#that i had to explain all of that for it to make sense to anyone who didn't

[dark-wackademia]

uh, "i just need to focus on myself right now, thanks for understanding", and then do that regardless of how they react because you deserve to take care of yourself.

also, controversial opinion: you really don't need to explain yourself to anyone, ESPECIALLY when you're in a place like this. babes, your first priority is to let go of that feeling of worrying how others will take you living your best life/feeling obligation to anyone but yourself in order to start living authentically to you and doing whatever you need to for yourself.

secondly: you can do that for maintaining a healthy state so that you don't reach this place too, like preventative medicine... people forget it's worth much more than the methods we enact once at a later stage with something that could have been perhaps avoided all together, if not lessened had we caught it earlier. something i wish more people really understood is that you don't need to be AT deaths door or burnout/this level of not doing well to step back and get back to basics for yourself. imho, you can stay there as long as you need since we all interact with the world differently, and so, we all have varying needs, and those needs shift. sometimes, for a long while, you'll need to stick to being minimal in one area of life to create a sense of peace and balance for yourself in areas that matter more, at that time, and then reverse areas at another point in life. it's alright to just need to do what you need to in order to feel the best you can in life. it's kind of your only real job for yourself because it is YOUR life, after all. and no, that's NOT being selfish, because i hate when people i know take this time that their bodies, minds, and souls are crying out for them to only to frame it in "it's okay to be selfish". taking care of yourself (even if your support needs at the moment, or even in general, long-term, are high) does NOT equate to being selfish AT ALL.

repeat instead the mantras like "i can't pour from an empty cup" and keep in mind that you DONT want to wait until your cups empty. in other words, you don't need to keep pouring just because you have something in your cup. it's okay to keep yourself for yourself. if you have the time and energy, it doesn't mean you need to give it, even if you have been doing maintenance for a while. let go of that guilt, shame, and obligation you feel for simply existing and living. you deserve to enjoy yourself too. you deserve to enjoy your own time and energy before giving it away (even if you want to, which i get is a hard middle ground to strike but in time you'll find it). it's much more enjoyable when you do it this way. try to think about it in the way of water, if you went around literally pouring your water into everyone's cup just because you have even a drop, you'd end up killing yourself because you're drinking nothing. even a little, even half a cup is still not enough. framing it in that way has helped me shed the internalized ablism I had for most of my life, being someone that needs to support myself by giving myself a lot more alone time than most, especially, made me vulnerable to people who socialize more shaping my own perception as negative towards my natural inclination. now that i've let go of this, and keep doing so, i find i actually want to socialize more and find it more energizing whenever i do. i even make it a priority now, instead of finding it to be a chore, as i once had. also, i rec socializing only in areas of interest when you're craving some but are low on energy and vibes to give.

hope this helps someone. <3

also, i think people will understand, and even if they don't, in time, you'll meet someone who does. give yourself that space and time you need so you don't burn yourself out on ones who don't, so you're not burnt out for the ones who come along and get you. You are worthy just as you are and you don’t need to keep changing yourself for the approval or support of others. Even if you have to support yourself for a while, it’s more worthwhile to stay true to yourself and prove to yourself that there’s nothing wrong with you and choose to accept yourself and show up for yourself than to keep shapeshifting for people who don’t really know, see, or accept you for you, and will only “love” you for the version of you provide. Love isn’t a service to offer anyone, if that feels to be the case, revaluate and pour your love into yourself for a while. A book that really helped me in processing this was “unmasking autism”, and I believe it’s helpful for not just autistic or neurodivergent people but all people! Especially so for those that feel othered in some way!

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ can I call her what she is? ⋆⭒˚.⋆

summary: Doyoung has a new girlfriend and she makes it very clear to you and you alone that she doesn't like you. Too bad no one believes you

(cw: f!reader, cursing, side character is a bitch, the guys are idiots, angsty with a happy ending!)

You liked to think you were a likable person. You were kind, you had good manners, you were polite, you were never rude, but now you were starting to rethink it all. Ever since Doyoung's girlfriend, Jane, started hanging around, actually. They hadn't been together long, but she was a strong character so it was no wonder she wormed her way into hanging around with you guys.

It wasn't that she was outright mean, but she was snide and passive aggressive. Only to you it seemed. You really should have been in a better state of mind too, you and fratboy!Jaehyun had been official now for a few weeks now. There was a lot of texting over winter break and a lot of time spent together since school started back up. However, you were still a little iffy about you two being together. Old insecurities hadn't yet been quelled and Jane being a bitch just made you feel worse.

Somehow Jane had finagled her way into a Sunday dinner, an event usually reserved the brothers and their partners. It made sense, but usually partners didn't show up within the first month of dating. Jane and Doyoung had only been together for three weeks from what you understood, and you knew better than anyone that being around this group of guys could be a lot. You'd attended a few times before you and Jaehyun were official and you remember being beyond overwhelmed.

You and Taeyong were in the kitchen, plating up the take out you guys had ordered. The kitchen was loud since everyone was hanging out waiting for the last few people to show up. It was like every other Sunday dinner, loud laughing, lots of talking, and complaining about Johnny being gone, some kind of family emergency.

Doyoung led Jane into the kitchen and you watched as she went around the room and greeted everyone. You exhaled a long breath, watching as she greeted Taeyong with a wave and a smile on her face. You waved at her, smiling, "Hey Jane, it's so good to see you again."

The smile on her face freezes, the smile no longer reaching her eyes, "right, so good to see you too."

The weird feeling you always get around her settles into your stomach as dinner progresses. The guys hang on Jane's every word as she explains some kind of biological chemistry phenomenon. Even you have to admit it's interesting, but then she turns to you. The smile on her face is sweet, but you know that look. She's about to say something rude to you.

She clears her throat as she turns to you, "and I'm sorry, what was your major again? Something with children, right?"

"Yeah, I'm an elementary education major," you nod. Jaehyun smiles as he rubs your back, encouraging this connection between the ladies of Nu Chi Theta.

"Of course you are," Jane nods, "you know, times have changed. Women are more than able to pick something in fields that aren't already overrun by females."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out and Jane's attention is drawn elsewhere with a smug smirk in your direction. What the fuck was her problem?

The dinner ends not too much later, though you had hoped it would have ended sooner. Jane has gone home, something about chemistry homework or whatever. You stay at the table gnawing on your bottom lip as the guys continue to talk around you. You turn to Jaehyun on your right, your voice low, "do you think Jane is mean to me?"

His brows furrow, "what are you talking about? She's nice to everyone."

You helplessly turn to Haechan who sits on your left. He's always had your back, surely he'll believe you, right? "Do you think Jane is weird with me?"

"Did she say something mean to you?" Haechan asks, you nod sincerely, "I didn't catch that. What did she say?"

"About my major being overrun with females," you explain slowly.

Haechan cocks his head to the side, "well, teaching is a field dominated by women so she wasn't really wrong though was she?"

After that night you start to second guess yourself. Were you overthinking it? Was she not being mean to you? Were you making it all up? Still, you find that you don't attend the Sunday dinners because you know she'll be there. When you can't avoid her, you just get quiet and don't interact as much as you normally would.

Tonight though, you cant avoid it. All your excuses have run out and unfortunately telling Jaehyun your pet chinchilla was sick didn't work. You sit in your usual seat, poking at the food on your plate with a blank look on your face.

You can feel Jane's bitchy energy focused right on you. Great, here comes another blow. She sets her cup down, "so did you help Taeyong make dinner tonight?"

You shake your head, not looking up from your plate, "no."

"No wonder it tastes better," she laughs and to your dismay, the rest of the table bursts out in chuckles too.

"But we usually order take out, so she doesn't cook anyway," you hear Johnny pipe up. You look up, feeling a sense of hope and an immense sense of appreciation for your friend.

It's barely enough to deter Jane. She waves off Johnny's comment with another laugh, "so how long have Sunday dinners been for official partners? I know you and Jaehyun haven't been official for very long, right?"

Jaehyun pipes up, "Since the middle of December, happiest days of my life since then."

The other guys roll their eyes playfully, having heard enough about the two of you to know that they won't miss out on anything as they return to their own conversations. Her brows furrow as she leans in from her seat across from you, "Doyoung mentioned that you two had a think going on for months before, so were you just a booty call? Did you trick him into making it official?"

"Ha, trick me," Jaehyun chuckles. Your brows furrow as you look at him with a look of complete hurt. Did he not hear everything she said?

"And I mean really, besides his good looks, what was so appealing about Jaehyun? He had a reputation for sticking his dick anywhere didn't he? I don't think I'd ever let a man disrespect me the way he disrespected you," she shrugs her shoulders, looking around the table at all the guys who have now gone silent.

Johnny coughs out in shock, "yo, what the fuck, Jane?"

"I'm just being honest," Jane shrugs, "it's not that serious."

"No! It is that serious. No one asked you to be honest about shit that doesn't have the slightest thing to do with you," Johnny counters.

"It's just girl talk John, typical female conversation," Jane rolls her eyes.

"But it's not a conversation when Sweets hasn't even said more than one word. You're being really fucking rude. There's no reason to dredge up old wounds for my friends and make a mess where you're not involved at all," Jonnny argues.

"She also implied that I'm a slut," Jaehyun pipes up.

Johnny holds his open palm out in Jaehyun's direction, "I just watched you let Jane stomp all over your girlfriend and decimate her self esteem, you don't get to be defended right now. You fucking laughed about Jane saying Sweets was just a booty call, bro!"

"Johnny, it's alright..." you offer quietly.

"It's really not though. Is this the first time she's talked to you like this?" Johnny asks.

Beside you Haechan shakes his head softly, "it's not. She made some comments a few weeks ago and Sweets asked us about it."

"And that's why you haven't been coming to the dinners, isn't it?" Johnny asks.

You're barely able to nod before Jaehyun is tugging you into his arms in a tight hug and apologizing profusely right in your ear, "I was such an idiot. I'm so sorry, Sweetheart. I'm always going to listen to whatever you say and agree no matter what."

Johnny clears his throat, "I'm sorry to do this to your girlfriend, Doyoung, but I'm going to have to invoke my power as vice president of this frat and ask that you leave, Jane."

Doyoung chokes on his drink, "have you been telling people you're my girlfriend?"

"Yes, because I said I am," Jane rolls her eyes as she stands.

"You're my lab partner in chemistry that can't tell when she's overstayed her welcome. You heard Johnny, bye," Doyoung waves.

She strides away with a scoff, telling Doyoung she was breaking up with him. Everyone looks around the table awkwardly before Haechan clears his throat, "we owe you an apology Sweets."

The table of frat boys nods, all expressing their words of apology as Jaehyun holds you tightly and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Haechan groans, "well, can I call her what she is without anyone getting offended? She was a mega bitch!"

"Cheers to that," Jaehyun chuckles, raising his cup.

[swappedandtrapped]

Swapping Research - Part 1

Starting to try and use AI for translations to English. I don't like it, but writing in English is exhausting.

Marcus Chen gripped the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the fluorescent-lit mirror. "Trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform…" The naming of hand bones did little to slow his racing heart. Organic chemistry in thirty minutes. Dr. Zhang's infamous molecular mechanisms exam.

The bathroom door banged open. Tyler Reeves filled the doorframe, six-foot-three of basketball glory in team outfit, a crumpled paper in his hand.

"Thought I'd find you in here." Tyler's voice echoed against the tiles. "Pre-exam ritual?"

"I was trying to make sure I remember everything for the exam," Marcus said, straightening and adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Some of us can't coast through life on jump shots."

Tyler's smile disappeared. He held out the paper: a formal notice from the university. "They said I'm on academic probation. One semester to get my GPA above a 2.0 or I lose my scholarship."

Marcus scanned the notice. "I told you to drop Evolutionary Biology. You needed to start with—"

"Not the point, Marcus." Tyler ran a hand through his too-long hair, his usual confidence replaced by a mild sense of desperation. "I need help. Not tutoring. Something… different."

"I have an exam in 30 minutes, and my med school interview next week. Whatever this is—"

"My cousin Alex," Tyler interrupted, lowering his voice as someone entered a bathroom stall behind them. "She's doing this neuroscience PhD thing. Consciousness… transfer. Temporarily."

Marcus stared at him. "You're describing science fiction."

"It's real. She's been mapping neural pathways, testing it on rats. They're… they're switching brains, Marcus. She needs human subjects." Tyler leaned closer, voice urgent. "Twenty-four hours. That's all. I just need to know what it feels like."

"What what feels like?"

"To have a brain that works right." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. Tyler glanced around, then continued quieter: "I don't really like to talk about it. I'm dyslexic. Bad. Words swim around, flip backwards. Dad refused to get me tested.

Marcus remembered high school, Tyler recording lectures instead of taking notes, always asking to study together but never reading aloud. The pieces clicked into place.

"Tyler, I'm sorry, but consciousness transfer? It's just not possible."

"It's real. She's proven it. Just twenty-four hours in your body. To read and prepare without feeling like drowning, so I can maybe actually get something into this thick skull" Tyler's eyes held a desperation Marcus had never seen. "Please. I'm out of options."

Marcus thought of his carefully planned week, his interview preparation, his parents' expectations. "This is insane."

"One day. Then everything goes back to normal. I promise.

---

Alex Nguyen's "lab" was a repurposed storage room in the neuroscience department basement, filled with humming equipment that looked cobbled together from different decades. Monitors displayed brain scans in pulsing colors..

"The procedure is non-invasive," Alex explained, her undercut hairstyle severe under the fluorescent lighting. She adjusted electrodes on a strange helmet apparatus. "Consciousness mapping uses quantum entanglement principles to create a temporary neural signature exchange."

Marcus eyed the setup skeptically. "This can't possibly have IRB approval."

Alex's eyes flicked to Tyler, then back to Marcus. "We're in the theoretical testing phase."

"She means 'no,'" Tyler translated.

"The risks are minimal," Alex continued, typing rapidly on a keyboard. "Temporary disorientation, mild synesthesia, possible dream disturbances. The transfer nullifies and reverses naturally after approximately twenty-four hours."

"Has anyone done this before? Human subjects?" Marcus asked.

Alex's slight hesitation told him everything. "You'd be the first complete transfer. But the animal studies are promising. Rats with trained maze behaviors maintained those memories in their new bodies."

"This is crazy," Marcus muttered, but didn't leave. Something in Tyler's desperation had touched him. The vulnerability beneath the confident facade.

"Please. I wouldn't ask if there was another way." Tyler said quietly.

Marcus thought of their childhood: Tyler defending him from bullies in elementary school, the effortless way he navigated social situations that left Marcus paralyzed with anxiety. Maybe he owed him this.

"Twenty-four hours," Marcus said firmly. "Then we switch back, no matter what. I have that interview next week."

Alex gestured them toward two reclined chairs. "You'll be unconscious for approximately thirty minutes during the transfer. When you wake, you'll be in each other's bodies."

As Alex attached electrodes to his temples, Marcus felt panic rising. "Wait. How will we prove this actually worked? That it's not suggestion or—"

"Tell me something only you would know," Alex suggested. "Something you can repeat back afterward."

Marcus thought for a moment, then leaned over to Alex and whispered, "I secretly watch 'RuPaul' when I'm stressed."

Alex grinned. "The drag show? Seriously?"

"Don't judge. Tyler, it's your turn."

Tyler hesitated, then whispered something that made Alex's eyebrows rise.

"Didn't expect that," Alex said. "Ok, now that that's done, are you Ready?" Alex asked, hovering by the switch.

"No," Marcus admitted.

"Do it anyway," Tyler said.

The electricity began as a gentle hum at the base of Marcus's skull, spreading outward. Panic fluttered in his chest as the room blurred. His last thought was a desperate recitation—trapezium, trapezoid, scaphoid, lunate—before darkness pulled him under.

---

Marcues' consciousness returning felt like being yanked from deep water. He gasped, his body feeling impossibly wrong: longer limbs, different center of gravity, a dull ache in the right knee. His stomach heaved, and he barely managed to turn before vomiting on the floor.

"Easy," came Alex's voice. "Disorientation is normal."

Marcus looked up, vision swimming, and felt a primal horror unlike anything he'd experienced. Across the room, his own body was sitting up, looking at its hands with wonder. His face, but not his expressions, not his movements.

"Holy shit," his voice said from his body, Tyler's inflections all wrong in Marcus's mouth. "It worked. It actually worked."

