instead.

Ping. 

suit urself!!!! dnt b late yeonttomeok ~

The stupid nickname. Yeonjun grimaced at the sight of it. Then, his expression softened, because he realized that he couldn’t do it.

Yeonjun couldn’t run from Soobin or the rest of the boys. If he was going to spend his last day with anyone, he was going to do it with them. 

He left the dance studio half an hour later. He emptied out his locker first, then he walked around for a bit to take it all in. On his way out, he tacked a note on the studio’s student corkboard. 

It would take a few days for anyone to notice. The grieving custodian is the one who finds it; a neon orange Post-It, hiding in plain sight among a sea of reminders and ID pictures. 

Thank you, he’d written. For everything. -YJ. 09/16/21

“You should try some of my pizza,” Hueningkai said enthusiastically, shoving a slice onto everyone’s plates. “It’s to die for!”

Yeonjun choked on his drink. 

On Yeonjun’s right, Beomgyu burst into peals of laughter, mimicking Yeonjun’s hacking coughs. Soobin, on the left, was tapping Yeonjun’s back sympathetically— though also visibly holding back his own grin.

As Yeonjun tried to clear the blockage in his throat, he fleetingly thought that this was it. He was going to drop dead in the booth of an American fast food chain, right before he could even tell his friends that he was on borrowed time.

But then the cola went down, and Hueningkai’s incessant apologies started sounding louder than the fears in his head, and Yeonjun quietly thanked God that his cause of death was not as lame as he thought it’d be.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Yeonjun sighed, looking around the table. A sneer for Beomgyu. A smile of reassurance for Soobin and Hueningkai. And for Taehyun… 

There was an odd look on Taehyun’s face that knocked the wind out of Yeonjun. 

It was almost like Taehyun knew. How could he, though?

Yeonjun held the other boy’s gaze, the two of them staring each other down intently. 

“Earth to Yeonjun,” Beomgyu sing-songed, waving his hand in front of Yeonjun’s face.

Taehyun looked temporarily startled by the intrusion before his expression quickly shifted into something more pleasant. Despite both of them breaking into a smile, Yeonjun couldn’t help but still feel a bit unsettled. 

“You’re extra sunny today,” Yeonjun sarcastically told Beomgyu. The latter smiled cheekily and shrugged. 

“What can I say? I love the first Friday of each month,” the younger boy said. As he turned away from Yeonjun to shove some fries into his mouth, it occurred to Yeonjun that this would be their last first Friday.

The five of them had been close friends since 2019. It started off as a small group that enjoyed playing computer games with each other, but then Taehyun quit gaming to focus on his studies and Hueningkai decided he wanted to spend his money on collecting plush toys.

It was Soobin who insisted that they meet up even if it meant not going to internet cafes anymore. That unassuming evening marked the start of a two-year tradition of meeting up every first Friday of the month. 

They still met up outside of those Fridays, of course. Soobin and Yeonjun actually moved in to be roommates half a year ago, and Beomgyu liked to still play video games with Yeonjun every now and then.

But first Fridays were sacred. No one missed out on them, come storms or break-ups. Their Fridays were the glue that kept the five of them together. 

“Sorry. Give me a second.” 

It didn’t immediately register to Yeonjun that Taehyun had excused himself from the table. Only when Hueningkai made an offhand comment about Taehyun taking his time, only then did the feeling of dread settle at the pit of Yeonjun’s stomach. 

“I’ll check on him,” he volunteered immediately, hastily climbing over Soobin’s legs to get out of the suffocating booth.

As he speedily walked away, he could hear Beomgyu cracking a joke to the remaining two boys. Yeonjun missed out on the rest of the story as he ducked into the men’s bathroom.

The overwhelming stench of bile was the first thing that hit Yeonjun; instinctively, he covered his nose with his hand.

From a barely closed stall, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone retching. Trying his best not to gag, Yeonjun took a few tentative steps towards the source. 

From where he was standing, he could recognize Taehyun’s Adidas shoes. 

Yeonjun couldn’t come any closer. 

Taehyun, from inside the stall, finally stopped convulsing. A brief moment passed before he flushed and stumbled out. Head bent, Taehyun mumbled apologies before stopping in his tracks at the sight of Yeonjun. For the second time that night, the two carefully regarded each other. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Taehyun made an annoyed tsk sound. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned up at the older boy.

“You too, huh?” he asked quietly. 

To Yeonjun, it felt like the punch line to the world’s worst joke. 

They decided to tell the rest of the boys after footing the bill. 

It was unceremonious at best and merciless at worst, for Taehyun and Yeonjun to break the news outside Hueningkai’s favorite restaurant. And Beomgyu made it so easy, too, by kidding about it as they headed out.

“What are you two so nice for? Don’t tell me you’re dying,” he teased, and Taehyun and Yeonjun shared a look as if to say, Well, now that you’ve mentioned it… 

Even though they talked it over in the bathroom, actually telling the rest turned out to be quite hard. At first, Beomgyu thought they were messing with him; that they’d colluded the whole plot while they were both gone.

As he screeched at Taehyun and Yeonjun that it wasn’t funny, Yeonjun pulled out his phone to show off his last received call. Taehyun did the same. 

Beomgyu got dreadfully quiet after that.

Soobin, ever the soft one, burst into quiet tears. Hueningkai held on to him, looking as though he might pass out if he wasn’t clutching on to something. Taehyun approached the two and whispered words of comfort that Yeonjun caught only bits and pieces of. 

“Have each other… Accepted our fate… Be okay…” 

Lies, the eldest of them found himself thinking angrily. All lies. 

No longer able to handle it, Yeonjun stalked over to Beomgyu. The younger boy was crouched near the sidewalk corner with no discernible expression on his face. His silence spoke volumes to Yeonjun; it was comforting to share, so much that Yeonjun felt a bit disappointed when Beomgyu spoke up. 

“What now?” 

“What now?” Yeonjun repeated.

“Are you just gonna lay down and die?” Beomgyu asked brazenly. Momentarily floored by Beomgyu’s audacity, Yeonjun looked at him like it was his first time seeing him. 

It was a silly notion, honestly. They saw each other practically every day. Next to Soobin, Beomgyu was the one closest to him. Admittedly, though, Beomgyu was also the one who irritated him the most. 

But not today. 

“I’ve always loved how shameless you can be,” Yeonjun blurted out, the heat immediately rushing to his cheeks at the sudden confession. If Beomgyu was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he answered with a faint smirk. “Anyway, back to my question. What now? Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully?” 

“But it’s 8 PM,” Yeonjun said dumbly. Beomgyu promptly smacked him on the back of the head, making Yeonjun yell with indignation. 

“You’re dying and you’re thinking about curfew?” Beomgyu bellowed. “Do you understand just how stupid that sounds?”

“I swear, you’ll be the one that kills me,” Yeonjun grumbled, rubbing the spot Beomgyu hit. 

The younger boy barrelled on. “We don’t know how or when exactly you’re going to die. You and Tae can’t sit around and just wait. There’s so much that you can do in 24 hours!”

“Less than 24 hours.” 

“With all due respect, Junnie—I don’t give a fuck.” 

Yeonjun let out a disbelieving chuckle. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Beomgyu was right. It’d be a waste to spend his last day in fearful anticipation of the inevitable.

“Do you have a marker on you?” Yeonjun asked suddenly. 

Between the five of them, Beomgyu was the only one who was skilled at drawing. He sometimes carried the most random of art materials around with him and that night was no exception. “Just a blue one,” he said after sifting through his backpack. No questions asked, he passed it over to Yeonjun.

Looking around, Yeonjun zeroed in on the restaurant’s painted wall. It was in a pristine shade of white. Perfect. 

“Cover for me,” he commanded Beomgyu. The latter did as he was told, shielding Yeonjun from the street’s view. 

After a minute or two, Beomgyu was no longer able to contain his curiosity. “What are you doing?” he piped up, obviously trying to mask his interest. 

The impatience made Yeonjun laugh. 

“You can look now,” he said. 

Beomgyu turned to face Yeonjun.

On the restaurant’s shop front, Yeonjun had left yet another small thing to be remembered by. Along with a doodle of a pizza and a cola was a scrawled note, a note: YJ’s last supper. 09/16/21. 

If it had been any other day, Beomgyu might have commented on the abysmal state of Yeonjun’s drawings or the chicken scratch quality of his handwriting. That night, though, he wordlessly reached out for the marker.

Quickly, he sketched what seemed to be chibi versions of the two of them. 

“Always stealing my thunder,” Yeonjun jeered, though the taunt was softened significantly by the astonishment beneath his tone. Beomgyu’s rendition of them was uncanny. Finishing up, he wrote: Gyu was here too! 

Beomgyu looked up at Yeonjun, and Yeonjun smiled at him in response.

An iPhone note found in Choi Yeonjun’s phone, dated September 16, 2021. Last edited: 8:34 PM. 

☑ Commit vandalism 

☑ Have a good meal 

▢ Film and post a dance video

▢ Play Overwatch

▢ Go to a thrift shop and buy Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin better clothes

▢ Go on a date 

▢ Write my last will and testament 

▢ Say goodbye to mom and dad

▢ Take photos to leave for Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin

“You’re seriously going to waste time on Overwatch? On your last day ever?” Beomgyu complained.

Yeonjun angled his phone away from Beomgyu’s view. “It’s my bucket list. Not yours.” 

“Stop fighting,” Soobin said. His eyes were rimmed with red from his non-stop crying. It made Yeonjun’s heart ache. 

The three of them were in the back of a cab, heading to Yeonjun’s family home in Bundang. Though it was the last on his bucket list, it was the first thing he wanted off his chest.

He didn’t intend to tell his parents over the phone. He wasn’t even sure if he should even tell his parents at all. 

Half an hour ago, Taehyun and Yeonjun agreed to not wallow over their impending death. They had individual businesses that they first had to deal with but they made plans to meet up after so the five of them could be complete.

Hueningkai stuck with Taehyun while Beomgyu and Soobin decided to accompany Yeonjun. 

“I’m just saying, you could be spending your time a little wiser than losing to me and Soobin,” Beomgyu quipped. 

Sighing dramatically, Yeonjun removed the goal from his list. 

