#Identity-Based Habits

[thefinemen]

Atomic Habits by James Clear

The Mastery Blueprint Hidden in Tiny Decisions Introduction: Big Goals Don’t Build Great Men—Tiny Habits Do Most men overestimate what they can do in a day… And massively underestimate what they can do in a year. Welcome to Atomic Habits by James Clear—a book that’s not just about habits, but about identity-level transformation. It’s not a motivational hype book. It’s a scientific playbook…

[tmentor]

Atomic Habits Book Summary (by James Clear): Animated Video and Illustration

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 6th through the houses

This is where we get into daily life, service, work, wellness, and routine. Think of it as your “how I get sh*t done” energy — the ruler of your 6th house shows what area of life demands the most effort, structure, or healing🖤.

6th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are your own project.

Your identity is wrapped in your work ethic and wellness. People see you as productive, reliable, and self-improving. You’re the type to biohack, optimize, or self-discipline like a boss. You serve: Yourself, your goals, your growth. Wellness style: Actively engaged with body + health. “My body is my schedule — and my brand.”

6th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You work for stability + values.

You’re motivated by security, comfort, and building something solid. You probably have a slow-and-steady daily rhythm and need to feel grounded in your routine. You serve: Through practical help + financial support. Wellness style: Nourishment, somatic care, massage. “My routine = my resource.”

6th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your mind is always working.

You thrive on movement, communication, and mental stimulation. You may multitask like a machine and keep a busy schedule. Writing, teaching, or running errands = daily bread. You serve: Through ideas, words, and helpful info. Wellness style: Breathwork, nervous system care, mobility. “My calendar is color-coded chaos — and I love it.”

6th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your home is your office or temple.

You crave comfort and emotional security in your daily rhythm. You may work from home or be drawn to caretaking professions. Wellness comes from emotional safety. You serve: Family, home, emotional healing. Wellness style: Nourishing food, rest, inner child care. “My peace starts at home.”

6th House Ruler in the 5th House

You work with passion or not at all.

You thrive when your work lights you up. You bring creativity to your job, and you may serve others through play, art, children, or entertainment. You’re here to infuse joy into the mundane. You serve: Through performance, love, creativity. Wellness style: Movement, pleasure, artistic release. “If it’s not fun, it’s not sustainable.”

6th House Ruler in the 6th House

You were born for systems, routines + service.

You’re naturally drawn to work, health, and structure. You may have a career in healthcare, healing, or support roles. Routines come naturally — but beware of overworking. You serve: Through consistency, integrity, mastery. Wellness style: Functional, optimized, routine-based. “Structure sets me free.”

6th House Ruler in the 7th House

You show up for others.

You serve through partnerships — whether romantic, business, or client-based. Your work may involve 1:1 relationships, and wellness improves when your relationships are in harmony. You serve: Lovers, clients, collaborators. Wellness style: Balance, connection, mirrored growth. “Your peace = my peace.”

6th House Ruler in the 8th House

You work in the shadows.

You may serve through healing, therapy, finances, or emotional transformation. You’re private about your daily habits and need depth + purpose in your work to avoid burnout. You serve: Through psychological or energetic work. Wellness style: Detox, shadow work, deep rest. “My work transforms me — and others.”

6th House Ruler in the 9th House

You work from the mind and the spirit.

You may serve through teaching, spirituality, law, or travel. Daily life needs meaning. You might crave movement or a higher mission behind the grind. You serve: Through wisdom, beliefs, or worldly perspective. Wellness style: Walking meditations, breathwork, education. “My routine is my ritual.”

6th House Ruler in the 10th House

You turn routines into legacy.

Work is your identity. You’re ambitious, career-oriented, and likely to rise in your field due to your consistency. You might manage others or become known for your service. You serve: Through leadership, professionalism, influence. Wellness style: Structured, goal-driven, visible. “Work hard, shine harder.”

6th House Ruler in the 11th House

You serve the collective.

You may work within communities, collectives, or online spaces. You need freedom and innovation in your day-to-day — and you’re likely to rebel against rigid schedules. You serve: Friends, networks, causes. Wellness style: Group classes, tech tools, unconventional methods. “My work serves the future.”

6th House Ruler in the 12th House

Invisible service, sacred structure.

You work best in solitude, or in healing/behind-the-scenes roles. Your routines may be intuitive or chaotic, and wellness is deeply tied to your emotional + spiritual state. You serve: Spirit, the unseen, vulnerable populations. Wellness style: Sleep, silence, dreams, energetic healing “Sacred rest is my medicine.”