Marcus tried to stand and staggered, unfamiliar muscles responding differently than expected. He reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there, fingers touching unfamiliar features. Tyler's features. His new nose, his soft lips, his beard scruff…

The violation went deeper than he'd imagined. Not just wearing someone else's skin, but inhabiting their flesh completely, feeling their physical pain, seeing through their eyes.

"Twenty-four hours," he managed to say, Tyler's voice emerging from his throat. "Not a minute more."

His own face looked back at him, wearing Tyler's crooked smile. It was real. Marcus wasn't in his own body anymore. And the raw, visceral wrongness of that fact threatened to drown him completely.

[fairestwriting]

Hii!!!!!^^ I hope ur doing well!!

May I req Riddle and Epel with a gn!s/o that plays piano and sometimes plays the piano just for them (if that doesn't make sense I'm sorry I'm actually so horrible at explaining </3)

Have a nice day!! :D

you have a nice day too <3 and don’t worry it totally makes sense!!

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Yeah, his mom was definitely was the type to make him take piano lessons as a little kid… They never really went anywhere, she didn’t want them to — because god forbid Riddle ended up wanting to be a musician or something — and it’s been a long time since his last lesson, but Riddle still holds some feelings for the instrument…

…Which are, basically, just a secret, mild distaste. He doesn’t dislike the way it sounds or anything like that, and it’s not something he mentions to anyone. Especially not to you, right after you reveal to him that you can play with that proud smile on your face. He’s not about to rain on your parade just because he didn’t want to play as a small child.

Riddle is kind of expecting it to feel some type of stressful when you offer to play something for him, he’s remembering the pieces he had to practice all those years ago, over and over again… But as soon as the first few notes come in, he feels the very opposite feeling starts to settle in his chest.

He blinks, watching you as you play. There’s a decent chance he’ll recognize the music, if it’s anything classical, perking up with a soft ”Oh, I didn’t know you could play that one.” Riddle is surprised at himself in how pleasant it feels to talk to you about the music, sharing small comments between stretches of wordless melody. It kind of flusters him, thinking you want to play for him specifically, but it’s overpowered by how comfortable it feels, too.

𐙚 Epel Felmier

Epel never really went anywhere near most musical instruments… Of course it’s not like he doesn’t even know what a piano is or anything like that, but the places he went to for elementary and middle school didn’t really have the budget to get a ton of music equipment…

He knew you played the piano because it came up in one of your conversations. He’s still kind of excited to finally be around more people his age even though it’s been months since he enrolled, so he always ends up asking people about what they do for fun — And he immediately thought of you when he found out one of the Pomefiore dorm’s many practice rooms was a music one.

”So, you said you missed playing the piano, right? I got a surprise for you.” He comes up to you one day, his excitement radiating through his words as he’s already dragging you towards the dorm. He didn’t ask Vil for permission to use it or anything, but… well, there’s no way that just letting you play for a little bit would harm anyone, right? It should be fine.

He hypes you up if you get hesitant over it. Then hypes you up again when your fingers are on the keys. He sits nearby, watching how you jump from one to the other all graceful-looking, he’s really starting to understand why some people go crazy over pianists— His eyes are twinkling with awe, even if you’re just warming up with something simple, even if you end up making a mistake. Ends up always asking you to play when you come over to the dorm… You’re basically the second coming of Mozart to him. Nothing you say will make him change his mind.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[heeseungiez]

love letter | chapter 1

— with love, your admirer

your whole life, you’ve only known one thing: relaying love letters. but what happens when one of those letters is addressed to you?

— pairings! enhypen hyung line x fem!reader: heeseung x reader; jay x reader; jake x reader; sunghoon x reader

— featuring! enhypen members, haewon from nmixx, yuna from itzy

— genre! romcom, high school au, found family, fluff, angst

— warnings! profanity, lots of self-doubt and low self-esteem, possessive hyung line

— a/n! to celebrate the fact that i managed to get vip1 for one of the european stops, we shall celebrate with the first chapter to this fic, i actually wrote this months back but since i didn't have the motivation to write the other chapters, i left it be... ANYWAYS now i'm writing the update to Tower by the Forest and will make something of this series, we trust!!!

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Dear Y/N,

I know you might think this is a cowardly way of expressing my affections toward you, but I’ll admit I don’t know how else to do this.

I don’t think I’m anyone you would normally notice, considering the company you keep, but I’ve noticed you. I see you every day, always laughing and keeping your chin up even when you’re upset.

My heart has been acting up since the first day I saw you, running across the school courtyard just to tell one of your brothers that you aced your English exam. I remember the way your eyes sparkled as if they had stars in them. I remember the way your voice carried through the air like the sweetest lullaby, and I remember your smile and your giggle — something a picture nor a video could not capture in its raw beauty. 

If I’m being completely honest with you, I’ve been drafting this letter for over a month, so I hope you can accept it, and the sincere feelings I am trying to convey. 

With love, your admirer.

“That’s…”

“Cheesy,” Sunoo says, giggling to himself. “I can sense the glasses on this guy. He totally wears them.”

“Based on a letter?” You raise your brow at him.

“It kinda sounds like something Jay would write. In one of his songs or something,” Haewon points out with a shrug. “He wears glasses, doesn’t he?”

“How does that make this guy someone with glasses, though?” You wave the love letter in the air, your friends all gathered around you to have a clear view of it. 

“It’s the aura,” Yuna agrees with the rest of your friends. “And he said he’s someone you wouldn’t notice, so what if this guy’s a nerd or something? You don’t really notice the studious types…”

“He could be the Heeseung type of a nerd, though, so not a bad thing at all.” Haewon grins, nodding her head.

“We have to find out who wrote this,” Sunoo claims, snatching the letter from you. He stares at it mischievously, examining the handwriting — the strokes of the pen, the spacing, the tilt of the letters — it can say a lot about a person. 

“Who wrote what?” 

You turn abruptly, surprised to see Jake at your lunch table. But when he hands you a small pack of sour gummy worms (your favourite brand, too), you think that you should’ve expected this. Jake never misses a day to give you a snack. 

“Thanks,” you mumble under your breath, but Jake’s attention is already elsewhere. Giving you snacks is a tradition so embedded into his daily routine that he doesn’t even expect you to be thankful. But you are, every single day, you find it quite touching that he always makes the time to think of you.

But now, he’s become invested in the letter in Sunoo’s hands rather than you. “Are you reading a love letter? Did someone give you one? That’s awesome.”

“It’s not mine,” Sunoo replies, not even looking at Jake before giving it back to you. “It’s for Y/N.” Grinning proudly, Sunoo’s hands reach for the envelope instead. 

“She has a secret admirer,” Haewon explains giddily. 

“You don’t know who it is?” Jake’s brows furrow in distaste. “That could be dangerous, Y/N. Who knows what kind of person that could be if they can’t even put their name on a stupid letter.”

“Do your letters always have signatures?” you ask, looking him in the eye.

Jake pouts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Usually, they do,” he says, but you’re already rolling your eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N. This guy could be a weirdo.”

“But they don’t have to be,” Yuna says, disagreeing with Jake. “It’s not like she’ll be meeting him right now or anything.”

“There’s no point, Jake. I already tried,” Jungwon sighs, shaking his head. “Let them do whatever they want. It’s probably going to die down the moment they find out who it is.”

Jake runs a hand through his hair, a frown forming on his lips, though he does his best to pretend like it doesn’t bother him when you glance at him.

“I’ve never had anyone interested in me,” you say rather matter-of-fact, shrugging. “I’ve always been giving you guys love letters. So I’m allowed to be a little curious, don’t you think?” you ask with a raised brow, the corner of your mouth raised in a tiny smirk. 

And if there is a spark of a certain emotion in Jake’s eyes then you both choose to ignore it because why would he be bothered by some random guy being interested in you? Oh, right — he’s supposed to be like an older brother to you. He’s supposed to be protective of you because he doesn’t want to see you hurt. If there are any other reasons for these feelings of anger, then he is totally unaware of them.

“You’ve had plenty of guys that were interested in you,” Jake claims confidently, and your brow shoots up. Because it occurs to him then that those plenty of guys he speaks of never dared to approach you. He knows of them, but you don’t, and he really fucked up by letting the fact slip. God, if the other guys find out that he told you, they’re going to kill him.

“I mean, like, probably,” he adds nervously, but the damage has been done. Your eyes are narrowed at him, wondering what exactly he meant by his words. 

“Of course, there’s plenty of guys. Y/N is pretty as hell!” Yuna exclaims, grinning at you. “But, the fact is, none of them have ever approached her or tried to give her a love letter until now, so…”

“This guy’s special,” Haewon finishes, agreeing with her friend. 

“Not that special, or he would’ve signed it,” Jake mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes. 

Jungwon, the only person who heard him, pats Jake’s back with a resigned expression on his face. “Just let them be. The more you’re against it, the more they’ll push toward it.”

“So who do you think it could be?” you ask your friends.

You spent the whole day walking around school, trying to figure out who could possibly be the author of the letter you received, but neither you nor your friends came to much of a conclusion. The letter was fairly vague and you had nothing to go by other than your own theories of what the person could look like.

So, obviously, your mood is slightly down when you’re heading home with Jay and Sunghoon walking by each side of you. They seem fairly clueless, so Jake probably hasn’t told them about the letter yet, but it might be better if you are the one to tell them. All of them, in fact, not each of them, one by one. But Jake and Heeseung both have practice for the respective sport they play, and as soon as you, Jay and Sunghoon reach your building, they also have responsibilities to get to — the band and figure skating. 

It’s okay, though. You’ll tell them later. After all, this is something to gloat about — but you would rather know who gave you the letter first.

“You’re strangely quiet today,” Jay points out, nudging you with his elbow. He chuckles softly, when he sees your glare and the slight pout on your lips for daring to hit you. “I mean, it’s normal for him, but you usually have things to say about school.”

“Right. Yes,” you say, nodding. But there isn’t much you want to tell them besides the situation with the letter — and you can’t tell them unless it’s all of them. It’s not the right time yet. Instead, when the three of you stop at the bus stop together, you take off your backpack to pull out the new letters you received for Jay and Sunghoon.

“Here, take this.” You put their respective paper bags in their hands with a grin. “Today’s been pretty productive. I mean, I guess all the girls just felt like I’ll pick it up since I was kinda walking around school like an idiot, but it’s whatever,” you explain with a shrug. “Gosh, I really am becoming an office worker. Is this my calling?”

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” Jay shakes his head, laughing softly. “You can just tell the girls to stop giving the letters to you, you know? He doesn’t read them anyway.” Jay pushes Sunghoon teasingly.

“And you do?” Sunghoon raises his brow at him, rolling his eyes.

“Of course! It’s inspiration,” Jay says, grabbing a handful of the letters from his bag. “As long as they’re not full of mistakes and actually well written.”

“That just sounds like you’re just plagiarizing your own love letters,” you mutter, and Sunghoon chuckles, giving you a fist bump. “Do your letters have signatures? So you can give credits, you know.”

“Most of the time it’s at least initials.” Jay shrugs, not thinking much of your question, but you hum. “And their numbers, so I can contact them if I’m interested, but that’s pretty dumb. Who becomes interested in anyone over one letter?”

You frown. “Well, maybe people who don’t have many other options,” you say defensively, crossing your arms.

Jay and Sunghoon furrow their brows, exchanging looks but say nothing about your attitude. Instead, Sunghoon shakes his head and says: “There are always options, Y/N.”

“For people like you,” you remark, driving the guys’ confusion even further as they stare at you. 

“Where’s that coming from? Did something happen today that we should know about?” Jay asks, examining you with the gaze of his that tells you he can read you like an open book. But you shake your head.

“No,” you lie, and Jay knows it. “Nothing much happened today.”

“If someone told you something…” Sunghoon starts, puffing out his chest, “I can fight.”

“So can I.” You roll your eyes, shoving him with your shoulder. “But no one said anything. I’ve just been thinking,” you try to explain yourself, waving your hands in disinterest to move on from the topic. “Ah, look, there’s our bus.” You welcome the distraction with a smile.

“We’re hanging out at Jake’s place tonight, right?” Sunghoon asks, affirming the plans for after dinner.

“No, Heeseung’s. He said he’ll be cooking ramen,” Jay replies, looking pointedly at you. Tilting your head and smiling innocently, you bat your eyelashes, well aware of the fact that you are the reason why. But you’ve been craving ramen for what feels like ages now, and Heeseung makes it the best.

After the three of you get on the bus, you mostly listen to Jay’s extensive rant about math homework that he didn’t do and was promptly punished for. Because, yes, it’s totally the teacher’s fault that he didn’t do the homework he had an entire week to work on.

You enter the Lee apartment without knocking or any kind of warning, really. But the door is usually unlocked, and since your families are used to all of you constantly coming over, nobody makes a huge deal out of it.

Heeseung is in the kitchen, already preparing his things for ramen. There are seven packs of Shin Ramyun scattered across the table, and you watch Heeseung beat the eggs in his own weird — unique — way that he says makes them taste much better than if he did it like any other normal person would. His dedication to making ramen properly is unyielding, though, and you smile as you watch him move around the kitchen.

“Need any help?” you ask with a raised brow, and Heeseung startles at the sound of your voice, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N, you’re here already?” he asks, and you shrug.

“I had nothing else to do. Parents are still working.” The thing is, while you appreciate your parents for constantly working to put food on your table, you’d appreciate it if they could also be at the table sometimes. But you got used to either cooking for yourself, or going over to any of the other guys’ homes to eat dinner with their families.

Heeseung gives you a look, sighing. “You didn’t eat at all, did you?” he asks knowingly, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s an unhealthy habit, Y/N, you know that, right?”

“I’m just not hungry,” you defend yourself, but Heeseung smacks his lips together.

“That’s not a reason not to eat. You should always eat at least a little bit,” he sighs, crossing the kitchen to open a cabinet. “Come here,” he says, handing you a protein bar. “Eat that first. I’ll make the ramen fast.”

“Hee,” you call his name, and when he looks at you, you give him a downturned smile. “Thank you.”

Heeseung chuckles and shakes his head. “Just eat it. I couldn’t possibly let you eat ice cream on an empty stomach.”

“There’s ice cream?” Your eyes widen.

“Not if you don’t eat.”

You pout. “Then cook faster.”

“Do you want to make the ramen yourself?”

“I don’t know who said that. Maybe you’re just hearing voices.” You look around yourself, pretending not to have made any remark earlier. Heeseung rolls his eyes playfully, his focus half on you, and half on the ramen he’s preparing. 

While Heeseung measures the water for the portions, you open each pack of ramen, taking out the seasoning for them, so you can combine it together in the water. Every time Heeseung glances at you, you also make a big show of taking a bite from the protein bar he gave you earlier, making him laugh each time.

“Yoi, I’m exhausted!” Jake barges inside the Lee apartment with a huff, heading toward the living room without as much as a glance toward you and Heeseung in the kitchen. He plops down on the sofa, completely taking over the piece of furniture while nobody else is here. “Coach made me do laps around the field for no reason, and then I had to stay longer to help Riki — the new kid that got onto the team.”

“He’s crazy good and has a lot of potential but… still needs a lot of work.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, finally bothering to glance at you and Heeseung. Although you’re both listening, the two of you also focus on making ramen together. 

“Maybe he’ll be the captain after you go to college. If you teach him right,” Heeseung says, cutting some spring onions to put into the broth. 

“Maybe,” Jake hums. “You got anyone for basketball captain yet?”

“Nah. But we’re figuring it out,” says Heeseung confidently. “I’ve got my eye on Jihoo and Nicholas. They’ve got potential too.”

Jake hums, nodding. He stretches his body out on the sofa, head hanging over the armrest. “Hey, Y/N, have you mentioned—”

“Not yet, so please, keep it to yourself,” you stop him before he gets to finish the sentence, glancing at Heeseung uneasily. The boy is already looking between you and Jake with his eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you when Jay and Sunghoon get here,” you reassure him with a sigh. 

“Then why does Jake know?” Heeseung’s voice is hurt, the tiny pout and his large eyes making your resolve falter. But you shake your head with a soft giggle. 

“Good timing on his side,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at the boy sprawled on the sofa. He just makes a silly face in return. “Which actually reminds me, I need to go get your letters!”

Since you’re waiting for the water to boil, you want to run the few meters to your home, but Heeseung grabs your wrist and stops you. The expression on his face says enough you need to know — he doesn’t want the letters. 