Before he could hit Beomgyu with another wisecrack, their ride came to a screeching halt. Thankfully, Soobin was strict on always wearing seatbelts; the safety device kept them from launching forward, though Beomgyu’s forehead did collide with the driver’s headrest. 

Beomgyu howled with pain as the driver profusely apologized. “A stray cat bolted in front of us as I was pulling in to park,” the driver explained. “I didn’t notice.” 

Yeonjun exhaled, one hand clutching his chest. 

The three of them slid out of the backseat and onto the Seongnam sidewalk. “You alright?” Soobin asked quietly as Beomgyu went to pay for the ride. 

The honest answer: Yeonjun was a little shaken.

Each step felt like there might be a minefield beneath his feet. He kept imagining a bunch of different scenarios on how it would happen, who would be there with him when it did. He didn’t want it to be any of the three boys, but they were insistent on keeping him and Taehyun company. 

No one seemed like they were ready to let go. 

Instead, what Yeonjun said: “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Beomgyu returned, another unreadable expression on his face. “The driver wouldn’t let me pay,” he reported, shaking his head. “He eavesdropped on us a bit, I think, because he—” A pause. 

The hard-to-read look suddenly became clear to Yeonjun. It was the same look of when Beomgyu polaroids came out all wrong, or when he miscalculated a toy’s position in a claw game. It was a mix of annoyance, and disappointment—and a little bit of sadness. 

“He what?” Soobin prompted.

Beomgyu looked directly at Yeonjun, opening and closing his mouth as though considering how to tell him. Finally, he choked out the rest of his sentence. 

“He sends his condolences.” 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to a parent is to have their child leave this Earth before them.”

Those were the only words that Yeonjun committed to memory. The conversation he had with his parents was not so much a conversation as much as it was groveling, sobbing, cursing.

There was anger. There was sadness. There was all the love they could offer each other. 

Though it broke his heart, Yeonjun begged his parents to let him go for the simple reason that he couldn’t bear the thought of passing away in their presence. He promised to call, if he could. He swore to have Beomgyu and Soobin at his side, at all times, to call them if he couldn’t. 

Then his father told him about the worst thing that could happen—how it was already happening—, and he hugged Yeonjun with a finality that didn’t need any spoken goodbye, and Yeonjun damn near reconsidered throwing it all away to spend his final hours with them.

Holding on to his pride, he hugged his father back. He gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. 

He asked that they both smile so his last image of them would be “not all that sad.”

And, just like that, the Chois let go of their only son. 

The cab ride back to Hueningkai and Taehyun was a solemn one. Yeonjun was thankful that neither Beomgyu nor Soobin felt the need to speak. They had waited outside Yeonjun’s home while he was saying his goodbyes to his parents, and they had let him take the window seat where he could stare listlessly out at the highway. This is the last time I’ll see this strip of road,��Yeonjun numbly thought to himself. It was tiring to think in lasts. It was all he could seem to do as the minutes ticked by.

Ping. 

Hueningkai, whose Instagram account previously had zero photos, had just uploaded a photo of him posing with Taehyun. Lotte World all to ourselves!!!~ , the caption said.

“That’s new,” Beomgyu mumbled, looking at the post over Yeonjun’s shoulder.

“We saw each other practically every day for the past two years,” Soobin interjected, voice hollow. He was staring at Hueningkai’s post on his own phone. “Hyuka never saw the point in posting about us, because it wasn’t like we were going anywhere.”

The implication of Soobin’s words weighed heavy in the air. Now that two of us are dying, Hueningkai wants to capture whatever we have left. 

“I’m just glad to finally be Instagram official,” Beomgyu blurted out.

Both Soobin and Yeonjun shook their head, but Yeonjun was secretly glad to have an excuse to laugh. 

By the time they got to Lotte World, Hueningkai and Taehyun were already donning ridiculous animal headbands and sharing some honey butter chips.

“I got you guys headbands, too!” Hueningkai said. He pulled three out of his bag and proceeded to pass Beomgyu and Soobin theirs. Hueningkai asked Yeonjun to bend down so he could put it on himself.

“A fox?” Yeonjun asked, skeptically eyeing his reflection in a nearby shop mirror.

“Don’t you look like one?” Hueningkai shot back.

“How am I a bear?” Beomgyu whined, pinching the brown ears of his own headband.

Soobin quickly retorted, “Because you’re un-bear-able!”

It was a terrible pun but all the boys chuckled a bit nonetheless. Beomgyu yelled “Yah!”, reaching out to hit Soobin— who swiftly dodged, which meant Beomgyu’s slap landed on the small of Taehyun’s back. The chase that ensued had Soobin, Hueningkai, and Yeonjun doubling over in laughter.

“By the way,” Yeonjun mused out loud as they started strolling down the amusement park’s mostly empty avenues. “Why are we here after hours? Lotte World should be closed.”

Hueningkai’s face fell, and Yeonjun suddenly wished that he never asked.

“Lotte World is tied in with Death-cast,” Beomgyu answered instead. He and Taehyun had caught up to the rest, done with their chase. The latter looked a little out of breath; Yeonjun concernedly glanced over at him, to which Taehyun responded with a thumbs up and a gesture to keep listening to Beomgyu. “They allot their after-hours to people who might want to spend their last day here.”

Not wanting to dampen the mood any further, Yeonjun forced on a smirk. He threw an arm around Hueningkai’s shoulders and gave him a light shove forward

“Let’s make the most out of it then!” Yeonjun said resolutely. “Come on, Hyuka. We’ll go wherever you pick!”

That made Hueningkai light up like a Christmas tree. For the first time that night, Yeonjun felt like he’d done something right.

And go wherever Hueningkai picked they did. After around an hour or so, Soobin was already calling for something less exciting. “I don’t think my heart can take any more of this,” he cried dramatically.

“How about there?” Hueningkai said excitedly. Four pairs of eyes followed to see where he was pointing: A photobooth.

 “Perfect,” Yeonjun said. “I’ve been meaning to take some photos.”

 “Why don’t we go first, hyung?”

The other boys fell quiet when Taehyun addressed Yeonjun. Taehyun was smiling delicately, face flushed from the consecutive high-stakes rides. In one hand, he held a squirrel stuffed toy that Beomgyu had won him at a shooting game.

Taehyun looked so serene. So alive, Yeonjun thought in awe.

Yeonjun grinned back at his friend. “I’d like that.”

The two slid into the booth as Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin looked at costumes for themselves.

“This is part of my bucket list,” Yeonjun shared as he started loading the coins into its slot. “I wanted to give them photos of us, for them to remember.”

“That’s smart,” Taehyun responded. “We won’t have enough photos of each other to go by.”

Yeonjun swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to look directly at Taehyun. Outside the booth, they could hear the sounds of Hueningkai and Soobin arguing over a plastic mustache.

If they tried really hard, they could pretend that it was just like any other day—and shouldn’t it be like that anyway, Yeonjun contemplated. He debated about asking Taehyun whether he thought this was for the best; knowing they’d pass within 24 hours.

As if sensing Yeonjun’s internal conflict, Taehyun reached out to push the last few coins into their slot. The photobooth roared to life, a woman’s voice welcoming them and instructing them on what to click next. Neither of the two tapped on anything on the screen.

But then Taehyun shrugged. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Let’s leave them with good-looking photos of us.”

Before the two could pose properly, though, Beomgyu burst through the curtains of the photo booth. “Cheese!” he screeched, throwing himself over Taehyun and Yeonjun’s legs.

“Hey!” Yeonjun protested, trying to shove Beomgyu off his lap. Meanwhile, Taehyun started giggling and making room for Beomgyu on the bench.

Click. Click. Click.

“Why must you ruin everything?” Yeonjun groaned as the photo strips printed out. In the first two photos, he and Taehyun looked fine; the remaining four were extremely chaotic with Beomgyu’s unexpected entrance.

“You look best here, don’t you think?” Beomgyu said innocently, pointing out the picture where Yeonjun was mid-yell. The older boy raised his hand as if to smack Beomgyu, who promptly ducked behind Hueningkai for protection.

“We can take more,” Taehyun assured. Despite his tousled hair and the beads of sweat trailing down his face, he shone brighter than he ever had. There was a reassuring smile on his face, one that had found comfort in an inevitable fate. 

When all is said and done, that is how Yeonjun chooses to remember Taehyun; the healthy, happy Taehyun of this moment.

Yeonjun doesn’t know that yet, of course. Not while it’s happening. “I want one with our baby Hyuka,” he announced, reaching out for the youngest of their group.

“I’ll get some with Soobin and Beomgyu then,” Taehyun responded.

They took photos with each other and of each other. Taehyun and Yeonjun eventually got their own photo strip without Beomgyu interrupting. The five of them had at least seven different sets together until they’d run through each prop the booth had to offer, and they’d played with every single filter available.

Hueningkai held on to the photo strips as if they were important documents. As they went out to grab some snacks at one of the nearby food stalls, Yeonjun followed Hueningkai wandering over to a corner.

“What are you doing?” Yeonjun asked.

The blonde boy had laid out all the photos and was attempting to take a picture of them. “Oh, I was making a post on my Instagram account,” he admitted, sounding a bit shy of the fact.

“I saw you posted for the first time earlier.”

“Yeah, I never had a reason to use my account before. I guess I just... want to document today. I don’t want to forget anything.”

The slight quiver in his voice damn near made Yeonjun cry. Reeling in his emotions, Yeonjun moved around some of the photo strips. “Here,” he said. “I think it looks better like that.”

Smiling appreciatively, Hueningkai snapped his picture.

“What should I caption it?”

They both paused, contemplating. 

“Ah, I’ve got it!” Hueningkai said excitedly, typing away at his phone. Yeonjun peered over his shoulder to check.

“‘Five forever,’” Yeonjun read out loud.

“Five forever,” Hueningkai repeated resolutely, looking straight at Yeonjun. “No matter what.”  

If he had a choice, Yeonjun would have gone out dancing. 

Dance was one of the few constants in his life. It was something Yeonjun whole-heartedly knew that he was good at. He meant to be an instructor, even, had the Death-cast call never happened.

His peers constantly joked that he was in the running to take over their studio’s director role. Guess they were wrong, Yeonjun bitterly thought to himself as he intently scrolled through his phone for a song. 

His final dance break song. 

