#why does he sound like a science teacher

[nflballgirl]

"talk about this throw, joe"

[destinyisastar]

HII are ur requests open? I love ur writing style sm that I actually wanted to requesthswiwjwo it's my first time,, Can I request a platonic Alastor x toddler!daughter where she was his biological daughter when he was alive but she died first due to being murdered(due to some enemies of alastor that were jealous of him)? And like, after many decades, he and Charlie visits heaven right?? What if he spots his little girl, but she doesn't recognize him because of his demon form ? 🥹

Dearly Departed

Thank you for my third ever request!!! I'm sorry this took a while the election lowkey made me have a breakdown. I'm very happy with how this turned out!

Alastor x Toddler Daughter Reader (PLATONIC!!!)

Summary: A look into the past life with Alastor and his beloved little girl that he holds most dear. However, when her life is taken far too soon, Alastor is given the chance to see her once more.

Warning!!: child death

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

Another day has just begun, the sun was shining its morning hue, birds were flapping their wings as they gather breakfast for their chicks, quite like how Alastor was doing right now.

The sizzling of the bacon is music to his ears as he looks towards the stairs. “Sweetheart?!” Alastor yells, “Come down and get your breakfast!” He hears the pitter patter of feet running on the floorboards. “Don’t run in the house my dear!” He calls once more.

Eventually you make it down the stairs, “Sorry papa!” You hold your hair ribbon in your hand as Alastor looks down at you with your hair in disarray.

“What on earth have you done to your hair!?” He turns the knob off the stove and bends down to your level, “Now, now this won’t do!” Alastor shakes his head, “Come along now darling.” He picks you up and goes back to your room upstairs.

Alastor sets you down on your chair by the vanity, grabbing your brush and tending to your hair.

“This papa! I want this on my hair!” You show him your red hair ribbon, “Please!!”.

“I’ll see what I can do!”

You giggle as he kisses your cheek.

 “Almost done now cher!” Alastor puts the final touch on your hair by placing the ribbon he recently bought you. Lately all you been doing is requesting that he put that ribbon on you. “I love, love, love this ribbon papa! I want to wear it forever and ever!” you had said to him when he showed you.

Alastor smooths down your hair one final time, “There you are! All done! Can’t having you look all messy now, can we?” He laughs.

“Thank you, papa!” You jump off the chair and race down the stairs.

“No, no my dear what have I said about running in the house? You could fall!”

“Whoops sorry papa!” You stand at the end of the stairs, “I’m just happy today!” Alastor picks you up again.

“And why is that my dear?” He walks towards the dining table and places you in your seat.

“My teacher says we get to go on a trip today!” Alastor finishes up the meal he was cooking, for you, two pancakes with a slice of bacon and side of scrambled eggs for him… just a cup of coffee.

“Really now, why was I not made aware of this?” He places the plate in front of you.

You shovel some of the eggs into your mouth, “I did-“

“Don’t talk with your mouth full darling.” He hands you a napkin as you drink your water.

“I did tell you papa! And you signed the papers on Tuesday remember!?”

Ah yes, he does remember signing something for you. “Where is your teacher taking you again my child?”

You take the slice of bacon in you hand, “She said that we are going to be looking at the.. the flowers and rocks for our science class in forest where that big”, You take a bite out of the bacon, “bridge is.”

“My that sounds like it will be a lovely trip.”

“Mhmmm!” You finish up your meal, “Thank you for the food papa!”

Your books were already ready at the door by the table since Alastor knows you might forget them, “Wash your hands my dear!”

“Okay!”

Alastor laughs slightly as he sees you scurry off to the sink while holding your books in his hands.

“All done papa!” You reach for his hand.

“Are you sure you have everything you need my dear?”

“Mhmm! Gots everything!” You tell him while jumping slightly on your tip toes.

Alastor takes your hand as you both walk to his vehicle, placing you in your seat then taking his.

“Now my dear, when you get to that forest, I want you to stay by your teachers side no matter what.” Alastor looks at you in rearview mirror. “Don’t you go anywhere without telling anyone.”

“I won’t!” You say while kicking your feet.

Alastor parks the car by the school, steps out and picking you up placing you in his arms.

“Look, look there’s my teacher! Oh! Look papa, there’s Jamie! Hi Jamie!!” You wave your hand to your friend.

“Yes, yes I do see them my dear.” You start to wiggle in his arms. “But you do remember what we talked about in the car, hmmmm?”

“Yes I remember papa.. I will stay by the teacher and….. I’ll…”

“You will tell someone where you are going.”

“Yes! I’ll tell someone where I am going!”

“Good girl.” He places you down in front of the school doors.” I love you my darling.” He kisses your forehead.

“Love you too papa!!” You hug him one final time, “Bye papa!” You wave him goodbye as you catch up with your friends.

“Goodbye my darling! I’ll be here to pick you up as soon as school is out!

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

As Alastor drives away he fails to notice two men watching him closely or more importantly watching his daughter.

“That’s him, right?” asks the one with blonde hair.

The one next to him breaths out smoke, “Yeah that’s the fucker.”

“Shouldn’t we follow him?”

“No.” The man taps his cigar on the window.

“Why the hell not?”

“We are going after his brat.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him instead?” The tattered blonde man asks, sounding a bit worried.

“Nah, that fucker has the audacity to ruin our business, our fucking fun and for what? That shitty radio host needs to pay.”

“But that’s a kid..”

The smoker looks at him, “Are you a pussy Johnny? Too afraid to kill a fucking kid?”

“I-I’m not.”

“Then man the fuck up. The boss wants this done.”

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

“Okay children! Remember stay close to me and pay close attention!” Mrs. Amber, your teacher, says. “Today will be picking up a few rocks to bring back to our class for our geology work. You may pick a few by the lake but don’t go into the water. As for the flowers you may gather some of every color.” Mrs. Amber passes some plastic bags, “You can put the rocks you find into the bag.”

“Okay everyone you may gather your rocks and flowers now! Just stay where I can see you and come back here when I call you!”

“Yes ma’am!” a chorus of children say.

You begin your pick of the rocks, picking out the most shiny, exotic ones. “Oooo this one can be for papa.” You say as you pick out a red one, placing it in the bag. You manage to gather a total of nine rocks. “Now for flowers!”  You see your classmates’ carrying loads of flowers.

You turn your head to see if there are any flowers left on the ground as soon as your about to reach for one a girl, Vicky Valentine, snatches it away from you.

“Hey! I was going to grab that one!”

“HA well you snooze you lose Y/n!” She sneers at you and walks away.

You huff and look around once more and there you spot it, in the darker part of the forest there with its orange color reminding you of a sunset. “So pretty…” But the flower is nowhere near where your teacher can see you. “It’ll just be a second.” You promise yourself. “I’ll grab it and go…”

“Tell someone where you’re going darling…” You hear your papa’s voice in your head.

“Hmmmmmm…. I’ll only be a second!” you tell yourself as you walk over to the flower.

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

“Get ready Johnny… and stop your fucking shaking.”

The forest seemed to get darker, almost as if it was closing in on the little girl.

She picked up the flower.

“NOW!”

Johnny grabbed the girl as she screamed.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” The smoker smacks the girl in her face. “Hurry up!”

The girl begins to punch but they mean nothing. “SHUT HER UP DAMNIT!” The orange flower falls.

Johnny grabs the girl by her neck pushing her to the ground, tightening his grip. She tries to push him away, scratching his face.

He feels it before he hears it. The snap. The crack. The lifeless look in the girl’s eyes.

He never bothered to learn the girl’s name.

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

“WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER!? You were supposed to be watching her!!”

“I know Mr. Hartfelt I’m sorry b-but once we heard the scream I g-gathered all the children away I-I’m so s-sorry!” Mrs. Amber cries out.

“Mr. Hartfelt please calm down!” The principle tries to tell him.

“NO! My daughter isn’t here… SO DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” He starts to breathe heavily. Alastor runs back to his car, passing all the parents holding their children, driving over the speed limit heading to the forest where they left you, how… how dare they leave you behind.

He feels the tears going down his face but quickly wipes them away.

Alastor swerves as he makes it to the trail of the darkening forest. He races out of the car calling out your name.

“Where are you?!”

“Darling! Please answer me!”

“Y/N?!”

There in the shadow of darkness lays a body.

He treads there carefully almost as if his body was moving on its own.

An orange flower lays near your hand, a bag of rocks in your other, your eyes are shot open. Fear. There is, no, there was fear in your eyes.

His legs sink down to the ground, almost consuming him.

“Darling….?” His hands caress your face. “No…no… no” Alastor pulls your body to his, wrapping his arms around you, cradling the body of his beloved daughter, rocking her as if she still were a baby. “My daughter….” Tears began to fall down to your face.

Your life taken too soon, his darling daughter, his little girl, the light to his darkness was now gone forever.

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

PRESENT DAY

“Why did we have to bring Alastor with us?”

Vaggie walks beside Charlie as they begin their tread towards heaven’s gates.

“Well, he’s a big part of the reason why we have the hotel in the first place! And I believe he is here for… moral support!”

Alastor pats Vaggie’s head “Easy now! It’s not like I’m here for anyone’s souls! Ha-ha!!” Vaggie immediately pulls his hand away from here and sneers.

“You better not cause any trouble here!”

“Vaggie calm down please!”

“I am simply here for Charlie’s sake! Besides I might not ever get to see heaven so I might as well indulge myself for the time begin! Ha-ha”

As Saint Peter begins to search for Charlie’s name Alastor’s mind begins to wander.

Truthfully Alastor could care less about supporting the princess at this very moment. While the hotel might be his little passion project for now, he came here for one reason only. His daughter. The memory of his little girl flashes in his mind. Always happy. Always so lively. He wonders if he’ll get to see her here today. Of course, there’s no doubt in his mind that his daughter is in heaven. There would have been no reason for her to be in hell. But he still checked anyways. In the end, however he was glad he didn’t find her. She deserves to be in heaven, but she should have never been taken from him far too soon.

The little angel finally opens the gates alongside two others who appeared to be seraphims. Everything truly is brighter here as they say.  

While the little seraphim speaks to Charlie, Alastor scans around the area with a stretched grin…… and there she was.

There.

Right there was a little girl with a red ribbon tied to her hair. His little girl, Y/n…

He watches as she laughs with the other small angels as they play in the grassy area surrounded by different colored flowers.

Alastor walks over to them carefully….why do his legs feel shaky? He hears Vaggie call out to him but doesn’t bother turning around.

“Hello there! My, my you seem to be having quite the afternoon here!” He tells the little angels with a wide grin. The two next to you fly off but you stay there staring at him with a smile.

“Yes! I’m having fun!!”

“How delightful my child!”  He says as he pats your head.

You giggle, “Do you want one mister?” you say handing him a bright orange flower.

Mister? Do you not recognize him? “Darling… its me.”

You tilt your head, “Huh? I don’t think I know you mister….” You look at his face and set your sights on the top of his head or rather his ears. “Hey! You’re just like me!” you say while pointing at his ears and touching yours.

Alastor’s smiles softens, “I do believe we are similar….would you like to feel them darling?”

“Yes! Yes! Please!!” You jump up from your spot on the ground, excitement running through your body.

Alastor chuckles, “Alright then,” he picks you up and you immediately touch his ears.

“There sooo fluffly!!” you giggle once more.

Alastor hums and brings you closer to him, wanting to give you a hug…. If you do not recognize him… then this what he’ll settle for….

He hears his name called once more and gives a huff.

“Alastor! What are you doing?! Put that angel down and get over here!! Now!!” Vaggie yells, startling the other angels passing by.

Charlie pats her lovers’ shoulder and walks to Alastor.

“Alastor we should be heading to our rest area now!” Charlie grins slightly, hoping not to panic the little angel that Alastor is holding.

Your hands come to a stop, “You… have the same name as my papa…”

Charlie’s eyes widen.

Alastor holds you tighter, “I suppose I do…” his radio voice turned off.

“I miss him a lot… I hope he’s not mad at me for not following his rules…” You begin to sniffle.

“He’s not mad at you…. he could never be mad at you.” He feels his legs collapse to the ground.

“I don’t know where he is…..” You sob holding on to Alastor.

“He’s right here… I’m right here…”

You look up at the deer man in front of you, tilting your head… “Papa?”

Alastor closes his eyes for a second then reopens them to look down at you, you with your bright red ribbon, with your tearful gaze.

“Y/n… yes its me.”

“Papa!!” You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, sobbing. “I’m sorry…. so s-s-sorry! I didn’t mean t-to leave I s-swear… I’m sorry!!”

He pulls you closer, “Don’t be sorry don’t ever be sorry.”

Charlie watches from behind, hands wiping her tears away as Vaggie stands in shock.

He knows that he may never see you again after today… but just knowing that your safe and nothing bad can every happen to you is all that he needs to hear. No matter how much he wants you to stay with him. He knows that this moment is only a moment. He’ll have to go back down to hell… he’ll have to be separated from you once more. Maybe he’ll change his mind about redemption, but that of course will not work on him. So for this moment and this moment only will he hold his daughter tighter than ever before and dream that he stays here with her forevermore.

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°.

I hope you liked this, almost started tearing up towards the end! Thank you so much for requesting again hopefully this is what you meant!

Requests are open !!!

Wordcount: 2609

destinyisastar 2024

[yasmindifference]

Cheer up prompt #27

An anon and @this-was-a-terrible-idea also requested #27! A popular number apparently lol. I hope you all enjoy! ♡

"--and then Mr. Browsten said that with all the, um, the hullabaloo that it wasn't fair to make us take a test, so he cancelled it."

Tim pauses for breath and Mom hums an encouraging noise. When Dad makes that sound, it means he's not really listening, but he knows Mom's paying attention, even though she hasn't stopped curling her hair. From where he's lying on her bed, he can see her reflection in the vanity mirror, and she's frowning just like he knew she would.

Mom doesn't approve of canceling tests, which means she doesn't approve of Mr. Browsten, because he cancels them all the time.

(Mom says tests are important to know where improvement is necessary. Mr. Browsten doesn't seem to agree.)

"So we watched a documentary instead and it was pretty interesting, it was about puffer fish! Sarah asked what puffer fish have to do with grammar and Mr. Browsten said that learning is its own reward, but I think he just didn't have anything else ready so he took something from Ms. Cappola instead. She's the fifth grade science teacher and I heard her classes watch movies at least twice a week."

Mom tuts, which Tim was expecting, and sets down her curling iron.

"Ridiculous," she mutters. "I don't know why we're paying that school so much in tuition when they can't be bothered to teach you anything. It's a miracle you ever learned to read."

"It's because I'm smart," Tim informs her helpfully, and Mom smiles her special just-for-Tim smile.

"You are," she agrees. "And thank goodness for that. Now, would my smart boy do me a favor?"

Because Tim's smart, he already knows what she's going to ask. He rolls off the bed to his feet. "Curling iron?"

"Yes, please." Mom rolls her chair away from the vanity so he can crawl under it to unplug the curling iron. She plugged it in herself, but that was before she was all dressed up in her expensive dress. "Thank you, Timmy."

"You're welcome," he chirps, crawling back out.

Mom rolls back in front of the vanity, but Tim stays where he is, kneeling next to it so he can watch her put her makeup on. There are a lot of different bottles and brushes and powders involved, but Mom never hesitates. Tim doesn't know how she keeps it all straight.

He likes watching Mom get ready to go out. Sometimes--like tonight--she lets him pick out the jewelry she's gonna wear, and then she chooses her dress and hair and makeup all based on what he picked. Even when the colors don't match, it all fits together like a puzzle...a puzzle she pieces together in seconds after Tim's impulsive choice.

It's really cool.

Tonight, Tim picked pretty, dangly earrings with some kind of red stone (ruby, Mom said when he asked), so Mom picked a black dress. She said it would make the earrings pop, which he didn't get until he saw her wearing it.

Now, he watches her choose lipstick as red as the earrings and asks, "Does the lipstick make the earrings pop, too?"

Mom finishes smoothing it on before she smiles at him. "You tell me."

Tim studies her. The lipstick matches the earrings, but it doesn't draw attention to them the way the plain dress does. He already watched her do her eye stuff, and her eyes look bigger somehow, but they're not colorful like they were when they all went to the opera last week.

"No," he decides. "You went new...neutral?" He waits for her slight nod of confirmation, then continues, encouraged, "You went neutral with your eye stuff and red with your lipstick to make your lips pop."

"Very good," Mom says, smiling. She cups his cheek briefly before turning back to the vanity. "Clever boy."

Tim beams and watches in fascinated silence as she uses some kind of powder. Even though he's staring right at her, he can't tell what the powder actually does. All he knows is that when she's done, her face looks...different. Still pretty, but kinda sharper somehow.

Makeup is like magic, he decides. No matter how many times he watches her get ready, he can never figure it out.

"Can I try?" he asks impulsively.

"Try what?" Mom asks, a little distracted. The cap on one of her bottles is stuck and she's struggling to open it.

"Your makeup!" Tim takes the bottle from her and opens it by using the hem of his shirt to grip it better. Mom can't do that, her dress is all shiny and slippery. "You look pretty, I wanna try."

Mom pauses and then smiles.

"I don't have long before I have to leave," she warns him, "but I don't see why not. Do you want to pick out some lipstick?"

Tim absolutely does. He levers to his feet as, across the room, Dad finally stirs. He's been reading some stuff his assistant from Drake Industries brought by earlier, ignoring them both, but now he says, "Janet" in a weird tone.

"Jack?" Mom asks, even as she directs Tim's attention to the little circles on the bottom of her lipstick tubes that show what color they are. She has a lot of options.

"Janie, really," Dad says. He sounds unhappy, and Tim looks up from comparing two different shades of pink to find him frowning. "You can't mean to let our son--"

He stops mid-sentence and Tim bites back a wince. Dad's in trouble; Tim hasn't seen that look on Mom's face since he told her about his last nanny giving him whiskey to help him sleep when he woke up from bad dreams.

"My son," Mom says very deliberately, "is welcome to express himself however he likes."

Is trying makeup expressing himself? Tim just wants to see if it makes him as pretty as it does Mom.

Either way, that's not a good tone. Tim looks down and concentrates really hard on picking out a lipstick.

"Janet," Dad tries again, weakly. He obviously knows he's in Big Trouble, but for some reason he hasn't apologized yet. Tim tries to psychically tell him to cut his losses and back down, but his telepathy apparently still hasn't kicked in, because Dad says, "It's just that--"

"Do you know what you want to try, sweetheart?" Mom asks, completely ignoring Dad.

Tim looks between his parents, decides to let Dad dig his own grave, and hands Mom the red he settled on.

(If it's the red that most closely resembles the red in Robin's uniform...well, it's not like Mom has any way of knowing that.)

"Excellent choice!" Mom says. She stands up from the vanity and pats her chair. "Take a seat."

Tim does, excited. He's not usually allowed to sit at Mom's vanity.

Lipstick, he learns quickly, feels really weird. He has to sit super still while Mom puts it on him, and it makes his lips feel weirdly heavy, like there's something on them.

Which there is, actually, so...he doesn't know what he was expecting.

Mom hands him a tissue so he can "blot" his lips, just like he's seen her do a million times, and then steps aside so he can see his reflection in the mirror.

"Whoa," Tim says, leaning closer. He makes a few faces, pushing his lips together and out, transfixed by how bright and noticeable they are. It doesn't make him pretty like Mom, but he likes how it looks anyway. "Cool."

Behind him, Dad throws up his hands and leaves the room. He's angry, Tim can tell, but Mom is smiling down at him, so Tim's not worried.

"Do you want to pick eyeshadow next?" she asks.

"Yes, please!"

Prompt #27 was experimentation! Well selected! ♡♡

[narcissistshandler]

giving miguel head while he explains complicated concepts of the multiverse. 😳 at first he chuckles when reader requests this, but he starts to struggle and lose track of what he was talking about. his voice becomes more desperate as he tries to explain all this stuff he knows to reader with his talons gripping at his love’s skull and his voice shaking and melting into pretty breathy moans until he can’t think of what he was talking about and instead fucks reader’s throat til he’s an overstimulated, sobbing mess

𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗘

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn!reader x miguel o'hara

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 blowjob (reader giving), deep throat, slight overstimulation at the end, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned, a little of blood

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 This was in my drafts for two weeks and honestly I don't remember what/how I wrote half of it, but still, this request was delicious

"—Are you listening to me?"

You blinked, seeming to come back to reality and looked into Miguel's judgmental brown eyes.

"I've been speaking Spanish for the last ten minutes," he continued before you had time to speak.

"I am," you insisted. Your first instinct was to lie. The truth was no, you weren't paying the slightest attention to any of all that complicated science and physics coming out of Miguel's mouth, even though from the beginning your focus hadn't left his lips framing every complex and long word, occasionally rising to appreciate that expression of concentration on his usually serious face that shouldn't be so erotic to anyone but you.

Miguel's eyes fell to your lap, as if he could see through the pillow you were holding, his brow immediately frowning in that way that indicated his bad mood.

"So what is the simple concept of what constitutes a Multiverse?" he questioned, sounding so much like a hot, strict teacher that you felt your sex throb in response, too distracted to even try to think of an answer. "What are the ways to overcome the barriers that separate our world from other universes?" Silence. "What happens when there is a divergence in events? Where does the variety of these universes originate?"

You knew the answer to some of these questions as someone who had heard more than enough about this subject: the multiverse was nothing more than the aggregate of parallel realities and bla bla bla. But that wasn't what Miguel wanted to hear, he wanted concise, long and scientifically coherent answers and that's why you preferred to keep your mouth shut.

"You weren't listening," he concluded with a sigh.

"Keep talking, I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel looked into your darkened eyes, noting the warm innuendo in your tone and then once again, his attention fell to the pillow that covered your lap. "You're excited," he observed, then continued seeming disgusted and irritated: "Why? Physics does that to you?"

“You do this to me,” you said. Miguel's expression seemed to become even darker. "You always seem so focused and intelligent while talking about these things I can't understand, it's sexy."

"You were the one who asked me to teach you, I didn't know this was a fantasy of yours," he pointed out.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you asked soflty as you got up from the sofa where you sat next to Miguel and fell to your knees in front of his feet, your hands running up his bare legs until they slid under the hem of his shorts. "Continue teaching me, please? I promise I'll pay attention this time."

Miguel half growled at you, not seeming too willing to indulge in your fantasies even as his legs opened in pure muscle memory to give you room to fit between them and desire flashed in his eyes.

"How are you supposed to pay attention to what I say with my penis in your mouth? That doesn't seem like a very believable teaching method." Even with you kneeling in front of him on the floor of the apartment's living room, Miguel seemed genuinely concerned about teaching you some real knowledge about multiverse.