“But—” you want to argue, not entirely sure why you want to defend the work of random girls at school, but your heart dips into your stomach with Heeseung’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. The least he could do is appreciate the work people put into admiring him. 

“I’m not interested anyway.” Heeseung shakes his head. 

“But I got so many today. I need to—”

“Just trash them, Y/N, it doesn’t matter.” Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, and it bothers you.

Maybe you’re overreacting because for the first time in your life, you also received a love letter of your own, and you actually treasure it. But you’d expect Heeseung to take them at least. So he can throw them out himself. Not have you do it. 

“Y/N?” Heeseung notices your frown, of course, he does. But he figured since you’re partially bothered — though never say so — with people constantly making you relay love letters that it would be easier to just tell you to throw them out and let it be. 

Maybe it would be easier to say that reading them doesn’t do anything for him. It isn’t a productive way of spending time anyway, when he knows that he won’t be interested in any of the girls trying to reach him. But that would mean he’d also have to explain why he’s so uninterested. And he’d rather keep that secret to himself. All while he watches you pout, staring up at him with the biggest puppy eyes known to man.

You look so cute, and you don’t even realize what it does to him. So he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Just… bring them. I’ll watch the ramen.”

The corners of your lips instantly lift in a grin, and Heeseung feels like tearing his hair out as he watches you run away. 

Jake, who watched the whole interaction, laughs sympathetically. It’s almost comical how oblivious you are to them, but it makes sense in a way. After all, it’s you who’s been calling them your family. “You shouldn’t have said to trash the letters, man,” he says with a shake of his head. 

“I thought it’d be easier,” Heeseung says defensively. 

Jake purses his lips in disapproval. He’ll respect your wish not to tell Heeseung about the love letter yet, but there is another confession he has to make because there are almost no secrets between the five of you.

“She thinks nobody likes her, y’know.” Jake stares up at the ceiling as he says it, slightly in disbelief. “And I may have accidentally let it slip that a lot of people do like her, actually.”

“Did you—”

“God no, she’d kill us.” Jake shakes his head vigorously, glancing at Heeseung whose attention is back to the ramen. “I mean, we can always just say the guys at school totally respect us so much they don’t wanna mess with our younger ‘sister’,” he says the last word with such disgust it makes Heeseung chuckle. 

“Damn, it smells amazing in here.” The door opens with new guests coming inside the apartment. Jake and Heeseung greet Jay with an acknowledging nod. “Did Y/N not get here yet?”

“She’s just getting our letters,” Heeseung replies with a sigh. “I told her to get rid of them but she didn’t like that.”

“Oh yeah, something’s been kinda off today. Did she tell you anything?” Jay furrows his brows, glancing between his two friends. 

Jake and Heeseung exchange glances. “I think we all need to talk later,” Jake sighs just as the door opens to you giggling about something with Sunghoon on your tail. 

“Oh, hello, Jay,” you greet the boy with a smile on your face.

Crossing the room, you put Heeseung’s bag with letters on the kitchen counter. Jake’s ends up on the coffee table. But one letter remains in your hands as the boys’ attention remains on you. Jake recognizes it immediately, while the others stare with narrowed eyes, tilting their heads in confusion. 

“Look, guys!” You wave the letter in the air with a grin. “I got a love letter today.” Your giggle reverberates through the open space of the apartment. “Can you believe it? Someone actually likes me.”

Jake huffs in disappointment while the others gape in disbelief. On one hand, they do not like the fact you received a love letter, but their frowns only deepen at the soft, excited tone of your voice that reveals how little confidence you actually have in yourself. 

“Yeah, we believe it,” Jay mumbles under his breath, glaring at the paper in your hand. “Is that why you were so upset earlier? I mean, love letters don’t really mean much if the person can’t just face you.”

“It doesn’t even have a signature,” Jake adds, still spread over the sofa. Though he changed positions and is now resting his head on his arms. “What is the point if you have to guess at who it is? Shouldn’t he be the one to come to you?”

“Yeah, I’d also rather have someone come up to me and just tell me to my face that they like me,” Sunghoon agrees with the guys, nodding. They’re not jealous, obviously, because they have no reason to be, but they definitely want to protect you.

“One of your letters from today is from Jang Wonyoung, Hoon.” You frown, not sharing the same opinion as the others. “You could read it, at least.”

Heeseung remains quiet, attending to the ramen that is finished by now. 

“Why? It won’t change the fact that I’m not interested.” Sunghoon shrugs and your frown deepens, shoulders dropping in disappointment.

Why are they trying to make you feel bad about this? Just because they get love letters every day and it’s not as meaningful to them anymore, it doesn’t mean your love letter isn’t a big deal. 

“But it’s Jang Wonyoung,” you say weakly. “She’s the prettiest girl in my year, and she’s so sweet… I actually don’t even know why she bothers with you, really.” You shake your head, dropping your letter on the counter next to Heeseung’s full bag of letters. Your one compared to his twenty or so feel so… sad. And it makes you furious, too.

Sunoo is right. You really do live your life only as the girl that talks to them. “And you! You have a letter from Huh Yunjin in that pile! But all you’re going to do is possibly use it as inspiration for one of your songs without actually caring about her.” You point at Jay with a pout before aiming your glare at Jake. “And you! There’s a letter from Ningning, but why would you care with the amount of letters you get anyway, right?” 

There isn’t much the guys can say to defend themselves. To be fair, they have nothing to defend in the first place, but you’re upset, and they realize that they are the source of it all.

“It’s not that we don’t care, Y/N,” Heeseung says softly, while still attending to the ramen, now portioning it carefully into five bowls. Yours gets most of the eggs since he knows you love them. “We’re just not looking for relationships. It’s our last year at school, and we have other things to focus on.”

“But why is it so wrong to like someone?” you cry out desperately, throwing your arms in the air with a dramatic huff. “People like you. Nobody actually likes me.” 

You hate being emotional like this, your eyes glossy with unshed tears, but you’ve never actually spoken any of these words out loud. It’s something that has been brewing and festering within you for years as you tried to ignore it. Now it’s overflowing, it seems. People don’t actually like you, though. They like the fact that you have a direct line to Heeseung, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon.

“At least not for me,” you add, your voice breaking.

“Y/N,” Jay tries to approach you, reaching out for your hand, but you pull away, yanking your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let the hurt on his face show when you do that, respecting your space. 

“I need to be alone,” you say, wiping away a tear that has barely escaped. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

They can only watch you swiftly walk away from them, stunned by your words. They never realized how much this whole situation truly affected you, and they hate that they haven’t noticed earlier. 

Jake fully sits up once you're gone, another sigh leaving his lips. “I told you,” he says to Heeseung. “But we can’t exactly tell her the truth.”

“She’d kill us,” Jay agrees quietly, staring at the letter you left behind. A letter that slipped past them — that, if they were more careful — would have never reached you.

“But she will find out herself if she starts asking around,” Heeseung says pragmatically, rubbing his eyes defeatedly. He stares at the bowl he made for you that you also didn’t take, which means you haven’t had dinner yet.

“We can’t tell her.” Sunghoon’s tone is firm. 

How do you tell someone that you’ve been blocking every single person that ever liked them from approaching them anyway? How do you explain that you nearly punched some guy for saying that they’re hot? Exactly. You don’t. 

“Whoever this guy is, though, we have to find out who he is before she does.” Heeseung looks at the letter that started this. “Just to talk to him…”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we made Y/N feel awful about herself, though,” says Jay, staring at the ground. 

“Maybe we can explain to her that no one at our school is good enough for her,” Sunghoon tries to reason, but Jay and Heeseung both shake their heads. “They don’t deserve her,” he adds under his breath. 

“I mean, we never told her that,” Jake takes Sunghoon’s side, but the two older boys already decided that it wasn’t a good excuse. “Okay, so what else do you want to do?”

“We need to let her know people do like her.” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, glancing at each of his friends. “Just… in our own way. No surprises. And find out who the fuck is trying to give her love letters under our radar because he can, respectfully, back the fuck off.”

Jay nods in agreement. Then, noticing Heeseung playing with the bowl that was to be yours, he purses his lips. “She didn’t eat dinner yet, did she?”

Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’ll take it to her.”

“Be nice.”

“I always am, dickhead.”

You lie in bed, staring at your phone. Sunoo, Jungwon, Haewon and Yuna are currently doing their best to cheer you up while berating the guys, and you try to smile through your tears. 

You just can’t understand why they can’t be happy for you. Sure, you understand caution, but the way they spoke — it was more than that. You know for a fact they hated it. They hate the idea of someone liking you. They are probably disgusted by it. So it hurts, obviously it hurts, your heart aching to the point you wish you could make yourself disappear off the face of the earth. 

Are you really that unlikable? Is your only good trait the friendships you made when you were a child?

You quickly hide your phone when you hear a knock on the door, followed by Jay’s voice. He opens the door to your bedroom without waiting for your response. “You’re not that upset if you didn’t lock any of your doors,” he says softly, taking only a few steps inside. 

Your back is turned to him, and you cover your head with your duvet. He doesn’t move — or at least you can’t hear him move — until there’s a small thud. The sound of him placing something on the desk by your door. 

“Heeseung said you didn’t eat yet,” he murmurs, walking toward your bed. He just stands in front of it, facing your back for a good few seconds before crouching and speaking again. “And for the record, it’s not that we don’t care. Or… don’t like people or whatever,” he sighs. 

“But when— I mean, let’s say hypothetically, if there already was someone you had in mind, would you also entertain the idea of liking someone else? Or indulge them because they wrote a love letter to you?”

Jay pauses, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. “We— I— people do like you for you, Y/N. You might not see it but you are the prettiest girl in your year.”

That makes you turn around. You stare up at Jay, into his eyes, a frown still settled on your lips. 

“That’s not true,” you argue, but Jay smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, wiping any remaining tears from your cheeks. “It’s Wonyoung. Everyone says it’s Wonyoung,” you claim, shaking your head. 

“Well, then I guess I disagree with everyone,” Jay whispers softly, his hand resting on your cheek. You absentmindedly lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours. “I’m really sorry we made you feel like that one love letter was insignificant and like you’re not… likable. ‘Cause that’s honestly the last thing you are, Y/N. There’s so much to like about you, you know? And the most important thing is that you are aware of it.”

Your frown only deepens, but not because you’re upset anymore. You reach out for Jay’s hand on your cheek and squeeze it. He smiles, flipping his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

“Then why doesn’t anyone do stuff like… y’know… the girls that like you guys?” you ask rhetorically, but Jay chuckles regardless, an answer already in his mind. Not the one where he admits to threatening death to anyone who dares to even take a step in your direction or look at you wrong, obviously, but the other one — the real, vulnerable one.

“Because truly liking somebody is scary,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’re going to college soon, and falling in love is a terrifying concept for all of us.”

“But loving somebody should be a good thing,” you claim with a pout. “All the movies and books say that.”

“But that’s just the end of each of those stories.” Jay shakes his head, shifting in his position. Crouching is starting to hurt his knees, but he tries his best to hide his discomfort. 

You notice, though, moving on your bed just the tiniest bit before letting go of Jay’s hand and patting the space next to you. You open your duvet, inviting Jay in. Cuddling is not something you do often, but you can use the comfort of somebody next to you.

Jay’s hesitant at first, his brain going a mile per minute as he comprehends the whole situation. His eyes widen the slightest bit as he stares at you and the open invitation to join you on your bed. 

He does accept it, however, fitting himself on the bed meant for one person only. Though it barely bothers you as you smile and wrap your arms around Jay’s waist as if he were nothing but a plush toy. His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the action. 

In his head, he has to remind himself that you don’t see him that way. That to you, he’s just a brotherly figure, and this doesn’t mean anything. Not really. And yet his body refuses the fact as his cheeks and ears warm up the more you pull yourself closer. 

Your words only further prove his point. “You don’t think the person who wrote the love letter for me is a creep, right? Because Jake said that and I don’t want to believe him.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Jay sighs, carefully wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “It’s hard to tell with letters that people don’t actually sign their name on. Why does this guy want to hide from you if he likes you?”

“Gosh, this is annoying. Why can’t things be simple?” you whine, moving away from Jay. “I want to like someone who also likes me back. That would be nice.” You stare at your ceiling, and the glow in the dark stars your parents stuck on there when you were a baby. 

“Yeah… I wish things could just be simple and easy like that,” Jay agrees with you, only to be interrupted by your sudden movement.

You sit up on the bed, feeling faint, your arms slightly shaking, and you know for a fact the lack of any food is starting to get to you. But you also don’t feel hungry at all.

“The ramen,” Jay says instantly, getting out of bed to give you the bowl with a set of chopsticks and spoon. “I’ll just— I think I should go back to the guys, but… just remember what I said, okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile. The ramen Jay brought is still warm, so you should probably eat it fast. “I’m sorry for—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. Just eat, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jay places a kiss on the top of your head.

“See you tomorrow,” you mumble, digging into the food. 

If Jay lingers at the door a bit longer than he should just to make sure you are eating, you ignore it. But deep down, you are glad that at least someone cares. 

You honestly don’t know what you’d do if Jay suddenly disappeared from your life. Out of the four, he’s probably the one who spends most of his free time by your side, and you’ve gotten so used to it that if Jay isn’t with you, you often feel like a huge piece of you is missing. 

But then his piercing stare becomes a bit too much, and you giggle. “Okay, get out already,” you say, barely glancing up at him from your food. 

Jay laughs, trying to ease the atmosphere. “Don’t choke on the noodles when I’m gone.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Goodbye!”

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[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The dark lords Nanny- Tom Riddle x reader- Part 3

5 months since the last update....woof

summary; You're the dark lords nanny for his only son Mattheo, a few months have passed and WOW is this kid attached to you. what is a dark lord to do!?

P1 P2

 =

Two and a half months passed since taking the nanny job, and it was still pretty easy, Mattheo didn’t cause any major fuss-other than when someone took care of him on your Tuesdays off; crying the whole time until you returned to take him and he would instantly calm down.

“You know you make it very difficult to have days off, little lord.” You chuckled quietly as Mattheo cooed at you, staring right at you as the temp nanny left the manor, a bit frazzled after dealing with Mattheo’s fussing-which included using his growing magic to make things fly around and sometimes break because his favorite person wasn’t with him.

You sighed softly as Mattheo kept staring at you, looking at the clock-just about time for dinner. “Okay bud, let's go get you fed.” You murmured, turning on your heel to get his bottle. Mattheo rested his head on your shoulder as you worked, watching intently with his fist in his mouth while you fixed up a bottle and then capped it.

“There we go,” you mumbled softly, positioning him correctly and giving him the bottle-Mattheo quite happy to be fed, and he settled quickly, nearly falling asleep as he ate.

“Why does he make a fuss every time you attempt to leave him with another?” you jolted as you heard the lord's voice from behind-turning to see him lingering in the doorway of the nursery. You cleared your throat, looking back at Mattheo, who was very content now, his eyelids slowly lowering as he ate.

“I suppose babies can be picky with their people, I’m the longest nanny he’s had, correct?” you said, half asking the lord even though you knew you were right. He nodded, staring at you intently. “It makes sense he’s a bit, attached then, as I’m the person who's stuck around him the longest. Babies will usually cling to something or someone constant, familiar. It’s not irregular for them to pick someone above the rest.” You explained and the lord slowly nodded, his eyes flickering between you and his son.

“Perhaps it would be helpful for those who take care of him on your days off to visit more often,” The lord drawled slowly, not a terrible suggestion but for some reason it made you…feel possessive of the sweet boy in your arms, whose eyes had fluttered closed by now, finished eating his meal.

“I suppose that would be helpful for my days off, so he’s not fighting the temps,” you murmured softly, adjusting Mattheo so he was against your shoulder, his head heavy against your neck as you set the bottle down and tapped your wand on it, letting it clean itself.

The lord hummed, his eyes on you again before he slowly nodded. “I’ll see to it they’re here more frequently, possibly allow you more days off as well-weekends maybe.” The lord muttered before he turned on his heel-his cloak billowing behind him as he went back to his office just down the hallway.

You sighed softly, pushing your tongue into your cheek.

Mattheo was gonna hate this.

-

Mattheo did indeed hate that the temp nannies that usually only came in every other Tuesday were now coming every few days-he hated it hated it. Almost as soon as he saw them, he’d start crying and cling to your shirt, his sweet face turning red as he protested about anyone other than his favorite person taking care of him.