The boys had set out after Lotte World to go clothes shopping when Yeonjun remembered one of the other to-dos on his list. Film and post a dance video. They took a detour to the nearest park and loitered a bit, and Yeonjun was reckoned with the most difficult decision of his dancing career. 

All this time, he refused to upload any clips of him dancing. Sure, there were some up on the Internet; group dances from the studio, an Instagram story here and there from his friends. But Yeonjun had never uploaded one himself— never quite ready for that kind of self-exposure. 

Now or never, he decided. 

“You did Watermelon Sugar earlier today, didn’t you?” Soobin asked as he curiously peered over Yeonjun’s shoulder to check the song options. “The remix with Blow. Why don’t you just redo that?” 

“I want to do something new. Something original,” Yeonjun responded distractedly. FEVER? Paper Hearts? “But all of these, I’ve already danced to.”

“What about one of ours?” Beomgyu offered, yawning and stretching absentmindedly. 

Yeonjun stopped scrolling. 

Taehyun, from a bench away, let out a groan. “You know the demos we make aren’t serious,” he complained. “And don’t you have an ounce of shame, Gyu? Those songs were kind of—”

“Don’t you dare call them bad!” Beomgyu interrupted defensively. “Our songs could have made it big if you weren’t so keen on locking them up!”

“Upload it once I’m gone, then,” Taehyun deadpanned. “Call that shit posthumous.” 

As Beomgyu flinched and Hueningkai rained a few punches down Taehyun’s back, Yeonjun sped through their group chat to find the recording of their latest arrangement. They’d composed only around half of it, promising each other that they would continue the rest on their next first Friday. 

The rock instrumentals of their demo LOSER=LOVER struck up and echoed across the empty park. Soobin’s singing came out loud and clear through Yeonjun’s phone speakers.

“I’m a loser, I’m a loser,” Soobin crooned along with the audio. In the background, Taehyun covered his ears and Beomgyu perked up, ready to steal Yeonjun’s parts in the song. 

Had it been any other day, Yeonjun would have rolled his eyes at the younger boy, but his mind was busy putting together the pieces of a possible dance routine. Usually, it took him days to come up with one that he was content with. He didn’t have that much time tonight.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Yeonjun announced after one full listen of the unfinished track. He stood and positioned himself between the row of blooming dogwood trees, trying to shake out the lingering uneasiness.

“I can film you!” Hueningkai cried out excitedly, standing across Yeonjun as the latter did some light stretching. Yeonjun shot him an appreciative thumbs up. 

Inhale. They’d all seen him dance before; he could just never fully shake his nervousness. The others seemed to pick up on this, quickly giving Yeonjun small forms of affirmation.

Beomgyu let out encouraging hoots and chanted Yeonjun’s name. Taehyun finally lowered his hands from his ears, smiling assuredly in anticipation of the routine. And Soobin pulled out his own phone, finger poised expectantly over his record button. 

Exhale. 

Yeonjun hit play, and immediately found himself consumed by the music.

It was like second nature to him. Every agile step, every sharp turn. He followed along to the song as if it were something he’d practiced his whole life. Each beat reverberated to his very bone, filling his chest with so much joy he felt like a balloon that just might burst.

“Here comes the good stuff!” Beomgyu squealed as Taehyun started humming along. Love you, love you, love you; no matter what I do. 

“I say run, laugh like you’ve gone mad, ” Hueningkai belted out. Yeonjun almost missed a step because of how it distracted him, but he was glad to have small disturbances such as Beomgyu trying to mimic his dance moves or Taehyun finally screaming the lyrics out loud as well.

The post-chorus was his and Beomgyu’s part. It was the easiest choreography to think of, too. I’m a loser, his pre-recorded self sang, and the Yeonjun dancing threw up an L with his pointer finger and thumb. He broke out into a smile, feeling as if the world were spinning. 

It’s the sensation he’ll miss the most. The heat, the soreness. Even then, he knows that his body will ache most for the rush he had come to adore. 

The song ended abruptly, and Yeonjun snapped out of his trance.

The boys were all clapping and cheering. “I can’t believe you did all that in one go,” Taehyun complimented as Beomgyu and Hueningkai surged forward to envelope Yeonjun in a hug. 

“I’m sweaty!” the oldest boy complained laughingly, allowing them to embrace him nonetheless.

“I have the fan cam version!” Soobin joked, holding up his phone. “Where do you want it?” 

Grinning widely over Beomgyu and Hueningkai’s shoulders, Yeonjun told Soobin, “Everywhere.” 

If there was anything Beomgyu and Yeonjun so intimately shared, it would be their terrific sense of fashion— something the rest of the boys were so painfully ignorant about. 

So when Yeonjun had to choose someone to accompany him to the 24/7 Myeongdeong thrift shops— Taehyun complained that he was tired and wanted to go back to his dorm— the answer was as clear as day. Beomgyu and Yeonjun promised to regroup with them back at Taehyun’s within an hour.

It was a comforting shopping spree, actually. Beomgyu must have toned down his energy, only hitting Yeonjun with the occasional wisecrack compared to the typical several jokes per minute. Briefly, Yeonjun worried that he was being pitied. 

“This would look good on Hyuka,” Beomgyu commented, holding up a light gray sweatshirt for Yeonjun to see. The two were in their last store. They already had eco bags crammed to the brim with clothes, but they’d decided to do a final stop before heading home.

“I was thinking about this one for Soobin,” Yeonjun said in turn, showing off a black and yellow embroidered vest. 

“That one’s nice.”

“I think Hyuka would fit comfortably in that panel shirt over there, too.” 

After snagging a couple more overrun Ralph Lauren pieces and three pairs of specs for Soobin, the two fell in line for checkout. “I can’t believe we didn’t do this more often,” Beomgyu hummed, rustling through the picks. “Shopping with Soobin was so boring. He only ever wanted to go to the department store.”

“I gave up on Hyuka, too,” Yeonjun laughed. He was excited to see Hueningkai’s expression; a lot of the clothes they’d picked for him were sure to fit his style. “This should be enough to last them for a little while.”

“And then they’ll go back to their plain clothes?” 

“And then you’ll buy them more.” 

A long pause followed Yeonjun’s words.

Though he had packaged it as a joke, they both knew the underlying message lurking under the lighthearted tone. You’ll take care of them, right? Yeonjun was asking. 

Beomgyu pursed his lips together and nodded, answering the unspoken question. I will.

Yeonjun gave him an appreciative smile. I knew I could count on you. 

“What else do you have on your bucket list, anyway?” Beomgyu asked in an effort to change the topic. They shuffled forward awkwardly, the line in front of them moving along rather slow. 

“Just some serious stuff left, really,” Yeonjun replied vaguely. To write his last will and testament was still left unchecked. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d do it; sitting down and accepting his fate like that was a terrifying ordeal. “There is one that’s pretty tame, but I’m thinking of just crossing it out completely.” 

“Which?” 

“To go on a date.” Yeonjun laughed at the thought of it. It seemed so trivial now. 

He’d put it down because he hadn’t really had the time to go on a proper date. Though his mother tried setting him up with her neighbors’ daughters— and even though Soobin offered a double date every now and then— Yeonjun found that he was always too busy, too disinterested, too insecure.

A small part of him wished he’d said yes to at least one of them so he could have a memory at a cafe or a cinema. But he was so caught up in thinking that he had so much more time than he actually did, and he thought his first date would be something special— only to have it not happen at all. 

Nothing good comes to those who wait, he thought woefully. 

Beomgyu whipped out his phone and clicked on an app. Leaning over to peek, Yeonjun saw that it was for dating. He knew that Beomgyu and Soobin had profiles. He just couldn’t be bothered to get one, too. Putting himself out there like that felt scary. 

“This is a great way to find a date, even if you’re in a bit of a clutch,” Beomgyu chirped. “I’ve used it before when I needed someone to go with me to a wedding or a school fair.” 

“That’s smart.” 

“I know right? Anyway— we’re not here to talk about the obvious.” Yeonjun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu barreled on. “Let’s make you a profile.” 

“I don’t know…” Yeonjun started hesitantly. Beomgyu was quick to interject. 

“What are you scared of?” he challenged. “What do you have to lose, really?” 

Yesterday, Yeonjun might have answered his dignity or his pride. In the thrift shop, though, he begrudgingly had to admit that Beomgyu was right. He had nothing to lose. 

“Sign me up,” Yeonjun conceded, and Beomgyu broke out into a proud grin. 

After arguing over which photos of Yeonjun to choose, Beomgyu typed out a prospective bio to go on his profile. Urgent: Dying boy seeking a mind-blowing date that will let him go out with a bang. 

“You make it sound so dirty,” Yeonjun groaned, grabbing the phone from Beomgyu and deleting the entire text.

As the latter protested, Yeonjun tried his hand at a bio. Less than 24 hours left and looking for love. Be my baby before burying me six feet under? 

“How pessimistic!” Beomgyu cried disapprovingly, though both of them were shaking with laughter. For a short while, they took turns writing terrible descriptions.

Beomgyu typed out Let’s kill this love, to which Yeonjun added ‘Till (my) death do we part.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Beomgyu concluded as he gasped for air. “Come on, we’re not even in the actual app yet.”

The next screen asked for Yeonjun’s dating preference.

Beomgyu tapped on the ‘Women’ button, showing it to Yeonjun for approval.

Riding on their shared joy and his newfound confidence, Yeonjun mindlessly blurted out, “Can you actually choose ‘Both’?”

In our life, we often experience “oh” moments. Modest points in time where so many things can shift in a split second. For both Beomgyu and Yeonjun— in that thrift shop line, with their sore arms carrying more clothes that either of them could ever need— that was one of those junctures for the two of them.

“Oh,” Beomgyu said, and it occurred to Yeonjun, suddenly. What he’d asked for. 

Fear went off in Yeonjun’s brain like a screeching, bright red fire alarm. He wanted to take it back. He could say it was a joke.

But there was something in Beomgyu’s face— an expression that wasn’t of judgment or disgust. There was a gentle hopefulness to the way he looked at Yeonjun then. He looked so painfully reassuring, so ready to accept whatever Yeonjun wanted to do, wanted to be. 

So how could Yeonjun lie to him? 

“Yeah,” Yeonjun choked out, clenching his jaw nervously. 