You rubbed your hand against the bulge in his shorts to bring him to hardness, laughing a little at how genuine Miguel was sometimes.

"You talk, I listen, then you can test me to see if I really learned something or not."

Miguel opened his mouth, looking ready to retort with some argument, but your fingers fitting into the elastic waistband of his shorts was enough to make him swallow back his words. “Okay,” he agreed finally, lifting his hips off the couch to let you pull his shorts down his legs and discard them on the floor.

"Without underwear?" You inquired teasingly, your fingers closing around Miguel's thick cock that was slowly getting hard for you and pulling him into slow, steady thrusts.

Miguel sighed at the sudden touch, a light blush coloring his cheeks at the teasing.

"Back to the beginning," he started to say, ignoring your words. "When we talk about the Multiverse, this refers to a conception of multiple universes or parallel realities existing simultaneously. Together, these universes are presumed to comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy..."

Your tongue trailed in a wet line from the base to the head, interrupting Miguel's speech as he trailed off with a soft sigh.

That usual satisfaction made you smile between the licks you dragged along his length, feeling the pulsation of the bulging veins against your tongue, your fingers keeping his dick firm at the base. Your lips parted, gently sucking the side of the bulbous, red head where drops of precum were beginning to leak.

Miguel let out the most beautiful moan, one of his hands falling into your hair.

“Oh,” he sighed softly, voice already falling into that deep tone that always did things to you. You looked up at the same time you slid your tongue over the slit leaking from his cock; Miguel's eyes met yours, warm and shining. He took a deep breath and continued speaking: "In the concept of multiverse, a scheme is imagined in which... all universes aggregate each other across an infinite vastness..."

He looked so composed even with your mouth on his dick and you wanted to break that composure of his until it became nothing, until his mind stopped working and the only coherent thought he had left was fucking your throat.

Miguel doesn't stop talking when your fingers tighten around his length in a grip that borders on painful and your mouth opens so you can take his length. His cock filled your mouth, the warm, smooth skin sliding over your tongue and inward in a delicious, welcome weight that made your skin tingle. Almost instinctively, you searched for more, leaning forward and taking him deeper, your free hand feeling Miguel's thigh muscles tense under your touch.

Saliva pooled in your mouth and as soon as you pulled your head back, spit slid down his length to his heavy balls and a wet line ran down your chin, a mess you knew Miguel liked. As expected, his breathing stuttered and you saw him losing his train of thought at the sight of your saliva-glossy lips stretching around the thickness of his dick.

"...In addition to the state superpos- superposition property, there are many other phenomena that occur as quantum-scale systems, such as quantum tunneling, quantum e-entanglement..."

The firm fingers tangled in the strands of your hair suddenly became sharper, like thick needles scratching your scalp. The threat of the grab hung in the air, filling your stomach with a tense heat as you realized they were Miguel's deadly talons, which could penetrate through the fragility of your skin in seconds and even an accidental scratch could draw blood. This realization shook you to the core and a moan rose in your throat.

"... So you can connect gravity and the other three forces in an apparently firm way?" he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Dios mío."

It took you a few seconds to understand the jumbled words that came out of his mouth, but when you did you knew that you had achieved your objective, as the argument didn't seem to fit into any part of the multiverse theory.

Tears blocked the corners of your vision, jaw opening wider to take Miguel's cock deeper, the tip slapping against your cheek and tongue before going deeper, and then more and more. The salty taste of precum, sweat, and something else you could only describe as Miguel's taste rising in the back of your throat, clouding all your senses and pushing away the urgency burning between your legs. All that mattered was Miguel.

At that moment, your entire world was just Miguel's body contracting on the couch under the heat of your mouth, the heavy leg he had thrown over your shoulder and his heel digging into your shoulder blade in an attempt to bring you impossibly closer. There was a distinct feeling of discomfort growing in your body, Miguel's grip was strong and painful, his rationality seemed to have dissolved under the pleasure.

"[n-name] [name] [name] [name], por favor." The beautiful moans of your name in his voice echoed through the room in repeated, stammered repetitions.

The gag reflex kicked in, the bulbous head of Miguel's cock pressing past the tightness of your throat. Your eyes closed in an attempt to fight the immediate instinct to choke and suffocate, the desire to give Miguel everything he wanted was stronger. You willingly obeyed the grip of the talons on your head keeping you still, your mouth falling open and easy for the deep thrusts.

Resisting him, the urgency with which his hips undulated, as if he needed the pleasure to breathe, felt equal to having at least one pulled muscle and a deep cut left behind.

Fortunately, fighting him was far from your intention.

You could feel as his dick twitched inside your mouth and the thick, salty liquid filled your throat, which rose and fell as you swallowed. Your eyes opened, tears running down your cheeks, you closed your lips around Miguel's pulsing length, sucking. Miguel's reaction was lascivious, his thrusts becoming erratic, whole body shaking violently, his talons sinking at least a few centimeters into your skin, until it breaks under the pressure.

Hot liquid ran down the back of your neck, the pain was a distant thing in your warm body, your fingers digging into the soft skin of Miguel's thighs as you pressed the nose against the curly hair of his groin. Miguel whimpered as his cock continued to spurt small jets deep down your throat, tears glistening in his eyes and fangs sinking into the lower lip.

You had lied again, you hadn't paid attention to anything he said, but it didn't matter since you doubted that Miguel remembered what even was a subatomic particle now.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi! I was wondering if you could help me out with a word I've forgotten? I'm trying to remember the name for a concept that (I think) talks about how people better understand or process Things once they have vocabulary to describe it - I've heard it talked about in regards to the colour orange, or coercive control, etc.

long story short i've just read a paper saying ancient Greeks and Romans weren't racist bc they had no word for racism and am trying to form an argument against!

(no worries if this is unanswerable, i'm aware its a bit of a long shot but you struck me as a person who Knows Things)

That’s extremely kind and funny of you. i don’t know much but i am ok at synthesis.

I think you might be thinking of the concepts loosely called the “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis”, which describes something called “linguistic determinism.” This idea has been “disproven”, as it is just too reductionist as a concept - people are clearly perfectly capable of having experiences that are tough to describe with words. There will be plenty of papers showing how this reasoning is applied.

but it is still commonly thrown around and still considered a useful teaching framework. That’s why you’ll see it referenced online as if it is fresh, new, and applicable - people learn about it every year in college. Also, elements of the framework are probably perfectly sound. It definitely seems to be the case that language shapes brains; it just doesn’t seem to be the case that humans who don’t have specific words for them can’t experience orange, or the future.

(Many things in college are taught using teaching frameworks that may not be, technically, true; the framework is intended to give a critical structure for interpreting information. Then, when we later find evidence that disproves the hypothesis, that single piece of information doesn’t destroy our expensive college education; what we paid for is the framework. This is mostly frustrating in the sciences, when fresh crops of undergraduate students crash around on social media, grappling with their first exposure to (complex concept) and how it’s DIFFERENT to what they learned BEFORE and their teachers LIED TO EVERYBODY and they’re going to save the world from POP SCIENCE by telling the TRUTH. You’ll notice that these TOTALLY NEW INFORMATION reveals map along the semester schedule. The thing here is that getting new information, or information being different from what you were previously told, does not cancel out the fact that you are getting what you pay for - an education. Learning new facts that change our relationships to hypotheses isn’t a ✨huge betrayal ✨ , but the expected process of academia. Anyway.)

You have an interesting response here, and can start by looking at the ways that Sapir-Whorf has been disproved. There will be loads of literature on that.

However, it would be interesting to look at the argument as an unpicking of the other side’s rather weird, ritualistic superstitious belief that a behavior doesn’t exist if the creatures doing it can’t describe it. It is not on the ancient Greeks and Romans to categorise and interpret their behavior for a modern educated audience. They do not have the wherewithal to do so. They are also fucking dead. We can name the behaviors we see, and describe their impacts, however the hell we like.

Sure, the ancient Greeks used “cancer” to refer to lumpy veiny tumors. We can infer that they still had blood cancer, because their medical texts describe leukaemia and their corpses have evidence of it - they just didn’t know it was cancer. But we do, so we can call it cancer. Just because Homer said “the wine-dark sea” in a flight of girlish whimsy doesn’t mean he was unable to distinguish grape juice from saltwater, which we know, because we can observe that he was an intelligent wordsmith perfectly capable of talking about wine and oceans in other contexts. We are the people who get to stand at our point of history with our words, and name things like “this person probably died of leukaemia” and “poets say things that aren’t necessarily literal” and “this behaviour was racist” and “that’s gay” and “togas kinda slay tho” despite Ancient Greeks having different concepts of cancer, wittiness, prejudice, homosexuality, and slaying than we do today.

Now just to caveat that people do get muddled about the concept of racism. Our understanding of racism from here - this point of history, with these words, probably from the West - is heavily influenced by how we see racism around us today: white supremacy and the construct of “whiteness,” European colonial expansion, transatlantic chattel slavery, orientalism, evangelism, 20th century racial science, and so on. This is the picture of racism that really dominates our current discourse, so people often mistake it for the definition of racism. (Perhaps in a linguistic-deterministic sort of way after all.) As a result, muddled-up people often say things like “I can’t be racist because I’m not a white American who throws slurs at black American people,” while being an Indian person in the UK who votes for vile anti-immigration practices, or a Polish person with a horrible attitude about the Roma. Many people genuinely hold this very kindergarten idea of racism; if your opponent does as well, they’re probably thinking something like “Ancient Greek and Roman people didn’t have a concept of white supremacy, because whiteness hadn’t been invented yet, so how could they be racist?” And that’s unsound reasoning in a separate sense.

Racism as the practice of prejudice against an ethnicity, particularly one that is a minority, is a power differential that is perfectly observable in ancient cultures. The beliefs and behaviors will be preserved in written plays, recorded slurs, beauty standards, reactions to foreign marriages, and travel writing. The impacts will be documented in political records, trade agreements, the layouts of historical districts of ancient towns.

You don’t need permission to point out behaviours and impacts. You can point them out in any words you like. You can make up entirely new words to bully the ancient romans with. You are the one at this point of history and your words are the ones that get used.

Pretending that “words” are some kind of an intellect-obscuring magical cloud in the face of actual evidence is just a piece of sophistry (derogatory) on the part of your opponent here. It’s meant to be a distraction. You can dismiss this very flimsy shield pretty quickly and get them in the soft meat of them never reading anything about the actual material topic, while they’re still looking up dictionary definitions or whatever.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Okay.. hear me out the song 'Stick Season' by Noah Kahan... for a fic like her and spence break up and she can't move on from him...

Oh you mean my FAVORITE NOAH KAHAN SONG???

Absolutely girlboss.

It ended up being 3.5k, so please please enjoy!!

(it's a gn! fic btw)

You must have had yourself a change of heart like Halfway through the drive Because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign Kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right

Everyone in the BAU hated letting Spencer drive. It was a fact of the universe. It wasn’t because he was bad at it, in fact he was quite a good driver. But whenever he would drive, it was constant chatter, constant rambling, and sometimes, it would be in between NPR segments where Spencer would correct someone or pause to discuss interesting facts that he knew. 

So when Spencer offered to drive the team to the hotel across town, no one had the guts to say no. It was some random town in Vermont, in the middle of October, some weird string of murders throwing another small town into disarray. He was in the middle of describing the science behind why certain leaves change into certain colors when his voice died out.

They were at one of two stop lights in town and they were stopped at one of them. Spencer was looking diagonally across at some random coffee shop, and Derek could not, for the life of him, figure out why Spencer was looking over there. 

“Reid? Hello.” 

“It’s her.” 

“Who?” Derek followed his line of sight again and realized what Spencer was looking at, well, who he was looking at. 

You. 

“Oh my god. Isn’t that…” 

Spencer nodded his head. 

“Why is she…” 

Spencer just stared at you. “I don’t know.” 

You were now leaving the coffee shop, cup in hand and small brown bag in the other. Spencer could probably guess what was in both. 

“Green light Reid.” 

The two of them started to move again, but neither of them spoke on the way to the hotel. It was almost unbelievable that they hadn’t seen you in over two years and yet here you were, in some random town that had a serial killer. 

Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains Doc told me to travel, but there's COVID on the planes

“No no. Lucille. You don’t understand. He was like, nerdy hot. And I fucked up big time.” 

Lucille snorted and handed you the blunt in her hand. “My love, my life. I bet you, he was the problem.”

You scoffed and took a hit. “Yeah right.” 

Lucille raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You’re not still in love with the guy are you?” 

“When you put it like that it makes me sound pathetic.” 

“Oh girl no, you are, aren't you.” 

You sighed and took another hit—a long inhale this time to compensate. 

“Sweetie, you are WAY too good for him.” 

You laughed. “Mr three PhDs, four Bachelors, and FBI? Yeah. I don’t think so.” 

“Weren’t you Mrs FBI?” 

“That’s Miss FBI to you. Mrs is reserved for happy married stupid people.” You grumbled and closed your eyes. 

“Wow.” 

“Wow What.” 

“He was really the one wasn’t he.” 

You nodded. “I really thought….god I’m so stupid.” You stood up and started pacing along the porch of your house. 

Once you and Spencer had broken up, you needed to get out of there. There had to be somewhere where he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t find you. So you closed your eyes and pointed to a random spot on the map. Then when you realized you pointed to Las Vegas, you sat down and wrote down what you knew about Spencer, then tried to find somewhere that he had the lowest percentage of going. 

And Fairlee seemed like the right place. There was nothing for him out here. 

Except for you. 

But Spencer didn’t feel that way. Not anymore at least.

You had taken up teaching, obtaining your teaching certificate up in Vermont and becoming one of ten teachers in the high school (which supported any child in a half hour radius). 

It wasn’t hunting down serial killers, but it was still fulfilling. 

That’s how you met Lucille. She was another teacher, in need of a roommate, and the rest is history. 

“You’re floating away again.” 

You snapped back to the conversation. “Sorry. Just. Really thought we were going to get married and be with each other and shit but.” 

“But?” 

“He wasn’t ready. You’d think three years knowing one another and being friends, and then another three years of dating would, you know. Add up to something.” 

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Lucille took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.” 

“Yeah…maybe, I don’t know.” 

She squeezed it again. “Tonight’s the night Damian invited us all down to the bar to hang out, I know we said no but…might as well get free drinks out of a guy who will never get the hint. Free booze, boost of ego. You’re young, you’re hot.” 

“I see what you’re doing.” You smiled down at her. “But it’s raining and I’m not in the mood to get soaking wet just from walking from the house to the car then the car to the bar….”

“Pleaseeeee.” 

Just as you were about to answer, a pair of headlights turned onto your driveway. 

You’d know those stupid fucking headlights anywhere. 

“Who do we know that drives a black suburban?” 

Lucille shrugged. “I don’t think we know anyone who has one in town, why? Is that what the car is?” 

You nodded, your stomach dropping. 

“Luce. Hide the weed.” 

“Why, it's not Tom and you know he’s over here every—-“

“Now. Luce.” 

She furrowed her brows as the headlights stopped in front of the house. She quickly grabbed everything and went into the house. 

You stood on the porch, in your pajamas pants, and a sweatshirt, hands in the front porch. 

The car turned off and you watched as three figures got out of the car and walked up to the porch, freezing as they looked at you, the rain pouring down on them. 

“Why are you here Hotch?” 

The man was frozen,and he looked over at Emily, who was just as baffled to see you. 

“Y/n?” 

“Why are you here?” You asked again. 

“Why are you here?” 

“This is my home Em.” You stepped back a couple of steps and gestured for them to come up onto the porch so they don’t have to stand in the rain anymore. 

Spencer was silent the whole time, not taking his eyes off of you. 

The three of them moved up the porch and went towards the door, but you blocked them. 

“You need a warrant if you want to enter my house, Hotch. What are you doing here.” 

“We need to speak to Lucille Walkner.” 

“Why.” 

Emily raised her eyebrows, and crossed her arms. She was used to how stubborn you were, but being on the receiving end of it was something she was not a fan of. 

“It’s in regards to the string of murders y/n.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “I can guarantee you that I have been with Lucille every moment of every day for the past two weeks.” 

“We’re not accusing her, we’re just asking—“

You cut Emily off. “Asking her questions. Yeah. I know how this goes. In case you forgot or something. It hasn’t been that long. Why do you need to speak to her.” 

“Because she was the last person seen with the most recent victim.” 

You looked at Spencer for the first time since he got here. “So was I. But somehow you failed to mention that as well. You’re losing your grip, Doctor.” 

The group had never heard your voice so flat, so strict, so full of disdain. It was easy for you to treat him like he was the villain. He felt like one. He was one. 

“Y/n.” 

You broke your staring contest with Spencer and looked over at Hotch. “Get a warrant and come back tomorrow.” 

And with that you walked into your house and locked the door behind you. Feeling a bit more bitter than usual, you turned off the porch light too.

They all stood out there. Dumbfounded. 

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

When the BAU showed up at your door with the proper paperwork the next morning, both you and your roommate were at work, twenty minutes away. 

Your sense of humor still intact since you managed to leave a sticky note for them: 

At work. home by 4.

But that didn’t stop the caped crusaders of the BAU. 

When they showed up at the school to interview you and your roommate, Lucille went first, recounting the night all three of you went out to one of three bars in the town, and then when you offered to drive her home, she insisted on calling her own roommate. When you watched her get into her roommate's car, the both of you went home. 

When you recounted the same exact story, you both were released for the day. 

“Heard you were a pain in the ass yesterday.” 

You stopped in the hallway and turned around, facing Derek Morgan. “What do you want, Agent.” 

“Woah woah what’s with the formalities.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Derek. I’m really not in the mood. I fit the victimology of the asshole on a murder spree, and the team acted like I didn’t fucking know that. I’ve also realized you haven’t connected the fact that all of them are dating or sleeping with the police force.” 

“All? We only knew two of the five—“

“Because half of them don’t want to admit that they’re cheating on their wives, and the other half don’t want to admit they’re dating anyone regardless of marital status. Not a single one of the victims were married.”

Derek just stared at you. “Touchy subject?” 

You closed your eyes. “I still have a gun license Derek. Don’t make me use it.” 

“Too soon?” 

“Yeah Derek. Too soon.” You sighed as he pulled you into a hug. 

“We miss you y’a know. It’s not the same.” 

“I’m sure.” You squeezed him tightly. 

“And I’m serious. We haven’t found anyone nearly as good as you have been.” He whispered, kissing your head. “Your desk is still empty. Hotch won’t let anyone sit there. I think he’s hoping you’d come back. I think we all are.” 

“I can’t even look at him and it’s been two years” you whispered trying not to cry. 

“I know.” He just squeezed you. “I know.” 

“God I just….”

Derek pulled you into an empty classroom the second he felt your body tense up. There was one thing you hated more than crying, and it was crying in public. Once the door to the classroom was closed, he pulled you back into the hug, letting your tears pour down his shoulder.

“God I thought I’d never have to see you people again.” 

Derek chuckled. “Clearly you didn’t read your contract. It’s required that you’re supposed to see me at least seven times a year and if you don’t, I hunt you down.” 

You laughed through your tears and sat down on one of the desks. “You wish.” 

“I do.” 

“Be serious Derek.” 

“I am.” 

You sighed and looked up at him. “Well. Now you know where I am so. Come and visit me I guess.” 

“Oh I plan on it gorgeous.” 

You used the sleeve of your sweater to wipe away some of the tears still clinging to your cheeks. 

“He misses you too.” 

“Derek….”

He knew it ws dangerous territory, but he had to let you know—He needed you to know how it was affecting everyone, even though it’s been two years. “He does.” 

“Why would you tell me that Derek.”  

“You have to–

“Have to what Derek. I don’t wan—that’s a lie. What I would fucking give to be back in DC; back at the FBI. But I can’t do it Derek. I can’t go back.” 

“But–”

“No.” You backed away from him, out of his arms. “I’m not going back.”

“Please.” Derek watched as your back straightened and your eyes hardened. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were just starting to move on. Fuck. He watched as you closed yourself off again. 

“Do you need anything else agent or can I go.” 

“Y/n…”

“Then goodbye Agent Morgan.” 

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever now you still can't call me back

Unexpectedly, but expectedly, the killer was caught. He was some sort of religious nut who had decided that “immoral sinners” be put in your place. 

That was something you did not miss: the misogynistic murderers. 

But the BAU was getting ready to leave. You were grateful that they had come and protected the community you had grown so close to, but the thought of them knowing where you were made you nervous. 

You knew Penelope most likely tracked you from time to time, and you weren’t trying to live completely off the grid/untraceable. But seeing them in person, watching them run around your town, was nerve-wracking. 

Seeing Spencer fucked you up the most though. 

He looked okay; or better than you at least. He was completely and utterly okay, and it bugged the shit out of you. How could he be okay, how could he move on and be happy without you, while you are stuck still trying to locate the remaining pieces of your shattered heart.

To Spencer, you were a wonderful experience. But to you, Spencer was everything. 

The BAU had left, no goodbyes were in order since you had fulfilled your goal of attempting to burn every bridge you had. It was painful, but you just couldn't help it. They reminded you of Spencer. Everything reminded you of Spencer. 

Lucille watched as you slowly transformed back into that lost person from two years ago. Your smile never reached your eyes. You drank just enough to be concerning, but not enough to continuously push the boundaries of alcoholism. Your face was pale. You never laughed or cracked jokes any more. 

All you could do was think of Spencer. Waking up next to him, his arms around your waist. The smell of his apartment, the rides to work, the glances from your desk to his desk. It was all just too painful. 

There were moments where you would pick up your phone and sometimes it felt like the world was against you. Derek posted a picture from some sort of day off, and suddenly you didn’t follow him anymore. Or, if you opened NPR, Doctor Spencer Reid was the headliner in a speaker series at Georgetown in blah blah blah. So you stopped listening to the radio. 

Every since he stepped out of the car in your drive you, you’ve wanted to call him. You’ve wanted to hear him speak to you like he did, to love you like he did. You wanted to call him and hear him apologize and tell you everything was going to be okay and this was all just a big misunderstanding and you were his forever. 

But you had a feeling that if you called, he wouldn’t pick up. 

Oh, that'll have to do My other half was you I hope this pain's just passin' through But I doubt it

One Year Later…

Time flies. Leaves change. Life moves on. 

But suddenly it's back to October and you find yourself in a new town, somewhere completely different. Another fresh start. Maybe this one will stick. 

But then you get a call.  