“Kid, please,” you groaned lowly, trying to get him to let go of your hair but he was holding tightly-screaming his head off as one of the temp nannies tried to gently pry him from you. “this isn’t gonna work,” you said with a groan and the nanny agreed with a wince, allowing Mattheo to cling back onto you and his cries went quiet, save for a few sniffles and hiccups.

“What is all this noise?” The lord drawled, his face set into a stern glare as he entered the nursery.

“The young lord hates us, my lord,” The two nannies who’d been training to take care of Mattheo more often bowed their heads. “he cries every time we attempt to take him from Ms. (y/n).” he turned to you, raising his brow and you nodded with a tired sigh, Mattheo clinging tight to your shirt and hair-refusing to let go.

The lord furrowed his brow, stepping forward, his day cloak flowing behind him. He reached out and you allowed him to take his son. Mattheo tried to hold onto your hair; but the lord, gently, pried the baby's fist free from your hair. Mattheo frowned up at his father but didn’t scream, unhappy being taken from his favorite person but accepting his fathers hold.

The lord turned, handing Mattheo to one of the temp nannies and he instantly began screaming. The lord frowned, bringing Mattheo back to him, and then attempted to hand him to the other nanny. Mattheo cried again.

“How odd.” The lord murmured, his eyes sparking with curiosity, intrigue. He turned again, handing Mattheo back to you and the baby boy instantly began to snuggle up to you, happiest in your arms. “You two are dismissed for the day. Return tomorrow,” The lord ordered and the two temp nannies nodded and bowed out, leaving you and the lord alone with Mattheo.

“He is curiously attached to you, he didn’t even like his first nanny this much.” The lord murmured, sitting down in the rocking chair next to the crib, his scarlet-brown eyes locked onto Mattheo, who was snug in your arms.

You shrugged, almost helplessly. “I really don’t know why, I mean-kids, especially babies, do tend to latch onto a particular person, especially someone they see the most. But usually those his age don’t have such a…strong reaction.” You murmured, looking down at Mattheo, who was staring right back. He gave a gummy smile-and cooed-his little hand gripping your hair again.

The lord watched the interaction intently, his eyes narrowing in thought. He didn’t speak, leaving you unsure of what he was thinking, he was just…watching you and Mattheo-who was now trying to eat your hair. “oh no,” you murmured, gently prying it out of his slobbery grip and mouth. “hair isn’t for eating little lord.”

The lord stood. “You’ll take the week off, a paid vacation, Mattheo will learn to deal with the other nannies taking care of him.” He said and honestly you couldn’t argue, Mattheo did need to learn that he couldn’t get his way by throwing a tantrum whenever you weren’t the one taking care of him. It was unfair to you and the spare nannies.

“Yes sir,” you said with a nod, looking down at Mattheo-who had no idea what was coming up for him. He was going to hate it. “When would you like me to start?”

“Saturday, you’ll return the next, and resume caring for my son on Sunday.” The lord said and you nodded, bowing to him as he left the nursery.

That left enough time to plan a vacation, maybe you’d visit your parents, or siblings, or perhaps enjoy the countryside. In the meantime, you still had a job to do.

-

Mattheo was already screaming his little head off when you handed him off to the first spare nanny of the week, she winced as she took him-listening to him scream. “Have a good week miss,” The nanny, Sarah, said with a strained smile-you gave her one back, wishing her luck for the two days of her shift, Mary would be the next one and then Emmalie.

“You too, good luck with him.” You said, grabbing your trunk, reaching out to gently take Mattheo’s chubby hand as he reached towards you, crocodile tears running down his pudgy cheeks. “you be good little lord, the quicker you stop fighting this the sooner I can come back,” you said but being only 4ish months old, Mattheo didn’t understand and tried to transfer himself back to you. you smiled softly and stepped back before he could; leaving the property and apparating to the hotel you had gotten for your vacation.

You checked in and went to your room, setting your luggage on the large bed, looking around and nodding. Yes, this would do quite nicely.

-

 Your week was spent eating out at cozy restaurants, enjoying the room service the hotel provided, swimming in the hotel pool, sleeping in every morning and staying up late every night, not having to worry about taking care of anyone else but yourself, and being paid for it!

But all vacations had to come to an end, so Saturday you checked out of the hotel and went straight back to the manor, quietly stepping inside-not announcing your presence so Mattheo didn’t start screaming, just in case.

“Nanny (y/n) you are backs,” the head house elf, Minnie, said, looking up at you with her big grey/brown eyes as she popped in front of you. You nodded, thanking the house elf as she took your luggage.

“I am, how’s the house been?” you asked and Minnie grimaced, hiding the expression quickly. You winced. “That bad?”

“The young masters has been…fightings the other nannies, and the master has been temperamental’s. Mattheo’s will be’s happy to see you’s nanny (y/n).” Minnie said and you sighed, running your hand over your neck, heading straight for the nursery. You weren’t supposed to get back to work till tomorrow but Mattheo was probably on a hunger strike right now.

Only 4 months old and already protesting.

You opened the door and instantly you were met by crying from Mattheo, an exhausted and exasperated nanny trying to hush the baby boy. “Please young master, your father will be extremely upset if he hears you again!” the nanny, Emmalie, said, trying to soothe Mattheo who looked upset in more than one way.

You sighed, stepping forward, arms out. “Hand him over Emmalie,” you murmured and she sagged with relief as she turned-quickly transferring Mattheo to your arms and he continued to cry for a few seconds, then opened his eyes-seeing you, and buried his face in your upper chest, crying more. “…I’m never going to get another vacation, am i?” you sighed and Emmalie gave a weary smile.

She gave you the run-down of what happened and Mattheo, through the whole week, had refused to settle, and half the time refused to eat, to the point where the lord kept having to get involved because he was the only other one Mattheo would listen to-the nannies had run themselves dry trying to calm the young lord.

Yet now, he was calming, still crying but calming down-clinging to you like you were his lifeline. “Has he eaten today?” you asked-furrowing your brows as Emmalie shook her head. “Okay, I’ll feed him, you go report to the lord and go home, you look like you need a nap.” You said softly, and Emmalie didn’t even bother to argue, heading straight off to go see the lord.

You sighed, looking down at Mattheo-he was a mess, snot and tears staining his face, looking very hungry and upset. “Let’s get you fed little lord.” You murmured, kissing his forehead and getting to work.

After a while, you and Mattheo were graced with the presence of the lord, who stepped into the nursery with a look of confusion and a bit of concern, then he relaxed seeing you holding Mattheo-who was falling asleep after eating and getting bathed and fed. “ah, that’s why the wailing stopped.” The lord drawled, crossing his arms as you let out a soft huff of amusement, settling Mattheo into his crib.

“Yes, I apologize that he’s been so…rough while I was gone,” you said with a bow of your head and the lord let out a low sigh, looking tired. “It is not your fault, I underestimated how…attached he is.” He muttered, stepping closer to the crib to look down at Mattheo beside you. you slowly nodded, your hands resting on the edge of the crib, watching Mattheo fall asleep. “did you enjoy your week off?”

The lord suddenly asked and you nodded. ���I did, very much sir, thank you.” you said softly and the lord nodded, stepping back.

“Good. We’ll have to figure out another solution to this problem, it doesn’t bode well that he refuses to let anyone but you and I care for him.” You slowly nodded, agreeing. “In the meantime, you’ll be his sole caretaker, until I can find someone he accepts.” The lord said, staring down at Mattheo again before stepping back. “You’ll help me interview, starting next week. Goodnight, (y/n).” The lord said and you returned his words, watching him leave the nursery before looking back down at Mattheo.

“You better behave little lord, I’m your nanny, not your mom.” You whispered, brushing your finger over his chubby cheek. Though deep down, you denied the wish that he was yours.

-end of p3-

taglist! sorry for taking so long!

@helendeath @bunny24sstuff @death-be4-decaf

@lynbubble @chimchoom @lanalanalanasworld

@undecided-simp

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 2

Summary: Spencer doesn’t plan on seeing her again—but fate disagrees. A second encounter at the library leads to lunch, crayons, and conversation that slips into unexpected feelings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: Just a lot of fluff, and Spencer being a natural girl dad.

word count: 8.5k (I might’ve gone a little overboard)

Series Masterlist

“Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

That’s what I told the woman in the library two weeks ago when I found her daughter crying.

Maybe that’s why I’m back here. Back in the same library. Same hour. Same section.

Because books are easier than people, and thus I spend all my free time in the Library. Or maybe it was a coincidence. It was just a coincidence that this Library is closest to Quantico and was the same one where I met her. I’m not here for her. I’m not—

Actually, statistically speaking, the odds of running into someone twice in the same place, at the same time, without planning to, are roughly one in—

I exhale. Pick up the dog-eared copy of A Short History of Nearly Everything, flip it open with the spine cradled in my palm like something sacred. Page 203. I already know what’s there. I’ve memorized this edition. The typo in the footnote. The misplaced semicolon.

I set it back.

My fingers twitch toward Cosmos. Sagan. Safe. Familiar. Predictable, in the way that humans never were. Books don’t lie. Don’t leave. Don’t disappear into the world after saying things like “Thank you for being so gentle with her.”

She had a kind voice. Soft but tired. Like it had been through too many nights alone.

I blink and shake the thought loose. Refocus on the shelves, on the choices. As if there’s a decision to be made, when I know I’ll probably leave empty-handed anyway.

I don’t even need more books.

I tell myself I came here to browse, but I could’ve done that anywhere. There’s a secondhand shop closer to my apartment. Bigger science section. Better lighting.

But I came here.

Same day. Same time.

I run my thumb along the edge of a cover, barely registering the title.

It’s not like I expected to see her again. That would be ridiculous. Irrational. Entirely out of character.

But that doesn’t stop my brain from replaying her voice.

"Thank you again. For everything."

I didn’t say much in return. I never do. But she looked at me like I had, anyway. Like I’d said something important without needing to speak it aloud.

She was tired. In that way people are when they don’t trust the world to be kind to them. I know that look. I’ve worn it.

I wonder if she always smells like pancakes and baby shampoo. If she always speaks gently when she’s angry. If she ever lets anyone in.

I wonder how long I’ll remember the curve of her smile. The way her daughter clung to her shirt like it was home.

This is stupid.

I’m being stupid.

I pick up Cosmos. Open it halfway, then shut it again. I’m not even pretending anymore.

I turn slightly, scanning the aisle like maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of—

Laughter.

High, bright, unfiltered. A child’s laughter.

My chest tightens before I even realize I’m holding my breath. It’s probably nothing. Just another kid. There are always kids in libraries, especially on weekends. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t—

Another laugh, this time followed by a tiny voice too far away to make out. But there’s something about the cadence. The way it rises and dips with storybook rhythm.

I close my eyes.

I know that voice. Not in the way I know facts. Not in a way I could quantify. But I know it.

My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the book.

No. It’s not possible. The odds are ridiculous. Coincidence is one thing—this would be something else entirely. This would be—

My heart stutters.

I don’t move, not yet. I just stand there, spine straight, staring blankly at the shelf in front of me like it might explain what I’m supposed to do next.

It could be her, It could be Maddie.

Which means…

She’s here too.

And that thought—that tiny, traitorous flicker of hope—is enough to terrify me. Because if it’s not?

If I turn that corner and it’s just some other little girl with Rapunzel hair and a too-loud laugh?

Then I’ll have to admit that I came here for someone I barely know.

And I’m not sure what’s worse—seeing them again, or not seeing them at all.

I didn’t have to do anything to figure it out. Because before I could even make up my mind about turning the corner, I felt a small tug at the bottom hem of my shirt.

And then—

“Spencer?”

Her voice. High-pitched. Certain.

I looked down.

There she was. Bright-eyed, slightly flushed, her hair a little messier than I remembered, like she’d been running through the shelves unsupervised again. The same Rapunzel doll she had gotten from our previous encounter, clutched in one hand.

And just like that, the rest of the library disappeared.

All the facts. All the logic. All the well-rehearsed mental gymnastics I’d been running through dissolved under the weight of one look from a five-year-old.

“Hi,” I said—because it was the only word I could find.

Her face lit up like it was the answer she’d been hoping for.

“I knew it was you!” she beamed. “Mommy said maybe someday, and I told her someday would come.”

Someday.

I swallowed hard.

It was suddenly, terrifyingly, today.

“Maddie…” I crouched down a little, just to meet her eyes. “Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost again?”

I looked around, scanning the edges of the room for any sign of her. But all I saw were rows and rows of shelves, shadowed corners, and quiet readers. No familiar face. No soft, tired voice. Just absence.

“No,” Maddie said, entirely unfazed. “Mommy’s at the kiddie section, talking to my friend’s mom. I was playing hide and seek with my friend… and then I saw you.”

She said it like I was the thing she’d been hoping to find all along. Like this had been part of the game.

I was about to suggest we head back to the kiddie section and find her mother, but it was clear she had no intention of being rerouted. Her mind was already somewhere else—bouncing ahead like she always seemed to.

“Mommy brought me to the library today, and she read me and my friends a book!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating.

“Oh really?” I asked, settling into her rhythm. “What book?”

“There’s No Place Like Space!” she announced proudly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Cat in the hat?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah! He wears a space helmet.”

I smiled. “Did you learn any new facts?”

She leaned in like she was about to share a state secret. “Did you know Saturn has rings made of ice and rocks and moon dust? That’s what the book said.”

“I did know that,” I whispered back. “But only because I read it too.”

Her face lit up like I’d just told her we shared a superpower. “Really?! what else do you know?”

I smiled, keeping my voice low like we were sharing very important secrets.

“Well… did you know that on Venus, it rains acid? But the air’s so hot, the rain disappears before it ever touches the ground.”

Her mouth opened slightly. “That sounds scary.”

“It is,” I said softly. “But it’s far, far away. Just a cool thing to learn about.”

She nodded, thinking. Then, out of nowhere—like a thought just dropped into her head—she said, “My mommy likes the stars too.”

That pulled at something in me. Quietly. All at once.

“She does?” I asked.

Maddie nodded. “Sometimes we look at them through the window before bedtime.”

I hesitated, then gently cleared my throat. “Hey… do you think maybe we should go find her now? I’m sure she’s wondering where you are.”

Maddie looked back toward the shelves behind her, then back at me.

“Okay,” she said, like it hadn’t occurred to her until now. “She’s by the little chairs.”

“Then let’s go find the little chairs.”

We started walking side by side when, suddenly, Maddie’s small hand found mine.

It was a common thing—kids reaching for the hand of an adult they trusted while walking. It wasn’t unusual.

But did I really count as that? A trusted adult?

I mean, it’s not like I would ever hurt her. Not in a million years. I’d protect this little girl with my life if it came to that.

Still… the idea that a child I barely knew could trust me enough to take my hand without hesitation It felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Like something meant for someone else.

And yet, I didn’t panic, I didn’t pull away. In fact, I felt strangely calm. Like her hand belonged there.

It was small—smaller than I remembered, even—and warm, and sticky in the way little kids always seem to be. But she held on with certainty. Like I was something solid. Like I was safe.

We walked slowly, her short legs trying to keep pace with mine, and I didn’t rush her. I didn’t want to.

I could feel the weight of that hand more than I could feel the floor beneath my feet. Like it anchored me to something I hadn’t even known I’d been floating away from.

I glanced down at her, at the way her gaze scanned the shelves, totally unbothered. Totally sure.

She didn’t look up at me. She didn’t need to. She already trusted I’d follow her lead.

And somehow, I did.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind before I could stop it:

This shouldn’t feel so good.

Because it did.

It felt easy in a way that nothing in my life ever has. Maddie’s hand in mine wasn’t just comfort—it was hope, concentrated into the smallest, warmest palm. And I didn’t know what to do with that. I wasn’t used to ease. I wasn’t built for things that slipped into place without needing explanation.

She tugged me gently to the left, toward the kid’s section, and I followed without question.

I didn’t even try to tell myself it was just good manners, or that I was walking her back because it was the responsible thing to do. I was following because I wanted to. Because in that moment, I wanted to be wherever she was—wanted to stay in this little pocket of borrowed peace for as long as I could.

The truth was, I’d never given much serious thought to having children. Sure, I’d wanted a family in the vague, hypothetical way people who grew up lonely tend to. I thought maybe, someday, I’d settle down. Maybe have someone waiting at home. A dog, probably. A partner, if I was lucky. A kid, maybe—but that part always felt hazy. Distant. Like a chapter in someone else’s story.