“I never knew,” Beomgyu mumbled before switching the options. Then, quickly, he added: “Me, too. I mean—I chose ‘Both’, too. I’m… I am, too.” 

It was Yeonjun’s turn to say “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Beomgyu chuckled. “I guess you never know, huh?” 

Yeonjun nodded wordlessly, hoping that Beomgyu wouldn’t prod any further. Thankfully, the cashier finally called them to the front.

As Yeonjun unloaded the clothes they’d shopped, Beomgyu gestured that he’d do it. He shoved his phone at Yeonjun and pushed him to one side.

“If you want a date, you should get busy swiping,” Beomgyu said, beaming with amusement as he geared up for his punch line. “Let them know you’re dead serious.”

Hueningkai, Soobin, and Taehyun were watching something on Netflix by the time Beomgyu and Yeonjun got back. 

The three were settled comfortably on the couch, sharing several opened bags of junk food and two bottles of cider. “Is that Squid Game? You’re watching without me?!” Beomgyu whined, trying to grab the remote from Soobin. 

“I’m dying. I think I deserve to know what happens in episode six,” Taehyun said blankly before popping a chip in his mouth. Beomgyu pretended not to hear him, still scuffling with an indignant Soobin who was trying hard not to tear his gaze away from the screen. Meanwhile, Hueningkai greeted Yeonjun and helped him carry the bags into the room. 

“Oh, this is so soft!” Hueningkai cried, zeroing out on the sweatshirt from earlier.

“Beomgyu picked that out for you,” Yeonjun said proudly. 

“Thank you, Gyu!” 

With Beomgyu successfully pausing the show, Soobin leaned over to inspect the pile of clothes that Hueningkai had toppled over. “This is a lot,” he said in awe.

“Please, this is barely half of what Yeonjun and I have,” Beomgyu scoffed. 

As Taehyun ducked out to go to the bathroom, the boys sorted through the articles of clothing. Hueningkai and Soobin were incredibly enthusiastic, building each other’s pile of new clothes; mixing and matching some on the spot. While Beomgyu was criticizing their pairings, Yeonjun once again noticed a gap in their group.

A space that was left unfilled. 

Yeonjun excused himself and stumbled over the clothes, towards the bathroom. It was unlocked. He peeked inside and found it empty. Something in his stomach sank at the sight of minuscule blood droplets on the toilet lid. How had no one noticed Taehyun slipping away? 

Suddenly hyperaware, Yeonjun heard the distant, muted click of the front door closing. 

Why was Taehyun trying to slip away? 

Telling the rest that they were going on a quick 7-Eleven run— and swearing to the other boys that they’d both come back in one piece—Yeonjun grabbed his windbreaker and rushed out to follow Taehyun. It didn’t take much to find him. He was hanging out at the bus stop nearest his dorm, a city map in his hands. 

Taehyun didn’t look surprised to see Yeonjun jogging up to him. 

“Of course you’d notice,” Taehyun said once Yeonjun had reached him. “Do the others know?” 

“We’re at 7-Eleven,” Yeonjun responded stiffly. The other boy cocked his head to one side as if assessing the lie. 

“Believable. You should grab some bread for Soobin on your way back.” 

“On our way back.” 

“I’m not going back there, and you know it.” 

Cold, callous, and calculating. Those were the typical words one would use to describe Taehyun. In their group, Taehyun was the most stable and reliable; he managed Beomgyu’s erratic moods and always looked out for Hueningkai.

It was easy to forget that he was on the younger end, considering how mature he always presented himself to be. 

None of that maturity seemed to shine through in that very bus stop. Yeonjun saw Taehyun for what he was: A teenage boy counting his minutes left. 

“Why not?” Yeonjun asked. He was firmly rooted to his spot. As much as Taehyun looked like he wanted to be alone, Yeonjun just couldn’t cut him some slack. “Come on, Taehyun. Come home with me.” 

“I’m sick, hyung. I’ve been for a while now,” Taehyun said with a sad, sad. “You’ve noticed, right?” 

Yeonjun had noticed. He’d taken trips to the drug store to buy Taehyun some painkillers. He’d cooked him soup for comfort. He’d even insisted that they should go to the hospital and check it out, but Taehyun was dead set on riding out what they thought to be a run-of-the-mill flu. 

“I finally got it checked this morning. My sister brought me. No one could figure out a proper diagnosis, but right after our appointment—” Taehyun faltered. He met Yeonjun’s eyes. “The damn Death-cast call is so scripted, isn’t it?” 

Yeonjun slumped down onto the vacant seat next to Taehyun.

“Anyway, I told my family over lunch,” Taehyun went on. “I wasn’t planning on letting the boys know—I just wanted to have a nice dinner and call it a day—but you…” 

“How did you know before I told you? You looked like you already had a feeling.” 

“I’ve always been the smartest one,” Taehyun retorted. Yeonjun wouldn’t have contested him either way. 

Humoring Yeonjun, Taehyun folded his hands over his lap and smirked ever so slightly. “We both balked at Hueningkai saying that the pizza was ‘to die for’,” he said. “I don’t think you would have reacted that way were it any other day. For you to react to something as offhanded as that, you must be worried about dying.” 

“Why aren’t you saying goodbye?” Yeonjun asked abruptly, the words tumbling over each other as his curiosity got the best of him. Taehyun winced in the slightest.

Taehyun didn’t owe Yeonjun an explanation, but Yeonjun couldn’t think straight. If he could, he would keep Taehyun by his side for the rest of their 24 hours. It was cruel to admit that Yeonjun didn’t want to be the one left living.

“I want to die alone,” Taehyun said decisively after a pause.

“Where no one I love will have to find me. My family thinks I’m with you. And you,” he looked straight at Yeonjun. “Will let the boys think that I’m with my family.” 

Yeonjun recoiled as if he’d been punched. “You want me to lie to them?” 

“Consider it my dying wish.”

“Taehyun!” 

“Yeonjun.” The missing honorific made them both falter a bit. Taehyun took the edge out of his tone for his next words.

“I won’t be in the middle of nowhere. There’s a wing at the Seoul National Hospital for people who have been called. They make the funeral preparations and when you— when you’re— they let your legal guardian know. My sister knows, so she’s ready to pick me up.” 

“I don’t want any of you to see me lose any more of my strength than I already have,” Taehyun went on steadily. “Let them remember the Taehyun who went to Lotte World with them. The Taehyun who tried his best not to spoil Squid Game. Let that be who I am. Not the Taeyun who’s coughing up blood.” For added effect, Taehyun reached out to clasp Yeonjun’s hands. He clung tightly, even as Yeonjun tried to pull away. “You’ll do that for me. Won’t you, hyung?” Taehyun pleaded, voice cracking. “You’ll let me have this.” 

“You are cruel, Kang Taehyun,” Yeonjun responded through gritted teeth. “You are heartless and insensitive, and I will never forgive you.” 

In turn, Taehyun gave him a gentle smile. The bus was rolling up to the stop. There’s no one here for you, Yeonjun wanted to yell at the driver. You’re not going to take him from me.  

“There are letters on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ve left my phone at home, too, because when they start calling, I’ll want to answer— and it will take everything in me not to.”

Taehyun released his grip on Yeonjun. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’ll never be sorry enough.” 

“If you’re really sorry, you wouldn’t be leaving,” Yeonjun seethed. He knew that he sounded hopeless and whiny, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when he was hurting. 

Taehyun flinched at his words; Yeonjun didn’t take them back. He trusted that Taehyun knew the depth of his distress and why this was so difficult for him. 

It was a sorrow so deep that Yeonjun couldn’t bring himself to hug Taehyun back as the latter mumbled his goodbyes. 

At his own death, Yeonjun will think of that moment. It will be his one regret. 

Taehyun boarded the night bus that would shuttle him to Seoul National Hospital. Contrary to Yeonjun’s belief, Taehyun was oblivious to Yeonjun’s pain of mourning someone who was still alive.

The younger boy sat with his heavy heart, wondering if he was making the smart— no, the right— choice. 

The bus pulled away from the stop and Taehyun glanced at Yeonjun through the window’s reflection. Slumped in defeat, his friend remained motionless before standing. Taehyun expected Yeonjun to head back to his dorm. 

But then Yeonjun hit the ground running. 

He darted down the sidewalk, following the bus’s route. Taehyun sat up. Palm against the window, he watched Yeonjun sprint past pedestrians and haphazardly slide down the pavement.

“That boy’s crazy,” the bus driver commented offhandedly. 

It was a scene straight out of a television drama, and it made Taehyun laugh in spite of himself. Thankfully, Yeonjun’s chase was cut short as the bus stopped at a red light. To Taehyun’s absolute horror, the older boy started banging his fists against the bus’s sliding doors.

“Hey, stop that!” the bus driver yelled. “I’ll call the police on you, you psycho!”

Yeonjun kept knocking, demanding entry. “I just need one minute! Please, just give me one minute!” 

“Get the fuck away from this bus right now, kid!” 

Unnerved, Yeonjun took a step back and did a quick scan of the bus until his eyes met Taehyun’s.

Without missing a beat, the older boy hollered loud enough that Taehyun could hear his sincerity through the glass: “I forgive you, Kang Taehyun! I forgive you!”

The stoplight turned green and the bus quickly pulled away from the intersection, leaving Yeonjun standing dejected on the street. As the bus driver cursed him and the other commuters whispered among themselves, Taehyun buried his face in the crook of his elbow to hide his face. 

He was stupidly relieved to finally be alone. Later, when they give him a room to pass away in, he will assure the attending nurse that he has made peace with his fate. But in the bus where there are nothing but strangers, where no one knows who Taehyun is, he allows himself the grace of fearing death. 

And for the first time in a long time— for the last time in his young life— Kang Taehyun let himself cry. 

As Yeonjun expected, the boys weren’t happy with the lie of Taehyun heading back home. 

They weren’t angry. None of them could seem to be mad at the dying boy.

Hueningkai was upset, constantly ringing Taehyun’s cell; Yeonjun itched to tell him that it was futile. Soobin buried his head in his hands, the forgotten episode of Squid Game playing on in the background.

“The last thing I said to him was that I hated him for watching without me,” Beomgyu said. His empty gaze was trained towards the television. “I’m never going to be able to take that back.” 