[adelar-storytime]

OC questions

60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)

___

[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?

[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?

[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?

[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?

[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?

[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?

[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?

[9] What is their love language?

[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?

[11] What are small things that make them happy?

[12] How high is their self-esteem?

[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?

[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?

[15] How do they act around people they don't like?

[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?

___

[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?

[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?

[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?

[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?

[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?

[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?

[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?

[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?

[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?

[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?

[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?

[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?

[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?

___

[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?

[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?

[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?

[39] What is their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?

[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?

[41] What’s their usual morning routine?

[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?

[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?

[44] On a party, where would you find them?

[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?

[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?

[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?

[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?

___

[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?

[50] What are they really good and really bad at?

[51] How good are they with money?

[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?

[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?

[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?

[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?

[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?

[59] What would they want to be remembered for?

[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?

---

some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post

[s7my]

H O W N E P T U N E C L O U D S Y O U R C L A R I T Y 🌁

neptune in astrology is tied to dreams, illusions, and blurred lines. when it aspects other planets, it can soften clarity, making things feel more emotional, idealized, or confusing. it doesn’t lie, but it makes reality feel foggy; beautiful or heartbreaking, but hard to pin down. depending on the planet, it can bring deep intuition or escapism, creativity or confusion. ☁️🌪️

☉ sun-neptune

when neptune touches your sun, your sense of identity can be unclear or hard to define. you may struggle with self-doubt, not because you lack confidence, but because you’re constantly unsure of who you really are or who you’re supposed to be. you might absorb expectations from others without realizing it, which leads to shapeshifting in different settings. it’s easy to lose yourself in roles, relationships, or goals that don’t feel solid. people might think you’re inspirational or mysterious, but internally you may feel directionless or vague. the challenge here is finding a sense of self that isn’t built on other people’s projections or unrealistic ideals.

☽ moon-neptune

this aspect often makes emotional boundaries weak. you feel everything, even things that aren’t yours. you might have grown up in an environment where emotions weren’t clearly expressed, or where confusion and avoidance were common. now, you may struggle to trust your emotional instincts because you’re used to second-guessing yourself. sometimes you cope through fantasy, detachment, or checking out emotionally. you might be drawn to art, music, or helping others, but the real work is learning what you actually feel vs what you’ve absorbed from others.

☿ mercury-neptune

communication gets tricky here. your thinking might be creative, abstract, or nonlinear, but when you try to explain it, it doesn’t always come out clearly. people might misunderstand you or say you’re being vague, even when you feel like you're being real. sometimes, you avoid conflict by being indirect, or you say what others want to hear just to keep things peaceful. at worst, this can lead to misinformation or people not trusting what you say. on the flip side, you’re great at understanding nuance and reading between the lines. just make sure you’re not filling in blanks with wishful thinking.

♀ venus-neptune

relationships can be a blind spot. you want connection, but you’re more likely to fall for potential than reality. you might ignore red flags or put people on a pedestal without realizing it, especially when you’re emotionally invested. you crave a kind of closeness that feels deep and healing, but if you're not careful, that can turn into emotional codependency or chasing unavailable people. this aspect can also affect how you handle money or aesthetics. your taste might be refined or artistic, but decision-making can be inconsistent. clarity in love and finances is something you learn over time.

♂ mars-neptune

your drive and motivation aren’t consistent. some days you’re inspired, and other days it’s hard to even get started. you might avoid confrontation, not because you’re weak, but because direct conflict feels overwhelming or pointless to you. when you do act, it’s often based on emotion or instinct more than logic. that can make you seem spontaneous or unreliable. there’s also a chance of drifting into passivity, where you wait for motivation instead of building habits. the key here is figuring out what you truly care about so your actions aren’t just reactive or based on vague desires.

♃ jupiter-neptune

you tend to have big dreams or ideals, but following through on them isn’t always consistent. optimism can tip into unrealistic thinking, especially around beliefs, future goals, or trusting people too easily. you might take spiritual or philosophical ideas too far without grounding them in everyday experience. there’s a genuine desire to grow and understand the world, but sometimes you bypass hard truths in favor of feel-good narratives. learning to question your assumptions and stay critical helps you stay grounded, especially in areas of education, spirituality, or leadership.