But right now, walking beside Maddie—imagining myself in this setting, not as a stranger or a bystander, but as a father—something shifted.

It wasn’t a sharp ache. Not like the usual stabs of grief or guilt or want.

It was quieter than that. Slower.

Like a soft click. Like something sliding into place.

And while it was a strange concept for me—unfamiliar, fragile, impossible in so many ways—I couldn’t say I felt opposed to it. In fact, for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel afraid of it at all.

We were only a few feet away from the kiddie section now. I could see the tiny beanbag chairs, the colorful rugs. Hear the gentle hum of a mother’s voice reading aloud. For a second, I let myself imagine it was ours—that this was routine. A Saturday morning. A library run. Me, her, and

I stopped myself before the thought finished.

This wasn’t mine. This wasn’t something I got to keep. For crying out loud, I’ve only met the girl and her mother last week. I’m way too over my head.

And when Maddie pulled on my hand again, her other arm wrapped around that worn Rapunzel doll like it was a promise, I tried not to fall any further into it.

“Told you I knew where she was,” she said softly.

I managed a quiet smile. “You did.”

And then—just over the shelves—I heard the voice that had been echoing in my head for two weeks.

Hers.

My eyes shot up toward her, and to my own surprise—

she was already watching us.

She stood just beyond the shelves, half-shadowed by a spinning rack of paperback picture books, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. And she was smiling.

Not big or performative. Just soft. Gentle.

Like she’d been watching for a while. Like this wasn’t a surprise to her. Like maybe… this made sense. I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The way it made my chest tighten. The way her eyes found mine, and didn’t flinch or look away. The way she looked at the two of us—at me—like I belonged in the picture.

She didn’t rush forward. Didn’t call out.

She just stood there.

Calm. Certain.

And somehow, that scared me more than if she’d run.

Maybe this was all in my head. The screw had finally come loose enough to make me believe that this woman—this beautiful, exhausted, soft-voiced woman—was actually smiling at me.

Like I was someone worth smiling at.

Like the sight of me, a stranger, with her daughter didn’t set off alarms, or raise questions, or make her second-guess every protective instinct she’d ever built.

Maybe my brain, forever conditioned to prepare for rejection, had simply decided to give me a mercy hallucination before crashing back to reality.

Because what else could explain the warmth in her eyes?

What else could explain the way she was looking at me like…

like I hadn’t just found her daughter again—

But like I’d shown up.

Before I could spiral any further, she started walking toward us—steady, unhurried, like she wasn’t surprised to see me there at all.

Maddie turned just as she arrived, tugging gently on my hand and beaming.

“Look, Mommy! I found the wizard again! I told you I would!”

Her voice was loud enough to turn a few heads from the nearby shelves, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Her joy was too big for her body.

I glanced at the woman—at her—half-expecting to see confusion or concern flicker across her face. Maybe even wariness. Instead, she just smiled. Not the polite kind. Not the forced kind. Just something real. Soft around the edges.

She looked between me and her daughter, then down at our joined hands. And I swear—for a second—her smile deepened, like the sight didn’t just make sense, but maybe... made her glad.

“I see that,” she said, voice warm with amusement. “You’re getting pretty good at finding him.”

Maddie nodded proudly. “I said I would. You said maybe someday, and I knew it was today.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I probably should’ve let go of her hand, or at least looked less like I’d just been emotionally tackled in the middle of a library. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

She looked at me then—really looked—and for the first time since she’d appeared, the smile didn’t falter.

“Hi,” she said, simple and easy, like this wasn’t strange. Like we weren’t two people somehow caught in the gravity of something neither of us planned for.

And all I could think to do… was nod.

“Hi.”

It came out too quiet, too late—but she smiled anyway, like she didn’t mind.

Then silence.

Not a heavy one, not uncomfortable exactly—just... full. Like neither of us knew what to say first, or maybe we were both waiting for the other to fill in the blanks.

I let go of Maddie’s hand, finally, and immediately missed the weight of it.

She shifted slightly, brushing some hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think we’d actually see you again.”

“Me neither,” I said, and then immediately regretted how abrupt it sounded. “I mean—I come here a lot. Not for—well, not because of…”

I trailed off. Good. Very smooth.

She tilted her head, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. “Not because of the children’s section, I hope.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah— I mean no! no... I didn’t… plan to. I mean, not in a weird way. I come here a lot. I wasn’t... following you.”

Why did I say that?

But she laughed, and thank God, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just warm.

“I didn’t think you were. Though if you were—this is a pretty safe place to be stalked.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, no. I was… in nonfiction. Science.”

“Of course you were.” The way she said it—soft, teasing, like she already knew that about me—made something flicker in my chest. “What were you reading?”

I blinked. “Oh, uh—Cosmos, again. I’ve read it more times than I care to admit.”

She tilted her head, genuinely curious now. “Why go back to something you already know?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and stopped.

Because it’s safe. Because I know what’s coming. Because people don’t make sense and books do.

Instead, I said, “Sometimes I need something that doesn’t change.”

That earned a slower nod from her. Thoughtful.

“That’s actually kind of beautiful,” she murmured.

I should’ve let the moment settle, but I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

“So…” I said, voice low, uncertain. “Do you come here often?”

She raised a brow, and I realized immediately how that sounded. My ears burned.

“Sorry—that sounded like a really bad line. I just meant… is this your usual Saturday spot?”

Her expression softened again, and to my surprise, she nodded.

“Pretty much every week. It’s our ritual.”

“It’s a nice one.”

“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes flicked toward Maddie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the carpet, flipping through a board book upside down. “It keeps us grounded.”

Something about the way she said us made my chest ache.

And still—I didn’t want to leave.

I could’ve said goodbye. Should’ve. But instead, I opened my mouth again.

“I never caught your name.”

“I never caught your name.”

She turned back to me, almost surprised I’d asked, like she hadn’t noticed we’d gone this long without saying it.

A slow smile crept onto her face. “It’s Y/N.”

Y/N.

I repeated it silently, like a fact I didn’t want to forget. Like something I’d write in the margin of a book I didn’t own but wished I did.

“I’m—”

“Spencer… I know,” she said, that smile tugging just a little higher now. “Maddie wouldn’t stop rambling about you all week.”

My eyebrows lifted before I could catch the reaction, and I felt the heat rush to my face.

She already knew. But somehow, hearing her say my name still felt like the right thing—like speaking it aloud made this real. Not just a strange, passing moment in a quiet library, but something grounded. Something remembered.

“She has a lot to say for someone under four feet tall,” I said, hoping humor would mask the way my chest was suddenly too full.

“She does,” Y/N agreed softly. “But she only remembers the good things.”

Her eyes were steady on mine. Not teasing this time. Just... warm.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Spencer.”

And somehow, it felt like the first honest thing I’d heard all day.

I nodded, unsure what to say—afraid that if I said anything at all, it might break whatever this was. The moment. The quiet understanding. The fact that I was still standing here, and she hadn’t walked away.

But eventually, she glanced down at Maddie, still content in her world of upside-down books and floor-level discoveries, and I could tell she was about to say goodbye. I felt it before she spoke. The air shifted.

“We should probably head out,” she said gently, and began to step back. “She gets grumpy if we skip lunch.”

I smiled, even though the thought of watching them walk away made something in me feel uneven.

Y/N leaned down to gather Maddie’s things, and as she did, Maddie stood and toddled back over to me.

And then—without hesitation—she reached up and wrapped her tiny fingers around mine again.

I froze. My hand curled instinctively around hers, soft and steady, like it had before. Like it still belonged there.

She looked up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

I froze. Not visibly—but inside, everything just… stopped. My thoughts. My breath. My ability to pretend this wasn’t affecting me.

I hadn’t prepared for that. I’d expected a goodbye. Maybe a smile. Not this. Not a question that sounded so innocent and yet landed like a weight in the center of my chest.

Because the truth was—I didn’t know.

I wanted to say yes. God, I wanted to say yes. More than I should have. More than made sense for someone who had only just learned her mother’s name.

But wanting something has never made it safe. Not for me.

My gaze lifted—instinctively, automatically—and found hers.

Y/N was already looking at me.

And I could tell from the way her breath caught, the way her hand hovered mid-reach like she’d forgotten what she was doing, that she hadn’t expected it either. Not the question. Not the way I looked at her like I was asking her to answer for me. Like I needed her to be the one to say it was okay to want this.

I didn’t know what was written across my face, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t laugh or step in or rescue me from the moment.

She just… watched.

And in the silence, I felt it—all the things I wasn’t letting myself say. The wish that this wasn’t just a moment but the beginning of something. The hope that I hadn’t imagined the connection. The ache I’d been holding at bay since the first time Maddie reached for my hand and didn’t flinch.

It was all there. Pressed between us in the space of a few seconds.

And she didn’t look away.

Then, slowly, I crouched down to Maddie’s level. My knees creaked a little, and the hem of my coat bunched at my sides, but I didn’t care. I met her eyes, soft and serious, and smiled.

“I hope so,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. Rough around the edges. Still honest.

She beamed, her face lighting up like I’d just granted her a wish.

I reached out and gently tapped her nose. She giggled, and the sound felt like a small sun blooming in the center of my chest.

He tapped her nose, and Maddie giggled—light and free, like the world had never once scared her.

I watched them from just a step away, something quiet unfolding in my chest. The way he looked at her. The way she looked at him. I wasn’t sure when it had started to feel like they already knew each other. Like some invisible thread had pulled them together and neither of them had questioned it—not once.

Watching them bond shouldn’t have affected me this much. But it did. It was. It is affecting me in a way I didn’t expect, didn’t prepare for. And somewhere beneath all that stillness in my chest was something louder—I can’t let him walk away twice.

And before I could stop myself—before I could think too hard about what it might mean—I said, “Spencer, would you maybe like to join us for lunch?”

The words left my mouth before I had time to second-guess them.

He blinked, startled—like he hadn’t expected me to say his name, let alone follow it with an invitation.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

I felt the nerves flood in, quick and sharp. I cleared my throat, rushing to soften the moment.

God. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. What was I even thinking?

Too forward. Too hopeful. I mean—I just met the man. And now here I am, inviting him to lunch like we’re old friends? Like we’re… something?

And wait—was that even just an invitation?

Oh no. What if he thinks I’m asking him out?

Was I asking him out?

I’m not ready to date. I haven’t dated in years. I wouldn’t even know where to start—what to say, what to wear, how to be. Besides, lunch with your daughter and a man you met in the library is not a date. Right?

Right?

He probably thinks we’re a mess. Just a tired, overstretched mom and her talkative little girl, desperate enough to drag the first nice stranger we meet into some kind of father-figure fantasy.

God, he’s probably trying to come up with a polite excuse right now.

I glanced down at Maddie, who was still looking up at him like he hung the moon.

I nearly opened my mouth to take it back. To say I was joking. Or that it was totally fine if he was busy.

But then—

He looked at her.

And something in him softened.

And once again, I just couldn’t stop my mouth.

“There’s a little place just down the block,” I added quickly. “It’s nothing fancy—mostly sandwiches and crayons and spilled apple juice, but… Maddie likes it.”

I didn’t know what I expected him to say. Maybe I was already preparing myself for a polite decline. But then he glanced at her—at the way she was still beaming, still holding onto the weight of his words.

Then he looked at me.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

Maddie gasped like someone had just told her she could live in a candy store.

“Yay!” Maddie shouted, throwing her hands in the air with absolutely no regard for indoor voice levels. “Spencer’s coming with us!”

Her joy was so pure, so loud, so entirely her, I couldn’t help but laugh. It bubbled out of me before I could stop it—part nerves, part disbelief, part just watching her glow like she’d won something precious. And Spencer—he smiled too. Tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, but then a little fuller when she grabbed his hand without asking, without hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him toward the exit, already halfway to the door. “I’ll show you where it is!”

He glanced back at me, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure if he was being kidnapped or adopted.

I shrugged, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. “Maddie, don’t drag him. He’s not a toy.”

She didn’t slow down. If anything, she gripped tighter.

I stepped in to help, reaching for her arm, but Spencer shook his head gently. “It’s okay,” he said, still watching her like she was some strange, marvelous creature he hadn’t quite figured out. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

I smiled, and for the first time since inviting him, I felt the knot in my stomach start to loosen. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, falling into step beside him. “She’s… very persistent.”

“I’m starting to notice,” he said, voice soft with something that sounded dangerously close to fondness.

The three of us walked together, side by side. Maddie led the way like a tiny parade marshal, humming something under her breath, swinging their hands with so much enthusiasm it lifted his arm with every step. Spencer let it happen.

And I watched him out of the corner of my eye—how careful he was not to step too far ahead or too far behind. How he looked down at her, then at me, then away again. Like he was still waiting for the moment to collapse on itself. Like he was quietly, hopelessly wondering if this—whatever this was—was real.

Maddie tugged him forward again, chattering about crayons and sandwiches and something called “the apple juice tower,” whatever that was. I let her lead, falling just a step ahead of him as we neared the glass doors.

But just before I reached for the handle, something made me glance back.

He was watching us—watching me—with that same quiet, uncertain awe like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all in his head.

Our eyes met, and I smiled. Not big. Not nervous. Just enough to say I see you. You’re here. This is okay.

He smiled back. Small, but real. Like he meant it.

The café was exactly the kind of place that looked like it had been decorated by a five-year-old with a glue stick and too much creative freedom.

Paper menus. Crayon buckets on every table. Bright yellow walls smudged with fingerprints and faded murals of dancing sandwiches. The air smelled like grilled cheese and applesauce, with just the faintest undercurrent of desperation.

Maddie walked in like she owned the place.

She made a beeline for her favorite table near the window, climbed into the booster seat without help, and immediately grabbed a crayon to start coloring the laminated menu like it was a job she took very seriously.

I offered a quick, breathless apology to the hostess—who, by now, knew us by name from how often we ate here, and how often I apologized for Maddie. She just smiled, waved us along like always.

I followed behind, juggling Maddie’s water bottle, my slipping purse strap, and the bag hanging awkwardly off one arm. My hair stuck to the back of my neck, and I was already sweating before we even reached the table.

Spencer hovered behind us—shoulders tense, hands tucked carefully into his sleeves like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch. He eyed the table before sitting, then reached for a napkin and used it to wipe off the corner of his chair.

I bit back a smile.

He sat down slowly, like the seat might collapse under him, and folded a napkin onto his lap with an almost surgical precision. Then, with the same cautious care, he picked up the menu between two fingers like it might bite him.

“Is this… washable?” he asked, squinting at a suspicious green smear in the corner.

I bit back a laugh.

The way he held himself—tense, deliberate, like the entire environment was foreign terrain—should’ve felt awkward. Should’ve made him seem stiff or out of place. And maybe he was. This place was loud and messy and sticky in all the ways kid-friendly cafés tend to be. It didn’t match his cardigan, or the way he spoke, or the precise way he folded that napkin like he needed it to anchor him.

But somehow, despite how out of place he looked in here… it was charming in a way I hadn’t expected.

Like he was trying. Like none of this made sense to him, but he’d still shown up and let a four-year-old lead him to a table covered in crayon marks and glitter glue residue—and never once complained.

It made something settle in my chest. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. Just… gently.

The way something shifts when you realize someone doesn’t quite fit into your world, but doesn’t seem afraid of it, either.

Maybe i’m getting ahead of myself again…

I smiled as I finally slid into the seat across from him.

“You’re holding your sandwich menu like it’s radioactive.”

He blinked at me, then laughed—nervous, quiet, but real.

“I’m just… recalibrating. I don’t usually eat anywhere that serves chocolate milk with every meal.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing to the glittery chalkboard behind him, “you’re in luck. Today’s special is dino nuggets with a side of animal crackers and a sticker.”

He raised a brow. “Do I have to finish my vegetables to earn it?”

“Only if Maddie lets you.”

From her booster seat, Maddie gave him a solemn nod. “You have to eat two bites. That’s the rule.”

He nodded seriously, matching her tone. “Fair enough.”

Maddie picked up her crayon again, dramatically scribbling across the corner of the kids’ menu like she was signing a contract. “I’m gonna get the dinosaur lunch,” she announced. “And I’m gonna eat the animal crackers first.”

“Bold choice,” I said. “Dessert before lunch?”

She nodded with absolute conviction. “They taste better when they’re still cold.”