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean it,” Yeonjun said. He thought of his last image of Taehyun; hand to the window, jaw slack with shock. “This is what he wanted.”

Hueningkai collapsed onto the couch after his nth phone call went unanswered. No one could look at each other, so they quietly sat through the duration of the show’s episode.

The sounds of Soobin’s sniffles echoed in the small room, overlapping with Taehyun’s voicemail recording. 

Hello, this is Kang Taehyun. I can’t answer your call right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. 

“He left letters,” Yeonjun announced as Squid Game ’s credits rolled. “They’re in his room.” 

No one responded. It was as if Yeonjun hadn’t spoken at all. 

“I’m going to go read mine. You can come with me if you want.” 

Neither Beomgyu, Hueningkai, nor Soobin moved an inch. 

Standing so suddenly that he knocked into the coffee table, Yeonjun let out a hiss before glancing at his remaining friends. They refused to meet his eyes. He wished he could do something for them, but he was honestly just as broken and betrayed. 

“Suit yourself,” he said wretchedly, not meaning to have so much venom in his tone. He stalked into Taehyun’s room and made it a point to slam the door close behind him. 

It took Yeonjun a moment to realize that Taehyun had prepared for this. Most of the room was bare, save for a few cardboard boxes in one corner.

When Yeonjun took a peek, he realized that Taehyun had packed away everything; his camera, his posters, his clothes. All that was left was his mattress, where four envelopes were neatly laid out in a row. 

“You’re not actually going to read your letter.” 

Yeonjun didn’t jump at the sudden intrusion. Beomgyu wasn’t asking a question, either; he was stating a fact. 

“No, I’m not,” Yeonjun admitted, staring at the precise handwriting that lined the outside of the named letters. “Not yet.” 

“Okay. Well, I will.” 

To Yeonjun’s shock, Beomgyu stepped past him and snatched the paper that had his name. He ripped open the envelope and got to reading. Cautiously, Yeonjun watched Beomgyu. 

Slowly, Beomgyu’s shoulders dropped. When he bent his head, Yeonjun realized what was happening.

Beomgyu’s sobs were quiet— unassuming and wounded. The grief washed over the two of them like waves. Yeonjun did not know how to keep his head above the water.  

“He loved us, right?” Beomgyu asked suddenly, turning to face Yeonjun. “Even if he left. He loved us.” 

“He did.” 

“And he knows I never hated him. He had to have known that.” 

“He did.” 

With the back of his fist, Beomgyu forcefully wiped the tears out of his eyes. Yeonjun is struck by how young he looks; by how young they all are, to have to deal with all this. 

“I should have been nicer to him,” Beomgyu said. He glanced down at the letter before shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Then maybe... “ 

“It wouldn’t have changed his mind,” Yeonjun said quietly. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he simply repeated himself from earlier that night: “This is what he wanted.” 

Beomgyu didn’t point it out, anyway. He sighed heavily and shut his eyes, seemingly letting the worst of the news hit him. Yeonjun knew he ought to have done something then— maybe reached out and hugged the younger boy— but he was too lost in his own misery to realize that Beomgyu’s heartbreak ran deeper, if only because Taehyun’s affections for him were different. The letter gave away as much.

Like a switch that had been flipped, Beomgyu forced himself to speak in a lighter tone. “You’ve still got a few things on your bucket list, right? Why don’t we get them done?” 

“I hardly think that a date is appropriate right no—” 

“‘This is what he wanted,’” Beomgyu parroted, mimicking even Yeonjun’s intonation. “I’m sure Taehyun would hate to see you moping.” 

Yeonjun shook his head, too tired to argue. “I haven’t matched with anyone on the app. And besides, I can’t imagine going out with a stranger who will have no idea what I’m going through.” 

“Then go out with me.” 

The shocked silence that followed stretched between the two of them, filling every corner of the room.

Yeonjun was taken back to the compliment he paid Beomgyu earlier that night. I’ve always loved how shameless you can be. The thin line between brashness and bravery blurred at that moment as Yeonjun gawked at Beomgyu, who refused to falter. 

“I won’t ask why you seem sad or what your thoughts are on death,” Beomgyu insisted. “We’ll grab a coffee. Share a bingsu. And I’ll pretend not to know much about you so I can ask you what your blood type is, then I’ll lie that we’re compatible.” 

“That’s a thing?” Yeonjun asked dumbly. 

Beomgyu gave the older boy a watery smile. “Anything for a second date. But since we can only have one, I promise to cram in everything you’ve been missing out on. I’ll even fight for the bill.” 

“Why?” 

“Why would I fight for the bill?” 

“No, no. Why are you— Why are you doing this?” 

Beomgyu’s hesitation was fleeting. Yeonjun caught it nonetheless. If he had only been a little more observant, he might have noticed the blush tinging Beomgyu’s ear or the tremor in his twitching fingers. 

“Because it’s on your bucket list,” Beomgyu said. “Taehyun finished his. You should get to clear yours, too.” 

There was no way for Yeonjun to know if Beomgyu was lying. Taehyun had kept his bucket list mostly a secret, though he had assured Yeonjun at some point that it was ‘short and sweet’. It was likely that he had divulged in Beomgyu, and Yeonjun wasn’t in the business of doubting such a simple fact.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a little more to Beomgyu’s offer. Yeonjun reflected if the proposition would have still come up had their thrift shop conversation not happened.

But Beomgyu was never insincere, and Yeonjun wanted to give him a tender memory that only the two of them shared. 

And so Yeonjun said yes. When Beomgyu tried his hardest not to smile too widely, the older boy forced himself to quiet the fluttering in his chest.

This was not part of the plan. Vaguely, he felt like he was making a mistake. 

How could he be, though, he thought, as Beomgyu beamed and blabbered about where they should go? 

How could such a good thing be wrong? 

It happened like this.

The two agreed on a nearby breakfast cafe. Yeonjun had avoided counting down, but it was difficult to miss the fact that the sun had already risen. That meant he had only a few more hours before his 24 were up.

Yeonjun got to the cafe first because Beomgyu said he’d stop by somewhere with Hueningkai. Soobin was initially reluctant, finally letting them go and succumbing to the fact that he was emotionally spent. When Yeonjun left Taehyun’s dorm, Soobin was napping on the couch.

Yeonjun made it a point to tuck a blanket around him.

Bored out of his mind, Yeonjun was carving Taehyun’s initials into the wooden table when it happened. 

And it happened so fast. 

He heard Beomgyu calling his name. He looked up to see the younger boy holding a bouquet of tulips.

There was a sweet smile on his face and a spring in his step as he locked eyes with Yeonjun and skipped down the pedestrian lane. It touched Yeonjun, that Beomgyu had gone out of his way to buy him blue and purple tulips; his favorite flowers in his favorite color.

A grin was tugging at Yeonjun’s lips when the speeding car slammed mercilessly into Beomgyu’s frame.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying. Yeonjun had always wanted to know what his highlight reel would look like. He had never thought that you could imagine someone else’s life while they were dying.

Vision blurring with panic as he rushed to Beomgyu’s side, Yeonjun found himself flooded with flashbulb moments of Beomgyu. 

The first time he’d lost a game to him. Their arguments over mint chocolate chip ice cream. Beomgyu coining the term ‘hiccup’ for the trip-ups on Yeonjun’s Good Days, after Hueningkai had accidentally cleaned out his hard drive while downloading anime. 

This was the worst hiccup that could possibly happen, Yeonjun thought as he dropped to his knees.

Beomgyu looked dazed, lying motionless on the pavement. As Yeonjun scooped him up, the younger boy looked up at him with a bleary expression, seeming more confused than hurt.

“Hey,” Beomgyu croaked. “I think I got hit.” 

“Hey,” Yeonjun responded, trying his best not to sound too hysterical lest he scare Beomgyu. “You’re fine, though. You’re fine.” 

The driver of the car stepped out of his vehicle, looking horrified. One side of Yeonjun filled with a searing, murderous rage. He was about to stand and swing at the stranger until Beomgyu started coughing vigorously. 

“Call a hospital! Now!” Yeonjun bellowed at the driver. His voice cracked with desperation. “He’s not supposed to die today. He’s not supposed to die!”

“Hyung—” Beomgyu tried to say, failing to finish his sentence as he spat up more blood. 

Cradling Beomgyu’s head in his lap, Yeonjun clung onto his friend tightly. “I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Beomgyu was mumbling something incoherent. Yeonjun leaned in closer, catching Beomgyu’s repeating words: “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, idiot?” Yeonjun whimpered. “You can’t die. You’re not going to die. You haven’t been called yet, Beomgyu.”

It’s in that earth-shattering moment— as Beomgyu wasted his breath apologizing, struggling to keep his eyes open but trying his best to look straight at Yeonjun anyway— it’s then that it dawned on Yeonjun.

Beomgyu had known about Lotte World and Death-cast. Beomgyu had tried his best to squeeze into all of Taehyun and Yeonjun’s photos. And Beomgyu at the restaurant fronting had echoed the script Yeonjun heard in the studio’s locker room.

Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully? 

“You haven’t been called yet,” Yeonjun repeated. He knew he was in denial at this point, but this was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. “Come on. Tell me you haven’t been called.”

Instead of doing as he was asked, Beomgyu reached out to hold Yeonjun’s face.

The slightest movement seemed to take so much of his remaining energy, yet he persisted despite Yeonjun’s protests. Delicately, Beomgyu cupped Yeonjun’s cheek with one of his hands. 

“I didn’t want anyone worrying over me,” he admitted softly. It broke Yeonjun, how uncharacteristically frail Beomgyu sounded. “I thought death would be a little easier on me.”

Yeonjun wailed, doubling over to bury his face in Beomgyu’s shoulder. The sharp smell of smoke and blood hit him hard. “Damn you, Beomgyu. We wasted all your time doing things that Taehyun wanted— that I wanted—”

Beomgyu laughed and winced immediately right after. 

“All I ever wanted to do was to be with you four,” Beomgyu said, and Yeonjun started crying so hard that he was sure this would be the cause of his own death— the way the sobs wracked his frame, the pure fear that struck his heart.

Beomgyu’s voice was barely above a whisper as he went on. “I’m sorry you never got to go on your date, hyung,” he mumbled, gesturing weakly at the bouquet he had been carrying.