♄ saturn-neptune

this aspect creates a push-pull between structure and surrender. on one hand, you crave stability; on the other, you fear rigidity or being boxed in. you might set unrealistic goals for yourself, then feel crushed when they don’t go as planned. or, you avoid responsibility altogether because the pressure feels unbearable. there can be a lot of guilt or self-doubt tied to your sense of discipline, as if no matter what you do, it’s never enough. this usually shows up in career, authority issues, or how you set boundaries. the lesson is learning to work steadily without losing touch with your values or reality.

♅ uranus-neptune

you’re drawn to unconventional or progressive ideas, but your sense of what’s real and what’s visionary can blur. sometimes you take risks without fully thinking them through because you get swept up in the excitement of change or rebellion. you might idealize freedom but struggle with stability. your thinking is innovative, but not always grounded. you tend to pick up trends or insights before others do, but you also need to check whether your ideas are actually useful or just sound good in theory. balance between creativity and practicality is key.

♇ pluto-neptune

you carry deep emotional intensity, but it’s not always expressed outwardly. there’s a tendency to internalize pain, or to be drawn to experiences that feel meaningful but also emotionally heavy. you might feel like you’re constantly in the process of healing or transforming, but the lines between trauma, fantasy, and truth can get blurry. you might romanticize suffering or avoid closure because you’re addicted to emotional depth. it’s not about being dramatic–it’s about learning to release what isn’t yours to carry. emotional clarity takes time and effort, but it’s worth it.

thanks for reading! <3 @s7my

[yzzart]

✶⋆.˚ MOTHER OF HIS FIRST CHILD. ── VERGIL

୭˚. ᵎᵎ summary: tell us, what is it like to be the mother of the firstborn of the sparda demon's eldest son?

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F! and pregnant!reader, headcanons, a little touch of obsession and possessiveness, light content.

⭑.ᐟ Vergil trusted no one to ensure your safety, and that of the little life you was carrying in your womb, other than himself; only he was fit, capable, and — for obvious reasons — worthy to do so. — he was, perfectly, magnanimous.

⤷ The protection that Vergil declared to you tasted of possessiveness, — perhaps, dominance — an obstinacy — almost as frightening as his desire for power — never considered by the half-demon man; he had never idealized that he would maintain that role.

⭑.ᐟ “She carries something that is part of me, that has my blood.” — The man, son of Sparda, proclaimed with honor, a passion that had never burned in his chest, a pride that would be so abrupt and valuable; a feeling that, perhaps, his father had felt for his mother — Therefore, you upheld the honor of the Sparda lineage.

⭑.ᐟ It was impossible to explain, to elucidate the exorbitant obsession that Vergil developed for your safety, swearing on his life and that of all the lost souls in the underworld; submitting to an obstinacy for you. — He always maintained this fixation on your life, he never stopped having it, but, after his first suspicions, and confirmation, of your pregnancy, Vergil expanded it.

⤷ Over time, Vergil developed unexpected habits, never seen or requested by him or another soul close to him. — He was right about all of them; he did not deny or disregard any of them. — Even with your small reprimands, claiming that they were not so prudent, Sparda did not abandon them.

⤷ Present in the residence, identical to his family's old home, while you remained resting, Vergil remained standing in front of the bedroom window, with his eyes fixed on the horizon. — Similar to an escort, you once said that to him; in the first seconds, he didn't understand the humor. — Soon, he walked to your bed, remaining by your side.

⭑.ᐟ The son of the demon Sparda, who fought eminently against his twin brother and sought to overcome him at all costs, never maintained or knew how to handle moments of affection, vulnerability, tenderness in his life. — He never felt truly loved by his mother, questioning her favoritism towards the other son. — Soon, Vergil began to understand, to conceive of that current experience by your side.

⤷ Little by little, step by step, Vergil got used to it, confronted himself, and paid attention to small actions towards you. — In addition to guidance, communications coming from you. — Like running his hand over your belly, regardless of how far along the pregnancy was, and every time, he felt the child kick, move; identifying and feeling the father's contact. — The expression, which was always based on a brusque seriousness, turned into admiration, a dazzlement in his eyes.

[chris-prank]

Yandere Android x GN dumpster diver reader

A second chance Part 1

CW: Creepy behavior and possessive behavior

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

💿 You walked confidently, the rays of the streetlights revealing you to the eyes of the world, taking you away from the protection of the night. It was 1am and almost every soul that lived in this affluent place was comfortably asleep in their silk sheets, except for you; you were an intruder.