And it’s from Erin Strauss, offering you your job back, and your hesitation gave her all of the information she wanted to hear. You had three days to make a decision. 

Do you continue to run from place to place, hoping and praying that maybe someday you’d be able to feel like you deserved to be loved again. Hoping that someday someone might actually want to stay. They might want you to stay. 

Do you stay in this new town, and get attached to the people, making new friends, reminding you of the old ones, and hoping that it will be enough to fill the holes in your skin. 

Do you continue to teach. Do you continue to shape minds even though it’s not something you had ever dreamed of doing. Especially when it feels like you’re trying to force your body into loving something it doesn’t. 

Or

Do you go back to the FBI–the BAU.

Do you ignite the flame in your chest and let yourself enjoy the chase. LEt yourself be happy with your job and treasure every moment you get to catch the bad guy. 

Do you accept the job and move back to the desk you belong at, surrounded by your friends. Once again in a building you call home, letting your guard down for the first time in three years. 

Do you let your guard down and talk to Spencer and watch yourself undo all of the progress you had made. Watch as your resolve crumbles and your heart aches and you can;t even breathe around him because it hurts to see him. 

Do you give up and follow him around like some lost puppy and beg for him to take you back so maybe you’ll be able to melt your waxen heart and be happy again. 

You don’t take the job. You never hear from Erin Strauss again. 

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes

Sometimes in your sleep, you can see what your wedding would have looked like. The venue, the florals, your outfits and shoes. Your closest friends and family by your side as you commit your soul to be bound to his. 

But every time you get to the I Do’s, Spencer says yes. 

It hurts because you never even made it that far. 

You didn’t even get an engagement ring. 

All you got were pitiful looks and sympathetic glances while Spencer rambled on about how much he didn’t understand marriage or want children–not that you did, but you would have liked for it to have been a discussion between the two of you. 

You would have liked a lot of things. 

Sometimes, in your dreams, Spencer proposes. 

It never leaves your mind, watching as he publicly declares his love for you. Apparently, that was too much to ask for. 

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do Have to do

The pain of waiting to be loved feels like you’ve but split down the middle, letting yourself melt apart. The skin, no matter how hard you try, can never be stitched back together, and even if you manage to get some back, it scars over, reminding you for the rest of your life how unloveable you feel. 

Maybe you’ll get lucky and someday you can learn to live with never being truly whole again. 

Since Spencer owns half of you, and you will never be whole without him.

Part 2

[ash5monster01]

Could you pretty please do Marty Mcfly x reader? One where they're friends and they're hanging out in the Doc's garage and marty is showing her everything and idk where to go from there.

I'm so glad you write for him. I feel like he gets no attention!

Thank you!

All of You

Pairing: Marty McFly x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, unreciprocated feelings, self doubt, cheesy lovesick teenagers, soft intimacy. 

Summary: When your lifelong friend and short time crush invites you to spend an evening in Doc’s garage, you don’t expect the outcome it actually brings. 

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

When you had agreed to join Marty during practice tonight, that is what you had expected him to do. Especially since he was dead set on landing the school dance gig. Yet the second you walk through the doors of Doc's garage that entire plan is thrown to the wind. Marty takes one look at your curious eyes and next you know he's showing you everything the large garage witheld. Every trinket, experiment, odd and end. It started with the clocks, him explaining Doc’s incessant need to collect so many. Then it spiraled from there, a prideful look on his face as he explained all the mystical things the garage held. 

“You know, I’d think you’d be more into science then you actually are based on how much you know about this stuff” you tell him while he’s showing you a particularly weird trinket, not even beginning to understand what it does or at least what Doc says it does. 

“I don’t know, I find it interesting, but science has never really come to me. Not like it does for Doc” Marty shrugs, hands reaching to set down one of Doc’s inventions. You knew he really cared for his relationship with the older man, most likely because he wasn’t all that close with his father. 

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re smart Marty, I’ve known that my whole life” you tell him, hand reaching to squeeze his shoulder and you miss the way he tenses at your touch. The longing in his eyes as he lets the compliment settle into his bloodstream. 

“Don’t you hear Mr. Strickland? You’re a slacker Marty” the boy mocks the teachers voice, flopping onto the couch and closing his eyes. You sigh and move closer to him, taking a seat in the spot beside him before setting a comforting hand on his thigh. 

“You’re not a slacker Marty, in fact you’re one of the most dedicated guys I know. You need to stop being so hard on yourself” you say a touch annoyed. It was exhausting how often you had to remind the boy how amazing he was. His attitude was a direct response from years of watching his Dad think he wasn’t good enough. To you he was one of the most caring and genuine people you knew. 

“I know, but why should I if you’ve got all the confidence I need” he says, a teasing tone and smirk on his face. You roll your eyes and give him a slight shove, trying not to smile when he laughs loudly at the action. 

“It’s exhausting carrying around mine and you’re own confidence. Besides, you need yours to land this band gig. Which brings me to my next point which is you haven’t even attempted to practice yet” you tell him, a pointed but unserious look on your face. If you were being honest he didn’t really need the practice. He was already amazing at what he did. Sometimes he got carried away but that was rock n’ roll, it’s how to was supposed to be. 

“I don’t want to practice. I just want to sit here with you” and he instantly blushes at how whiny and needy he sounds, especially towards his own best friend. You don’t even notice though, trying to mask your own heart stuttering in your chest at the sentiment. 

“If that’s all you want, who am I to complain” you say before readjusting and leaning into him. You try not to focus on how warm he is or the way your palms begin to sweat from nervousness. This was Marty after all, you’re eldest friend and the one person in the world you should be the most comfortable with. Yet the thing about crushes is you couldn’t control the things they will do to you. No matter who it’s on. 

Marty doesn’t expect the closeness but allows it anyway, lifting his arm so you can tuck up underneath his side, lowering it around you the second you’re comfortable. He prays you can’t feel his heart racing in his chest, the way you settle against him so naturally, it made him wish you were his. The one person in this world to love and to keep. Not be held back from kissing you or telling you how he feels every time he fears he will lose you as a friend. 

“You ever wonder what it would be like to be more than friends?” You blurt out, a mix of confidence and desperation causing you to ask the blunt question. Maybe it was easier because he couldn’t see your face. Or maybe it was the annoyance over how you could be so close to him like this and not gain anything from it. You were tired of tip toeing around the fact that he was the one person in this world you truly loved and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

“What?” Marty asks, a bit shocked and thrown off guard and you can’t help the way you stiffen beside him. 

“It’s just, we spend so much time together and I’ve never been uncomfortable. It just seems weird that two people who know each other so intimately haven’t been, well, intimate” you blush a deep red, even the tips of your ears fading into a soft pink, thankful he still couldn’t see your face head on. Yet you thought to soon because Martys hand is grasping your chin, turning to look him in the eye where you can see his own face is a soft shade of pink as well. 

“I’m not really sure what to say” and suddenly you’re embarrassed, that confidence long gone as you begin to shake your head, and fight of the burning feeling at the back of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid, I shouldn’t of said anything” you start to move away from him, feeling like an idiot and ashamed you would even bring it up. Yet his hand on your arm stops you, your eyes glancing at his grip and then up to meet his own, a desperation and something else entirely bubbling underneath the surface. 

“It’s not stupid, in fact I think about it all the time myself if I’m being honest” he admits sheepishly, eye glancing anywhere but your own and you swear your heart freezes in your chest. Trying to understand what this could really truly mean and if it would mean what you hope it does. 

“Really? And it doesn’t weird you out?” You ask and the boy snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly because you had amused him with such a silly question. 

“Why would it weird me out? Just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean I don’t notice how gorgeous you are. In fact it’s kinda hard not to notice especially since your my favorite person in this world” he says like it’s the most obvious thing and now you’re sure your entire body is fire truck red because the boy you loved just called you gorgeous. 

“Yeah well if you weren’t so damn cute all the time neither of us would be in this predicament” you agree and finally Marty smiles because he knows you. He knows this is your way of joking about your feelings to soften the blow if it doesn’t go your way. That if right now he said he didn’t want you it could be a cushion to protect you from the punch. 

“Hey, I like you more than friends. I never had to wonder because it’s how I always look at you” and you gulp nervously, not expecting the forthcoming honesty, considering this whole conversation had been you both tip toeing around each other. 

“Really?” You ask, voice slightly shaky and mostly hopeful and Marty smiles, pulling you close. When he doesn’t provide an answer you feel the panic begin to swell but then suddenly his nose is nudging against your own, hot breath fanning across you lips, and just like that you’re puddy in the boys hands. His answer comes when his lips press softly against your own, not to desperate but just enough to get the point ocross. It takes a moment to even process what was happening, how you were locking lips with your best friend, but when reality sets in you can’t help how desperately you kiss him back. Needing to feel closer to him in this moment than you ever have. After was feels like hours he finally pulls away, pecking one soft kiss into your lips before his eyes focus into your own.

“Believe me now?” He says, oozing the confidence you had tried to pull out of him when you had first gotten here and you can’t help the way you giggle as you hug him close.

“Yeah, I believe you” 

[tarareindeer]

hello, first of all i hope you have a nice day!

second, i wanted to ask if i may request a short fic about Halsin, where the character is from our world and somehow landed in their one and tells Halsin how it is to live in our world? (you know what I mean? sorry i tend to write in riddles😅) if not it's also okay

✌️✌️

"The Wilds of Your World"

{reader x halsin}

Halsin tilted his head, his amber eyes warm with curiosity as he handed you a mug of herbal tea. The two of you sat near a crackling campfire deep in the forest, the air alive with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

"You come from a strange land," he said, his voice low and steady. "A world without druids, gods, or magic. How do your people survive?"

You sipped the tea, grateful for its earthy warmth. "Uh, poorly," you admitted, shrugging. "We have... technology, I guess? Machines and devices that do a lot of the heavy lifting. But it’s nothing like magic. It’s more like-” you gestured vaguely, “overcomplicated puzzles made of metal and electricity. And everyone’s obsessed with them. It’s kind of sad, actually.”

Halsin frowned thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to the fire. "Your people must be clever to create such things, but I sense a lack of balance. Do you live harmoniously with nature?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, no. Not at all. Nature’s more of an afterthought. We’ve built cities that cover miles of land, cut down forests, polluted rivers... You’d probably hate it."

His brow furrowed, and a faint sadness crept into his expression. "Why would your kind forsake the earth that nurtures them?"

"Capitalism," you deadpanned.

Halsin raised an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with the word.

"It’s like... greed. But institutionalized," you explained, setting the mug down. "People care more about making money than taking care of the planet. And the ones in power? They don’t listen to the rest of us, even when we’re screaming at them to stop ruining everything."

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. "That sounds... disheartening. In this world, we strive to live as part of the natural order, not above it. The cycle of life demands respect."

"Yeah, well, in my world, the only cycle most people care about is the one on their washing machine."

A low chuckle escaped Halsin’s lips, and his serious demeanor softened. "Your wit is sharp, but I sense a heaviness in your words. Does this trouble you deeply?"

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone quieter now. "I mean, we’ve got some good stuff like science, art, medicine but it feels like we’re just... sprinting towards a cliff, y’know? And the worst part is, a lot of people don’t even notice."

Halsin regarded you with a steady, compassionate gaze. "It seems your world has lost its way. But perhaps you are here because you were meant to see another path. To find what your heart longs for."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "What, like a chosen one kind of thing?"

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Perhaps not chosen. But sometimes the wilds call to those who need them most."

For a moment, the weight of your world felt distant, replaced by the gentle rhythm of the forest and the warmth of Halsin’s presence.

"Maybe," you said, leaning back against a log. "But if I’m staying here, you’d better teach me some of that druid magic. I want to turn into a bear or something."

Halsin’s laugh echoed through the trees, deep and hearty.

The days that followed felt like something out of a dream. Halsin, ever the patient teacher, guided you through the heart of the forest and the ways of his druid kin. The Emerald Grove bustled with life not just the druids themselves but animals, plants, and even the air seemed alive in a way you’d never experienced before.

One crisp morning, Halsin found you sitting near the camp’s central bonfire, gnawing on a piece of bread and staring out at the bustling grove. Druids were tending to injured animals, singing gentle chants to coax wilting flowers back to bloom, and weaving vines to reinforce treehouses.

“You look lost in thought,” he said, settling beside you with a faint smile.

"I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole setup," you said, gesturing around you. "Back home, people don’t work together like this. I’ve never seen anyone, like, heal a raccoon or braid vines into freaking architecture."

Halsin chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “It is not merely skill but respect. We understand that the wilds give as much as they take. Living harmoniously is a choice, one your kind could yet embrace.”

You tilted your head. “Optimistic of you.”

"Perhaps," he said, smiling at you, "but life itself thrives on hope."

Later that afternoon, Halsin took you to a nearby lake, a serene spot surrounded by weeping willows and wildflowers. He stripped off his boots and rolled up his trousers, wading into the water with effortless grace.

“Come,” he called over his shoulder, “the water is cleansing, even for a weary spirit like yours.”

You hesitated, glancing at the fish darting beneath the glassy surface. "Uh, you sure nothing’s gonna, like, bite me? No magical carnivorous fish or something?"

Halsin laughed heartily. “I promise, the fish here are as gentle as lambs.”

With a sigh, you stepped in, yelping as the cool water hit your skin. Halsin offered you his hand, steadying you as you waded deeper.

“See?” he said softly, his voice almost lost beneath the rustle of trees. “The wilds embrace you, even when you are uncertain. Trust in them, and they will guide you.”

You glanced up at him, his amber eyes reflecting the light dancing on the water. For a moment, you felt an unshakable calm a peace you hadn’t known in years.

By evening, you found yourself wandering the forest trails with Halsin and a few of the younger druids. Halsin stopped often to point out plants and explain their uses: golden flowers for healing salves, mosses for binding wounds, roots for easing fevers.

At one point, he crouched beside a small rabbit with a thorn lodged in its paw. You watched as he murmured soothing words, his hands glowing faintly with green energy. The thorn slid free, and the rabbit hopped away, its injury already mended.

“You’re like a Disney princess,” you muttered, earning a curious look from Halsin.

"A... princess?" he repeated, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

"Never mind," you said quickly, suppressing a laugh.

That night, the druids gathered around the campfire, sharing stories and songs. One of them passed you a bowl of stew, rich with herbs and wild vegetables. Halsin sat beside you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours as he joined the others in a low, melodic chant.

As the firelight danced on his face, you leaned back and let the moment sink in. This world its people, its creatures, its magic was so far removed from everything you knew. And yet, sitting there with Halsin and his kin, you felt a flicker of belonging.

"Thank you," you said quietly, catching his gaze.

Halsin tilted his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "For what?"

"For showing me this," you said, gesturing around the camp. "For reminding me that the world any world can be beautiful."

He regarded you for a moment, his expression gentle yet unreadable. "The wilds saw something in you, and so did I. Perhaps you were always meant to be here."

You snorted. "Okay, don’t get all mystical on me again."

Halsin chuckled, the sound low and comforting. "Very well. But if I may, I believe you are finding your place here. That is all that matters."

As the fire crackled and the stars winked down from the canopy above, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

[chuusheartattck]

HAUNTED

Chapter 5: Purely platonic

You barely got finished getting ready when you heard a knock at your door. You opened it to see Xiao standing in the hallway. He looked nicely put together and you can smell a faint scent of his signature cologne. It wasn’t anything too overpowering and it smelled nice.

At least it wasn’t the Dior Sauvage that Heizou always wears.

“See? You got ready in time,” Xiao commented in an amused tone.

You shut the door behind you, “Yeah whatever. Where is this place anyways?”

“It’s down the street. We can walk there,” He stated as you both began walking down the hall.

It was a silent walk to the elevator and the ride down. Every time you were with Xiao, there was always a lingering silence. It wasn’t anything awkward but rather comforting. He wasn’t one with many words and you were okay with that.

As you both made your ways outdoors, you winced at the bright sunlight. You do go outside but you spent most of last night silently crying in your bed. The sun didn’t do any good for your puffy eyes.

“I’m pretty sure it’s this way,” Xiao pointed straight ahead of you guys.

He began to cross the street and you followed after him.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” You looked at him strangely.

“Yes.”

“Right. Well have you been to this place before?”

“No but I heard some girls talk about it in my class.”

The two of you looked at each other and stifled a laugh.

“If the place doesn’t exist then what?” You questioned.

“It does because we’re already here.”

You looked up and saw an ice cream parlor in front of you. You were surprised you haven’t noticed it earlier. Considering it’s right in front of the university.

“Did you know it was an ice cream shop?” You glanced over at Xiao.

“Yup,” He muttered as he opened the door for you. He didn’t sound too convincing.

From the moment you two entered, you were hit with the sweet scents. It was occupied by mostly students so you didn’t feel out of place. The soft music playing made it feel cozy. You and Xiao stood in line and looked at all the ice cream on display.

The two of you ordered and paid. You then found a small corner where you two could sit.

Once you sat down, Xiao began to talk, “How are your classes?”

“They’re alright. Psychology is a cool subject and Professor Lisa is a good teacher,” You took a bite of your ice cream. “What about you?”

“Classes are fine but I don’t think I’ll do much with a computer science degree,” Xiao lightly chuckled. “My classmates are a bit weird. I never thought I’d see a guy pull up to class with an anime girl body pillow.”

You almost choked, “I’m sorry what?”

Xiao nodded and leaned back in his seat, “He kinda smells bad too.”

“Yeah I wonder why,” You giggled.

Xiao smiled softly at you. Despite being in the same friend group, the two of you never hung out one on one like this. You mostly stuck by your close friends in the group and he stuck by his.

You also never realized how good looking he is. You didn’t think he was ugly but you never appreciated his good looks. His parents definitely high five every time they see him.

It’s a pity you two are in the same friend group. You think it’d ruin the dynamic if you and Xiao became a thing.

“Y/n are you okay?” Xiao waved his hand in front of your face.

However, it’s not a bad thing to secretly admire him.

“Huh?” You snapped out of your thoughts.

“You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. Are you sure everything is fine?” He looked at you with concern in his eyes.

Of course he’s concerned. He is your friend after all.

So why do you feel flustered?

“I guess I still feel guilty about everything but you already know that,” You waved off his concerns. “Why did you choose computer science anyways? I always thought you’d choose economics like Hu Tao.” You tried changing the subject.

Xiao shrugged before responding, “Because Professor Zhongli teaches the class.”

“You don’t like him?”

“It’s not that. He’s a family friend. It’d feel weird to be in his class because he knew me since I was a kid.”

“Oh I get it! You got accepted through nepotism!” You replied, stifling a laugh.

“Shouldn’t Scara and Navia be considered nepo babies as well?” Xiao deadpanned.

“Oh yeah Scara’s mom and her wife did go here. Huh. I wonder if they’ve experienced anything-”

Xiao shoved a spoonful of his ice cream into your mouth before you could finish your sentence, “Don’t worry about that for now.” He quietly muttered.

.

The two of you were talking for a couple of hours. It seemed like it was only you guys in the room. It wasn’t until you heard commotion that caused you to lose to focus.

“I can’t believe you would do this!” A voice screamed in the corner.

You and Xiao turned to see an angry lady yelling at a man and another woman.

“Babe it’s not what it looks like!” Explained the man.

“Oh really? You said you were going to work but here you are with her!”

The shop went quiet and you could hear people gasping. You and Xiao gave each other glances as the scene unfolded.

“What a cheater,” You whispered to Xiao.

“I knew you two were fucking! I saw the texts! I can’t believe you would throw away our marriage to go have a fling with MY SISTER!” The lady made sure to emphasize the sister part.

“Hold on. Sister?” Your jaw dropped.

The poor workers tried to intervene but had no luck.

“Wait-” The man got cut off by his wife punching him in the face.

You almost let out a laugh. You silently gave her praise for beating her cheating husband.

“What the fuck is happening?” Xiao whispered to you.

Before you could even respond, the lady’s sister tried pushing her. This led to the woman slapping the absolute shit out of her. Which in turn, started an all out brawl between the two sisters. The husband was silently watching.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The entire ice cream shop was now recording and cheering on.

You and Xiao were too stunned to speak. Hair was being pulled and punches were being thrown. It was more exciting than the Jake Paul and Mike Tyson fight.

However, you weren’t trying to be caught in the middle. Therefore, you both silently left and laughed about it while walking back to campus.

As you were walking, he made sure he was on the side where the road was. You weren’t sure if he knew about the sidewalk rule but the tiny detail didn’t go unnoticed.

Eventually when the two of you got back to your dorm.

“I’m sure Lumine is already back,” You began to speak. “But thank you for trying to make me feel better. I had fun today.” You smiled to him.

Xiao faintly smiled back, “Just call me or anyone in the group if you need anything. You’re a good friend to us.”

Ouch.

“How desperate can I be? I can’t be pining over a friend like this,” You thought to yourself.

Xiao gave you a farewell side hug. You went inside and immediately threw yourself onto your bed.

“Um hello?” Lumine was sitting on her bed reading a book. “I heard you talking with someone outside.” She gave you a puzzling look.

You turned over to your side to face her, “I was hanging out with Xiao today. He wanted to comfort me I guess.”

Lumine raised her eyebrow, “Just the two of you?”

You nodded.

“How was it?” She asked, not looking up from her book.

“It was pretty chill. We just ate ice cream and talked for hours. I think it’s the most I ever talked to him.”

“He is pretty quiet I guess. He’s close with my brother and Kazuha anyways.”

“I wish I gotten to know him sooner. He’s not a bad person.”

“It’s good to hang out with your friends.”

There was a slight pause, “What if it could be more than friends?”

That statement caused Lumine to close her book and fully pay attention, “Y/n. Please don’t tell me-”

You cut her off, “Listen! Hear me out-”

“You have a crush on Xiao?!” Lumine fully interrupted you.

You tried shushing her, afraid he might still be lingering outside.

“I don’t have a crush on him!” You began to explain. “I just think he’s attractive that’s all. He has always been a friend but we only hung out in group settings. This time it was different and we talked for a while.”

Lumine sighed, “At least he’s a good guy. If you want I can have Aether help you.”

“No!” You blurted out. “I’m sure Aether could be a good wingman but I don’t want anyone else finding out about this. It’s only a small attraction nothing too crazy.” You tried reassuring her.

“You’re hopeless,” Lumine rolled her eyes and started reading again.