Save for a petal or two, the tulips had miraculously survived the impact. Red spots stained the kraft wrapping paper. “I like to think I would have been a good one,” Beomgyu breathed.  

“You would have been the best,” Yeonjun said fiercely. Beomgyu smiled contentedly.

“I know you’re just saying that, but I’ll take it,” he responded. His eyes fluttered to a close and the pained expression on his face softened. For a heartbeat, Yeonjun was scared that he’d lost him.

Thankfully, Beomgyu exhaled sharply, his unfocused gaze trying to find Yeonjun’s own.

“Hey, don’t give up on me now,” Yeonjun begged. He closed his fingers around Beomgyu’s shoulder, pulling the younger boy closer to his chest.

They could both hear the distant sounds of an ambulance siren. “We’ve still got a lot to do. Hyuka and Soobin are still waiting for you.” 

“Hyuka and Soobin…” Beomgyu repeated slowly. “Tell them I love them, won’t you?” 

“Tell them yourself.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t buy them more clothes.”

“Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.” 

“And I’m sorry to be leaving you, hyung.” 

Yeonjun let out a broken sob. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t,” he said. “Stop apologizing, because we’re going to get you to a hospital and patch you up, and we’re going to go on the best date, and you’re going to live many happy years—” 

“Do you want to hear something selfish?” Beomgyu interrupted. The ambulance was rounding the corner. “This whole time, I prayed to go before you.” 

“Why?” Yeonjun asked wretchedly.

The ambulance parked and the driver ran to meet them. “I can’t imagine a world without you, Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu said with bated breath. Yeonjun wondered why he’d never noticed it before; the devotion in Beomgyu’s tone, the star-like shine in his eyes. “And I’m glad that I won’t have to.”

As the paramedics rolled out a stretcher— as Yeonjun kept insisting that he could still be saved— Beomgyu thought nothing of the blinding hurt ripping through his body. He closed his eyes, finding comfort in the fact that he was in the arms of someone he loved. Not everyone could say they were half as lucky, he decided. 

Throughout the night, he was curious what his last words would be; if he would have a choice at all. He had wanted it to be something cool, something awesome. But as he clung to Yeonjun, he knew that there was only one last thing to say.

Grinning, he wiped away some tears from Yeonjun’s panicked expression. 

The paramedics were already swooping in and grabbing his ruptured body away from Yeonjun, but the older boy was still hanging on to him as if his own life depended on it. Beomgyu tried to commit the scene to memory.

Yeonjun, with his wild expression and tousled hair; his lips quivering, his eyes full of fear. It pained Beomgyu to leave him like this. Greedily, it relieved him that he would be the one going first. 

“Take all the time you need,” Beomgyu assured, giving Yeonjun’s hand a final squeeze. 

Beomgyu managed the ghost of a smile. “But don’t keep me waiting too long, yeah?” he said. 

Then he shut his eyes— and nothing much was left after that. 

It turned out that Choi Beomgyu did get to choose his last words after all.

 Yeonjun was the one who made the calls. He let Beomgyu’s parents know, then his brothers.

He called Soobin, who didn’t answer; he called Hueningkai, who picked up on the first ring. 

Hueningkai and Soobin made it to the hospital within ten minutes of the call ending. 

Disoriented, they all listened to a doctor rattle on about comas and chances. “This means he’ll get better, right?” Hueningkai asked no one in particular once the discussion was over. “He hasn’t been called, so he’ll wake up soon enough.” 

The two older boys shared a look. Yeonjun shook his head, and Soobin squeezed his eyes shut. Hueningkai watched the brief interaction unfold, stumped by what he was missing out on.

“Beomgyu didn’t get called by Death-cast,” Hueningkai repeated louder, as if his first statement was simply too quiet to be true. “He’s going to wake up from his coma.”

At a loss for words, Yeonjun reached out to hug Hueningkai. Soobin followed in suit. The youngest tried to squirm of their grip, not wanting to accept the implications of their remorse. “Let go of me. Don’t act like— don’t make me think that he— you’re both being—”

Eventually, Hueningkai stopped fighting.

For a moment, he stayed completely still as Soobin and Yeonjun held on to him. The trio stood there in the middle of the hospital hallway, huddled together while bawling over a betrayal that only they could share.

For Yeonjun, it felt like the world was closing in on him. He was spared by the harsh comfort of Hueningkai and Soobin feeling the same emptying loss.

After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled over to one of the waiting room benches so they could regain some strength.

“Did you know?” Soobin asked, voice hollow. 

Yeonjun shook his head. His throat felt raw from all the crying. He couldn’t imagine speaking without wavering. 

Instead, he turned to Hueningkai, who was staring at a photograph. It was his latest Instagram post from an hour or so ago— a shot of the flower shop he and Beomgyu had visited. The bouquet Beomgyu had bought lay a few seats away from the trio. 

“You should make a post here, too,” Yeonjun said suddenly. Hueningkai looked up at him skeptically. He had a right to be dubious; updating one’s Instagram didn’t seem like it ought to be a priority.

But Yeonjun wanted to honor Beomgyu somehow, wanted to immortalize him somewhere. 

“You have to remember,” Yeonjun insisted. “Even the bad things.” 

The rest of the sentence lingered between the two of them. Because soon enough, I won’t be around to remember any of it. 

“Even the bad things,” Hueningkai repeated.

He took a picture of the hallway. As he typed a caption with shaky fingers, Yeonjun rested his head on his shoulder, and Soobin held Yeonjun’s hand.

They drew from each other what little strength they could share. 

They had no other choice. 

Heading back to Taehyun’s dorm was too painful, so they made for Soobin and Yeonjun’s apartment.

They tried to fall into some sense of normalcy by playing a round of a computer game and putting on some bad Netflix film, but it was difficult to will away their loss and pretend that they weren’t waiting to lose a little bit more.

So they talked about Taehyun until there were no more stories to share.

They shared their favorite memories of Beomgyu, laughing so hard at some of the anecdotes that by the end of it, Yeonjun’s sides were in stitches.

They took photos for Hueningkai’s Instagram. They gave Yeonjun time to write his ‘will’. 

Hueningkai asked him if he was scared of dying.

Yeonjun lied and said he wasn’t. 

Soobin asked if he was lying.

Yeonjun let his silence speak for him.

At one point, Yeonjun glanced at the clock, did the math, and realized he had survived 22 hours. Was it possible to cheat Death-cast? Yeonjun wondered, foolishly amused. 

He didn’t have the energy to dwell on the thought. He didn’t have any energy at all, really.

He was so drained that he didn’t even remember dozing off while snuggling with Soobin. He jolted only at the sound of Hueningkai’s loud snore.

The couch was cramped, so Yeonjun dragged himself to his bed. Half-awake, he typed out a text to his parents that meant to let them know that he was okay and that he’d call them after he napped. He was too tired to even know if he hit send. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell right back to sleep. 

He was dreaming of tulips and brown-eyed boys when the cardiac arrest happened.

Choi Yeonjun could not cheat death after all. 

Hueningkai found it nearly impossible to live in the aftermath.

It was made particularly difficult by how much the city reminded him of the past. Like how the dance studio had renamed to YJ Entertainment, honoring their star student by using the script on his final note as their logo. Like how the breakfast cafe never threw out the table with Taehyun's carved initials. Hueningkai once sat at it, only to be dragged under at the sight of KT etched into one corner. 

Soobin was an immense pillar of support. The two remaining boys clung to each other in the first few years, doing everything they could to work around their complex emotions.

Eventually, they realized that the grief would never really go away. All they could do was grow around it. 

Their frequent meetings trickled down to weekly occurrences until they decided to stick to first Fridays— it lasted a few months, but it brought the both of them too much pain. They decided not to force it. They went their separate ways and learned how to live with the mourning.

And they did, really. Hueningkai kept up with Soobin through social media. They never lost touch. They just took some time to heal separately.

It had been a while since they last saw each other. Their last conversation was about how Yeonjun's dance break trended, and how Hueningkai's father was encouraging them to copyright the song. 

The posthumous success that Taehyun joked about, Soobin had said laughingly. Hueningkai found some comfort in the fact that he was not the only one left remembering. 

He never went back to the restaurant they last ate at, though it was hard for him to miss out on the snowball Beomgyu and Yeonjun had unintentionally started.

Unbeknownst to Hueningkai, the two had left a doodle that night; he would only see it spreading on social media a few months later, after the restaurant recognized a tradition that was happening to its patrons. 

"This is pretty cool, isn't it?" 

Hueningkai nodded, staring at the scrawled last words scaling up the restaurant wall. Soobin stood at his side, the two having agreed to meet-up for lunch.

Beomgyu and Yeonjun's little act of vandalism inspired a chain reaction of some sort. Now, those who were called by Death-cast could visit the restaurant for their final meal and, on their way out, leave a small part of themselves behind on the storefront.

"I think Beomgyu would be happy to see this," Hueningkai chuckled. "He'd be excited to be so famous." 

"Yeah, he really would."

The two made their way into the restaurant, making small talk and catching each other up as they waited for the waitress to stop by their booth. When she finally stopped by, Soobin looked up directly at Hueningkai as he spoke.

"I heard the food here is to die for," Soobin said casually. 

Hueningkai stared back, momentarily thrown off. 

And then he smiled— finding peace in the fact that he and Soobin could share one last thing. 

hueningkai's instagram account: @hyukatheloser.

[dylawa]

*Steps up to my soapbox*

I had this whole spiel about “these are the reasons I block people and these are the kinds of people I block” to open this post initially, but instead I’m just gonna skip to the main story and make a plea. No “read more” because this is important.

Over the past week, I’ve had the misfortune of being exposed to a certain group of users without critical thinking skills and reading comprehension, that caused my blocklist number to go up astronomically. It’s no one’s fault but mine, and Tumblr’s recommendations; the users whose posts I came across want as little to do with people like me as I do with people like them and I’m not here to be a mentor or babysitter. So while it’s unfortunate we crossed paths (even though they have no idea I was “there,” because I know how to not interact with shit that pisses me off now), at least I could do us both a favor and block them, as well as anyone in their notes sharing their sentiments.