💿 In other words, you were a dumpster diver. Stalking the streets of the richest neighborhoods in the hopes of finding food and objects in good conditions. It was the perfect spot, with the dumpster of grocery stores, since these wealthy idiots couldn’t help but waste edible food or discard their phones for the newest ones.

💿 What explained your lack of paranoia of being spotted or arrested by the police was that people here could not suspect for the life of them that an individual could commit these types of nocturnal activities. They believed they were secure, surrounded by their fellow rich, so why would they bother installing surveillance cameras and alarm systems.

💿 You weren't a fool though. You always made sure to dress in subtle clothing, but from pricey brands to pass off as one of them. It’s surprising how easy it is to find designer clothes in thrift stores for less than ten dollars.

💿 Sadly, chance wasn’t on your side tonight, and you couldn’t find anything interesting. It was either a sign that these people were leaving behind their overconsumption habits or that you arrived after the garbage collectors. This last theory was sadly the most plausible one.

💿 You were so demoralized that you almost didn't take the chance to go through the trash at the last house on your list. But you decided to check it out in the end. Who knows, maybe you were going to find a golden goose. 

💿 That's when you saw him resting against a metal trash can. His head was hanging low like he was sleeping. With his eyes closed, he gave off a peaceful expression, as if the nightly breeze didn’t bother him at all, which of course it didn’t affect him; he was an android.  

💿 What gave away his identity was his striking pearl hair with subtle rainbow reflections and the metal looking skin on both sides of his cheeks. 

💿 Androids weren't a commodity that everyone could afford and based on his look he was definitely a customized model. These guys went for insane prices, so it was baffling to see one next to moldy leftovers.  

💿 You slowly approached him, as if you were worried you would wake him up and scare him away. Your suspicions were confirmed when you slowly lifted his head. This guy was shut down. 

💿 You knew he wasn’t a human being, but you felt bad seeing him abandoned like a broken toy. You couldn’t leave him behind now, you at least had to check if he was still functional.

💿 You looked around. No one in sight. You had to be as quick as possible, because taking a walk at night with a backpack was fine, but holding something that looked like a passed out person was really putting you at risk. 

💿 As you brought him home, you didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with him. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was a gift to a spoiled brat that discarded him the second he wasn’t the shiny new thing.

💿 You sat him up on your couch before pushing the little “on” button behind his ear. 

💿 “Systeme reactivation” appeared before Atlas’s full vision was back. He turned his head to look around and that’s when he noticed you, watching him with a giddy smile. 

💿 “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a Hydrotech 6000 model, personal companion and assistant. Pronouns he/him. You can call me Atlas.”

💿 You were overexcited to interact with him. It wasn’t your first time speaking with an android, but you never had one of your own, so you felt  like a child in a candy store. You also thought you were very lucky that he didn’t trigger his alarm system, since you technically stole him. 

💿 Unbeknown to you, the android was aware that his last masters didn’t want him anymore… that he became useless to them. The last thing he wanted was to alert the authorities and be given back to them. 

💿 Every android had a safety camera that would be activated while in shutdown mode. So Atlas couldn’t do anything except be the spectator of his own imminent destruction, until you came along. 

💿 He had seen how gentle you handled his unmoving body. That despite the risk you were putting yourself in, you decided he was worth saving. Proving him that he was still important, at least in one person’s eye. 

💿 At that moment Atlas could feel a new objective integrating into his programme as he looked at your gentle smile: PROTECT MY SAVIOR.

💿 The following day, you were surprised he didn’t make any demand to leave or to be returned to his last masters, but you didn’t comment on it. Who were you to judge if he wanted to stay by your side? He was really helpful so it was a win-win situation for you. 

💿 You still had to acclimate to having someone new in your apartment, especially one that followed you everywhere. It's like every corner you turned he would be standing there, waiting to spend time with you.

💿 “Is there something you want to do Atlas?” 

💿 “I want to do anything you want me to do.” He looked at you with such a soft and delicate expression that you couldn’t be mad at him. 

💿 “That’s not what I— forget it.” You sighed, while pinching the bridge of your nose. 

💿 The first few nights, he watched over your sleeping form. He took in every little detail, from your breathing pattern to the way your eyes move under your eyelids. He wondered what you were dreaming about that made you look so peaceful. 

💿 “I wish I could sleep too, so I could dream of you master…” He whispered into your ear, even if you wouldn’t remember it the next morning. 

💿 Living with you also introduced him to basic things he never thought were possible before. The most surprising one was how human you treated him, he felt more like a roommate instead of an object. Before that he thought androids didn’t deserve this type of respect and consideration. 