You were now staring at the ceiling. Silently contemplating what you should do. Your thoughts began to drift, wondering if Xiao would ever think of you being more than friends.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: What’s your fav ice cream flavor? Mine’s mint chocolate. Also mb if you’re lactose intolerant for the sake of the story lets just say you don’t shit when you have dairy. Also i went to the sabrina carpenter concert and it felt like a full circle moment for me listening to espresso live 😭

Synopsis: Friends start their first year at Teyvat University. The school that is known for its paranormal activity. The group doesn’t truly believe the rumors until they start to experience how frightening the school can be. What happens when the friend group investigates the truth of the hauntings?

Taglist: @morgyyyyyyy @state-of-grac3 @trulyylee @jellichuu @practicoi @yuminako @eyshamuun @kuniz-darlingg @heartsforni-ki @lalalaloveallmydays @animeobsessed56 @samyayaya @lloovvv @adepticiaoo @cherrysnows @miisamores @strayharmony943 @xionri @kazumiku @bethleeham @sukisprettyface @jayzioxx @kaikaidenkai @js-a-silly-little-guy @jiminscarmex @i-am-me-and-you @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @brideofbriar @floweringanna @miy-svz @vitanye

[dragonmama76]

Working on part 2 of Beginnings, but until then here’s a small interlude. You can read the first bit here Part One

“Are you excited to start high school?” Steve feels like every lame adult he’s ever known, but he’s been wanting to have this conversation for a while now, preferably before his gang of nerds walk unprepared into his alma mater.

“I mean, sure.” Dustin says. “They have an amazing media lab and the AP science teachers are supposed to be really good. It’s never too early to think about college! Uh, sorry Steve.”

“Alright, shut it. If I had a brain like yours maybe I’d be in college now.” Steve rolls his eyes affectionately.

“And I heard Nancy say there’s an after-school club for D&D, so that might be okay. I mean, it won’t be as good without Will there but…” Mike trails off, a frown settling on his face.

“Yeah, okay I guess your demons and dingbats thing could be good.” Steve feels vaguely uneasy. Something to do with that club...it probably doesn't matter.

“Well, I’m also trying out for the basketball team.” Lucas adds softly.

“My man!!” Steve grins and holds his hand up for a high five. “I’m around if you want to get some practice in before tryouts. And I've got an in with the coach if you want me to put in a good word for you.”

“Nice! I'm always up for more practice!" Lucas grins back matching Steve's enthusiasm.

"And nepotism," retorts Dustin.

"Okay, brain boy. I don't know what that is, but it sounds gross and we don't have it." Steve smirks and cocks his head before remembering this was supposed to be a serious conversation.

"Anyway...I just wanted to talk to you guys about sticking together and always having each-other's backs." Steve starts and Dustin, of course interrupts, "Obviously, Steve. Who do you think we are?"

"No, man, I know. It's just that it can be pretty intimidating and the bullying can be...more intense than what you're used to in Middle School." Steve conceeds.

"Like you'd know anything about being bullied!" snorts Mike, "You were the bully."

"Uh...well." Steve doesn't want to scare the kids, but he does want them to be prepared. "I was kind of an asshole for a while..."

"Ya think?" Dustin chimes in.

"Shut up and let me talk!" Steve says in his best mom voice. "I had to learn to be harder in school. My freshman year this older kid made me his target and it was pretty awful. It got so bad I didn't even want to go to school half the time."

"That really sucks, man." Lucas gives Steve a supportive look.

"Aw, what, did he call you names? Make fun of your hair?" Mike sneers. He can't help but run his mouth sometimes. He likes Steve well enough, but not like Dustin and Lucas do and he can't stand how they worship him sometimes. Steve isn't that great.

"Dude. He pulled a knife on me for like, no reason. I was fourteen."

"Woah" Dustin just exhales. "So like, is high school....dangerous?" All three boys are seriously paying attention now, eyes wide.

"Nah, not normally. Anyway, it got better once I was deep in with the guys on the basketball team. So I'm just saying. Find a group that has your back. And you guys look out for other kids too, all right? And tell ME if anyone bothers you. I've got a bat that can sort them out."

"Dude....you can't just nailbat a teenager." Dustin snorts.

"I dunno, squirt," Steve ruffles Dustin's hair and he yelps ducking away, "If I find out anyone is messing with you guys....well, maybe not the nail bat, but just...promise to tell me okay? I don't want anyone of you going through what I did."

"We promise." They all chime dutifully.

"Hellfire!" Mike shouts as they all turn to look at him like he's got three heads. "What?" he says, "That's the name of the club."

"Hellfire." Steve mutters. Why does that name make his stomach hurt? He'll probably remember later. Meanwhile he's glad his twerps are going to have a good support system when they start school.

Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Tag list (ask if you want to be tagged for the full part 2) @swimmingbirdrunningrock @phirex22 @lilpomelito @thaliaisalesbian

[simply-ivanka]

Why Do the Young Vote Left?

Socialist teachers lead them to think of government as a free-money tree.

It’s the gifts. The progressive vibe is that big government will take care of you. It knows what’s best for you. It will redistribute money how it pleases. You need to put a smile on your face while it takes away your laurels, guns and money. “We believe in the collective,” Ms. Harris declared, much like Hillary Clinton’s “it takes a village.” Equity in Schenectady. Handouts for all.

You want proof? Ms. Harris’s Senate voting record is leftward of socialist Bernie Sanders. Vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz fawns over China, saying “everyone is the same and everyone shares.” Viva la revolución and Che Guevara T-shirts for all.

This is antifreedom. Too many of today’s youth fall in line with progressives because they’re undereducated and overindoctrinated with someone else’s agenda. I watched in horror as local high-school biology classes spent weeks on the science of recycling centers and only a short afternoon on mitochondria and mitosis. Profit is a bad word. It’s gimme, gimme, whether it’s student loan forgiveness, free healthcare or tax credits.

Who’s to blame? Misguided capitalism-hating social-studies teachers to start, with Tim Walzian thinking: “One person’s socialism is another person’s neighborliness.” Who is he, Mr. Rogers? Add like-minded college professors. Work ethic and ambition are evaporating.

Worse, Pew Research notes almost a third of currently childless 18- to 34-year-olds aren’t sure if they ever want children. Why? The Harris campaign’s “climate engagement director,” Camila Thorndike, is among the hesitant, telling the Washington Post, “I want to protect them from suffering.” Perpetually pessimistic progressive prognostications induce fear. No wonder U.S. fertility rates are at historic lows.

OK, I know I’m asking for trouble. Every time I write about youth, I get a chorus of comments and tweets telling me I’m an old man screaming, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn.” Yeah, yeah. Very clever. I’m not that old. But in the Kamala collective—as California attempted—private “ornamental” lawns are out, and drought-resistant vegetation is in. Progressives literally want you off your own lawn.

My conversations with young folks who do exhibit some actual drive show their confusion: “I want to do a startup.” Great! To do what? “A sustainable something or other. To save the planet.” OK, is it productive? “What’s that?” Does it scale? “Huh?” Will it do more with less? “Not really, it needs lots of money to keep going and save more of the world.” Sounds like a nonprofit. (That usually invokes a smile.) Actually, wealth comes from delivering ever-cheaper stuff to millions of people, not handouts. “I don’t care about money.”

OK, I say, but progress and societal wealth happen when you delight customers and postpone consumption to reinvest profits into better products. The looks on their faces are as if I’m describing Chinese arithmetic.

Our youth aren’t lazy but lost. Progressives have strong opinions about society but no viable solution beyond handing out other people’s money—taken from the few who actually are productive, drive progress and generate wealth by fulfilling customer needs. It’s a downward spiral: When progressives tax—screaming “fair share!”—they cripple the productive few who actually create the real non-burger-flipping, get-out-of-your-parent’s-basement jobs.

To aggressive progressives, government is simply a magic money tree. Vote left and dollars appear. The gross incompetence of government—think billions for eight electric vehicle chargers—destroyed healthcare (thank you, ObamaCare) and education (assisted by Randi Weingarten’s teachers union) and is close to destroying energy (net zero), even while the Biden-Harris administration works hard to destroy Big Tech—one of the few productive industries. And I’ll never forgive progressive Hollywood for turning “Star Wars” into unwatchable wokey Wookiee drivel.

What industries will be left standing? Who cares, because the dreamy types think generative artificial intelligence will kill all jobs and government will provide universal basic income so they can Zyn, TikTok and play College Football 25 videogames all day. A naive youthful triumphalism.

This is a false endgame. There is so much more to be invented: drugs, immunotherapy, fusion, self-folding clothes, humanoid robotics, flying cars. Hard brain work plus quality recharging leisure time is the goal, not a nation of welfare queens.

I feel sorry for the youth that do care, do work hard, are productive and help push the boulder of progress up that steep slope, while essentially carrying all the others on their backs. It’s you against the collective, the village, which is always about being supported, pampered, living off someone else’s hard work and then complaining that the handouts aren’t big enough. So, yeah, get off my lawn, while lawns are still allowed.

[aceistheplace86]

Ephemeral pt. 2

It had been almost a week and still no word from Stanford, you had never moved in with him so you had your home to reside in. You were a little upset that he had not been by, not even a phone call. You had thought you would run into him at the grocery store or just around town but you should’ve known better. You hardly saw him during your relationship, why would you now?

You were currently sitting on your couch catching up on one of your favorite TV series when your phone rings. You reach over and pick it up “Hello?”

“Hey” It was Stanley, and he sounded hesitant

“Oh hey Stan” You spoke slowly “Uhm. Why are you calling?”

He sighed heavily “I know what happened, and I’m sorry about my brother. He cares he just” He trails off “But he will come around y’know?”

You were quiet for a moment “You know, I wanted to be a teacher”  your voice soft, this being the first time you had brought this up to Stan.

“Really?” He sounded confused “I thought you were working with Ford, whatever science-y stuff he does”

You chuckled softly “I wanted to go to school for teaching, but Stanford said I was “too smart” to waste my talents on that. That my time would be better spent helping him with his research” You scoffed and shook your head “Not that he let me help that often, and then he started to shut me out”

“Why’d you listen to him?”

“I love him.”

Stan was quiet for a moment “I think you’d be a good teacher. You were always helpful to me when we were kids”

“You were always brilliant Stanley, it’s not your fault some people couldn’t see that” You had often helped Stan with school, you had always known he was smart. You saw how he and other kids were made to feel less than others, and you vowed never to be like that “I thought I would make a difference”

“You did to me” He reassured you “I mean, you made me feel smart when we were working on that portal” He was silent for a moment “I have to go, but hang in there okay? If you need me, you know where to find me”

“Thanks, Stan.”

-

You were now cleaning up the kitchen after making dinner. You were in the middle of clearing dishes when there was a knock on the door. Confused, you slowly made your way to the door not sure who would be over this late.

You peeked out the window and saw Stanford standing on the porch with his hands shoved in his pocket. You sighed but opened the door “Hey Ford” you said softly

He looked almost surprised that you answered the door “H-Hello Darling” He stuttered “I-I wanted to talk to you”

“About?” you raised your eyebrow but had not let him in yet.

“My Multiverse Echo Theory, states that there are many alternate realities” He starts.

“Goodbye Stanford” You go to shut the door, but he puts his hand out to stop you.

“Wait, please let me explain,” He says quickly, when you make no movements, he nods “As I was saying my Multiverse Echo Theory states that there are many alternate realities, meaning that there are tons of realities where you and I are together. There are some where we aren’t, of course, and there are some where we are just friends, or enemies, and some where we are in a relationship” He puts his hands in his pockets “I would like to believe that this is one of the realities where we belong together”

“It took you a week to come visit me” you stated.

He nodded. “I apologize for that. I believed, at the time, that you had wanted me to choose between my research and you” he said “And that, quite frankly, was not fair. I have always had a bit of a hard time with understanding people, it causes a lot of miscommunications and has left me quite lonely” He sighs “I don’t know when to stop, I can’t tell when people are mad at me or for what reason. I can’t tell when they're mad but will come back or when they’re just done” He hesitated “You and Stanley were always there for me, and always waited for me to understand. I appreciate that. Then I realized that you never wanted me to pick between you and my research, you just wanted me to divide my time equally”

You stared at him, not exactly sure where to begin. You knew he had a difficult time with others, but you were stuck on one single fact “You thought I was having you choose between our relationship and your research… and you picked your research”

“I’ve been working on this for years,” he says simply. “You don’t understand how much I’ve spent on this, or what it means to me. I have spent my whole life being labeled a freak, but here” he looks around “Gravity Falls, there are far weirder things than me”

You shook your head slowly “No Stanford. That’s what you don’t get. You think you’ve been searching for so long for a place to fit in, but Stan and I have been there for you since the beginning. We were there every time you pushed us out, and anytime you rambled on about finding a place to fit in, we stuck by you” You straighten your posture “I gave up my dreams to follow you here. Stan gave up any chance at a normal life to stick around, pay your mortgage, and try and bring you back. You couldn’t even thank him right off that bat. God, you don’t even understand it still now!”

He looked confused and straightened his glasses “Your dreams of being a teacher? No offense, but you could do better things than being a teacher”

“Will you stop it!” You exclaimed “I could do anything I wanted; I get it. I’m sorry you don’t think I’m “living up to my potential” but the thought of being a teacher was something that brought me joy. I loved being around kids and seeing their eyes light up when they figured out what they were struggling with” You continued, “I wanted to make a difference to even just one kid. That would have been enough for me”

He looked confused now; he opened his mouth and then closed it again for a moment. “I don’t understand, I was helping you”

“How?!” You could not understand where his logic was right now “You took me away from my family and my friends, you cut contact with the only other person who understood us, you convinced me that working with you was going to lead to better things. You didn’t even let me help you” You started “Then you got stuck in that portal. I thought I lost you. I didn’t know what I was going to do without you! I was scared, Stanford. I just wanted you back.”

“How do you think I felt? I was stuck in dimensions!” he countered

“This is not a competition!” You cried out “This is me trying to get you to see that you had people in your corner, and you kept knocking them down. You cut off your brother, then tried to kick him out when you returned. You ruined any chance Fiddleford had at marriage and years of being a father. You know he was the first one in his family to even go to college?”

“You leave him out of this” He snapped “At least he helped me more than you ever did with my research. You just kept pulling me from it!”

You opened your mouth to remind him that he never actually let you try to work with him, you didn’t get to build the portal or go over notes, all you did was take care of the home, and maybe get to hear his theories if he had time. But you realized this was a pointless fight. “Your Multiverse Echo Theory states that there are many other realities” You started “I keep trying to help you Ford, I let you hurt me time and again because I love you but I don’t think you love me as much as you say” You glanced down at the ground “I don’t think we can be saved in this reality.  Every good moment we have ever had only existed briefly. I can’t spend my life waiting around for those moments”

You step back inside your house “I wish you all the best in your research. I hope you achieve everything you’ve been missing. I really do”

And with that, you shut the door.

-

It took you a while but you got things back on track. You moved away from Gravity Falls, all the memories were too painful, and it hurt to even see Stanley, not that it was his fault. You reassured him that this was just something you had to do. You had gotten settled into a nice town in a nice apartment. You had started your new job teaching at a school, you started with elementary school, because you really did miss being around kids.

You were walking around the classroom as the kids worked on their morning bell work, when you noticed one kid, Jullian, had not been working but instead drawing. “Are you okay Jullian?” you asked him gently

“I don’t want to do this,” he says not looking up from his sketch

You look at his paper to see a pretty good sketch of a superhero “What are you drawing”

“Galactic Guardian,” he says simply “I like to draw, but I don’t like math” he showed you the drawing a little better “My sister knows math better than I do. and my dad tells my momma that I won’t ever figure it out” He spoke casually while shading in the character's costume “But no one gets mad at Galactic, he's good at everything”

You kneeled by his desk “This is a very good drawing St-Julian” You said softly “ Just like Galactic, you have strengths that can help you tackle anything, even math!”

Julian blinked “But I’m not a superhero in math.”

 “Maybe not yet. But remember how superheroes face challenges? They don’t give up, and they learn from every battle”

You point to a problem on his worksheet. “Let’s tackle this one together, step by step. If a superhero can face down a giant monster, I know you can face this math problem”

Jullian hesitated but then nodded, and you noticed a small flicker of determination igniting in him.

This is what you felt you had been missing. A place where those good moments were no longer few and far between.

// Tag list: @kawaii1369 @slay-thou-pookie @randombuddys @ppenisblog @doggosnoodles12 @velvetvulture

Thank you guys for reading! Let me know what else you would like to read! I am happy to take requests!

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Ok for the au stories fullmetal alchemist/ Harry Potter… Ed adopting a female Harry and teaching her to be a badass

Female Harry loves her grandma Izumi

Harriet Potter was an odd girl. She looked normal. Long black hair always in a braid, a fondness for red that occupied her wardrobe, big green eyes. But the fact was she was odd. She wore red yes but also the strangest sort of jewelry. Huge skull rings, tacky necklaces and clothing that one Muggleborn commented looked like it came right from Hot Topic, whatever that was.

She was ridiculously smart, and fond of debating with her teachers about everything. Her reaction to Transfiguration as a loud ‘what the actual fuck’ lived on in Hogwarts history but she also excelled in it. She even did well in potions despite Snape being… himself.

She was foul mouthed but incredibly polite to McGonagall, Pomphrey and Sprout. She always was writing in her notebook and loved to study but also tossed the books to the side to have fun.

Ron liked it. Hermione, other then disliking the cursing alongside the lack of respect for the male teachers, liked Harriet to. Or Harry as she told them to call her.

“Wait what?” Harry said as she flipped through a rather large book. “What the… fucking hell!” She jumped up and took off. “Gotta Owl my dad!”

“Who did take her in?” Hermione wondered out loud. “According to everyone she lived with her aunt and uncle but she said she was taken from them by the authorities.”

“Huh?” Ron hadn’t heard that. Hermione nodded.

“I asked her some stuff about London and she told me she’d lived in Amestris since she was six because a Military Officer took her from her relatives when they were being arrested,” Hermione said.

“Amestris?” Percy asked, having been walking by. “The only All Magical country?”

“Harry says it does have Muggles they just don’t hold with keeping magic a secret because they’re under a military dictatorship and most magical people have to register,” Hermione said. “She did say the laws are loosening after a revolt about fifteen years back…”

“Seventeen,” Harry was back with her owl on her shoulder. The girl sat down to begin to write. “Can’t believe a Philospher’s Stone…” she muttered.

“Oh! Nicholas Flamel! Yeah he’s right famous for being the one person-“ Percy began but Harry snorted.

“Amestris has a few people who made one. My dad even figured it out.” She told Percy bluntly. “And it’s foul.”

“Wait, really?” Hermione asked in surprise. Percy didn’t look like he believed it as Ron simply watched Harry.

“Yeah. Also, turn lead into gold?” Harry stopped writing to grab a new piece of paper she drew a circle on and then wrote what looked like runes down. She grabbed a pencil lead Hermione had (she used something called mechanical pencils which were kinda cool) and placed it in the circle.

Harry clapped her hands and touched the circle, causing a blue glow to envelope the lead. When it was done, a golden rod lay where the lead was. Percy stared in open mouth shock.

“Gold isn’t hard for any alchemist to do. It’s just illegal in Amestris and England actually. The only good thing Flamel did was claim the Stone was the only way,” Harry said. “I have to turn it back, but you can scan it to prove it.”

“Why is it illegal?” Ron asked, staring at the lead hungrily.

“Economics. To much gold added to the economy causes prices to rise,” Harry explained. “Things get more expensive and money becomes useless.” She let Percy verify what the thing was before she turned it back to lead.

“What else is wrong with the Stone?” Hermione asked.

“How it’s made. My dad and Uncle figured out how and were so disgusted they backed out of their goals,” Harry said grimly. “Alchemy is equivalent exchange. I can’t make things out of nothing. Conjured items here don’t last either,” Harry sounded relieved when she said that, “as you’re offering energy. But Alchemy is a science. Not magic. My other Uncle, Roy, he’s a Muggle but he can use Alchemy. All you need is what goes in.”

“Whoa!” Ron was impressed but then a thought struck him. He felt his face go pale as Hermione asked about what kind of Alchemy Roy did. “Wait… what’s Equivalent for a long life?”

Harry looked at him grimly. “A few hundred years ago Xerxes was destroyed in a single night. No one knew who had done it, not until seventeen years ago when Amestris nearly met the same fate. A man, no a monster had done it. Created a Philosopher’s Stone. He used Xerxes.”

“No…” Ron said as Hermione huffed.

“What does that mean?” The girl asked.

“A life for a life,” Percy said, his voice shaking. Harry nodded.

“So if Flamel is over six hundred years old… who did he kill for his Stone?” Harry asked quietly.

[thepixelelf]

Bluff and Nonsense - she/her ver.

genres: romance, angst, some fluff, university au, not a fake dating au pairing: female reader x hoshi words: 17.0k (01:08) warnings: cursing, alcohol notes (orig, 2020): "so the title is fluffy and this was a title fic, but then it ran away on me. I really like this one so... yeah. Enjoy!” update, 2023: this is the she/her version of Bluff and Nonsense. other than the pronouns, nothing else has been changed. you can find the original they/them version here, and the he/him version here

“Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”

or

Soonyoung never thought one bluff could lead to so much nonsense.

Kwon Soonyoung is a man of many talents. He’s the guy who could fit a whole orange in his mouth in fourth grade, the guy who always knew how to make the social studies teacher talk about his divorce instead of the world wars, and the guy who brought a live pigeon to school with no one questioning him whatsoever. He’s also the head choreographer of the university’s dance crew — you barely knew there was a dance crew until he showed up with his hand-drawn posters — as well as a totally well-rounded fine arts major. C’mon, who takes a chemistry course in the fine arts? Kwon Soonyoung, apparently.

Of his many talents though, lying is not one of them.

Which is why, when asked if he likes anyone, Soonyoung says your name instead of simply saying “no” (a much better option in hindsight). He actually likes a girl on his dance crew. Cute, funny, has those eyes you can just get lost in — lord knows Soonyoung has. But, at this relatively quiet party, with half the guests crowded on Seungcheol’s couch and the other half on the disgusting carpeted floor of his apartment, Soonyoung can’t admit his real crush because she’s sitting just a few feet away.

It wouldn’t be such a bad lie if you weren’t also sitting a few feet away.

You’re on your phone when he says your name in his heartbeat-induced panic, but you look up at the sound of it, as does Seungkwan, who was reading something on your phone from the beanbag chair you’re both sitting in.

A chorus of low, teasing ‘ooh’s rises throughout the room, almost like it’s eighth grade again and Soonyoung just got called down to the office. Except now, he might actually be in trouble. He gets a few claps on the back from his friends close enough to reach, commending him on his bravado even though he doesn’t deserve it. Really, the whole situation only dawns on Soonyoung after 6.8 seconds, which is a bit too long considering he made the situation in the first place. Blood rushes to his cheeks, not because of the alcohol in his red cup he’s yet to drink, but because you’re looking right at him, and he has no idea what to do.