That number went up due to a combination of things, starting with my “For You” page recommending those blogs it especially shouldn’t have, and then the content in those posts (and me using the notes as a blocklist) lead to me searching for a specific term to add more accounts to my list myself. The latter action, I could have gone on doing for days, probably, since it was a search on my own terms and not a post where I could just stop when the notes ended. And the number of users I blocked could have been bigger, but for the sake and worth of my own time-- and sanity-- I had to stop at some point. As much as I would love to block everyone I may ever need to block in one sitting, that’s not possible by any metric.

But it’s that latter action that’s why I’m making this post.

I am not going to go into details about what my search was after the initial post inspired me, neither the exact word, nor what I found in those prior posts that inspired me to do this. None of it is against TOS, for the record, I just don’t want to be bothered explaining that whole story on top of this one, and/or having the exact kinds of people I’m talking about easily find this post and, again, display a lack of critical thinking and reading comprehension. All you need to know is a (non recent) message about a terrible situation was spread without irrefutable proof, and there were too many people who were told this false information in a single anon sentence. Some of these messages had a link, but not many, and the link was to an extremely questionable source, if not downright malicious.

And without any additional research, or asking for proof aside from this single sentence statement, many people decided to believe it.

Some people did the right thing and actually looked into the details, including the very few times there were links to “proof,” then additionally did more and sufficient research outside of that link. They then told those spreading or believing that false message to piss off, but the number of users who put in the extra work definitely was not high enough.

We joke about the “reading comprehension” on this site, but I know that the users making those jokes are, in reality, just as peeved and, frankly, scared, as I am, about how this lack of crucial logical and reasoning skills are on the rise. But the thing is, the term I searched for that grew my block list, is about an event from years ago. So while this is not a new phenomenon, it is most certainly on the rise.

*Side glances at the Twitter refugees*

And I bet I can guess why.

I know at the time of writing this I am not even the last person on these kinds of people’s minds, and even in the future that may remain true. But I do not, and will not, have the time or patience for people who never learned how to research for facts, not be reactionary, and use those skills to pause for a moment and form their own conclusions. I know the urge to placate, trust, and appear as the “good guy” to avoid conflict is a strong urge (dare I say survival instinct in some cases) in many of us-- we’re users on the mentally ill website, after all (said affectionately)-- but it should not be at the cost of our common sense and ability to reasonably see most, if not all, sides of the circumstances presented to us.

There is a reason critical thought and reading comprehension is taught in school (at least, it was in mine). There’s a reason they make logic workbooks for kids, and have us participate in science fairs and learn the scientific method, and write book reports and study history and where we went wrong, even if using or talking about those specific topics are things some of us will never do again outside of academia. The skills transfer-- it feels so obvious to say it, but for some of that stuff, it isn’t about the details of the specific applications of things like sine, cosine, and tangents, for example. The specific applications of those formulas and calculations will only matter to some. The knowledge of a thing is about the long term applications of just knowing they exist and what they can do, even if only vaguely. It’s about knowing there’s more to life and thought than our own personal focuses and morals.

And there is a reason there are people in positions of power-- government or otherwise-- who want to take these crucial thinking skills away from us-- and, apparently, are succeeding.

This is my plea to you: if you’re told something that has some kind of significant or personal impact as succinctly as possible by anyone-- a stranger, an anonymous tip, an authority figure, an online personality, a parent, a friend, your closest friend, a goddamn doctor or scientist (they get slightly more credibility, but they’re absolutely not infallible)-- look into it yourself. Find as many reputable resources discussing the matter as you can. Do this especially if the person who imparts this statement of fact-- true or otherwise-- on you provides none of those resources themselves, but also do it no matter what. Do it even if they provided many reputable sources-- if you find all of the same things on your own, great! You can be more sure that you know the details of the situation. But if it’s important, if it shifts perspective on an individual or matter at large, take nothing at face value from someone else before doing your own due diligence. Even the people who have your best interests in mind can leave out information, either unintentionally, or even for their own gain-- beneficial or nefarious.

When they say “Knowledge is power,” they’re not just talking about the immediate applications of academia or politics-- it’s the broader picture of the combination of everything you know, and everything you don’t. Power is control. When people control knowledge, they control power-- and knowledge isn’t always just knowing dates of historical events and the textbook definition of “propaganda.”

Oh, and also, feel free to block anyone and everyone that makes you even slightly annoyed if you want to, without guilt. You owe no one debate if that’s not what you’re here for. But be smart for yourself, no matter what you do.

[luveline]

in the morning, afternoon and night [Fred Weasley x Reader]

tags: reader-insert, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, low self esteem, reader has acne, sad reader, insecure reader

pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

word count: 1.8k

You glared at your reflection.

You'd think with such amazing magical medicine available, some witch or wizard would've invented a cure for acne, or at least a spell that covered it up.

You'd struggled with it since your third year. The muggle doctor you'd seen with your mother had suggested it was hormonal, and would calm down as you got older.

That was years ago.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't, really. It wasn't usually very painful, though it was itchy as a stinging nettle and twice as unsightly. A large part of you knew it wasn't your fault, that acne was something that simply affected people at different times in their lives. You'd tried topicals and changing your diet, you'd tried losing weight and exercising and dermaplaning and everything they suggested in your mams fashion magazines.

Nothing worked.

Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed them back, blinking rapidly.

It might've been silly, but it honestly made you want to hide away. You'd skipped dinner without really thinking, finding your way into the girls bathroom you inhabited now. You straightened your tie and robes, dusting down the sides. You leaned forward again, dabbing under your eyes with your sleeve.

The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know you'd been crying, because then someone might ask why. You didn't want to talk about it, ever.

If Fred saw you like this...

You and Fred Weasley had been almost dating for a few weeks now. Almost, because you hadn't talked about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing yet.

It had been years of thinking he was the fittest boy in Gryffindor (besides George) and months of meeting his gaze in the corridors and catching his eye over dinner. Gradually it had become something more; he started carrying your books between classes and opening doors, touching your arms and your hair and your face.

You cringed at the memory. He had been so caring, moving to wipe an eyelash from the skin under your eye. You'd violently flinched from his hand, afraid he might feel the bumpy texture of your skin, feel the acne beneath your makeup. He'd been apologetic and a little confused, filling you with guilt. You hadn't been able to find a way to tell him it wasn't him, it was you. Of course you wanted him to touch you, the thought of him cradling your face had been the subject of many dizzy daydreams, but you just couldn't tell him this one thing.

It was your deepest insecurity.

The stress had only made it worse. Redness was easy to cover with muggle make up and even some wizarding tricks you'd learned over the years, but there wasn't a way to smooth your skin, and the acne was textured.

It was depressing. You didn't want to use that word, it felt ungrateful to compare your skin issues to something so severe, but it made you miserable.

You but down on your quivering lip, pushing away from the mirror unhappily and opening the bathroom door, a frown on your face.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice said.

You jumped, startled but unsurprised. Fred had a talent of always knowing where you were. You'd find it creepy if he wasn't so endearing.

"Fred," you said, plastering a smile over your frown. "I was just coming to find you."

"What a coincidence, ma chérie, I was doing the same."

"Well," you began, easily sidling into his space, "you found me."

"Yes, I did," Fred hummed, wrapping his arms behind your neck, grinning.

He took a long look at your face, his forehead creased. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, Fred."

He moved his hands to your shoulders, looking down into your face searchingly. "Have you been crying?" he asked.

You shook your head, lying without thinking. "Something in my eye,"

"Both of them?"

You stepped backwards. He let go of your shoulders accordingly.

"Y/N?"

"It's really nothing," you said through a forced laugh.

He frowned at you for a few seconds more and his face cleared. "Alright," he said slowly, rolling the words in his mouth, "if you say so, doll."

You opened like a blooming flower at the pet name, your whole face softening. You smiled, hoping he understood that the smile meant, oh I just so adore you, Fred Weasley.

He threaded his fingers through yours, dragging you down the corridor beside him and waxing poetic about their newest lot of Peruvian darkness powder as you went.

-

It got so bad you couldn't go to class.

Okay, so you definitely could've gone to class, but the thought of leaving your curtained bed was enough to make you sick with anxiety, so worried that everyone would see you - see your face.

NEWTs were coming fast and hard. Everyone who wanted to be anyone was working hard studying their asses of, on top of Professor Umbridge's million new rules you had to abide by, including her newest life-ruining rule: Boys and girl are not to be within 5 inches of each other.

What a joke. You struggled through classes, wrote essays so long your hand burned at night and now you weren't allowed to sit next to your almost boyfriend at lunch? It was miserable. It was making you miserable, and now you may as well have sharpied on your forehead how equipped your body was to deal with it.

Fucking badly.

You groaned to yourself, rolling on your side to face the wall. You were at your wits end. It felt endlessly unfair that the thing that was stressing you out most was getting worse from stress.

Your stomach growled hungrily.

You threw your arm over your eyes in defeat, eyes finally filling with tears. You felt so hopeless. There was nothing to be done except keep up your routine until the flare up was over, or until your mothers next 'miracle cure' popped into existence.

The tears felt too hot against your sore skin. You couldn't help but sob quietly to yourself in self-pity.

A knock sounded at the door. You gasped, wiping the tears away in panic.

"Y/N?" It was Alicia. "Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Yes," you managed. "Yes, of course. It's your room too, after all."

The door clicked open. Alicia appeared, tanned skin completely clear and glowing, though each perfect feature was marred with empathy. "Fred's been begging every girl in the common room to come fetch you, but I told him to leave you be."

"Thank you," you said.

You cleared your throat. Alicia moved her weight from foot to foot, twisting her hands.

"I- Y/N. I won't pretend to know how it feels, but I promise you, Fred won't care. He's beside himself worrying that you're bedridden and dying or-" she laughed to herself, "or that you're still mad at him for the itching powder. What I mean is... he's a good guy, and you're upset. Maybe you should tell him what's wrong. He won't care."

You sniffed. "I know," you admitted, feeling the weight of her shifting the bed. "I know he's a great guy. I just wouldn't blame him if he, if he didn't like me anymore. If he found it ugly. I would understand it, and I think that makes it worse," you choked on your words, heat building behind your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N," Alicia said, placing a tentative but comforting hand on your shoulder.

You lay in quiet, listening to your own ragged breathing.

"I'll go talk to him," Alicia said.