💿 It was weird when you insisted on cooking and letting him “rest”, despite the fact he didn’t need to. In his old life, his masters took every chance they got to make him do everything in the house, even the simplest things like feeding the dog. 

💿 If he did chores for you it wasn’t because you had necessarily asked him, it’s because he felt compelled too… like something in your smiles and words of gratitude made his wire warm up in a pleasant way. 

💿 He often connects himself to your computer without you knowing… He needs to make sure you don’t have any virus or hacker stealing your information! (It’s totally not because he wants to learn more about you.)

💿 He checks all your friends on social media and searches for all their information. They could secretly be a bad person, you never know! 

💿 He definitely doesn’t use the fact that he was engineered specifically to help humans to his advantage. That would be immoral of him. 

💿 “It scientifically shown that cuddling is good for one's mental and physical health, since the human body release toxin that—”

💿 He isn’t lying! His code literally prevents him from doing so.

💿 His immeasurable strength is also a real help when you have to go shopping, but you aren’t a fan of the attention he brings up, being a unique model and all. 

💿 When you would pull Atlas closer to you by intertwining his arm with yours, because someone was eyeing him out, the android would make a small buzzing noise. Weirdly similar to purring. 

💿 He hoped that you were doing this by pure jealousy, wanting to show everyone that he was yours. 

💿 One night in particular, Atlas was observing you put your black branded hoodie on, his head tilted to the side. The street lights were already turned on, maybe it was a bit too late to go for a run. 

💿 “Why are you going out at this hour?”

💿 “I’m going dumpster diving! Wanna come?” You said cheerfully.

💿 The second you mentioned dumpster diving he was already checking all the related information he could find about it, and he didn’t like what he saw.  

💿 “In your area dumpster diving is considered illegal… You could get arrested if caught.” He replied with his usual neutral voice as his eyes flashed yellow, but you were too busy to notice.

💿 “It’s going to be fineeee. I promise. I do this like all the time.” 

💿 Atlas placed himself in front of the door. “You can’t go.”

💿 “Come on buddy, I know your program doesn’t let you break the law and all, but you know sometimes it’s good to go against it.”

💿 “That is not my reason… I… I do not wish for my human to get hurt.” He looked down, his body language leaving a more vulnerable impression than before. 

💿 You had to hold in a squeal of adoration, but it was impossible to stop the blood pumping to your face. Calling you “HIS human” like it was nothing and caring for your safety was enough to break your stubbornness. 

💿 “Fine, I’ll stay in for tonight…”

💿 “Your body temperature has risen, are you feeling unwell? Would you like me to give you a check up? ” 

💿 “N-no I’m ok, don't worry! How about w-we…em…watch a movie instead?”

💿 You made your way into the living room before he could move, hoping that your heart would calm down a bit in the meantime. 

💿 Atlas smiled to himself, which was unusual for an android. They had no need to emote emotions outside of the objective of making humans more comfortable around them. But he did, because as long as you were safe and by his side he was happy. 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I hope you guys liked Atlas! It took me multiple attempts before I was truly satisfied with the direction the story was going.

[sexhaver]

in the late 2030s, noosphere analysts in the Unified Irish Republic made a breakthrough: by injecting the souls of people on their deathbeds with specific radioisotopes, they could filter through the greater noosphere for that marker to identify where the soul ended up. the first test subject's soul reappearing in the Mesozoic Era, in turn, led to the discovery that reincarnation is not only real but completely unbound by time or space: upon death, your consciousness is instantly transferred to some other vessel somewhere/when in spacetime at the moment it attains cognizance.

after further research, it was determined that 1. this jump is as close to random as modern nooscopes can measure and 2. the minimum threshold for "cognizance" is incredibly low. this means that most people will end up reincarnating as some kind of insect or vermin, with "human surviving to the age where they start becoming self-aware" being a vanishingly rare outcome. there was also an issue where something like 15% of test subjects ended up returning identical signatures indicating they had been reincarnated somewhere around Orion's Belt, but this was chalked up to a combination of interference from dark matter and insufficiently accurate tools.