Soonyoung doesn’t know you very well. In fact, he’d almost say he doesn’t know you at all.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend from one of his classes — computing science, if Soonyoung remembers correctly, but he’s not totally confident. The only reason you came tonight is because of Seungkwan. You don’t know anyone else.

With a tilt of your head, your face scrunches with question, and you look to Seungkwan for help. You know Soonyoung said your name, but you missed hearing the context. It looks like Seungkwan missed it too, seeing as the conversation you two have only makes your brow furrow more as the room chatter picks back up. Everyone else is already over Soonyoung’s sudden confession when Jeonghan starts talking about something else.

Except Soonyoung’s friends, of course. That would be too easy.

Mingyu turns to him with a stupid smile, his cheeks red from both the free opportunity to tease his upperclassman and the light beer he’s been sipping and pretending to get buzzed on all night. He nudges Soonyoung with his shoulder where they sit on the floor, leaning in to speak under the conversations surrounding them. “You didn’t tell me you like her,” he says, the jesting tone in his voice clearer than water.

“Yeah...” Soonyoung doesn’t know why he doesn’t just retract his confession, it’s not like Mingyu is close to you or anything, he’d understand. But then again, he’s bad at lying, and the girl he likes is still sitting on the couch. He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s sort of a recent thing.”

Mingyu’s smile only widens at Soonyoung’s response, his eyes turning to slits with the rise of his cheeks. “Soonie’s in looove~!”

And Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, not exactly like this, anyways. So he just looks down, scratches the back of his neck again, looks at one of his dance crew friends when she calls his name.

He doesn’t dare glance your way for the rest of the night.

Turns out you do know someone else other than Seungkwan, because once most of the guests have cleared out, leaving only half the boys to clean up, Seokmin approaches Soonyoung as he scrubs the sink of whatever that weird green stuff is.

He asks how Soonyoung knows you and says off-handedly that he’s never even seen the two of you talk. (Which is right.) He says these things shouldn’t be joked about, that you’re a person with feelings, and Soonyoung should leave you alone if he’s just doing this for comedy’s sake.

Soonyoung thinks he’s never seen Seokmin so serious.

It’s probably fine. You haven’t said anything good or bad, and other than the occasional tease from his friends, no one has taken anything too far. Maybe you’ll forget about it tomorrow. Maybe he’ll forget about it tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

Besides, it’s not like he actually likes you. And his real secret is still safe and sound.

•

Of Soonyoung’s many talents, making people sad is also not one of them.

It’s not that he actively tries to cause misery only to fail, it’s that he can’t stand upsetting anyone. He’s a people-pleaser by nature, that’s just how it is.

So he doesn’t say no when you ask him out for coffee.

And he smiles at you when you try to make conversation, even though it’s awkward and hesitant despite having a mutual friend like Seungkwan. It’s not so bad, he thinks. You’re trying, at least, and when you ask him about his interests, you actually listen, which isn’t common when he tends to over-explain his love for dance and performance. He has a coffee in his hand too, so that’s a plus.

You ask him if what he said at the party was true, and something in your eyes makes him say yes.

•

There are a few more coffee dates after that. It’s nothing official, and Soonyoung is hesitant to call the meetups “dates” because he’s not interested in dating you. But it’s a little late for that.

You seem brighter, though, every time he sees you again; he can’t bring himself to take that away, to cut the cord, to clean this mess he made.

Something about the way you two talk is nice, at least. Soonyoung can’t quite put his finger on it, and he tells himself that’s what’s drawing him back every time, not the guilt he feels sunken in his ribcage whenever you smile his way. It’s not that deep, he repeats to himself whenever you wave to him on campus, making him feel obligated to walk you to class. It’s not that deep.

He’s in the library one day when he spots you at one of the tables, books open and spread out as you scribble down notes, a pair of earbuds dangling from your ears. You haven’t seen him, so he doesn’t try to approach, just ducks back behind the bookshelf he’s been exploring. His hand is on a book he might like when a voice stops him.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?”

Minghao leans against the opposite bookshelf, his arms crossed, locked and loaded for judgement. Soonyoung looks around, but of course he’s talking to him. They’re the only ones in the row.

“Um, how do you want me to answer that?” he asks, unsure of exactly what Minghao’s talking about. Yeah, he knows he’s a bit dense sometimes, but not all the time.

Minghao rolls his eyes. “I know you like Sehee. You haven't stopped laughing like an idiot at her bad jokes." He nods his chin outwards, gesturing over Soonyoung's shoulder and through the bookshelves towards where you're sitting. "What are you doing messing with Seungkwan's friend?"

It’s not too surprising that Minghao knows — he’s an intuitive guy, but Soonyoung is still caught off guard. He asks first, under his breath, “Does anyone else know?”

“If you mean dumb and dumber, then no.” Minghao jerks his head to swing his dark bangs out of his eyes. Everyone keeps telling him to just cut his hair shorter, but he refuses for the aesthetic, or something. “Chan is way too focused on dancing to notice your dumbassery, and Jun is about as observant as a fishcake when it comes to feelings.”

Soonyoung’s shoulders fall in relief, though he didn’t even realize they’d tensed up. 

“But that’s not the problem here. Why are you playing around with her if you’re into Sehee?”

“I’m not—” Soonyoung pauses, thoughts deliberate, “—I’m not playing around, okay? I just... I don’t know. You were all looking at me, and I couldn’t just say Sehee's name, she was right there!”

Minghao cocks an eyebrow at that. “But you could say hers?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware.”

Soonyoung groans quietly — he’s still in a library after all. He covers his face with both hands, not wanting to look at Minghao nor have Minghao look at him. For a second, it’s blissful, awkward silence, which Soonyoung would take over Minghao’s scolding any day. But of course, no haven lasts forever.

“You’re gonna have to tell her,” Minghao says, and he’s probably right. No, he is right, Soonyoung just doesn’t want him to be.

“I can’t do that! I said I like her— twice!”

“Twice?”

“Twice!”

Minghao only drops his head for a second, scoffing at the whole situation. Soonyoung wishes he could do that too, just laugh it off because it’s someone else’s problem.

“Well, you’re going to have to say something sooner or later.” Meeting his eyes, Soonyoung realizes Minghao might actually be worried. About you, or him, or something else, he’s not sure, but the subtle fold of Minghao’s eyelids tells Soonyoung this is about more than just calling out idiocy. “And I think sooner will hurt less.”

Soonyoung knows he’s right. But he doesn’t like it.

Before he can come up with a rebuttal, though, Minghao’s hands are on Soonyoung’s shoulders, and he’s pushing him out of the row of bookshelves and straight towards your table.

“You can do it, Soonyoung, just rip the band-aid while you still can,” he whispers in Soonyoung’s ear right before one last push at his back.

Soonyoung stumbles a bit, but once he regains his footing, Minghao’s already gone and you’ve already noticed the ruckus. You pull one earbud out with a bright smile. It’s so jovial that Soonyoung almost forgets why he’s here.

“Hi Soonyoung, I didn’t see you come in,” you say, and there’s no way you’re this energized just from studying in a library.

“Uh... hi.”

“You’ve actually got the perfect timing.” Waving to him, you gesture for him to sit next to you, and he does. You pull out some sort of planner, opening it to a few months from now. “I wanted to ask when exactly your showcase is? Seungkwan’s no help at all because he only cares about his concerts and stuff. Honestly, there aren’t that many...”

You’re going to have to say something sooner or later.

Soonyoung picks later.

•

“So when are you gonna ask her out?”

Jihoon stands in front of the stove, watching his hot water simmer, a bag of dry ramen in one hand and long cooking chopsticks in the other. It’s Soonyoung’s turn to make dinner tonight, but since he says he isn’t hungry, Jihoon’s scrounging it out himself.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, sits at their tiny dinner table, his forehead pressed to the cool surface, arms hanging limp at his sides. He mumbles something of a response, but it’s nothing more than a questioning grunt, if anything.

“Oh, you know.” Even when Jihoon says your name, Soonyoung stays still. “Only the girl you’ve been on several “dates” with ever since you confessed to her at Seungcheol’s party. When are you gonna ask her on a real date?”

Tired, Soonyoung groans. “When the time is right, I guess.”

•

You work on campus. It’s some part-time job you don’t care about enough to even complain over, despite the fact that you have to deal with annoying university kids every day. Soonyoung finds this out when he has coffee with Minghao in one of the buildings he doesn’t normally frequent, and only goes to today since Minghao has a class nearby in the next hour.

The coffee isn’t great, and it’s too expensive, but Soonyoung drinks it anyways. He much prefers the coffee from the cafe he goes to with you. Because the coffee is better. Obviously.

He hears your voice first, words indiscernible with distance and overshadowed by a much louder, angrier one, but still. Minghao sees you first, though, and he points past Soonyoung to the student printing center, where you’re standing behind the counter and arguing with some guy. You don’t seem too riled, but Soonyoung can tell you want to be anywhere but there, especially when the angry guy’s voice keeps getting louder and louder.

Soonyoung’s feet bring him over before his brain can register what to do. You haven’t seen him yet, he could just walk away, but he doesn’t. Your voice becomes clearer as he approaches.

“Listen, the printing center is for education, art, or business. I can’t print this for you.”

The guy goes off about personal freedoms or whatever, Soonyoung isn’t really listening.

“No, I get that this is a student printing center, but I really don’t think your big tiddie anime gf poster has anything to do with education, art, or business.”

And that’s when the guy grabs your arm. Which results in Soonyoung grabbing his arm. Which results in the accusatory question, “What are you, her boyfriend or something?”

Now, in a perfect story, this would be the first time Soonyoung meets you. Or maybe you’ve been close friends for a while. And this would be when Soonyoung says that, yes, he is your boyfriend, and he would save the day. Except you’d be all “why would you do that?” which would result in you both having to fake date to keep that guy off your back. In this perfect story, there would be no Sehee to like and no Minghao to judge, just you and Soonyoung fake dating. Eventually, you’d both catch real feelings instead of fake ones, and then boom, happily ever after.

But this isn’t a perfect story.

Soonyoung still says yes, and the guy still backs off. In reality though, because Soonyoung never thinks before he lies, you momentarily duck behind the counter and bring a hand up to your face to cover your ever-brightening smile. In reality, Sehee still exists at the forefront of his mind every dance practice, even though you’re the one he just promptly claimed to be the boyfriend of. In reality, Minghao watches from a little ways away, sipping his coffee and shaking his head in what can only be called disappointment.

Soonyoung’s never been good at lying. One would think he’d stop by now.

•

So, it’s official.

You’ve put a heart next to his contact name. He’s put one next to yours — red, because he doesn’t know your favourite colour. Seungkwan’s done the whole if you break my friend’s heart I break you spiel and Soonyoung finally realizes he’s in too deep.

It's almost too natural, how easily you bring him into your life and how easily he finds himself fitting. It's all so wrong.

Soonyoung feels like an imposter, like there's someone meant to be by your side, but it's not him.

You pluck up the courage one day to hold his hand, and he can't pull away because the lies tying him to you are too strong. The small bluffs he's spun have weaved themselves into a net he's tangled himself in.

His dance crew congratulates him when Jun spills the news. It's all mundane, really — dating in university isn't all that uncommon. Mostly, Soonyoung gets casual "you go, dude" comments or the like, but then Sehee says nothing. She smiles, and it has to be one of the most tragically beautiful things Soonyoung's ever seen. His heart fractures, just a little, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to fix it.

He smiles it off. Tries to, anyways.

Chan complains that Soonyoung's too harsh that day.

•

Jihoon likes you.

Not in a "Mister Steal Yo' Girl" way, but he laughed at one of your jokes the first time you came over to Soonyoung's apartment, and ever since then, he's been convinced.

"You must feel like the luckiest guy on earth with her around," Jihoon says once you leave for the night.

Soonyoung has no idea how to tell him he's felt nothing but unlucky these past few weeks, so he doesn't.

•

He polishes up on his acting. As awful as it is to think, Soonyoung has gotten really, really good.

His smile looks genuine. It has to — he shows it to Minghao, who says it's "adequate," which basically means perfect to the lowly humans beneath him.

He's gotten good at responding to you too, copying how the male leads do it in dramas and movies. It's sort of easy.

He hates how easy it is.

Soon enough, you try befriending the whole group. Being Seungkwan's friend, you've always wanted to, but apparently this is the push you needed. The boys are quick to warm up to you because, as Soonyoung's new girlfriend, you're now a new teasing target besides Chan. The youngest was always the brunt until you came along.

You say you don't mind — that his friends are amazing despite all the jokes and chaos. He believes you.

Minghao keeps his distance, saying he doesn't want to get himself involved. He's still the only one to know the truth, and his judging stare only grows worse as the days pass. Soonyoung wants so badly to make it go away, but he knows the only way to do that would be to tell you the truth, and he's just not ready.

Soonyoung's never broken a heart before. He's never planned on it.

Sometimes life makes its own plans.

"My shift got moved to tomorrow," you tell him when he picks you up from class, one hand in his and the other in your pocket. He knows it means something, but he doesn't know what. Your lips purse into a line as you stare at your shoes. “I was thinking... could I come watch your dance practice? If that’s okay?”

Now, Soonyoung loves dancing. He loves dance. He loves to dance. Performing sends an unparalleled thrill rushing through his veins like the solar system hurtling through the universe, and it’s something he’s never felt doing anything else. Dancing with others is a beautiful connection, an emission of silent truths communicated through the body. Practice, however, is the dirty version of dance. It has to be built up first — polished. Which is why Soonyoung says what he says. He doesn’t even think it over.

“No.”

It’s what he says every time someone asks. He doesn’t invite people to practices — never has. Even after his prompt refusal, he doesn’t register his mistake until the light in your eyes wavers. It doesn't disappear — just ripples. Comes back weaker than before.

"Oh," you say. The word should sound dejected but it doesn't. There's a smile at your lips, and Soonyoung can't help but think it looks kind of like his. "That's— that's okay! I was just — I don't know, I guess I just thought... I wanted to..."

Meeting his gaze, you look at him with shaking eyes, almost as if it takes great strength to keep them on his. He tries to backpedal, but you continue.

"I'll be going home then. I've got an assignment due soon anyways, so..." You pull your hand from his grip and, from where you two were walking toward the fine arts building, turn the opposite way. Your dorm is on the other side of campus. "See you tomorrow, Soonyoung. Have fun at practice."

Something about your smile haunts him.

It's hollow; feels empty when you flash it at him before going. He thinks fake smiles all look like that — insincere. His smiles at you must be the same way.

For an awful moment, he's hopeful. Maybe this will be the trigger. Maybe you'll end this tonight — whatever "this" is that Soonyoung has with you. Maybe he won't have to tell any harsh truths at all.

He turns and walks to practice.

The routine feels lighter tonight, though Soonyoung can’t pinpoint why. His body almost floats, and while that sounds good, it’s not. The rhythm is off. He’s not landing when he should be.

His crew notices, especially Chan, who complains that Soonyoung’s too much of a cocksure choreographer to be making repeated mistakes like this. They tell him maybe everyone should take a break. He agrees, but only because he’s frustrated — and he shouldn’t channel his anger into dance. Not this one, at least. 

Everyone spreads throughout the studios to the edges, where they lean their body weight on the walls and slide down, water bottles in hand. The room reeks of sweat and feet, but Soonyoung’s used to it by now. He guzzles down half of his water in one go and pulls out his phone.

[❤] Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to react all... cold? Seungkwan told me you never invite anyone to practice, so it makes total sense why you said no

[❤] If I’m ever crossing any boundaries, let me know, okay?

Of course you’d be understanding. Soonyoung wouldn’t be that lucky.

He tosses his phone haphazardly in his bag, groaning and throwing his head back so it hits the wall with a dampened thud. The pain is dull compared to the thoughts top-spinning in his mind.

Across the studio, Minghao clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Soonyoung when he opens his eyes to look at him. It only takes two reluctant nods for Minghao to understand the source of Soonyoung’s groans, and he does nothing to react but look away. Soonyoung thinks that’s almost worse than the judging eyes. At least at that point Minghao thought he was something other than a lost cause.

He doesn’t text you back. By the time he thinks of something a boyfriend would say, the time to say it has passed.

•

How much longer is he going to let this go on?

Soonyoung wonders that to himself as he sits, returned to Seungcheol's apartment for another one of his "getties" as people are so apt to call them. He's never understood the difference between a getty and a party, and he's always been too stubborn to ask, knowing he'd be mercilessly made fun of for not knowing something apparently all university students knew.

This one isn't so different from the last. More or less the same crowd, the same atmosphere as the night goes on. Only this time, when everyone's settled down in what can hardly be called a circle, Soonyoung's on the couch, sunken into the too-old cushions with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You're far from your last claimed spot with Seungkwan on that ratty old beanbag chair, sitting comfortably under Soonyoung's arm with a plastic cup of whatever Jeonghan concocted for you — which you've yet to drink much of.

Sehee sits across from you both while she laughs at something Wonwoo says. You laugh too, but Soonyoung barely notices, eyes glued to the girl they've been stuck on since she joined his dance crew over a year ago. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is when she smiles, even under the light of Seungcheol's dingy apartment, but he can't. He wants to tell her how he's felt for months, but you're next to him. He wants to have a fucking drink but all he has in his cup is fucking iced green tea because he knows if he drinks he'll fuck up again.

Just like last time.

"You okay?" you whisper in his ear at one point.

He turns to see your concerned expression, and it only makes Soonyoung hate this even more. He doesn't deserve your concern.

"I'm fine."

But he's not fine.

He doesn't participate in much conversation — only speaks when spoken to, and even then with few words. You seem to become tense next to him, but he does nothing to try and fix it. Just tonight, he's going to let himself be tired.

Three times, you offer to leave, and all three he refuses. You give up eventually, though he can tell you know something's off. God, if he were drunk, he wouldn't even have to think about you for a whole night.

Somehow the topic of discussion turns to couples, and suddenly, an entire room of eyes is on you and Soonyoung. He barely catches the question before you're already pondering your answer.

What do the two lovebirds love most about each other?

You look at him. At him, at him. He feels your stare in the dip of his throat because he can't seem to swallow anymore. It's like his soul is being scanned for viruses.

"Hmm..." You let your chin fall into your palm with a smile. It's real. Too real. "I like his resolve," you finally say. "If he wants to do something, he does it." With a loud exhale through your nose, you tilt your head, still meeting his eyes with your own. Soonyoung's mouth slightly parts, slack with something he can't name. "I could learn a thing or two from him."

The room bristles with your answer, various response piping up around. Soonyoung sort of registers Chan saying, "That's cute. I wanna vomit," but he's too busy thinking about you, about how you've come to like something about him as deep as that when all he's done is pretend to even like you at all.

And even when his mind swims with that, Sehee asks again.

"Then Soonyoung, what do you like about her?"

It sort of hurts. Soonyoung's not afraid to admit to himself that hearing Sehee ask what he likes about you sends pain straight through his ears to his heart. There's an awkward pause and everyone's looking at him expectantly and, god, he wishes he stole your drink when he had the chance.

"I..." His throat goes dry. His lips part, but there aren't any words to slip past them. "I, um..." He looks to you, and your eyes speak volumes. Everyone else in this room has a sort of... hungry look. They want to know Soonyoung's answer for one reason or another, maybe to tease with or to ridicule or even wish for themselves. But you, your eyes meet his and he knows you're not expecting anything. That hurts too. He doesn't know why. But even then, he can't think of the words. Any words. He steals a glance at Sehee, whose expression is curious, doe eyes slightly giddy from alcohol. She's pretty.

"I like her laugh," he says. It's not about you. "Whenever she laughs, I think to myself, 'What I wouldn't give to see her laugh again'."

Your eyes move to the plastic cup you've got gripped between two hands in your lap, and Seungkwan points out your flustered state to the entire room despite the fact everyone can see it as long as they've got working eyes. You purse your lips together to contain a smile, but it doesn't work. Even Soonyoung can see that.

He needs a drink. 

Having to go to the bathroom is a lousy excuse, and Soonyoung knows it, but he whispers that in your ear anyways and retracts his arm from your shoulder before escaping. He does go to the bathroom, a small thing with a shower and no bath, but all he does in there is stare at himself in the mirror. And when that becomes too much, his feet.

Someone else eventually has to use the bathroom for its actual purpose, so he opens it to the banging fist outside and slides past the person back into the hallway. He pauses before walking all the way back. You're caught up in some other conversation now, laughing and dramatically waving your hands as you deny some crazy embarrassing story Seungkwan's trying to spill about you. Seems you've already integrated yourself with his friends more than he thought.

Since your attention is occupied, Soonyoung instead ducks into the half-kitchen — not necessarily out of sight, but no one's really paying attention anyways. He knows he shouldn't take any chances, but he really, really wants to let go. He's been wearing a facade ever since he said your name that night.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Minghao's voice has Soonyoung jerking up and banging his head on the door of the open fridge he was rummaging through. He winces in pain, kneading his fingers into his scalp as if that will do anything.

"Wouldn't what?" he snaps.

"I dunno." Minghao shrugs, and it's almost infuriating how nonchalant he is. "Do something you might regret, I guess."

He takes the yet unopened bottle from Soonyoung's hands, reaching beyond him to put it back in place. There's no point in fighting against him since he's undeniably right, but Soonyoung grumbles anyways. His eyes glance every few seconds to you on the couch. If you happen to hear anything...

Well, he doesn't know exactly. But he doesn't want to find out.

"You have to end it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just—" Soonyoung takes in a breath, too loud for his liking. He lowers his voice. "I can't, okay? I don't want to hurt her."

"So you're just going to date her based on false pretenses because you're too much of a coward to admit your mistakes?" Voice laced with sharpness, Minghao places his palms flat on the counter.

Soonyoung takes a deep breath through his nose, lips twisting in frustration. "Yeah, okay? Yeah," he whispers. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

A second passes. Minghao's brow furrows.

"And quite frankly," Soonyoung continues, "I'd rather you keep your nosy ass out of my business from now on."

He nearly storms off right then with the last word, but Minghao's fingers around his elbow stop him.

"You're going to get yourself hurt," Minghao warns through his teeth. He nods towards you. "And her in the process."

"We'll see about that."

Soonyoung has acted on impulse before. It happened with the pigeon, it happened with your name, and it's happening right now. Nothing is compelling him other than the absolute need to prove Minghao wrong, and even then, he doesn't know why.