"No! I mean, no. Thank you, but no. I... I'll speak to him myself."

Alicia nodded, rubbing your arm kindly.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her finally spurred you into sitting up. You dressed in a hurry, chucking a wool jumper over last nights pyjamas.

He wouldn't care, would he? You cringed. Yes, he definitely would. Whatever was between you would stop. He'd have the grace to let you down slowly, drawing away his affections. He was a polite guy, he'd probably even say the whole spiel of "it's not you, it's me". But he would, eventually.

Well, you figured. Let it be quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.

You tread lightly down the steps, hoping to see him before he saw you.

Of course, when the slightest groan on the bottom step sounded, his lovely face whipped to meet yours. He smiled in relief, but it was mixed with something else. Disgust, your brain supplied nastily. He was disgusted. He rose to his feet, smiling smiling smiling. But something in his eyes was different, now.

"Y/N," he said.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi yourself, beautiful. Where've you been all day?"

"I'm... sick. Bad cold," you settled on.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sound okay," he said, not unkindly.

"I..." you looked down at your hands.

A siren was sounding in your head. You didn't think Fred had seen you without make up for the last 3 years. Fight or flight was leaning heavily towards flight.

"Well, are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure? You haven't eaten all day. You need something in your system if you're gonna fight this cold."

"I'm not actually sick, Fred," you admitted under your breath.

"I know."

You looked up. He was still smiling kindly. It was infuriating.

"Look," you said finally, rushed and all at once, "if you don't want to- if you're grossed out. Then it's fine, I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore."

Fred was stricken.

"I know it's - ugly."

"Ugly? Nothing about you is ugly."

"Fred, my face-"

"No, listen to me, Y/N. It's not ugly. It's not gross. You're not any of those things, are you kidding?" he said, grabbing your hands. "You're beautiful. All the time, in the morning, afternoon and night. You're beautiful in charms and transfiguration and care of magical creatures. You were beautiful yesterday and you're beautiful today and you'll be even more so tomorrow." He stopped suddenly, looking down at your joined hands. His cheeks had turned bright red.

"Smooth, Freddie," came George's voice, from the sofa behind them.

"Shove OFF," exclaimed Fred, growing more red by the second. Heat filled your own cheeks.

"It's skin, Y/N. That's all it is."

"Okay," you said tightly, trying not to cry.

Fred breathed out, his hair shifting in response. His corded arms pulled you tight to his chest. You breathed him in. He smelled sweet and rough, like burning caramel.

He thought you were beautiful.

You smiled into his shirt.

<3<3<3

tag list: @msmimimerton

if you’d like to be added to a tag list, please ask ! for in general or for specific characters, i don’t mind

[homoose]

Enter With Abandon: Part I

Summary: Reader accidentally orders three meal kit boxes. Spencer takes one off her hands.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: I just love a good meet cute, you guys. This is part one of four. ☺️

———

She had come to terms with the fact that she was a terrible cook. She’d grown up just above the poverty line, with parents who worked long hours on odd schedules. That meant that she and her brother had gotten by on a lot of PB&J, hot dogs, and TV dinners. They certainly didn’t learn how to prepare and cook meals. So when she became an adult, with a real job and an actual salary and without a college dining hall at her disposal, she began ordering a lot of takeout.

It didn’t take long for her bank account to remind her that delivery four days a week was above her pay grade. As a compromise, she’d ordered a HelloFresh box. It was still kind of expensive, but it was a far cry from what she’d been spending on Postmates. She tried a Blue Apron box, and those were a little too advanced for her skill set, but she kept the account open just to look. HomeChef quickly became her favorite service— the meals were ridiculously easy and tasted pretty good once they were doctored up with various spices.

She had just started to level up into mediocre cooking territory when she came home to not one, not two, but three meal kit boxes in the mailroom. She frantically pulled up the apps to see that she had somehow missed the day to skip the box for the HelloFresh and BlueApron boxes that week. She now had nine meals to cook in the next seven days (five when accounting for produce freshness).

She hauled the boxes upstairs to her apartment and pulled up the app to check what meals she had even ordered. The BlueApron recipes were thankfully not too difficult, and she opened the box and unpacked the ingredients into the fridge. She did the same with the HelloFresh box, actually excited to try out a mahi mahi recipe that she probably wouldn’t have been adventurous enough to pick on her own. The recipes in the HomeChef box were fine other than a cavatappi recipe she wasn’t too thrilled about, but she ultimately decided that there was no way she’d be able to cook everything from all three boxes without something going bad.

Which is how she ended up in front of apartment 23, huffing out a breath. Apartments 20 and 21 had been… less than friendly. She’d never actually seen anyone enter or exit this apartment, so she wasn’t even sure anyone lived there. Still, she knocked three times and waited, box in hand.

There was some shuffling, footsteps, and the click of the deadbolt. She opened her mouth to start her spiel, but the sound died in her throat at the man in front of her.

Her neighbor stood in his doorway, all fluffy curls and glasses and stubble, and she forgot why she was even standing there. He was wearing a navy cardigan that looked incredibly soft, a white collared shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone, and heather grey slacks on his long legs. On his feet were mismatched socks— one bright green and the other rainbow striped.

“Can I help you?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and drawing her out of her ogling.

“Oh— I, um.” She held up the box. “I’m your neighbor, um, unit 22. I—I do these um, meal kit boxes and I— well, I’m signed up for three different plans, and you have to remember to go into each individual app and skip the week if you don’t want a box delivered, and I thought I did that, but apparently I didn’t, and so now I have three meal kits and that’s way more than I need because I’m only one person so—”

She paused to suck in a breath. The very corners of his lips twitched into the start of a smile and she about spontaneously combusted. He waited for her to continue, one very cute eyebrow raised at her rambling. She gave herself a mental thrashing and a get it together before continuing.

“So. I’m trying to give away this box, because I don’t want the food to go to waste. However, as it turns out, people are not keen on taking food from a stranger, even when it’s in a sealed package from a reputable meal kit service.” She shrugged. “That said, um, do you want this box? Of food. For you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I— I don’t know if I’m the best candidate for the box.” He bared his teeth sheepishly. “I’m not a very good cook.”

“Oh! Well, this is the easiest kit, actually. Like, they even pre-cook the pasta so all you have to do is add it in, which I think is kind of ridiculous because who can’t boil noodles? But you know, it’s good if you like, work long hours or whatever.”

He considered her for a moment. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

She was so shocked that he hadn’t closed the door in her bumbling face that her mouth dropped open. “You will?”

“Yeah, you convinced me. Do you wanna…?” He held his hands out and she nodded.

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” She handed him the box. “Thank you so much for taking it off my hands,” she said, dusting imaginary particles off of them. “My conscience feels a lot lighter knowing I won’t be contributing to our nation's issue with food waste. Like, did you know that the average person throws away 219 pounds of food per year, and that most of that food gets sent to landfills where it decays and produces nitrogen pollution, which causes algae blooms and dead zones?”

He pressed his lips together. “I actually did know that.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” She crossed her arms. “It—It’s good that you know that, because, you know, maybe you’ll be more mindful of your own food waste.” Her eyes went wide and she held out an apologetic hand. “Not that I’m saying that you’re not mindful or anything. I just—it’s—it can be good to know things.” It can be good to know things?!

“It certainly can be good to know things.” His lips were turned up in the sweetest smile, golden eyes crinkling at the corners, and she didn’t even care if he thought she was a complete idiot, because she just wanted him to smile at her like that for the rest of eternity.

“Absolutely. Knowing things is… awesome.” She wished the floor beneath her would open up and drop her straight into hell. “Okay. Well, bye.” She turned and took two steps, then did a 180 just as he was closing the door. “Oh, just— you might wanna add more spices than they write in the recipes. I think they write them with the intention of being kind of bland to appeal to a wider audience, but you know, they can end up being kind of… well, bland.”

He smiled again and she couldn’t stop staring. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome. Okay. Well, really bye this time.” She turned and walked as calmly as she could back to her apartment. When she heard the click of his deadbolt she dropped her head into her hand in complete and utter mortification at the sheer lack of chill she’d just exhibited. “What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

…

It quickly became obvious why she hadn’t known if anyone lived there— because he was hardly ever home. She listened a little more purposefully to the footsteps on the stairs and the noises through the wall. She wondered if maybe he worked odd hours or had a significant other whose apartment he stayed at.

She was busy enough with work and cooking the other six meals that she had almost forgotten about the humiliating encounter with the man from apartment 23. By the following Friday, she was so tired from the week that she didn’t even glance at his mailbox like she’d been doing all week, S. Reid scrawled across the label. She dragged herself up the stairs and across the landing, fishing her keys out of her bag.

She stopped in front of her door to see a small glass container sitting on her doormat. She looked up and down the hallway before bending to pick it up. There was a paper note taped to the top, written in the same chicken scratch from the mailbox. She saved the note, opting to pop open the lid on the pyrex to find four perfectly baked scones with some sort of citrus glaze. She balanced the dish in one hand and shuffled the note open with the other.

I’m not a great cook, but I’m a pretty good baker. Thanks for the box.

Spencer, Unit 23

P.S. You were right about the spices.

———

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @saspencereid @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection

[helnjk]

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here ! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in. 

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it. 

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was. 

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house. 

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations. 

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it. 

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat. 

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him. 

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her. 

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began. 

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore. 

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies. 

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that. 

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day. 

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.” 

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.” 

There was another lull in the air. 

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.” 

“What?” 

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.” 

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life. 

“Perfect.” 

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it. 

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation. 

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long. 

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home. 

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!” 

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.” 

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!” 

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food. 

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him. 

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm. 

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!” 

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter. 

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible. 

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?” 

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.” 

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N. 

But he kept it all inside his head 

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off. 

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions. 

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?” 

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.” 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything. 

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. 

It wasn’t. 

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.” 

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!” 

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.” 

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all. 

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined. 

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her 

How she’s everything to me 

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous. 

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still. 

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a  monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts. 

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year. 

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak. 

“Listen Y/N–” 

“Harry–” 

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page. 

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him. 

He took a deep breath, “Alright.” 

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.” 

She nodded. 

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her. 

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips. 

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over. 

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips. 

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.” 

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled. 

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up.