Spencer looked genuinely intrigued. “Cold animal crackers?”

I smiled. “The servers here love Maddie. She likes her animal crackers cold, so they put them in the fridge for her. We come here a lot.”

He glanced between us, amused, and I added, “She also keeps a stash in the fridge at home—right next to the ketchup and a collection of stickers she refuses to actually use.”

“They’re for emergencies,” Maddie mumbled, still coloring.

He smiled, clearly charmed. “I think that’s smart.”

Maddie sat back, tapping her crayon to her chin. “What’s your favorite food, Spencer?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting to be called on. “Oh. Uh…” He paused, clearly thinking harder than anyone needed to over the question. “As a kid, I really liked buttered saltines.”

Maddie wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s… sad toast,” I said, biting back a grin.

He laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

“Well I like jelly sandwiches,” Maddie declared, puffing up proudly. “But only if they don’t touch the crust.”

I turned to Spencer, already smiling. “Last week she had a full meltdown because her sandwich was touching the pickles on the plate.”

He raised a brow. “Touching the pickles?”

“Contamination, apparently,” I said. “There were actual tears. Like, betrayal-level tears.”

Maddie shrugged. “I hate pickles.”

Spencer held up both hands. “No judgment. I cried once because I dropped an ice cream cone on a squirrel.”

There was a pause. Then Maddie said, dead serious, “Did it eat it?”

Spencer leaned in just slightly, like he was letting her in on a secret. “It did.”

Maddie let out a satisfied little “huh” and went back to coloring like that settled everything.

I looked across the table at him, and before I could stop myself, I smiled.

God help me… I was enjoying this.

Before anything else could be said, the server arrived to take our order. Maddie ordered for herself, proudly pointing at the “Dino Lunch” with a red crayon-smudged finger, and I gave my usual half-apology as I asked for something simple and spill-proof.

Which, of course, did nothing to stop the inevitable.

Because just as the drinks were set down—and Spencer opened his mouth to comment on the chalkboard specials—Maddie reached for her crayon and accidentally knocked her cup with her elbow.

Apple juice went tumbling sideways, spilling fast across the table and soaking everything in its path: the menu, a handful of napkins, and most dangerously, the edge of Spencer’s side of the table.

“Shoot—Maddie, careful!” I said, snapping forward before I could think. One hand grabbed the cup, the other reached for the nearest napkins, my voice already apologizing. “I’m so sorry—God, I always forget to move it. Are you—did it get on you?”

But Spencer didn’t flinch.

He didn’t startle or recoil. He didn’t look to me for direction or freeze up like he wasn’t sure how to exist inside the chaos.

He just moved.

Quiet. Certain. Crouched beside the table with a napkin in hand, dabbing gently at the spill like it was something ordinary. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

There was no performance in it. No show of exaggerated patience. No offhand comment meant to smooth over the discomfort.

Just presence. Just calm.

And it shouldn’t have surprised me—but it did.

Because I’ve grown so used to being watched during moments like this. To feeling people’s eyes crawl across the back of my neck when juice spills or crayons fall or Maddie’s voice gets just a little too loud. I’ve learned the tone people use when they try to be helpful but can’t quite hide the edge in their voice.

But Spencer?

He just helped.

And it wasn’t just that he helped—it was the way he moved. Careful, like the world had taught him to tread lightly. Like he knew some things break if you come at them too fast.

He handed Maddie a napkin without a word, and she took it without hesitation. Like she already understood his kind of quiet.

And I just stood there, blinking at this man who looked so completely out of place in a room full of noise and color—and yet somehow felt like the most steady thing in it.

The moment passed the way these things always do—juice soaked up, napkins tossed aside, and Maddie already moving on like it had never happened at all.

She was now focused on arranging her animal crackers by species, narrating under her breath which ones were friends and which ones were “going to space.” Spencer watched her with quiet interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Maddie was mid-chew, swinging her legs beneath the booster seat, when she glanced up at Spencer and asked, in the completely unfiltered way only kids can,

“Do you have a kid?”

Spencer blinked.

There was a pause. Not long enough to seem strange, but long enough for me to feel it.

And God, I felt it.

The second the question left her mouth, I wanted to shrink. Apologize. Backpedal so hard I’d fall through the floor. I could’ve sworn the air changed. My stomach twisted. I opened my mouth, ready to say something—anything to fill the silence, soften the edges—but then he answered.

He smiled—small, controlled. “No,” he said. “Just books.”

His tone was light. Almost rehearsed. But something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.

Just books.

It sounded like a joke. The kind you throw out to change the subject. But his eyes didn’t quite match the smile. They didn’t crinkle at the corners. They didn’t hold amusement. They held something else.

Not sadness, exactly. Not regret. Just… distance.

Like the question had touched something he hadn’t expected. Like maybe there was a story there—one he didn’t tell often. Or at all.

I didn’t push. I wanted to. More than I should have.

But I just reached for Maddie’s juice and asked if she wanted a straw. She nodded and went back to organizing her crackers.

And Spencer?

He went back to watching her with that quiet kind of attention—the kind that didn’t ask for anything in return.

The moment settled, the way heavy things do—gently, but not without leaving something behind.

Maddie had already moved on, now focused on biting the heads off her dinosaur nuggets in species order, completely unaware of the silence she’d left behind.

Spencer picked up his water, took a small sip, and then moved his attention towards me. Not at Maddie. Not at the menu. At me.

And of course, that was the exact moment I realized I’d been staring at him.

I panicked, internally.

My brain scrambled for something—anything—to do with my face. Should I smile? Look away? Pretend I was zoning out and just happened to be staring into the space he occupied? My fork suddenly became the most fascinating object in the universe.

But he didn’t seem thrown by it.

If anything, there was something different in the way he was looking at me now. A shift. Not in focus exactly—he’d been paying attention this whole time. But something had turned. Like I wasn’t just Maddie’s mom across the table anymore. Like now, I was someone he wanted to understand.

“You’re good with her,” he said, voice softer now. Not like a compliment, exactly—more like an observation. One he’d been quietly holding onto for a while.

I smiled, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Uh… thanks?”

It came out more awkward than I meant it to. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, buying half a second to breathe.

“I try,” I added. “She makes it easy most of the time.”

Then, like I couldn’t help myself, I added, “She’s also really clumsy. Like, expert-level.”

He let out a soft laugh—just enough to warm the space between us.

“Clumsy’s fine,” he said. “It means she’s moving fast enough to chase things.”

“Chase things?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced down for a second, like maybe he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “I just mean… she’s curious. Curious kids knock things over sometimes. It’s kind of the price of wonder.”

I stared at him for a second, not because I didn’t understand, but because—

who says things like that?

Somehow, he made Maddie’s juice spill sound like a trait of great explorers.

“That’s…” I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Weirdly profound.”

He gave a half-shrug, eyes still on his water glass. “I think about stuff like that a lot.”

“So you’re one of those… deep and mysterious guys?” I asked, only half-joking.

He looked up at me then, something flickering behind his expression—amusement, maybe, or hesitation. Or both.

“I don’t think I’m mysterious,” he said. “Just… overthinky.”

“Is that the technical term?”

He cracked a small smile. “It is in certain circles.”

There was a pause—one that didn’t feel awkward, just full. I watched him trace the rim of his glass with one finger, thoughtful, like he was weighing what to say next.

“But I guess I’d rather be quiet than careless,” he added after a moment. “Some things deserve a softer touch.”

And just like that, there it was again—that pull in my chest. That stupid, quiet ache for someone who wasn’t just listening, but noticing.

I wasn’t used to that. Not even a little.

People usually speak just to fill silence, to be heard. But he didn’t do that. He left space—real space—for something to exist between us, and didn’t rush to fill it. And in that space, I felt something shift in me.

Maybe it was the way he said it—careless, softer touch, like he knew what it meant to ruin something just by trying too hard.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at me without flinching. Without expectation.

Whatever it was, it made me want to offer something back. Just enough to even the playing field.

“It’s just me and Maddie,” I said, almost before I realized I’d decided to. “Always has been.”

“Just you two?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t surprised or pitying—just curious. Open.

I nodded, brushing my fingers over a wrinkle in the paper napkin beside my plate. “Yeah. I’m a single mother.”

There wasn’t any bitterness in the words. Not anymore. Just fact. Just a quiet kind of truth I’d grown used to carrying.

“I didn’t plan it that way, obviously,” I added, eyes flicking up to meet his. “But life doesn’t really wait around for your timeline to catch up.”

He didn’t rush to fill the silence. Didn’t try to soothe it or fix it or offer up some canned line about how “strong” I must be.

He just listened.

I didn’t know what I would’ve said next—maybe make a joke, or let the silence stretch just a little longer between us—but then Maddie broke through it all with the most casual kind of urgency.

“Mommy, I’m done…”

She pouted, arms folded across her dino nugget-stained shirt, her plate pushed an inch away like that somehow made it official. Her tone was flat, but I could hear it—she was winding down. Bored. And I didn’t have to check the time to know why.

Her favorite show would be starting in about fifteen minutes.

I blinked, like surfacing from deep water, and turned toward her. “Okay, baby. One second.”

She huffed dramatically, which in Maddie-language meant you have exactly forty seconds before I start getting antsy.

Spencer chuckled under his breath, and when I looked back at him, the moment we’d just been sitting in had softened—but it hadn’t vanished.

It was still there. Waiting.

“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing at Maddie as she slumped dramatically in her seat. “She gets like this when she’s bored… plus, her favorite show starts in fifteen minutes, and she’s got an internal clock like you wouldn’t believe.”

He smiled, his eyes still following her as she fiddled with her empty cup. “She’s kind of amazing.”

I let out a soft breath. “She really is.”

I looked at her—my messy, impatient, wonderful girl—and then back at him. And for a brief second, I wondered what this must look like from the outside. The three of us sitting there. Laughing. Talking. Almost like—

No. I stopped myself. It was way too early for almosts. But still… the warmth lingered.

I cleared my throat, reaching for Maddie’s water bottle. “Anyway, we’re gonna head out, but the meal is on me.”

Spencer blinked, like the words took a second to register. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“I know,” I said, managing a half-smile. “But I invited you. It’s only fair.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Just gave me that small, quiet nod that felt like more than it was.

“Thank you,” he said. And he meant it.

The afternoon sun was warmer than expected when we stepped outside, the kind that made you squint even if the sky wasn’t all that bright. Maddie shuffled beside me, her dino-nugget energy finally spent. She yawned dramatically and leaned into my side, thumb sneaking into her mouth like it used to when she was smaller.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and adjusted the bag on mine, heart still a little too full.

Spencer stood just a step behind us, like he wasn’t sure if this was where we said goodbye or if he should keep walking with us. His hands were in his pockets, eyes flicking between me and Maddie.

“Thank you,” I said, turning slightly toward him. “For coming. And for lunch. You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

He said it before I could finish, and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—made me feel like the ground had shifted just a little beneath me.

I nodded, unsure what else to say. There was a question hovering at the edge of my mouth, but I didn’t ask it.

Maddie blinked up at him sleepily and gave a tiny wave. “Bye, Spencer.”

He smiled and lifted his hand, the wave a little awkward, almost formal. “Bye, Maddie.”

He turned like he was going to leave—and for a second, I thought that was it.

But then he hesitated. Turned back.

“Wait—”

I stopped, startled. He looked almost nervous now, which was oddly comforting, considering I felt the exact same way.

“Would it… be weird if I asked for your number?”

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. It was Spencer—uncertain, a little flushed, and completely genuine.

I smiled. “No. It wouldn’t be weird.”

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

And it made me smile even more.

He reached into his coat pocket for his phone, and for the first time that day, I saw him fumble.

It made me smile even more.

He handed it to me without a word, the lock screen already open to the contact form. I took it carefully, thumbs suddenly too aware of themselves as I typed in my name and number.

I hesitated just before hitting save, then added a small emoji at the end—just to keep it from looking too clinical. Too… formal.

“There,” I said, handing it back.

He glanced at the screen, then up at me. “Y/N with a little star.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “Seemed appropriate.”

He nodded, like he was tucking that away somewhere quiet.

“I’ll text you,” he said, slipping the phone back into his coat.

“Okay.”

It felt like the kind of word that meant more than it sounded like. Not a goodbye. Not yet.

He lingered for a breath longer, then gave me that same soft nod—the one that meant he’d said everything he was going to say.

And then, he turned and walked down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, hair catching a little in the wind.

I watched him go. This time, on purpose.

taglist : @smithieandy @kspencer34 @person-005 @diffidentphantom @23moonjellies

[hhughes]

hiya, i have no idea if you do requests but i have a very brief and simple idea, which you can do your own take on - overly sensitive reader is dating oscar piastri & people are bothering her online but she doesn't tell oscar, instead she hides it and acts like she's fine but one night, she's in bed with him but then moves out to the living room & she's reading people's posts and messages about her not deserving him and she just sobs her eyes out, very quietly, thinking he's asleep - but he's not and he hears her, he walks out to the sight of her crying,,, then you can do whatever you want! just basically a hurt/comfort fic idea :) thank you!

𝒏ote , hi nonnie! thank you so much for requesting this. im convinced he is the sweetest sweetest bf and this thought goes so well with him . . .

fem!reader x oscar piastri. established relationship. hurt -> comfort. fluff. insecure!reader. mean online comments.

you knew better.

you knew better than to look. you knew better than to click on the notifications, the comments, the threads where strangers, bold and faceless, tore you apart like it cost them nothing.

you know it’s not true. these people don’t you. they don’t really know oscar. they don’t know anything about your relationship. and you knew better than to give them so much power over you, but you did it anyway.

it felt like a constant in your night routine at this point. after the steady rise and fall of oscar’s chest tells you he’s surrendered to sleep, you slip quietly from the bed.

you try to convince yourself you’re just stretching your legs, grabbing some water, anything to justify the gnawing pull toward your phone, toward the weight you tuck away during the day but can’t seem to ignore when it’s dark and that inner voice manages to convince you to look.

you curl up on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that still smells faintly like him, like the smell of your safe space can wrap around you and stop the words from piercing as deep as they always do.

“he could have anyone and he settles for that?”

“you can’t convince me she’s there for anything but the money”

“he could do way better”

“why do the best guys always tend to settle for the most basic, gold digging girls”

one after another they appear on the screen. picking apart your body, your intelligence, your motives.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the drops fall on the screen. little blots of water smearing and obstructing the words that had already twisted like knives in your chest.

you know you should turn it off. climb into bed and let oscar cuddle away all the insecurities gnawing at your chest. but it feels like you’re stuck. like if you just read one more comment, maybe you’ll find one that makes it all make sense, one that explains why you feel like you’ll never be enough for him.

you flinch when a familiar hand gently closes over yours, steady and warm, taking the phone from you. you hadn’t even heard him come in.

you don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe as he scrolls through the comments himself, brow furrowing more and more the further he goes.

after a few minutes he locks the phone and discards it on the table, settling next to you and pulling you onto his lap.

“you know none of it is true right?” he mumbles against your head, pressing a kiss to your temple and you sniffle

“osc—” you go to argue but he interrupts

“no” he says, the word so blunt and direct it catches you so off guard for a second that you pull your head away from his chest to look at him

“i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you justify what they’re saying. they don’t know you. they don’t know me. and they sure as shit don’t know anything about our relationship” he says, shaking his head slightly at the utter ridiculousness of what he just read.

“but it’s true. i’m not perfect and you could do so much bet—“ you mumble but he interrupts you again before you get the chance to finish, this time with his lips on yours, kissing you until those thoughts float away and the only thing you can focus on is the way his hand is running through your hair

“you’re perfect with me, to me, and for me. hell perfect doesn’t even begin to describe you baby. you’re everything. you’re all I want. the only way these people have any power over you is if you actually believe there’s some truth to what they’re saying. do you?” oscar asks, holding your jaw so you can’t look away from him.

“are you only with me for the money? the attention?” oscar asks, raising his eyebrows dramatically in a way that makes you wanna laugh and by the slight tilt in his lips, he knows.

“no” you say softly and he gasps in mock surprise

“really? I for sure thought you were” he teases and laughs when you hit him playfully.

“i’m just kidding baby. you hate attention even more than I do and you practically tackle me every time I try to pay for anything. and if you think for even one second that I don’t believe you’re the sexiest woman in the world, you come tell me and I’ll prove you wrong, yeah?” he says, pressing kiss after kiss against your temple, your cheek, your nose, your jaw, your lips. every inch he can reach.