He sits back down next to you, his spot saved by some miracle considering the surrounding company. The look on your face is happy, jovial. You must be having a right old time. His nerves strike with a feeling he's never quite experienced before.

When you study his face, no doubt not nearly as cheerful as yours, the expression you held falters to worry.

"You okay?" is once again the question on your lips, quiet, meant for his ears only.

Impulse is a scary thing. Soonyoung hates it almost as much as lying.

He leans in, crashing his lips on yours with his eyes half closed. His lips move and yours don't. Soonyoung can't even be sure you've closed your eyes, but at this very moment, he doesn't care. All he knows is he's angry and Minghao is watching.

This isn’t your first kiss — he knows because you’ve talked to him about this very topic. This is, however, to your understanding, the first “real” relationship you’ve ever been in. You told him yourself that you don’t really count that past kiss as your first, that you felt a bit... violated when it happened.

Soonyoung thinks this isn’t all too different.

He steals your second first kiss, and later, staring at the water-stained stucco ceiling of his bedroom, he kicks himself so hard it hurts.

•

You show up to movie night. Apparently Jihoon invited you — explained it like this:

“You won’t have to be so clingy with me if she’s here.”

At first, Soonyoung thinks Jihoon just wants to drop their roommate movie nights because he’s always complained about them, but Jihoon sticks around during Anastasia; sings along with you during Once Upon a December despite the fact that neither of you really know the words. He sits right in front of you two on the couch, cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, that of which he only offers to you twice and Soonyoung once.

Whatever. You’re a better cuddler than Jihoon anyway.

Somehow it doesn’t feel forced when you lean your head on Soonyoung’s shoulder, or when he wraps his arm around your waist to get comfortable. He blames it on how tired he is, how he always gets on movie night after a week of classes and practices and too much work for one person to handle. Jihoon complains all the time that he’s too touchy when tired.

You absentmindedly play with his fingers for most of the movie. He doesn’t mind.

It’s been about a month now.

Soonyoung doesn’t kiss you again after the first time. Doesn’t stop you, either, but you’re more of an on-the-cheek kind of person. He thinks you think he wants to take this slow, even though he initiated the first big step (as convoluted as it was). He lets you think what you want.

Nasty business, it is.

Cleaning a bowl that once held popcorn. All the grease that sticks to the side because Jihoon likes to use too much butter. All the grains of salt that get underneath Soonyoung’s fingernails. He’s washing, Jihoon’s drying. It’s an arrangement of sorts.

You’ve already left for the night, gone back to your dorm since it’s only a five minute walk or so through campus. Jihoon insisted on Soonyoung escorting you, but you only smiled sweetly and refused. Maybe Soonyoung should’ve argued harder against you. He didn’t though. That’s why he’s scrubbing a bit too harshly now — he doesn’t like messing up.

Seems that’s all he’s good for lately.

“You’re unhappy.”

Soonyoung stops scrubbing. The only noise in the whole apartment is the slow gurgle of the sink because even with a plug, such an old thing just lets the hot water seep away as the seconds go by. Jihoon’s gaze is on the pan he’s drying, but Soonyoung knows his heart is in the question. It always is.

“I’m not,” he tries to deny, but it’s difficult to fool a person like Jihoon. (Especially since Soonyoung can’t even convince himself.)

The non-stick pan from yesterday’s dinner clangs against an older one when Jihoon puts it away. He looks at Soonyoung, but by then he’s turned back to washing the popcorn bowl, so their eyes don’t end up meeting.

“I’ve known you since tenth grade. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset?”

Soonyoung finds it hard to read Jihoon’s feelings most of the time. He didn’t realize he was such an open book the other way around.

Sighing, he continues to scrub the bowl, which has probably been clean for a minute already. “I’m just... stressed.”

“About?”

Minghao already knows; already thinks lowly of Soonyoung for it. If Jihoon knew... Soonyoung doesn’t know if he can take that.

So he lies. Again.

“Just the dance showcase.”

It isn’t a whole lie, not really, but he can’t call it the truth either.

Jihoon takes the bowl from Soonyoung’s grasp and rinses it under the tap. Since that’s the last dish, Soonyoung is stuck with nothing for his hands to do. They rest on the edge of the sink, but his fingers ache for a task.

Jihoon, the friend that he is, says, “That’s not for three months, though. I’m sure you’ll be perfect by then.”

“I don’t know...”

“Well I do.” Eyes meet eyes, a pair determined, a pair apprehensive. “Everything will work out.”

“...Okay.”

•

Soonyoung measures time in terms of you now.

When he last texted you. When he last saw you. When he last spoke to you.

It’s all a very elaborate calculation — how much time he’s spent on you versus how much time he should spend on you. No relationship is quite like this one, he thinks, and it’s quite the romantic notion out of context. The fact remains, every interaction he has with you only pulls him further and deeper into his lie.

Soonyoung’s time moves a bit slower now.

Faster, sometimes, but only when he doesn’t want it to.

•

You tell him you might be in love with him.

He says he might be in love with you.

He’s never hated lying more.

•

Jihoon is cleaning out the fridge when the buzzer goes off, so since he’s close by, he picks up the old corded phone attached to the wall. From his spot on the couch, Soonyoung looks up from his phone to see Jihoon cover the receiver and mouth your name. Jihoon makes some sort of gesture with his hands, and somehow Soonyoung understands that as, were you expecting her?

His eyes widen as it settles in that no, he’s not expecting you. The apartment is a mess.

Jihoon buzzes you in, hangs up, and immediately moves from the fridge to the coffee table, throwing the laundry he was planning on folding back in the plastic hamper and shoving the pile in Soonyoung’s lap.

“Take care of this,” he says. “I’ll clear up the kitchen.”

Right. Can’t have you thinking your boyfriend and his roommate are slobs.

Soonyoung reacts quickly, standing from his spot on the couch with the laundry basket in hand. He dashes to his room, where he plans to stuff the laundry in his closet and save that problem for later, but once he gets there, he realizes his room is even worse. There are dirty clothes dispersed all over his bed and old coffee cups littering his desk. Scrambling to shove the new laundry in his closet, the dirty clothes in the now empty hamper, and gather all the paper cups in his arms, Soonyoung’s breath starts to catch.

When he emerges from his room with two armfuls of garbage, he finds you at the door with Jihoon, your face hidden in his shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around his waist. Jihoon’s arms are up, almost like he’s being held at gunpoint, and his eyes widen even further when he catches sight of Soonyoung.

“Uhh... it’s for you.”

Soonyoung can hear your quiet hiccups even though they’re muffled in Jihoon’s shirt. He can’t bear it when people cry.

Yeah, maybe he’s been pretending to like you for a long time now, but he’s not a monster.

Right?

He likes you as a person. As a friend. And there’s no way he’s letting his friend go through pain like this.

Soonyoung swiftly discards his trash into the garbage bin and approaches you and Jihoon. At the commotion, you lift your head from Jihoon’s shoulder, eyes all red and puffy. Your lips press together, emotions nearly bursting at the seams, but they finally break out when Soonyoung opens his arms wide.

“C’mere.”

You practically flail into his embrace, arms wrapping around his torso in a vice grip as you hide your face again. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay — he knows you’re not.

Jihoon stands in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at you and Soonyoung clutching at each other in the middle of the apartment before he shuts the front door and clears his throat.

“I’ll just, uh, I’ll be — um. Mhm. Yup.”

He escapes to his room.

Soonyoung squishes his cheek to your temple as you both stay there. You’re shaking, and his arms squeeze tighter. If only he could make it stop. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make you feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, though quiet and hesitant.

You shake your head, mumbling something he can’t quite make out. He pulls back a bit, just enough to see your face and gently cup your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs rub at your cheeks, smoothing any stray tears across your skin.

“What’s that?”

“Just...” Your eyes glisten. His heart beats. “Could you please just hold me?”

And he does.

Decidedly, his bed is much more comfortable than standing in the living room, so he sways, rocking side to side with small steps that force you to walk backwards. His smile, though, is reassuring, and you follow his guidance without much complaint. He sits you down on his bed, thankful that he cleaned up beforehand, and slowly leans you down so you’re both on your sides, facing each other. Pulling you closer, he lets you rest your head on his chest. Your hand lies flat on top of him, but eventually your fingers curl, clutching a bit of Soonyoung’s shirt between them. Silent tears fall from your eyes to his chest, but he doesn’t care.

His arm underneath you wraps around, hand landing on your back so his thumb can rub soothing circles.

It’s quiet.

Funny. Soonyoung used to dislike silence with you — always felt the need to fill it with conversation or jokes or laughter. He wonders when it was last since he felt that way.

Soonyoung doesn’t know how much time passes. His eyes stick to his bedroom ceiling as he holds you close, thoughts on everything and nothing all at once. Are you asleep? Your tears stopped some time ago.

His question is answered when your voice, small and unsure, breaks the long-standing silence.

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you about it?”

He cranes his neck to look at you, but it doesn’t really work. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I just... I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I know, but—”

“You’re not.”

You look up at him finally, and seeing your smile sends warmth through his blood. Your face is still looks wrecked from tears gone by, but your smile pushes all that out of the way.

“Thank you,” comes past your lips in a whisper. Then, after a moment of waiting, you say, “It’s just that... I... this — ugh.” You hide your face in his shirt again. “This is so embarrassing. I don’t even know why I got so worked up.”

Soonyoung doesn’t respond to that, just pats your back a few times and encourages you to keep going. You toy with the fabric of his shirt.

“This guy I used to know — I thought I’d never see him again, but he showed up today. Ran into him when I was walking back from the convenience store.” You bite the inside of your lip. “I haven’t thought about him in a long time, but, I don’t know, I guess seeing him just brought all these memories back all at once.”

“Bad ones?”

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Sure, you could say that.”

The silence comes back, and your brows furrow, almost like you’re trying to solve the problem all on your own. But you don’t have to. Soonyoung is here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my first kiss? Like, my real first kiss?”

Soonyoung hums. Of course he remembers.

“Back in high school, I used to have this friend. Sammy. She was — god, she was beautiful. And kind, and smart, and just... amazing. I miss her a lot. She’s abroad now, travelling the world with her sister. I think she’s in Peru now.” You chuckle at the mention of your old friend, but soon your smile twists into a frown. “This guy... I don’t like saying his name, but he liked Sammy. Everyone did, I don’t blame him for that, honestly. He was pretty popular back then — one of those sports boys, you know? Thinking about it now, he could’ve easily gotten with Sammy if he hadn’t been so conniving.”

“Conniving?”

“Yeah, he was... I don’t know how he got the idea in his head, but he came to me first. He kept hanging out with me, taking me on these... dates? But they weren’t really dates, all we did was talk about Sammy — what she liked, what she didn’t like. I knew he was using me, but I just... let him, I guess. Maybe back then I was just so caught up in being needed that I didn’t really mind being used.”

Soonyoung hugs you tighter.

“I guess he felt sorry, maybe? Right before he went to go ask Sammy out, he just... laid one on me. It was stupid. Like a pity kiss for my service or whatever. I wasn’t in love with the guy or anything, but it felt so... degrading. Like all I deserved was some action from a conventionally good-looking guy."

Your tears come back, brimming at the edge of your eyelids.

“I don’t know, it just — it just made me feel so...”

You take a breath. Exhale.

“...worthless.”

Soonyoung doesn’t fail to see the irony here, at least, but he feels slightly lifted. Whoever this guy is, Soonyoung’s a million times better.

“You’re not worthless,” he says — because he knows it’s true.

“I know.” You readjust yourself curled around him, wiping away the tears which haven’t fallen. “I mean, I know now.” Sighing, you wrap your arm around his waist, somehow pulling him closer than he already was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you. For letting me be me.”

“It is my absolute pleasure to serve you, your majesty.”

You wack him with the sleeve of your sweater. “You’re such a dork!”

Your laugh is nice. Soonyoung hopes to hear it again soon.

“You know,” you say, eyes closed as you lie there with him on his bed. “Normally I would’ve gone to Seungkwan with my problems, but tonight...”

“Tonight?”

“You make me feel safe, Soonyoung. Thank you.”

His eyes close. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “That, and if I told Seungkwan, he would’ve found the guy and beat him to a pulp.”

“Why can I see that?”

“Because it’s true.”

You stay the night.

•

With a group of friends as big as Soonyoung’s, it’s about once every blue moon that the boys find a time that works for everyone, especially coming up on finals season. They all have their own worries around this time: the dance showcase, the big play, last-minute assessments, and — of course — finals.

So when they’re all free for barbecue one night, everyone’s ecstatic. Reservations are made, gratuities are calculated, and the group chat blows up every few hours with various changes to plans. (Mostly from Mingyu, who’s eager to show off his grilling skills.)

But of course, university is university, and it’s inevitable that someone has to bail out. That someone being Soonyoung.

The dance showcase creeps up a bit faster than anyone likes, and now Soonyoung’s professor is forcing him to choreograph an entire song for some freshmen only a month before the whole thing goes onstage.

First of all, who signs up for a showcase only four weeks before the performance? Who lets them sign up?

And second of all, doesn’t his professor realize Soonyoung has a life? He’s got other dances to work on, other classes to study for, friends to have barbecue with. How is he supposed to cram an entire choreography — not the mention the time it’ll take to teach the freshmen — into his already hectic lifestyle?

But Soonyoung is a people-pleaser. He doesn’t say no.

Instead, he regretfully messages the group chat, saying he can’t hang out tonight in favour of attempting to choreograph at least a quarter of the song in one sitting. He gets the usual whining, but they all know they can’t change his mind, so it fades out fast.

What he doesn’t expect is for them to invite you instead.

“It’s a thirteen person reservation,” Seungcheol reasons. “Besides, she’s basically one of us by now.”

Soonyoung can’t exactly argue with that.

So, you go to the restaurant with them while Soonyoung heads to the studio. Minghao picks you up along with Vernon and Chan, which sends an anxious bit of worry down Soonyoung’s spine, but he does nothing about it. If Minghao wanted to tell you, he would’ve by now.

You send him a good luck text.

[🍥] Don’t let those kids work you into the ground!

He stares at your words for a bit, distracted from finding the song he’s supposed to use. Your contact name is different now — one of those naruto fishcakes because of that time you took him out for ramen. That night had been full of laughter and loud, borderline obnoxious slurping, ending with the beautiful finale of Soonyoung throwing a fishcake straight into your open mouth.

You were the one that sweet-talked you both out of getting banned.

Soonyoung finally opens his music app and finds the song the freshmen requested (a rather boring one, if you ask him) which he sets to max volume. He doesn’t bother plugging his phone into the speaker system, not when he’s the only one in the studio.

Maybe he can do this.

•

“The trick is to add eggs and use less water,” you say as you scoop more batter onto the waffle iron.

Jihoon snorts from where he sits at the table, still shoveling more whipped cream and strawberry-smothered waffle in his mouth. “Are you sure the trick isn’t to just not be Soonyoung?”

“Hey!” Soonyoung pauses his own eating just to pout. “My waffles are good!”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

Both you and Jihoon laugh at Soonyoung’s expense, only further accentuating the pout on his face. You and Jihoon are too alike in that aspect. Well, actually, Soonyoung knows you’d never laugh at him, but he still can’t be sure about Jihoon. One time, back in high school, Soonyoung tripped over (what he thought was) a dead bird, and Jihoon laughed for hours — though Soonyoung always exaggerates the story into him laughing for days.

You sit down next to him with your own plate of waffles. There’s flour dusted on your arms, but you don’t seem to mind.

“You’ve got a little...” You point a finger at the corner of your mouth.

He knows. Soonyoung can feel the cool whipped cream right where you say it is.

He smiles wide. “I’m saving it for later.”

“Hmm...”

You say nothing, just smile as you lean in, kissing the corner of his lips. It’s quick, chaste, and barely a real kiss, but Soonyoung’s heart bounces in his chest. He’s never been kissed like that before.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

That thought, though, he pushes back for another time.

“Gross. You guys made me lose my appetite,” Jihoon says. He keeps eating.

•

With eyes drooping shut every few seconds, Soonyoung decides it’s time to call it quits on the chemistry homework. It’s nearly one in the morning, anyways. He flips his textbooks shut and gathers up all his notes, putting them all in a haphazard pile that he’ll worry about in the morning. Swivelling in his chair, his eyes land on you.

Oh. He forgot you’re here.

You’re snuggled up on top of his covers, one arm wrapped around the pillow your head should be on, eyes closed as even, slow breaths come past your slightly parted lips. One of his hoodies is draped over your legs like a blanket. He wonders why you didn’t just get under the covers.

Well, he has been walking you home ever since he hadn’t some time ago. Maybe you were waiting.

He feels a bit guilty as he brushes his teeth and washes his face, but not too bad since you only have afternoon classes tomorrow. Maybe he can treat you to something in the morning to make up for it.

After he tucks you under a fluffy throw blanket, he crawls into bed and lies on his side, facing you.

Your other hand is lax, palm up and fingers curled, almost like you’re holding something invisible.

His hand would fit perfectly.

The tips of his fingers graze over the lines on your palm. Slow. Trepidatious.

You shift, fingers unconsciously curling around Soonyoung’s hand.

He closes his eyes.

•

The moves aren’t working.

The moves aren’t working and the music isn’t working and the dance isn’t working and nothing is working.

Soonyoung groans in frustration, almost screaming with his fingers threaded through his damp hair as he messes up yet another landing. He’s drenched in sweat, and it’s only been so many hours since the rest of the crew left for the night, not that he’s kept track.

It’s less than a week until the showcase. Six days, as Chan is apt to remind everyone with his stupid holiday countdown app.

That freshmen choreography is already over and done with — Soonyoung’s made it, he’s taught it to those over-eager nuisances, and if they need anything more, that’s on them. They’re no longer his responsibility.

That’s not what has him in such a state right now.

His solo — the one he’s been planning for the entire semester — it just doesn’t... feel right. He’s been slaving over it for days now, reworking the steps, figuring out what to take out and what to replace. But the more he fixes it, the more it feels wrong.

He can’t get the steps right. He can’t get anything right.

What is wrong with him?

He starts the music again at exactly one minute, thirty-eight seconds. The moves are clear in his mind. One step. Two steps. Sweep. Spin. Jump—

He falls.

The music goes on.

Soonyoung slams his fist onto the softwood floor, cursing at his ineptitude. He stays like that for a moment, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched so tight his nails dig into his palms. The song ends, only to restart again, but Soonyoung barely notices.

Screw the music. He stands; positions himself; tries again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He falls.

He yells out at the floor, at his feet, at whatever is holding him back.

His reflection in the mirror stares back at him.

Mind blank, he sits there, legs stretched out in front of him as he hunches over, eyes closed to the world around. His breaths come out shaky and uneven, but even though every moment sitting still feels like eternity, his lungs fail to calm.

Someone knocks on the door, and for a second, Soonyoung thinks it’s Jun coming to tell him to go home for the night. He doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t look up.

The door opens, he can hear the quiet shuffling of hesitant feet that have removed their shoes just because the sign on the door told them to.

“Soonyoung?”

Your voice is clear — like a single drop of water coalescing into a whole — and it cuts through the sound of blood rushing past Soonyoung’s ears.

He looks up to see you standing a good length away, almost like you’re scared to approach. You’re wearing pyjamas, a thick sweater pulled over your shoulders and fuzzy socks donning your feet. Something bulges from the pocket of your sweater.

“What are you...”

“Minghao called me.”

In the back of his mind, a small part of Soonyoung wonders exactly when you and Minghao have gotten close enough to call each other, but the thought doesn’t stay for long. It can’t, really, not when you’re in front of him.

When Soonyoung says nothing more, you take another step forward. “What’s wrong?”

To anyone else, he might say nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

His voice breaks when he tries to laugh.

“Everything.”

Your eyes soften, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s not one of those pitiful smiles, he can tell, but it’s not fake, either. You bring your hands together in front of you, fiddling with the tips of your fingers as your eyes move from them to his gaze again. “I’m coming over. Is that okay?”

He nods.

First, you find his phone and turn down the music until it’s gone. You sit right behind him, legs spread on either side of his body, and you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing flush to his back and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. He squirms a bit.

“I’m all sweaty,” he tries to argue, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Yeah, you are.”

He stops resisting. It’s much too hot, what with his hours of constant exercise and your thick layers, but he can’t complain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” This time it’s your turn to ask.

“...Just hold me?”

And you do.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck. Slow, soft, and when your lips leave his searing skin, your forehead replaces them.

That’s when the dam breaks.

Hot, fat tears roll from Soonyoung’s eyes down his cheeks as sobs rack through his chest. The vibrations shake him and you all at once, but your hold never falters. He can’t see anything, only a blur of what should be his legs and your arms wrapped around his stomach. His hands go to clutch at your arms, desperate to hold onto something; to not let him sink.

It’s ugly, the way he cries, but you let it happen. You hold him.

This is what it’s like.

Eventually, his desperate hands find yours, his arms crossed so his right is over your right, his left over your left. His fingers roam over the smooth backs of your hands until they reach your fingers and interlock. The palms of your hands are warm compared to his fingertips.

You’ve locked onto his body language by now — you’re fluent, so you know to continue pressing reassuring, slow kisses into his skin. You know to whisper little words that should mean nothing, but coming from your lips, mean everything.

He’s going to be okay.

For some reason, coming from you, he believes it.

You hold him until the hiccuping stops, until the tears are just dry streaks on his face, until his breath comes out in long streams instead of bursts.

His eyes stay shut as he feels you shift. One of your hands slips out of his grasp, your arm reaching back, and Soonyoung almost whines until he feels its return.

“Look,” you whisper.

It itches to open his eyes, but when he does, he sees what’s in your hand, right in front of him. A small stuffed tiger sits in your palm, positioned anatomically incorrect like a teddy bear, a velvet heart between its paws. Stitched white letters read:

Go get ‘em, tiger!

You chuckle lightly, repositioning yourself so your chin hooks over his shoulder. “Cheesy, I know. I was going to give this to you the day of the showcase, but I think you could use it right about now.”

Gingerly, Soonyoung lifts his hands together, and you place the plush in his awaiting palms.

His voice is slow to restart, but he manages to say, “Thank you.”

Hands now free, you wrap yourself around his waist again. “Anything for you.”

Such a simple sentence, that, and yet the confession sends blood to Soonyoung’s ears in the form of an awfully embarrassing blush. He runs his thumbs over the fuzzy fabric of the tiger plush.

“Soonyoung?”

“Hm?”

You press your lips to the crook of his shoulder, voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t force you to stop practicing. I know this is important to you.” Soonyoung feels your breath fan over his skin. “But I also want you to rest — you shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

One of your hands rises to his chin, guiding it up so he looks forward at the studio mirror and meets your gaze in the reflection.

“Whaddya say we do, hm?” You tilt your head, and Soonyoung thinks his pupils may be heart-shaped. “Do you want to practice more? Or can I take you home?”

“Just...” He swallows what’s left in his dry mouth. “Just once more.”

You smile. “Okay.”

As you get up, you run your hands up to Soonyoung’s shoulder and down to his hand, where you playfully pretend to pull him up with you. He laughs, hiding his face behind the tiger plush for a second before he stands, tugging your hands as he does so you fall into him when he rights himself. Both your hands are squeezed between him and you, while his unoccupied arm finds its way to your side.

Another smile tugs at your lips at the proximity. You shift your hands up so they wrap over his shoulders, linking behind his head. Leaning closer, your eyes gleam under the fluorescent lights. To the sound of silence, you sway together, waltzing in the dead of night.

“I’ll be outside, okay?”

Soonyoung’s expression tightens, eyebrows shifting in confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” you say. “I know how you feel about audiences during practice.”

Something about your smile right now makes Soonyoung feel so undeniably safe. You understand him. Never once have you questioned him over why he doesn’t invite you to practices, never once did you pressure him to change that.

“Do you know how I feel about you?”

“Hmm, do I?”

Do you?

“Stay.”

And you do.

•

Here’s the thing about dance showcases:

They’re big, they’re flashy, they take the entire year to plan, and they’re over in one night.

Soonyoung stands in the wings, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, hopefully not loud enough for anyone to hear. He watches as the group performing before his solo finishes up their dance, though he knows there is at least a minute before he’ll have to go on.

A tap on his shoulder makes him turn his head, and he sees Sehee’s smiling face.

“Nervous?” she asks, her voice hidden beneath the music.

She’s all dolled up, dressed in her costume with a sleek leather jacket to bring everything together. Her eyes glimmer just as much as her eyelids.

“You have no idea,” Soonyoung jokes, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Sehee tilts her head; blinks a few times. “You’ll do amazing. You always do.”

For what it’s worth, Soonyoung hasn’t forgotten his attraction. Sehee’s words soothe him to some extent, pump him up, even. It’s slightly terrifying — how much she still affects him even now.

You’re in the audience tonight, third row from the front, somewhere in the middle. Your seat is between Seungkwan’s and Jihoon’s, whereas all the other boys came (almost) too late and had to find seats elsewhere.

The music ends, applause erupts, and Soonyoung knows it’s his turn. He waits for the group to exit on the opposite side, and when the resounding claps quiet down, he takes the first step onstage.

Something Soonyoung has almost always known: stage lights are blinding. If they’re set up right, anyone onstage will have a damn hard time seeing anyone in the audience. He can’t see you — couldn’t during his previous performance with the crew, either. The only reason he knows you’re there is the million assuring texts you sent him before you had to turn off your phone for the show.

But he knows you’re there. He knows you’re watching.

Soonyoung stands with his left foot on the spike mark, right where he’s practiced time and time again ever since they transitioned into the space. Music floods his veins, and the world is gone.

He wouldn’t call it an escape. Soonyoung doesn’t use dance to get away, it’s not like that. This world he creates with dance — this other space where nothing exists except him and the music and the floor and the feeling — he chooses to go there. Euphoria, he thinks it might be called. Euphoric.

The space takes him. He lets it.

And then it’s over.

Soonyoung’s breath leaves him in bursts, his shoulders heaving despite how hard he fights to keep them still in his final pose. His back faces the audience, his right arm stretched out and up, fingers curling around nothing. Stars dance before his eyes — which he fails to catch with his outstretched hand.

He thinks he can faintly hear applause, but it’s nothing compared to the heart beating in his chest. Your voice plays in his ears, yet he knows it’s simply his imagination — his recollection.

I like your dance, you’d said that night. I’m no expert, no judge, but I like it. I love it, honestly. Your dancing... I don’t know. I wish I had the words. It’s like... a little box.

A little box?

You’ve got a little box in your hand. Brown, maybe the size of your palm. You open it and there’s no bottom, no sides, no shape, just an expanse of universe in blues and pinks and purples and whatever colours we don’t know exist. You look inside and reach your hand in, somehow fitting in the tiny yet infinite space. Your fingers brush through starlight like strands of silk, like the rays are minnows you’ve met during a summer dip. Like that. A little box.

I thought you said you didn’t have the words?

I don’t. Not enough.

Soonyoung vaguely registers the lights going black, the way his feet drift him offstage, the music of the seniors’ finale.

At some point, the lights are back on. Not the stage lights, but the harsh fluorescents once the audience has fully filtered out into the lobby. Most of them will leave, but the family and friends of performers are sure to stay, waiting there to congratulate and fawn over the dancers as soon as they’re let go for the night. Somewhere in his mind, Soonyoung knows his friends are outside waiting for him — him, Jun, Minghao, and Chan.

Roses are passed around. He’s never seen a blue rose before, but some dancers walk around with them as they change out of costume and gather their things. He points out a yellow rose from the bunch presented to him, but it turns out to be a bouquet for him specifically, and he takes the whole thing with his jaw slightly hanging. Everything’s a bit... slow. Soonyoung feels like he’s wading through water.

He hasn’t changed yet, simply standing in his costume as he watches people go back and forth. Other performers move from dressing room to dressing room, cleaning up what they have to while simultaneously patting each other’s backs. Techs go around making sure everything’s in order, nothing lost or forgotten. They put away the MC’s microphones and bother the dancers for not taking proper care of props even though it’s only been one night.

Another tap on his shoulder; it’s Sehee again.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

He follows her to a corner of the stage, where the curtains hang and hide the two — for the most part.

She turns almost too abruptly, causing Soonyoung to stumble over his own two feet to avoid bumping into her.

“This is really hard for me to say,” she starts. “But I have to get it out.”

Soonyoung nods, maybe saying something close to a confirmation, but he can’t really tell. He’s a little lightheaded. Sehee has changed out of her leather, instead now in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple t-shirt. That’s the thing about Sehee, though, she has that unnamed sort of... effortless beauty. Even with her stage makeup wiped off, she glows.

“This might be one of the last times I ever work with you, you know? Next year, my parents are making me quit dancing so I can focus on my major. It sucks, yeah, but they’re right. I need to focus if I want to succeed. You know that too, don’t you? The need to succeed?” She takes a breath; laughs bitterly. “Sorry, I’m getting off track... I just — I wanted to tell you this because if I don’t tonight, I might never get the chance again.”

Maybe Soonyoung has dreamed of this moment. He can’t be sure, not yet, so he lets her continue.

“I like you, Soonyoung. I have for a while. But things happened, and you got together with...” her voice trails off. “And you seemed happy, after a while. I thought maybe I could just keep it hidden but, I don’t know, I think I need to tell you, to get closure because I'm not sure if I can go on without at least—”

Choices. Soonyoung — and everyone else in the world — has only made it through life with decisions. He’s made good ones. Bad ones. He’s had regrets and he’s had none. This, though, this choice is intensely apparent.

Apparent in the way he knows it will affect much more than he wishes.

He kisses her.

God, this is what he wanted, right? What he’s wanted for so long. He used to toss and turn at night over the thought of Sehee’s eyes; her smile; her lips.

And on his, they were heaven. Plump and soft just like the romance novels say, moving at the exact pace of his heartbeat.

The hand holding his bouquet drops to his side as the other goes to cup Sehee’s cheek. Faintly, the sound of paper fluttering to the ground reaches his ears, but nothing can distract him from this moment.

Until, of course, it ends.

Sehee pulls away. “We can’t— I don’t—”

Someone clears their throat.

Soonyoung turns, finding Minghao standing just off from the curtains, arms crossed and face contorted in thinly-veiled anger.

And you.

You’re standing next to Minghao, obviously shocked — over being seen or what you’ve seen, Soonyoung doesn’t know. Hands fisted and held close to your chest, your eyes widen as they meet Soonyoung’s.

It’s not so dramatic as the movies.

Soonyoung stares at you, tongue unmoving with nothing to say. You stare back, almost frozen, until Minghao gently takes you by your shoulders, forcing you to turn and leave the way you must’ve come. Nothing happens in the time it takes. Soonyoung simply watches.

He’s never been good at reading lips, but he thinks he knows exactly what Minghao whispers in your ear.

There’s something you should know.

Sehee mutters, “Sorry,” and leaves. She looks guilt-ridden as she does, but even in his half-frozen state, Soonyoung knows all of this is on him.

He stands alone in that corner of the stage, the only noise being the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of the last stragglers in the dressing rooms. His hands clench, and the brown paper of the bouquet crumples. He looks at it then, at the yellow roses and baby’s breath, at the beige note that’s fallen to the floor.

Slowly, he crouches, picking up the note with his thumb and forefinger.

Congratulations Soonyoung!! I know how hard you’ve worked for this night, which is why I ordered these to be delivered. Joshua told me yellow roses represent happiness, or something. Pretty, right? You deserve every happiness, so I decided to start with flowers. Tonight may be over, but who knows, maybe we’ll find happiness in tomorrow, too.

It’s stupid. It’s not a love letter. It’s laced with love, though, and he hates that he recognizes your handwriting.

Time moves heavily as Soonyoung turns to the backstage door. He’s the only one left now, his station in the second boy’s dressing room is messy, unlike everyone else’s. His reflection stares back at him while he sits in front of the mirror, motions halved in speed as he wipes off his eye makeup.

It’s over.

When was the last time he thought about how it would end?

He changes out of costume, arms growing stiff, and stuffs everything in his bag without much care for how. His regular clothes itch; he longs to scratch at his skin, but he doesn’t.

He leaves your bouquet on the counter.

His friends stand in a circle in the lobby, brows furrowed and voices hushed as they discuss... something. Soonyoung has a bad feeling he knows exactly the topic. Minghao isn’t there. Nor are you.

Jihoon isn’t around, either, but Soonyoung remembers he had to leave immediately after the performance. Something about an essay. It doesn’t really matter now, not compared to this.

When he approaches his friends, they quiet down further. Half of them look his way with a frown, while the other half choose to avert their eyes. What do they know?

Seungkwan stands out the most. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and anger radiates from his very being. Of course he’s mad. You’re his friend.

The silence consumes Soonyoung as he nearly shrivels under his friends’ gazes. He must have taken his time, the lobby is empty except for them.

“Where’s Minghao?” he asks.

Seungkwan lurches forward, but both Seungcheol and Wonwoo bring up their arms to hold him back. 

“Where’s Minghao? Where’s Minghao?” he seethes. He jabs an accusatory finger in Soonyoung’s face. “You just kissed some girl and broke my best friend’s heart and you’re asking about Minghao?!”

So they don’t know. Not really.

Soonyoung endures the scolding. The looks. The questions. The noise.

No answers are really given.

The great thing about having best friends is that they know not to pamper you when you’ve done wrong. That’s also the worst thing about having best friends.

Seungkwan would go on and on, surely, but soon enough the boys notice how little Soonyoung is reacting — how his face and expression is slack and dull.

Joshua holds up a finger to quiet down the ones still complaining, then gestures towards the front entrance.

“Minghao left with her a while ago.” The look on his face is one of pity. Soonyoung hates it.

He nods; stuffs his hands in his pockets as he turns to the door.

“Wait! I’m not done—!” Seungkwan struggles against Wonwoo and Seungcheol, but he’s no match.

Soonyoung doesn’t stick around long enough to hear what happens next.

He has no sense of what to do when he walks out that door. Go home, maybe.

The night breeze hits him with more force than it should, making his eyes go dry and his lips tremble. Outside, everything is almost too loud. There’s traffic on all sides, surrounding the lot of the theatre; the sound of humming engines and honking horns assaults his senses.

He walks — though it feels like wandering — to the parking lot, where he plans to look around for a bus stop.

You’re there.

A mirage, he thinks at first, but you’re really there, sitting on one of those concrete barriers, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. You have your head lowered as you sit, hands braced on the cold concrete.

His held breath escapes him, and you look up.

“You’re here,” you say. The smile on your lips, ever so slight and ever so bitter, causes a ringing in his ears. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“I...”

“It’s a lie, right?” Your eyes glisten, but no tears fall. “You wouldn’t— I’m not— I’m not that naive, am I?”

Soonyoung’s lips part, but nothing moves past them. His hands itch to leave his pockets, but with nothing to reach for, they stay still.

“...I see.”

You drop your head again, bringing your hands together to fiddle with your fingernails. He hears your breath, shaky as it is, and his lungs constrict.

“God, it felt so real. I thought— I guess I don’t know what I thought, huh?” A shiver runs through you. “Was any of it real?” you ask the ground.

Soonyoung longs to answer. That’s the thing, though.

He doesn’t know.

Can any of it be real?

You laugh. Before, your laugh was spring strawberries; summer warblers; winter snowdrops. Now, your dry laughter echoes in Soonyoung’s mind like a pebble in a failed attempt of skipping stones.

“Guess not.”

You hop off the concrete barrier, wiping off your pants of dust and dirt. Still, you don’t meet his eyes.

Soonyoung’s heart beats in a way he knows isn’t natural. Guilt seeps through every orifice. “You’re not... you’re not yelling at me. You’re not crying — you’re not angry,” he stumbles through. “Why?”

It’s then that when you meet his eyes, he notices the dried tracks lining your cheeks. You have been crying, just in the time it took for him to come across you.

“I’m just disappointed in myself, Soonyoung,” you say. “I’m the one who fell for it so easily. I’m the one that was tricked. I’m the one who—” a breath “—who loved someone that didn’t love me back.” You step closer, arms limp at your side. “Once I get home, sure, I’ll cry my eyes out. Is that what you want to hear? I’ll curse myself for being so... so stupid.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“No, it’s not. This is not my fault. All I did was believe the words you said to me. All I did was hand myself to you on a silver platter.” Unshed tears brim at your eyelids, but it seems you refuse to let them fall. “But you know the worst part, Soonyoung?”

Everything?

“The worst part is I can’t yell at you. I’m not angry because I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back and it hurts and I can’t bring myself to hate you despite being told you’ve never thought about me the way I think about you.”

A breathy gasp escapes you, and you turn on a dime, the sight of your back an icy reminder to Soonyoung of what he’s yet to learn. You take a deep breath to gather yourself, shoulders rising and falling.

“I’ll be going now. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Soonyoung doesn’t move from his spot when you walk away, or when you get into Minghao’s car, which pulls away after a moment of sitting there in its parking spot. His feet are stuck in stiff mud, unable to shift, even.

Perhaps he stands there for too long. It’s not until he’s staring down the front of his apartment that he realizes one of his friends must have dropped him off.

•

He hasn’t heard from you in a few days. He hasn’t heard from anyone in just as long.

Jihoon already knew (not everything, but enough) by the time Soonyoung rolled out of bed the day after. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Soonyoung can tell this silence isn’t the same as usual. They rarely eat meals together anymore. Last movie night, Jihoon didn’t even pretend to be busy, instead saying he simply wasn’t in the mood.

Seungkwan hasn’t left your side ever since... that happened. If Soonyoung happens to see you on campus, which is almost never, he backs out of approaching you because of the sheer force that is Seungkwan’s glare. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say even if he did find the courage to face you.

Classes go by in blurs. Not quickly, like scenery past a car window, but so slow that once Soonyoung leaves, he remembers nothing but hours upon hours of staring at his empty notebook, even if the lecture was only fifty minutes long. Days are kind of like that too.

•

Sehee apologizes. She shouldn’t, but she does.

Soonyoung didn’t really hate what he did at first. He liked her, after all.

But when Sehee chokes on her own words, pleading to whoever will listen that she’s not that kind of girl, Soonyoung regrets kissing her more than he ever wanted to kiss her in the first place.

•

please let me explain

I’m sorry

it’s been a while, but still

I’m sorry

[🍥] Explain what?

[🍥] ...

[🍥] Soonyoung?

sorry I just

I wasn’t expecting you to answer

[🍥] Maybe I shouldn’t have

no

wait

I’m sorry

[🍥] So I’ve heard

I just want you to know why what happened, happened

[🍥] But I already know why

it’s not that simple

[🍥] You lied because you suck at lying. Because you knew Sehee was there that night and panicked. I was just collateral damage

[🍥] ...

[🍥] No answer, huh?

[🍥] So it really is that simple

please wait

I’m just trying to figure myself out

[🍥] Let me help you

[🍥] You want my forgiveness because you feel guilty. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you want me to say I forgive you just so you won’t have to carry this around for the rest of your life

[🍥] I know this isn’t some romcom. I know you’re not here to get me back

[🍥] So just let it go

[🍥] Let’s just forget about this. About what happened

what if I can’t

[🍥] I don’t know

[🍥] Figure it out, I guess

[🍥] But do it on your own

•

Soonyoung doesn’t measure his time anymore.

He wakes up. He eats. He goes to class. He skips lunch. He goes home. He eats. He falls asleep.

When was the last time he went out with someone? When was the last time he had a real conversation?

He doesn’t know.

•

[Minghao] You should tell everyone else

why

[Minghao] Would you rather they think you’re a cheater or just an idiot?

I don’t know

[Minghao] I think they deserve an explanation

[Minghao] Want me to do it for you?

does it even matter anymore

[Minghao] It’s your choice

[Minghao] You just have to make it

then tell them

I don’t care

[Minghao] Are you sure?

tell them

•

These days, Soonyoung stays late at the studio. No one really practices there anymore, not since the showcase finished and finals have rolled around. Actually, Soonyoung should be studying too, but he can’t find the motivation. He thinks it might be the guilt.

You were right. He doesn’t want to carry this around.

The thing is, despite spending entire evenings in the studio, he can’t remember anything as he walks home. It must be hours spent in there, and yet, when he walks out, he can’t recall a thing. Like he was never there at all.

Where does the time go?

With his luck, the elevator is broken when he returns to the apartment building, so he has to take the stairs. Normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but after hours of mindless, sloppy dancing, he’s much too tired. He fumbles with his keys when he tries to open the door, and he rests his forehead on the cool wood for a moment, sighing before he tries again.

The door creaks open. Though it’s late, the lights are still on, which Soonyoung frowns at when he realizes. Lately, Jihoon is never up when Soonyoung comes home. But there he is, sitting at the table right next to the kitchen with his eyes on his hands and his feet tucked under the chair.

Soonyoung freezes after shutting the door behind him, not wholly sure what to make of the scene before him.

After a moment of silence, Jihoon looks up from his fingers and meets Soonyoung’s gaze.

“Minghao called me today,” he says.

Soonyoung gulps, but doesn’t respond — doesn’t know how to.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first, you know.” His voice is slow, croaky; tired. “But it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it. I don’t know how I didn’t see it from the start.”

Slowly, Soonyoung slips off his shoes and steps further into the apartment. “So now you know. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“I just have a question.”

Soonyoung pauses, halfway through the apartment and only a few meters from his bedroom door. He turns to face Jihoon, sighing through his nose and digging his palm into his eye sockets. “Fine,” he concedes. “What?”

“If you never loved — never liked her, why are you acting like this now?”

“Acting like what?”

“Like a dead man walking.”

Soonyoung scoffs, a dry, empty sound as he looks away for a moment before meeting Jihoon’s gaze again. “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “I lied to someone for months. I pretended to love someone I didn’t. I used her because of my own stupidity and pride, and then I used Sehee, too—” Pausing, he closes his eyes; takes a breath. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s guilt. I feel guilty for... for everything.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Excuse me?”

Jihoon rhythmically taps the pads of his fingers on the table. It’s not loud enough to be heard, but Soonyoung’s eyes train to the sight. “It’s only the guilt?”

“What else would it be?”

This time, it’s Jihoon who sighs. He looks at his hands again for a second. “Do me a favour,” he says without looking up.

“Look, I already—”

“Just do what I say.”

Soonyoung groans, but he knows he can’t argue with Jihoon and win — not now at least. He rubs his eyes, shoulders rising and falling as he takes in a deep breath. Mumbling under his breath, he says, “Fine.”

Jihoon stands from his chair, and in such stagnant silence, the sound of the legs squeaking on the floor is profound. He points to the middle of the apartment, the large bit of floor-space that’s too big to be considered part of the kitchen but too small to house any furniture.

“Stand right there.”

“...What?”

Without answering, Jihoon simply points at the floor again, and Soonyoung can only groan in defiance as he moves to stand in that spot. Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch, Jihoon steps a few feet away, facing Soonyoung with the pillow held in one hand at his side. He seems to consider something for a moment.

Soonyoung has never been unable to read Jihoon this much, so he asks, “What is this all about—”

Jihoon screams. Not a high-pitched screech, but a guttural battle cry, and Soonyoung’s eyes widen. Faster than he can comprehend, Jihoon runs towards him and tackles him to the ground. Soonyoung’s legs crumble as he falls, and he feels the throw pillow pressing onto his face.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies.

“Jihoon!” he cries, but his protest is muffled by the pillow. “What the fuck are you—!”

“You fucking idiot! You don’t know shit!”

“I know that!” Soonyoung thrashes to get the pillow off, but Jihoon is way stronger than he looks.

“You miss her you fucking buffoon! You’re all in your doom and gloom because you had a good thing going and had to go fuck it up!”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t try to argue with me, fucker, I know you better than anyone. Now scream!”

The pillows squishes further down, and while Soonyoung can still breathe, it’s far from comfortable. He continues to struggle even though he knows it’s useless.

“What?!”

“Scream into the pillow! You’re mad at yourself and you should be! Let it all out!”

“I—”

“Scream!”

And he does. He lets out a loud bellow that’s nothing but sound roaring from his lungs. He does it mostly to appease Jihoon — so that maybe he’ll finally get off.

But it feels good.

No, not good, really. It feels awful. Everything feels awful. Yet, something about screaming makes him want to do it again. He yells once more into the pillow, the sound muffled in the fabric and yet intensely remarkable. He screams and he screams and he screams until he can’t scream anymore and his voice is raw and there’s no more sound aside from the fractured gasps of his sobs. Tears soak into rough fabric, and he doesn’t even notice that Jihoon isn’t holding the pillow anymore — he’s pressing it to his face himself. His body shakes under Jihoon. Soonyoung feels pathetic, but he can’t stop.

He tries again to scream into the pillow, but his voice cracks and all he knows is to cry.

This is what it’s like.

Quietly, Jihoon maneuvers himself so he sits by Soonyoung’s head. He slowly lifts a corner of the pillow and peeks at Soonyoung’s red face. “So,” he whispers, voice soft and full of care. “What are you going to do now?”