“I love you” you say softly, hoping your gratitude for him shines through in your tone.

“I love you the most,” he murmurs back, no hesitation, no doubt. just the pure, simple truth.

his hands gently frame your face, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again, but in a different way this time. a softer way.

“let’s go to bed,” he says, voice thick with exhaustion and affection as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, leaving your phone and all the negativity on it right there on the table.

[ixxivvv]

caleb x neurodivergent mc hcs ♡

(how indulgent of me and my experiences)

- is the "understanding neurotypical bf"

- sometimes he enables you during bad coping mechanisms, especially self isolation or mental self harm out of pity or how he knows you arent ready to face it.

- accidentally says offensive things during your arguments, is guilty: "did you take your meds" "i need to know what you are explaining to me"

- secretly afraid he would end up on "your bad side: cold, stern, and firm- the bad side of your sense of justice", begs for forgiveness :(

- covers your ears even though you self accommodate yourself (earplugs, earbuds, hearing aids etc) "caleb, i got my plugs in.." "just making sure, :)"

- carries ibuprofen or any pain meds on him along with hair ties, a comb, or unscented lip balm

- lets you walk around without holding hands or shoulders when you are exploring and wandering around

- anyone said something behind your back? hes ruthless in defending you without him outing you.

- "such an airhead huh?" "hey, dont." with a stern expression and looking at you arms crossed from afar- watching you mask and fawn, when hes seen you sob in his chest how you just hated living, how you hated yourself the most when you are masking.

- he ofc struggles with his own mental health and has his own worst moments, but you knew he would hide them for you. you felt bad, crying and asking for him all the time or listening to in cohesive vents, caleb just wants to be your pillar.

- and when he finally does, nearly in a gasp and a throat binding voice: "i, don't know how to take care of you, anymore." you wished you could tell him that you had mixed feelings about the person you loved so desperately becoming a care taker.

- caleb loved seeing a text that you were able to have a great day today, or taking steps that work for you- but he desperately wished you and him could just be together.

- you loved each other so much, knowing that you couldn't share each others pain, struggles, or brains- he wished to merge, a solar fusion, universes or planets, you and him to be so emotionally close. its what you desired too.

- finds pieces of your jewelry in his pockets from you taking it off during the day

- had a meltdown, threw up, purged, stress aches, can barely squeeze out a text to him? hes prepped the home with no lights, a safe food with all the cooking smells out the house,?blankets, warm clothes, all ready and prepped. and of course, hes here to hug tight. or not, giving you space.

[redthunderstorm]

i think it’s time to share my zakuro thoughts…before you read HERE IS A DISCLAIMER!

⚠️These are interpretations/hcs! not the actual canon, do not take what i say as truth!! i am playing with my toys i like having fun.

with that said i don’t expect anyone to agree with me!! we all have different ideas for our favorite characters and that’s what makes the world go round. i hope u enjoy the read and maybe understand what i’m going for!

what really intrigued me is that every numa has some sort of personal problem with themselves or each other, and if they aren’t outright shown there’s certainly something you can dig for. i’ve noticed zakuro is a bit underrated when it comes to this. i’m here to prove to you that she can be as complex as every other character if you look in the right angle. hold my hand, let’s create meaning out of nothing!

i assume zakuro’s clones are canonically hinted as a hive-mind. i personally like to interpret it the opposite! zakuro’s clones are direct copies of her, yes, but they are capable of having their own thoughts and memories. so every zakuro are unique internally. no zakuro will have the same interaction or react the same way as the other, but that doesn't make her any less zakuro! it is simply the many versions of her emotions and personality shining through. like how one talks to themselves in their mind, i imagine zakuro and her clones are the personified equivalent of that. it’s the simplest way i can explain it! i feel with this interpretation, it has room to make her a more emotionally compelling character! without completely erasing her canon-self. a lot of internal and external problems can come out of this immortality of hers that she has been gifted.

let’s agree she had this ability all her life, as time goes on perhaps it has the potential to evolve. this could be a pro and a con! sure she can have more stable control, her clones becoming more sentient and soon direct copies of her. but it evolving is also something that’s out of her control, her body changes! looking more monster-like compared to her peers. almost like her body is returning to it's “roots.” mimicking what's around her. they are not human after all… they are monsters. internally, she could feel more alienated from her friends.

did she ever felt like she's littering the world with her copies? so many of her, that she became an afterthought to her friends?

even though past MO games aren’t canon anymore, her friend’s reactions to her got me thinking... i can’t help but latch onto these ideas, even if they're jokes! perhaps deep down it bothers her. something has been wrong from the start! zakuro and her friends are a little more considerate in mo4. i’d say it’s a time in her life where she has accepted her fate and deals with it now. she loves herself! no doubt!

she enjoys her role in the end. but can you blame her when she wants to try to be a part of something more?

tl;dr i hc that the cloning ability is her external / internal problem! it prevents her from reaching out for deeper connections and it slowly erases her sense of self.

this is not all i have.. there's so many ideas i've explored. like how she seems to copy her friend’s behaviors / life, death, and willing sacrifice could be a common theme for her / is the original zakuro still alive? and so forth.

maybe those will be their own posts! maybe not! i feel it’ll ruin the fun if i kept on rambling though. this is simply me reaching my hand out inviting you to think about her more dramatically with me... cause it's fun!

art is the answer. let’s stay curious! one of the few numas with immortality? yes! much to think about 💭

[lewanarta]

Andrzej Stękała for Onet: "I would like to ask what Damian and I did to the president that he denied us basic rights, such simple safety." In an interview with Dawid Dudko, the Polish ski jumping medallist talks about the grief over his partner: "There are images of Damian's death that are stuck in my mind. There was no chance to save him."

Translation of the interview under the cut.

Dawid Dudko: Damian would like this interview?

Andrzej Stękała: I'm sure he would be sitting here next to me right now and together we would tell you about the eight years of our relationship and our plans to spend the rest of our lives together. For me we are still together, only Damian is no longer here, as if someone took him away from me.

Do you still cry a lot?

I try not to cry and look forward, go to trainings, meet people. People in general make me able to pull myself together somehow. The worst thing is when I'm left alone, then it's hard to bear it all, it gets really hard, so unbearable.

I guess it's good to let yourself cry, but it's also good to remember that the other person would like to see you happy, however difficult it is right now.

My loved ones tell me that they would like to see such a happy Andrzej, smiling like before. But right now I can't honestly be happy about anything. I would like to finish our house that Damian and I built together, I know he would like that.

After you started a relationship, you wanted to quit sports.

Well yes, I thought: what do you mean, a gay professional athlete! I imagined that if people found out, I'd be cancelled. I decided that if I must choose between love and work, the choice is obvious for me. It was thanks to Damian that I realised that if I wanted there to be a place for gay people in sport, I should do something myself.

And that something shouldn't be running away.

I think everyone wants to share their happiness with others, not hide your phone from your teammates in the locker room while your boyfriend texts you. That's how I behaved in the beginning, hiding my phone, constantly glancing behind me to see if maybe someone was looking and about to ask me something and I'd have to lie. I would go to training camps and hide. Separation from Damian was one thing, but even worse was the whole thing of hiding him from the world, as if I was going to do something bad with this love of mine to someone.

Were there fictional girlfriends?

I had a lot of female friends, I always enjoyed the company of girls, I just somehow never was drawn to them in the sense that I was drawn to colleagues. One day, around the time of primary school, I asked my mum if I could bring a girl home. I tried something with the girls, but of course nothing came out of it, because it couldn't come out.

It is said that mothers generally feel all this.

Mine felt it too. It was her I told first. We had a long conversation, she explained that she supported me, but that she wouldn't want anyone to hurt me when there is still a lot of homophobia around. She's a strong woman, she's been through a lot, I admire her. You have no idea how much time I spent doing this kind of assessment in my head, who I could possibly tell at the beginning, who wouldn't reject me and think horrible things about me, or would not call me names at all…

I have a very good idea.

Oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

Who was the first person you told at work?

My coach. He hugged me, told me it didn't change anything and that I was a f***ing awesome person.

And you got a big weight off your back.

How much can you live like that, purposely getting up early so no one gets suspicious that you live with the other guy? Because I told people I was living at my family home, and I was already with Damian at the time and we were renting a flat together.

And then you made a public coming out.

With that support from people close to me, not only family but also the guys I train with, it's been easier. My mates know that just because I'm gay doesn't mean you have to bit your tongue in front of me or not tell any jokes because it's not appropriate.

Because you have support and acceptance from them.

Well, I am very grateful to them for such openness. They don't allow themselves to be manoeuvred into political games.

What do you mean by political games?

You watch the news with your family, that family loves you, supports you, accepts you, and from the TV they hear that you are an ideology and a threat to the family. Our president denied the humanity of me too and the love of my life. It is known that many politicians play with homophobia, but this is the president of our country. And yet it was also the ‘scary’ gay man who was his source of national pride, shaking his hand.

Today, would you also shake hands with a president who threatened the nation with LGBT+ people?

I think I would. But I don't know if I would accept an individual state decoration from him, since who I am goes against his views. Today I would certainly like to talk to him, like a human being to human being. Because those few years ago, when he congratulated us on the team World Cup in Zakopane, the conditions for such a conversation were not there. And I was still sitting in the closet.

So what would you like to say to the president today?

I would like to ask what Damian and I did to the president that he denied us our basic rights, such simple safety. I would ask where the problem lies. Why the hatred? Mr President, you have a wife, your loved one. I also had a loved one, but officially we were strangers to each other. That really hurts.

And how do you feel this formal strangeness on a daily basis? Strangeness, let's be more precise, enforced by the lack of civil unions in Poland, the possibility of formalising the shared lives of two, adult, loving people.

There are images from Damian's death that have stuck in my mind. Certainly that moment when I found him at home, lying on the floor, and I tried to save him. But also the situation with the rescue helicopter, which I was afraid they wouldn't let me into, because I didn't formally have any rights to Damian. The doctors with everything headed to his mum.

Did you finally get into that helicopter?

Of course Damian's mum gave her consent, but it was no longer needed. There was no chance to save him.

Will you tell us what happened?

He suffered a heart attack. A few hours earlier we were still talking to each other, as if nothing was going to happen. Only in the morning, when I left for training, he was still asleep, so I didn't wake him up. I knew that when he got up he would make breakfast for the people who were building our house… Sorry, Dawid, it's still difficult to talk about it.

For me, the challenge in this conversation is not to cry myself. Thank you, Andrzej, for talking about all this publicly despite the difficulties. Because grief in LGBT+ relationships is still an almost absent topic in our country.

After all, we really don't want special treatment. It's just about what is due to adult, tax-paying, honest people. My coming out is also a reminder of this.

With it you also break with stereotypes. In the general awareness, an LGBT+ person is associated with the artistic world rather than the sporting world.

It's not worth hiding. Nothing bad happened to me at work when people found out who I was, I didn't experience anything that I could call homophobia in sport. In everyday life there are some offensive messages or comments. But should I care about someone who insults me anonymously from a fictitious account? You know, I think our national openness is much better than, for example, some politicians claim.

According to surveys, Poles are ready for civil unions more than some politicians are convinced. 'The LGBT community cannot expect me to force it or deal with their issues'. - Law and Justice presidential candidate Karol Nawrocki recently stressed.

It makes me want to cry when I hear such words.

We are talking during the Easter season. Did you celebrate this time with Damian somehow?

Yes, we were believers. I believe in God, I'm a Catholic, although it's getting harder and harder when you look at the Church. I go to church sometimes, but much more rarely than I used to. I try not to listen to sermons, because from the altar they can say really nasty things. I go for prayer. Damian and I used to go together.

Did you want to get married?

Damian proposed to me. See, I'm wearing a ring on my finger. We were waiting that maybe something in our country would change one day, we hoped we would live to see better times. We didn't want to go abroad and get married there, when in Poland such a wedding doesn't matter. As for the holidays, I don't generally associate them with the best things. Last Christmas we cried, had Christmas dinner and cried with my mum that Damian was gone.

When you acknowledge how difficult it is to maintain a relationship with the Church today, I am reminded of the words of Paweł Dobrowolski, the current director of Olszyn Jaracz Theatre, also a gay believer, who said in our interview: a Catholic also has his limits.

You could say that today's Church is testing our patience.

Damian had a Catholic funeral?

Yes, as a man of faith he would have wanted such a funeral. He was bid farewell by a good priest, because there are still such priests, after all. I assume that the priest knew very well that Damian and I were more than just friends. He kept looking at me during the funeral.

You could have said goodbye to your loved one. Many LGBT+ people in the current legal situation are sometimes deprived of this opportunity at all, they cannot go to the funeral of their partners, they are forbidden to do so by their formal family.

After my coming out, I got words of support from world-class ski jumping stars like Karl Geiger and Martin Schmitt. They said it could be easier for many people in Poland thanks to me. That's what I think about it too and that's why I'm sharing my lifetime loss with people now.

What are your plans, Andrzej?

I simply have to learn to live again, I just don't know how yet.

[cciwos]

𓂃₊ ⊹ 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 | corners

ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 ; '𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝐼 𝑔𝑜 𝑛𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠

₊˚⊹ ᰔ . bff!jungwon + gn!reader ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

you always sat at the same table in the campus library tucked away near the philosophy section, where barely anyone ever wandered. it was your quiet little corner of the world, and that was enough.

until he started showing up.

at first, it was just once or twice. a boy with soft blonde hair, headphones around his neck, and a stack of neatly organized notes. he didn’t speak much, but his eyes were kind. you noticed he always brought iced americanos, even in the middle of winter, and that he hummed softly when he read. eventually, he started nodding at you in greeting. one day, he sat at the table across from you.

“hope you don’t mind,” he had said, setting down his bag.

you didn’t. you really didn’t.

you learned his name was jungwon. he was majoring in journalism, had a dry sense of humor, and was insanely good at keeping his cool in stressful situations, except when he was flustered. you’d seen it once when his pen rolled off the table and you handed it to him. his ears had turned completely red.

now, weeks later, it had become a routine. you studied together, occasionally exchanged playlists, and sometimes even shared snacks, him with his almond covered chocolate sticks, you with your matcha cookies. you didn’t call it hanging out, but it was.

today, though, he seemed… off.

he was quieter than usual, lips pressed in a line as he highlighted the same sentence over and over. after a while, you reached over and gently poked his hand.

“you good?” you asked.

he looked up at you, startled. then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “honestly? no. i’ve got this presentation tomorrow and i can’t get my thoughts in order.”

“wanna talk it out?”

he hesitated, then gave a small nod. “yeah. that’d help.”

you listened as he explained his topic, something about the influence of social media on modern journalism. his ideas were solid, but his pacing was off, and he kept second guessing himself. so, you offered feedback, helped him reorder some points, and reassured him when he looked unsure.

by the time he finished running through the revised version, he was smiling again.

“you’re kind of amazing at this,” he said, half laughing.

you shrugged, a little shy. “i like helping you.”

he was quiet for a second. then, without warning, he reached across the table and took your hand just lightly, fingers barely curled around yours.

“you always make things feel easier,” he said, voice softer now. “like i don’t have to try so hard to be okay.”

you felt your heart do something ridiculous in your chest. his hand was warm, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin.

“i like being around you,” he added, eyes meeting yours. “a lot.”

you smiled, tightening your grip on his hand just slightly. “i like being around you too. a lot.”

it wasn’t dramatic. there was no sudden music swelling or wind blowing through the window. just two people in a quiet corner of the library, holding hands over highlighters and iced coffee, finding something real between the pages.

and then, still holding your gaze, he leaned in.

there was a pause before he did, a heartbeat where everything slowed down. the buzz of the library lights faded, the tapping of keyboards, the low whispers behind bookshelves, all of it melted into a soft kind of silence. he was looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

you could feel the weight of his gaze, the tension in the air. his fingers twitched slightly in your hand, and you realized he was just as nervous as you were.

his face was close now, so close you could see the way his lashes framed his eyes, the faint pink dusting the tops of his cheeks, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

and then, finally, he closed the distance.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it was slow, like he was still making sure it was okay, like he was still giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you leaned in too, eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. warm, soft, and a little unsure at first, like you were both testing the waters.

your hand instinctively reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie sleeve, anchoring you to the moment. his other hand brushed lightly against your cheek before he let it fall to rest on the table between you, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the presence of it. the kiss deepened just slightly, enough to steal the air from your lungs and leave your heart racing.

there was something unspoken in it. gratitude. relief. a quiet kind of affection that had been building for weeks in glances across the table and shared silences that felt full instead of empty.

when you finally pulled back, both of you blinked slowly, like coming out of a dream.

you felt your breath catch in your throat. he was still close, forehead nearly resting against yours now, his eyes searching yours with a kind of wonder, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

then, he let out a soft laugh, breathless and a little shaky.