Soonyoung wraps his arms around the pillow, hiding his face again.

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s never felt less sure of anything. “I don’t know.”

•

That night, Soonyoung cleans his room. He doesn’t reorganize or anything, just picks discarded clothes up off the ground and throws them in a hamper, spreads his blankets so his bed actually looks bed-like, and takes his overflowing garbage bin out to the door, where he’ll take it out tomorrow morning. As he stretches his arm between his bed and the wall, his fingers close around the sweater he’s trying to reach and... something else. When he brings his hand back up, a small tiger plush stares back at him.

Go get ‘em, tiger!

He stares at the words for a moment, sitting up on his bed and leaning his back against the wall. The plush feels frail in his hands, almost like the velvet heart held in the tiger’s paws could crumble at any moment. Maybe it will.

Soonyoung settles down above the covers that night, and the tiger sits on his other pillow.

The one that still smells like you.

•

He cries. (For the second time since you left.)

•

After everything that’s happened, one would think it would take a miracle to fix what’s been broken. Soonyoung thinks it will take more than that, but still; he’s no miracle worker. He thinks it will take magic to just see you again.

Turns out, it takes a coffee.

Jihoon forces Soonyoung to join him in visiting one of the campus cafes. He doesn’t think about it too much, just believes Jihoon’s trying to keep him alive with a little kick of caffeine. That thought is pushed away when Jihoon blocks him from sitting at the little table, pointing instead across the space to the student printing center.

You’re talking to a customer at the front counter, forearms rested on the white faux marble. A smile is on your lips as you say whatever it is you’re saying to the girl, and Soonyoung finds it almost impossible to tear his eyes away. But he does. He scans the rest of the building for a second. Seungkwan is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Minghao.

He turns to Jihoon, a question on the tip of his tongue.

“She told the bodyguards to back off,” Jihoon explains without needing to be asked. “It’s been a few days.” He nods his chin towards you. “Go on. Talk to her.”

Soonyoung shakes his head, gulping down the words he can’t yet think of. “I don’t... I’m not... ready.”

“If you back out now, you’re going to keep backing out until it’s too late.”

Jihoon’s eyes blaze with an unfitting determination for such a setting. He looks stupid, like some self-made, all-knowing relationship guru who likes the coke he’s gripping too much. Still, he’s right.

Soonyoung licks his dry lips and looks at you again. You’ve sat down, relaxed after having helped that customer and now conversing with one of the other students working there. He misses the way you looked when you were happy — when you were happy with him.

What will it take to see that again?

What will it take to hold you again?

His feet move before his doubts can stop him, and the scene feels awfully familiar. This time though, Soonyoung can’t help but feel like the bad guy.

You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, and he doesn’t know what hurts more: the immediate frown, or the fake smile you use to cover it up.

“Hi, what can I do for you today?”

If Soonyoung had to define heartache, he might use this moment. Feigning to forget rather than acknowledging the past... it’s effective, but it hurts.

“Can...” He hesitates and curses himself for it. “Can we talk?”

“About printing, yes. About anything else? I really would rather we didn’t,” you say under your breath. It’s hushed, and you don’t shy away when Soonyoung leans closer to hear. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

“But there’s something I need to say.”

“I don’t think I want to hear anymore apologies, Soonyoung.”

“It’s not that,” he argues.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s not an apology?”

“No— I mean, well, yes I want to apologize. I don’t think I’ll ever stop apologizing, but— but that’s not what I—”

“Soonyoung.”

He stops at your word, knowing that speaking will only get him further into trouble. Around you, his words keep failing. Instead, he meets your eyes, which under more inspection, seem hardened.

Have eyes ever looked so hardened when brimmed with tears?

“I don’t know if you know this, but seeing you makes me hate myself.” By now, your coworker has walked to the back, probably to respect your privacy. Your voice almost cracks. “I’ve felt worthless before, but Soonyoung, do you even realize what that — what you did to me?”

He barely breathes before saying, “What if I... what if I said I fell in love with you? Somewhere along the way?” A pause. Your eyes waver, but steady themselves. “What if I said I love you?”

“Soonyoung,” you say after a second.

“Yes?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

•

[🍥] Give me a reason to give you a chance

this is real right?

[🍥] It’s not a dream if that’s what you’re asking

all of a sudden??

[🍥] Minghao and Jihoon said I should

[🍥] And I think I should too

[🍥] But it’s hard

[🍥] What you said yesterday... I don’t know if I can believe it just yet

will you meet me?

I want to see you

[🍥] Can you give me some time?

yes

all the time you need

but will you?

will you meet me?

[🍥] I don’t want to

[🍥] But then again, I do

[🍥] Just give me some time

•

A strange thing, time. It passes by much too quickly when you want it to last, and it drags on when all you want is to be there. There; right then; right now.

Soonyoung stays up late turning on and off his phone, waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

It’s only been two days.

Jihoon thinks he’s crazy, though he hasn’t said it out loud — Soonyoung can tell.

He also thinks he might be a little crazy, but that’s okay. If it means he’ll get the chance to make it up to you... maybe he’s fine with being crazy.

At some point, Jihoon barges into his room and takes away Soonyoung’s phone, snatching it straight out of his hands like the little thief he is. He keeps it out of reach despite being shorter, preaching bullshit like, “You need to calm down and act like a normal person!”

Fine, whatever.

Soonyoung goes out for some air. And instant ramen.

There’s a twenty-four hour convenience store right on the edge of campus, manned by a single tired university student that everyone is aware of, yet no one really seems to know his name. It’s one of those spots where time doesn’t exist; maybe names don’t, either.

Compared to the blackness of night, the blanch white convenience store sticks out like a sore thumb, especially with all the bright posters and fluorescent tube-lights. Soonyoung feels just as out of place with no people around just outside the store, but really, it’s to be expected at a time like two in the morning.

He’s right at the door when it chimes and slides open. And so are you.

Both of you freeze where you are, you in the doorway and he just in front. His jaw slacks slightly as he takes you in.

You’re in casual clothes again, a thick sweater and presumably pyjama pants. This version of you comes with good memories — for some reason he likes it more than he cares to admit. Maybe he liked that you could share a more vulnerable side to him, and he to you in return. Although, you’ve shown this side to even the unnamed convenience store guy.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his reverie.

“Soonyoung,” you say, and it’s softer than before. Maybe your voice is lighter from the fact that it’s two in the morning, maybe just because you’re tired, but a small part of Soonyoung wishes that it’s something else — that you sound softer because you’ve missed him too.

He hopes it isn’t just hope.

He says your name, the sound beautiful and battered on his tongue. A small smile passes your lips, so fast that he almost misses it, but he doesn’t. That’s one thing he knows about you: how much you care. Even if someone hurts you, you always take the time to hear them out. You give them chances. Soonyoung should thank his lucky stars that you’ve done the same for him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You smile again, and it reaches your eyes, however sad.

“Is it time?” he asks.

“It can be.” The plastic bag in your hand crinkles as you sway it back and forth. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes out like a breath. “Please.”

“Then that’s what we’ll make it.”

You gesture to the ground, where the curb meets the asphalt, but Soonyoung is still a little shocked that he’s even met you here in the first place, so he watches, dazed, as you sit down on the curb before joining in. He stays silent as you pull out an ice cream cup and hand it to him. He stays silent as you procure a second one and peel open the plastic lid, digging into it with the wooden stick spoon-wannabe that comes with the package. He stays silent as you look at him, the wooden stick hanging from your mouth.

“So,” you say, scraping the side of the paper cup. Meeting his eyes, you sport a sly smile. “I hear you’re in love with me.”

The ice cream stays unopened in his hands. He finds it so easy to smile back.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You think you are?”

“I’ve never loved someone like this before,” he tries to explain, though the words are slow to his tongue. “I can only think.”

“I guess so.”

“But—” he looks at his fingers, fiddling with the plastic lid of the cup, and a small laugh escapes “—I’m thinking really, really hard.”

You laugh too; his heart blooms.

“Is that so?” you tease, smiling around the wooden spoon. “It’s gonna take more than that.”

“I think I can do it.”

“You think?”

“I think really hard.”

Soonyoung might be in love with every part of you, even if he never realized. Your laugh, your smile, your tells, your habits. He wishes he knew sooner, that this laugh could’ve been his forever long before now.

You scrape the last drops of ice cream out of the paper cup and leave the stick in your mouth, a bit chewed up. Your shoes tap against the asphalt, the rhythm something that draws both his and your eyes.

“You know...” you say, turning your head to meet his gaze once more. “You know you hurt me, right? You know this won’t be easy?”

“None of what we had was easy.”

A scoff runs past your lips. You bump your shoulder against his. “Speak for yourself. I fell hard and fast for you, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.” You take the still unopened ice cream from his hands and stuff it right back in the bag it came from. “Say it again, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm... maybe it’ll take a few more times.”

“I’m—”

“But not tonight,” you say. “Tonight...”

Your hand beside him closes the distance, grazing over his and pulling it over to your lap.

“...just hold me?”

And he does.

Bonus (gn) epilogue: Fluff and Context Bonus (gn) blurbs: [a fate of my choosing][pick a struggle]

[capn-rikshu]

I was discussing Earthspark with a friend. In our conversation I said one of my critique is that the Terrans feel… too same, I want more distinct dynamics and personalities from them. At times they blend together.

Here are some of my ideas.

Twitch - The leader of course, to make her stand out I want her to be more "serious" of the bunch. She'll be a bit bossy, maybe she thinks being the leader = bossy, at those times her siblings may not listen to her but when things get dire they will. The show touched on her competitive side a bit but I REALLY want to exaggerate that aspect of her. I also want her to butt heads with Thrash very often much more often than in the show, they could fight over who's leader, who's older. Petty fights, it will seem like they will never get along.

Thrash - Rebellious hedonist, he'll say like 'chill dude relax', less hyper than in the show but definitely more rebellious and looking to get away with things when he can. I think it would be much more distinct if we made Twitch the more hyper one and Thrash the more mellow. But just because he's more calm does not mean he's more mature. Now I'm imagining him sounding like a surfer dude HAHA, well his voice and personality would match the eyebags in his design.

Hashtag - The dickhead sibling of the bunch. She'll have a more cocky personality and overall quite the menace to society, she makes a lot of roasts and jokes. She'll pick on Jawbreaker and when Twitch isn't around she'll use her size to her advantage "I'm the biggest, go do what I say". She'll pull a lot of pranks. Very much a menace. But like an internet troll she's all talk no action, perhaps she shall be a bit of a coward. When she's frightened she goes to little big sister Twitch for help hehe.

Nightshade - The voice of reason... at times. They'll be the goody two shoes, they'll be the teacher's pet, they'll dob on you when you misbehave. But they are a hypocrite because they will barely hesitate to do a dangerous activity when it interests them or if it's for "science" or with Hashtag. When they are with her their sensibilities turn off. The voice of reason and the impulse, and they're the pair of siblings that most hang around each other, incredible dynamic. I imagine them influencing each other.

Jawbreaker - The ingenue. Innocent, cute Jawbreaker. The one that Hashtag will trip over with her foot and the one that is infantilised by his siblings. I see Nightshade doing most of the infantilisation, it would make him feel like a stranger in the triplet trio. He tries to act tough and mature to fit in and get along with his group of 'The Triplets' but Hashtag will just keep picking on him and Nightshade would just be like 'there there, be a good boy, little brother'. He isn't sure if they are purposely excluding him. This may cause bursts of anger.

And here's my first change to canon, instead of Grimlock causing the rampage it will be Jawbreaker. Jawbreaker would feel frustrated because of his constant demeaning by his two siblings and so when he gets taught by this very cool bot he looked up to, Grimlock, and when Grimlock displays his symptoms of being 'not 100 per cent present' because of what Mandroid put him through thus he infantilises and dismisses Jawbreaker like his siblings, Jawbreaker would get very upset. Because why is his idol treating him like his siblings? He'll break ground, scan his alt mode, and because of the dinobot alt mode it makes it harder to control his emotions and so he runs a rampage into town. Now Grimlock, Hashtag and Nightshade must chase after him and try to calm him down and right what they did wrong with him.

This is copied from a conversation.

[lizzy-calaxio]

Hey! Look at this! I found motivation to write! It's Krile and Lizzy stuff, with minimal spoilers to MSQ! It takes place a little before Endwalker, and mentions Sharlayan locations, as well as referring to events in stormblood, so if you haven't played dawntrail yet, you're fine c:

“’Introduction to Psychology’? Why, I’ve never heard of that. Who’s the teacher? Archon...Calaxio?! Well, this must surely be interesting. Let’s ask her about it, maybe it’ll be fun.” Krile speaks idly to herself as she fills out the semester sign up forms.

Later that day, she walks around Sharlayan. Finding a nice walk can be very refreshing after looking through numerous dense books. Sometimes, at night, she’s even able to walk around with her hood down, feeling the wind flow through her hair – the chilling breeze cooling the back of her neck.

While walking near the Studium, she sees a familiar large tail rounding a corner ahead of her.

“Lizzy! Hey wait!” Krile starts a light jog to catch up, as she turns the corner, she gets smacked in the face by the previously seen tail, “OW!” “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! This always happens, I’m very clumsy with my tail, I’m so so sorry, are you ok? Normally echo havers are safe…”

Krile, flat on her ass, looks up at the Au Ra profusely apologizing to her, spikey black hair with red-emberish highlights on the tips stand out immediately, “Uh, y-yea. I’m ok, thank you.”

Lizzy helps her up, and Krile can’t help but notice how different Lizzy looks in a professional outfit – a blue suit-coat, with black slacks and dress shoes. On her back is a set of nouliths. She grabs her tail almost like she’s scolding it.

Lizzy adjusts her glasses, “So what’s up? I heard someone shout for me, I’m assuming that was you?”

“Why, yes! I saw you’re teaching a new class next semester, so I wanted to ask you about it. I may sign up for it.”

“Oh! A-ah, well, you may or may not have heard, I got my archon mark recently. It’s in the field of Psychology. I’ve been called a pioneer, but that kind of makes me uncomfortable. Er, uh, it’s about the mind. Mental health, as it’s called. Ah, can we uh, keep walking? If I don’t make it to this meeting with Omi….”

“Are you sure it’s ok? I can do that.” she begins walking next to her, “So, mental health?”

Lizzy brightens up immediately, “Yea! So, there’s a lot of traumatized people in eorzea, right?”

“’Traumatized’?”

Lizzy stops for a second, and looks introspective for a moment, “Ok, right, new science. So, have you noticed that there’s an unusual amount of people that are sad? Or like, have you ever been speaking to someone and they suddenly lash out at you for no reason?” “Oh! Yea, especially when their intention wasn’t to hurt me, I found it odd.”

“So, these can be indicators of a troubled mental health. Depression is when people are so sad they can’t function normally or take care of themselves, traumatized people have perceived strange behaviours, but they are easily explained by examining the root cause of it, though sometimes there’s more complicated issues – That’s a lot to say, that Psychology is a study of the complexities of people’s minds.”

Krile’s echo gives her a bright surge of happiness and eagerness from Lizzy, “I see, that does sound interesting! You’ll be teaching it, personally, right?” Krile tries to hide a small amount of excitement. The idea of hearing Lizzy speak enthusiastically about something she enjoys for a length of time sounds absolutely delightful – at the very least, a better experience than feeling the dread and boredom from the teacher.

Lizzy stops walking for a moment, takes off her glasses and cleans them, Krile notices dark circles under her eyes, Lizzy smiles at Krile, “Yea, that’s actually why I’m going to a meeting right now – I’ve never taught anyone in a professional setting, so I’m hoping to learn from Omi.”

Krile senses good intentions, but… “Omi….Has a reputation around here, are you sure you want to learn from him?”

Lizzy nods enthusiastically, “He taught me how to be a black mage, so I know he’s a good teacher...Even if he’s a little…” she searches for the right words, “Well, you know.”

“I do indeed. Well, I think this has convinced me – I’ll be seeing you next semester, Archon Calaxio~” Krile cringes at her own attempt at flirting.

“Of course! It’ll be relieving to see a familiar face!” Lizzy beams a very bright smile at Krile.

Thankfully, it seems she’s immune to bad flirting. Krile decides to quickly leave before she embarrasses herself further. Though, she walks with a refreshed vigor and a light hum as she leaves.

----

The night before class starts, Krile has a dream. She’s trapped in a small box. She bangs on the walls, screaming until her voice goes hoarse. Her hands become bloodied and bruised from hitting the metal walls. She feels stabbing sensations at various parts of her body. She curls up, and begins to cry.

Suddenly, the box opens. A familiar spikey hair comes into view, retrieving her from the box. “Krile?!” The voice sounds desperate, scared. Her echo throbs, intense concern, mild relief, and...interest?

“Krile?! Are you ok?”

She feels a hug wrap around her.

Lizzy’s mouth near her ear, whispers, “I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll protect you.”

She wakes up, flustered. Sweating. Scared. Krile hesitates for a moment, then steels her nerves, and picks up a linkpearl.

“Hey…Lizzy?”

----

Lizzy sits at her desk, pouring over her books of psychology, her notes about teaching from Omikhle. Her forehead reddened from her hands being pressed against it. Suddenly, a linkpearl rings, startling Lizzy and spilling her coffee over her notes. “DAMN!”

She picks up her linkpearl, keeping her voice even. She hears from the other end, “Hey….Lizzy?”

“Krile? What’s up, is everything ok?”

Silence follows the question for a moment, “I...had a bad dream. It felt like...when I was trapped-” Lizzy stands up and gets herself another cup of coffee, “Oh no, do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really...Can...Can you just tell me I’m safe?”

Lizzy stops mid-pour, “Of course.” she uses her calming magicks, hoping it works over the phone, “Everything is ok. You are safe, and secure. No one is trying to hurt you. I gave you this linkshell specifically in case you are in danger. I’ll drop everything to get to you. I told you when we rescued you, ‘I’ll protect you.’ and I mean it.”

More silence follows for another moment, her voice sounds more relaxed and even, “Thank you, Elizabeth. That really helps.”

“No need to thank me, I’m glad I could help. I never want you to hesitate to use this, ok? Do you wanna stay talking until you fall back asleep?”

“O-oh, no, I couldn’t! You gotta teach tomorrow.”

Lizzy crosses her arms, though the only one to see is Tango, “And you gotta learn tomorrow, I won’t let one of my students have her first day start on a bad note due to trauma based nightmares.”

“...Thank you, I...I’d like to talk until I fall asleep.”

----

Lizzy sits at her desk as students filter out of the classroom. There was a lot more people that decided to take her class than she expected. Though, she anticipates a number of them dropping the class. She sighs with relief, and slumps down further into her chair.

“I shall become a slime, I think.”

Lizzy closes her eyes.

“I think you’d be a very smart looking slime, then.” the voice interrupts her idle thoughts.

Lizzy’s eyes pop open, spying a familiar lalafell standing next to her, “Oh shit, uh, hey! You...were not supposed to hear that.” Lizzy nervously rubs the back of her neck.

Krile senses embarrassment, but places a coffee cup on the desk, “A present, for talking to me last night.”

Lizzy turns the cup, “’Sharlayan’s Best Psychologist’, it’s cute – I like the little lizzy face on it!”

Genuine happiness, Krile smiles, “Yay! I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

Lizzy looks tired, “I love it, thank you, sincerely. Did you find the class interesting?”

Interest, mild concern, Krile reassures her, “I did! I’m surprised you fit so much information into the first class. You seemed to really enjoy speaking up here, though. It’s a bit surprising, considering your general attitude around the scions seems much quieter.”

Lizzy looks a little nervous, “Ah...I mean, This is an area I’m an expert in – and I like it a lot. I’m always scared of saying the wrong thing around the scions.”

“Well, I don’t think you should be too worried about that. You sounded brilliant, and I’d love to hear more of your….you...you talking about psychology!” Krile winces at the misstep.

Lizzy gives a gentle smile, “That’s very kind of you- oh! Lemme try the coffee, I was so distracted by the cup itself…” she takes a sip, and her eyes go wide, “OH! That’s absolutely delicious. This fucks!”

Sincere intent, Krile is taken aback by the exclamation, and laughs a little, “Well! I’m full glad you enjoy it! I’m...uh, gonna go to my next class now, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she waves as she runs off.

Lizzy sits at her desk enjoying her nice cup of coffee. Now drinking her 5th cup.

After a few moments, she perks up again, “OH SHIT I HAD A MEETING WITH OMI.” and she sprints off, trying to not spill her coffee.

----

The next day, as people shuffle into Lizzy’s class, Krile notices the cup she gave her sitting on her desk – steam still coming off the surface of the coffee inside. Her mood brightens immediately, and she waves at Lizzy after she sits down. Lizzy in turn notices Krile, smiles and waves, and takes a sip of her coffee. Krile suddenly feels a flash of romantic interest towards her, causing her to smile more to herself. Playfully kicking her feet as she listens to Lizzy speak.

After class, Krile once again walks up to Lizzy’s desk, “Helloo~!”

Lizzy, mid-sip of coffee, holds up one finger to indicate that she needs a second, after she finishes, “Hey Krile! How are you today?”

“Wonderful! I got some very good news today.” she smiles at Lizzy.

Lizzy tilts her head inquisitively, “Oh? What news?” Krile winks and holds a finger in front of her mouth, “Ah, it’s a secret, can’t tell.”

Lizzy gives an exaggerated frown, “Aw, nothing’s worse than a secret I can’t know!”

“Don’t fret, don’t fret, I’m sure at some point I’ll be able to tell you.”

Lizzy goes back to drinking her coffee, before asking, “Still enjoying the class? Today was a bit more dense, and I’m scared I may have turned some people off from the class…” Krile moves closer to Lizzy and rubs her back, “Oh, I don’t think it was that bad. I enjoyed it quite a bit, actually! The part about uhm...How breaking a bad cycle involves actually starting new habits to build new...neural pathways?”

Lizzy gives a weak smile, and gently rests her head on Krile’s head, “Thanks, at least someone paid attention. One person in the back straight up fell asleep.” she unconsciously starts rubbing her horn against Krile’s hood ears.

Krile suddenly recalls a passage she read about Au Ra and horn rubbing, and gets flustered, “M-maybe they just needed some coffee,” she gives a nervous chuckle.

Lizzy picks her head up, causing Krile to give a small internal ‘Noooo’, “Maybe so. I don’t wanna keep you from other classes, though. Thank you for the reassurance, regardless.”

Krile nods, and waves as she walks off.

After she leaves the room, Lizzy’s forehead smacks her desk, loudly, and groans, “I’m such a dork.”

Krile chuckles a little outside the door.