“that wasn’t in my study plan,” he murmured, voice low and warm with something that felt dangerously close to joy.

you laughed, cheeks flushed, your voice lighter than usual as you teased, “guess you’ll have to make room for it.”

he smiled, really smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when he was genuinely happy.

“yeah,” he said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing across your knuckles like a quiet promise. “i think i will.”

[auguryofjellyfish]

I HAVEN'T WATCHED ALL OF TODAY'S EPISODES SO I MIGHT BE PROVEN WRONG BUT I'M SORRY TO SAY THAT I'M MAJORLY SUS OF WADA

Wada's punishment from Loyalty Game was that he wasn't allowed to enter the basement level until the next killing happens. He and Ojima were the ones to discover Hayashi's body floating in the pool, WHICH IS IN THE BASEMENT.

Why would Wada be allowed to go down there?? Yes, the killing had already happened, but HE shouldn't have known that. The only reason why he would have gone down there is if he already knew that Mai was dead and so there was no risk of further punishment for breaking the rules.

If Wada was under the impression he wasn't allowed down there, he would have - SHOULD HAVE - remained upstairs.

Istg if Wada killed Mai I'm gonna McFucking LOSE IT

dude GO WATCH THE EPISODES!!

also...yeah. i'm ngl. he is kinda sus. first point, as you said, him not questioning how he was able to go to the basement without being punished. that's really weird, but. this one could be explained by wada (and ojima) just having a dumdum moment. he's been starving for 6 days, he's definitely not at his best cognitively. he could have just forgotten. i know it's a very flimsy explanation but it's not that unlikely.

the second sus point is like... him going in and out of the arsenal. especially that he wasn't carrying anything in or out?? this one got me like 🤨...okay...? why the fuck would he be there then...that's definitely sus. HOWEVER...

him potentially being mai's killer. i just got one question...how? there's no way. either he was holding a knife and mai stabbed herself on it and then jumped off the pool balcony and fell into the pool, or it's not possible. at least, i really don't think so. if it was anyone but mai, maybe, but she has like at least 60kg on him, she could literally snap him in half. buut...the murder might have been some sort of agreement between mai and the killer, so they didn't necessarily have to get a drop on her (if it fr was self-sacrifice i will cry). still, i really don't think it's wada in any capacity.

another argument against it being him: for weeks now, the main justification behind him not being the trapper was that he's incredibly weak right now due to starvation. the trapper and the killer definitely are the same person, and if he can't be the trapper, he can't be the killer. he was feeling very weak during the investigation, tamba remarked that he looked pale, and he sounded like he was on the verge of passing out a few times. it was difficult for him to even roll mai's body over. he did pass out when they discovered her body too! i really can't see him faking that. the bomb traps wouldn't be that difficult to set up, but the other traps disqualify him. he's just physically not strong enough to even carry a bucket of gasoline around.

more arguments against: his reward. why would he be so excited to show tamba his security cameras reward if he was the culprit? we know he didn't mess with the footage beforehand, because tamba was there to see him having to download it. but even if he didn't have to download and could edit it, it still wouldn't make sense, if he missed even one thing he would have been caught instantly. the best and the easiest course of action is just to not say anything about the cameras in the first place.

i think that's all i have for now. him forgetting about his punishment and it being impossible for him to be the trapper could be argued against potentially, but the security camera perk really solidifies for me that it's really not him. if he was the killer, him showing it to tamba wouldn't be some crazy 5D chess move, it would be like 0D, stupid as all hell.

with that said, what in the goddamn was he doing in the arsenal?? i really don't know, but, if he's not the killer and i had to guess...maybe he was checking if anything was missing from it? he was there with mai when she was noting down the inventory, he would be more familiar with what's in there than most of the others. other possibility, i'm nooot really feeling this one, but maybe being in a room full of deadly weapons paradoxically made him feel safer because he had so many tools to defend himself with?...there would be also a lot of tools to kill him with, so that's eeeeeeeh, plus it doesn't explain him going in and out. and the silliest option i could think of...maybe he was the one who emptied out the arsenal. he wasn't seen carrying anything because he just took things one by one and stuffed them under his baggy as fuck tracksuit. that'd be hilarious. but then again, if he did that and his goal was so people can't use this stuff, why wouldn't he fess up immediately? hmmm. i dunno. he did clam up when tamba asked why he was there, which makes me think that him going to the arsenal wasn't a purely righteous thing if he's that stressed about it, but i'm not sure. he might just have been afraid of being told off because going to the arsenal was frowned upon in general. i seriously don't think he used anything from there.

to sum up...he's a bit sus...but i reaally don't see how he could have killed mai. i haven't read a lot of speculation yet so maybe that will change somehow, but i don't think so. so in the end, him forgetting about the punishment was probably him being a giant dummy.

[angrycheesegirl]

Super underrated thing in Ultrakill is how whenever you see a new layer's open landscape for the first time, that first moment is free of enemies, letting the calm version of the level's track set the tone of the layer. The clean versions in these levels are all united in that their breakcore elements are completely absent, allowing for just the raw atmosphere of the instrumentals to shine through. Each one is unique however, so it feels only right to explain them all individually. Spoilers for Ultrakill below the cut.

LIMBO

For anyone that's never read the Divine Comedy, this moment is a bit of a shock to the system. Hell is a place of fire and brimstone; devils and lakes of blood, no? So why is it so... nice? There's birds chirping, calm piano music playing, trees, a fountain; it seems wrong. And then you see the projector walls; the lack of a building behind the door; the transparency of the trees; the speakers playing the ambience. It's all fake, and the calm music only serves to make it all more sinister. It's a great tone-setter for what had previously only been a corridor shooter, and indicates there's more surprises in store.

LUST

After the series of interconnected rooms that was Limbo, Lust doesn't play its hand immediately, lulling you into a false sense of familiarity with a familiarly-designed techbase. It's only after ascending the shaft and using the bouncepad that you truly see Lust for what it is, and Cold Winds' opening notes perfectly convey the wonder and scale as you ascend into the air, this seemingly endless city stretching into the distance. It's majestic; and it's the first moment Ultrakill really shows what it's capable of (a moment very much improved by the recent Ultra-Revamp to remove the 2D skybox)

GLUTTONY

Gluttony opens to a room of writhing flesh, with the echoing, discordant notes of Guts playing. It's disgusting, it's unsettling, and after the battle with King Minos' corpse, it allows the player to properly think on the horror of what happened to the King of Lust, as well as the supposed Angel that killed him. This is the supposed palace of Gabriel, Judge of Hell. It perfectly sets up the twist reveal of Glory later in the level, and the eventual battle with Gabriel in 3-2 by putting the player on edge.

GREED

After a climatic battle with Gabriel and the subsequent plot developments, Greed pulls out another massive shakeup, opening to a massive desert cast in the shadow of a distant pyramid. The influences of Ancient Egypt are obvious from the first moments, and Dune Eternal's intentionally choir-sounding opening drone perfectly reflects that. The entire level is oozing desert atmosphere, as is the whole layer. After the weight and disgust of Gluttony, it's nice to have a change of pace.

WRATH

Wrath holds off on truly showing the extent of the layer until its second level, and thanks to that deliberate restraint, this moment is much stronger as a result. The flooded facility in First was already indicative of something going on; but this? This is an endless ocean of damned souls, and He is the Light in my Darkness's quiet harpsichord proves appropriately somber to accompany this moment. It is dark, and depressing, and really hammers home the true existential horror of Ultrakill's world; Mankind really is dead, and this is the consequence.

HERESY

Heresy waits to reveal the city of Dis until halfway through the level, and my god is it a powerful reveal. The slowed fall as the red fog slowly recedes to reveal the massive hanging landscape... it's a twisted reflection of Lust's intro, and the music damn well knows how important this moment is. The muted guitars of Altars of Apostasy are powerful, and really act as a wakeup call: we're well and truly in the Belly of the Beast now. This is Hell Proper, and if there was ever a time to turn back, it's long since gone. My literal only complaint with this moment is that I wish the level text were here instead of in the opening corridor; THIS is the moment that deserves to claim the layer of Heresy, bar none.

VIOLENCE

Violence is an unique layer in that technically every level has its own Moment™, but 7-2 is by far the most impactful to the layer as a whole. After our rematch with Gabriel and the subsequent dissolution of Heaven's Council; the Labyrinth and its Minotaur; and the serenity of the opening rooms being shattered by an intruding Gutterman, we ascend the stairs to see... a literal warzone. This entire place has been scorched black by endless conflict; rivers of blood flow through gaping holes in the landscape; the now-familiar pristine white architecture of the Labyrinth is shattered and burned at every turn, with entire rooms once-buried now open to the skies. This place bears striking resemblance to the London Blitz, which is no doubt intentional considering the Final War's roots in the World Wars. The frantic piano notes of Hear! The Siren Song; Call of Death really hammer home the endless war that has ravaged this circle of hell, as the song is constantly shifting time signature to keep itself feeling unpredictable.

I love this game and its Soundtrack, man. There is so much genuienly care and effort put into every little detail that I can't help but gush about *checks notes* the first 10 seconds of specific levels. That said @hakitadev HAKITA! MOVE THE LEVEL TEXT OF 6-1 TO THE REVEAL OF DIS, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

[cementcornfield]

Some Positivity

it's not all sunshine and rainbows, obviously, but there IS an upside. and there IS reason to believe he can achieve at least something close to his ceiling with us.

okay. here's a bunch of tweets lol. then i'm going to attempt to make sense of them.

(i'm avoiding joe g and jake's tweets right now because they are hard core stats/data guys and obviously the stats and data don't look great. but even joe admitted he doesn't think this was a 'set a pick on fire' type thing. it's just very high risk, but also high reward. but if you look at the guys who do a lot of x's and o's analysis of the game, who put the stats in context, you can see some better reasoning for everything.)

starting here with max's tweets. two years ago, not at all coincidentally to when sam started to fall off a cliff, our run defense started to decline RAPIDLY. and this past year, as many awful things as you could say about our run defense, numbers DID improve (yeah there were missed tackles in the secondary. but if you look at the stats, our tackling was actually around average?? it's just our misses happened at the WORST times lol)

but why did our run defense numbers improve when our talent certainly didn't?? because we were focusing almost entirely on stopping the run, at the expense of the pass. if you look at our numbers against derrick henry for instance, we were one of the better teams at stoping him. but in order to do things like that, we used ALL of our resources. "loading the box" etc etc, aka bring all our guys up to stop the run, and leaving pretty much no help for our secondary, which, as max says, KILLS you in the pass game. but it was our only choice, we didn't have anyone talented in our run game (sam declining, dj reader leaving) so it's what we had to do. and it's what went wrong in both of our games against the ravens. (i'm forever haunted by that play where lamar knocks sam down TWICE and then scores oh my god.)

one thing we did do in free agency was pick up a true nose tackle in TJ Slaton. losing DJ the year before was devastating and our young guys did not step up (and honestly weren't true NTs anyway). TJ is a true big guy run stuffer, and he'll take over the job of both jenkins and jackson struggling to stop the run in the center, allowing them to do other things like stop the run in other places/rush the guards/maybe even get after the passer a bit.

and we also got rid of sam (rip. i still love you. but it was for the best. enjoy your marriage to a plumbing heiress ✨). when sam was at his best, he was an edge setting contain guy. he DID get some sacks, but his production was never anywhere close to trey's. his job was to stop the QB from running out of the pocket, aka "contain" the edge. and he just couldn't do it anymore. it's clear that the coaches now see shemar as that dude (and maybe myles still. we'll see). PLUS shemar can also apparently kick inside at times, so that's where we could see some interior pressure (i also just learned ossai can also do this. so that's nice!) and if he does pan out, his traits are wayyyy better than sam, so he could honestly be Sam Hubbard+

now we get to mike sans here, who is THE trenches guy on twitter. i definitely trust his opinion in these kind of things. obviously the lack of production is concerning, but mike thinks that it can at least partly be explained by the scheme/coaching at A&M. his point that nolen (rip. i'll always love you and hate the cardinals now) himself also didn't produce as much when in the same system is something i found pretty compelling.

at A&M, shemar was lined up in such a way that he got most of the double teams (this aligns with what al golden said last night, that when he was coaching at notre dame, his offense was most scared of shemar/they were 'always bitching' about him lol).

pass rush stats are apparently complicated (as all stats are i guess when you look further into them) and according to sans, shemar wasn't given a lot of opportunity to use a lot of his talents. and apparently the coaching staff there doesn't spend much time teaching how to actually rush the passer?? 🤔

now obviously he still could have had a better run defense game, as sans also admits, but he still attributes a lot of that to the system there. obviously our coaching staff must have a plan for shemar in our system that will benefit him the most (you'd hope! at least!)

finally this quote from the post-draft interview last night (where he did come off very likable and sweet)

shemar knows that he didn't finish a lot of the time. he knows where he needs to improve. and he knows he needs to follow trey around like a baby duckling (so you know, like others have said, it's important trey is actually there for training camp!!)

by all accounts he's a high character guy (and again. let's all be grateful they didn't draft mike green. no one did, hilariously.) he's smart, always puts in the effort, and is willing to learn. and he has all the traits to get there. our coaching staff just needs to find a way to get through to him to take him all the way. obviously that's not something lou and the former d-line coach could do (see myles murphy) but! maybe this one staff is the key. obviously they were chosen for their abilities to develop. let's hope they actually can.

[theegemini92]

ABSOLUTELY! It is in plain writing. Anyone who can read minds is a manipulative person. Theres no way you can slice that and say it isn’t true? He can actually go in there and kill you with it.

Yes you put it perfectly “his worst nightmare come to pass” I don’t think Tam is blind to not know Rhys wants him destroyed. He knew what Rhysand was. What Rhys could do and feyre didn’t. Feyre couldn’t comprehend how much danger she was in and he could. Tam is a good person I would’ve told all the high lords he’s a daemati. The funny part is I believe Tamlin has extensive wards too otherwise Rhys would’ve killed gum long ago. For it doesn’t make sense to assume he was the reason for his family’s death. From Feyre pov she thinks she knows everything..

Feyre actually tried to stop and put herself in Tamlins shoes only for a split moment and Rhysand gaslit her.

She was so scared of his outburst she had to backtrack and call her own mate a FRIEND. She could’ve said no honey or babe or whatever the f she called him. Even Rhys softly. She even said she understood he’s a high lord.

His outburst actually scared her and that reminded her of Tamlin. Unfortunately she hasn’t been in prythian to know how Males in general are very possessive and actually scary.

Here he actually yells at her. she’s being accused of doing something wrong. Proceeds to gaslight her for her to feel sorry for him and how hard his life is.

She says

“He tried” (which she was referring to Tamlin. She was actually defending him and Rhys but her off to stop defending him)

I am sure Rhys has been compared to Tamlin a lot it’s done something psychological to him.

She was trying to explain her needs to him and it shifted to his selfish ass. Rhysand has given her what he thinks she wants (power and status) not what she needs. (The ability to take care of her own self)

We see this sort of manipulation in real life. Many rich wives aren’t happy but that’s the price they pay. Their husbands and family name pulls connections for them.

If Tamlin had time I don’t think feyre would’ve been in this situation.

In this particular passage he also quotes Lucien as him calling him a whore and spitting it in his face like my guy you were the whore 🤣 you fucking threaten his mother and think they should bow? The fuck? 🤣

Misleading post like this shows me how far people would go just to USE Tamlin for clicks and views and insight some sort of feelings and imaginations that was never there.

First of all anyone under a hl respects and obeys them. Ratsand is not exempt. Cassian and Azriel still do his biding go on missions and pick up after Rhys.

What the hell? 😹 it’s like the stay with the STAY WITH THE HIGH LORD statement that has become a sound now. Believe it or not it was always Tamlin and it’s come full circle but anyway look what kind of comment it brings up?

Again I love Nesta, Lucien, Eris but this is getting out of hand.