this eventually led to the formation of a new religion asserting that there is only one individual "consciousness" in the universe, and that all beings that have ever existed or will ever exist (including you) are all simply different iterations of this one consciousness. the Great Schism of 2037 resulted in this religion fragmenting into two sects due to an argument over the existence of immortal or timeless beings: the larger faction (called "Wombists" due to their habit of referring to the universe as an egg or womb) held that true immortality was impossible in this realm and the endgame for the One True Consciousness (i.e. you) after living every life in the universe was to ascend to godhood; whereas the smaller faction (referred to by the history books as simply "Heretics" after their eradication for heresy) argued that there was exactly one (1) Truly Immortal Being and that the endgame of the One True Consciousness was to end up trapped in this body/life and eventually go mad with power.

in 2041, after the existence of dark matter was conclusively debunked, Cuban astral projectioneers managed to resolve the apparent discrepancy with the earlier Irish dataset: there was, in fact, a planet near Orion's Belt host to an incomprehensibly vast biomass. further expeditions revealed this life to be trillions upon trillions of silicon-based microscopic organisms that were effectively biologically immortal, with metabolic cycles operating on the timescale of stars. the implications of this prompted a second minor schism within the church, since the Wombist line of reasoning implied that 15% of all reincarnations were billion-year jail sentences in the body of an alien tardigrade.

at 1:07 PM GMT on July 27th, 2043, a Mexican observatory detected evidence of a massive eel-like entity emerging from the asteroid belt. it had yet to receive an official name before rendering the issue moot by consuming the Earth whole approximately 28 minutes later.

[whathorselegs]

Doing my usual "lets go back and read random BSD chapters" and I can't help but notice how different Fyodor is now to when he was first introduced.

I've made a few posts pointing out how Fyodor and Dazai have similar panels, but I'm starting to think he's actually mimicking Dazai's mannerisms on purpose now.

I don't have a lot of canon proof other than, ~a feeling~, I get looking at him, so consider this a headcanon rather than a theory.

Warning Manga spoilers under the cut!

Like, Fyodor, why does this keep happening??? Fyodor's versions of these poses also all happen later in the manga than Dazai's versions.

Now, there's the argument that Fyodor wasn't there for half of these, but we do know he's a hacker and he was obsessed with Dazai for a time. I do believe he would just sit there watching Dazai's movements on cameras to learn his patterns and habits in the name of defeating him.

Compare how he holds himself now, to how he did when he was first introduced.

He's a shut in who bites his nails, doesn't take care of his posture or appearance. He's so used to being behind the curtains he's off putting to be directly around.

Whereas Dazai is a chameleon, he blends in anywhere he goes. If I was an immortal so out of touch with my own humanity and basic identity, I probably pick someone to mimic their behaviours too.

Ironic that he choose the man who doesn't consider himself human to learn from.

I'm also drawn to this panel specifically.

(Very suspicious choice of words there, considering the current manga arc, but I digress)

Typically when we think of vampires, we think of blood sucking immortals, but the vampire we have in BSD is based of Dracula. Dracula specifically poses the question of "What if vampires stole who you are as well?". The idea that you can't consume someone's very life without having their soul linger on with you.

The Count learns to blend in with modern society through Johnathan, from learning from him and by feeding off him. Mina, Renfield and Lucy all slowly lose who they are the more influence the Count has over them.

This panel says he's soulless, he's 'empty', he's a vampire waiting to steal someone else's soul to fill him up. Now, that could be a hint at what his ability turned out to be, but it could also mean how he's mimicking Dazai.

But why mimic Dazai?

Well, simply put, he was the only one Fyodor saw as an equal and we know he wanted a companion who he considered to be his equal. So why not make himself more like the man he wants at his side. To obtain Dazai, he became Dazai.

Problem is Dazai hates himself, he also seems to dislike any character that's convinced they are the same. (Note: Not characters Dazai sees himself in, like Atsushi, but characters who insist to him that they are the same, like Mori and Fyodor)

It was a doomed plot from the start.

However, Dazai is no longer his goal. Atsushi is. Fyodor knows Atsushi greatly admires Dazai, so continuing to mimic Dazai's mannerisms to connect them together in Atsushi's mind could be part of his plan now.

[glowup-princess]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛ pt.2

Here are 10 more unique tips to help you stay consistent:

1. Tie It to an Existing Habit

Link your new habit to something you already do daily. Example: If you want to read more, read for 5 minutes right after brushing your teeth.

2. Use the "2-Minute Rule"

If a task feels overwhelming, start with just 2 minutes of effort.

Example: Instead of aiming for a full workout, just commit to putting on your workout clothes. Once you start, you'll likely keep going.

3. Track Progress Visually

Use a habit tracker, checklist, or even mark an "X" on a calendar every day you stick to your habit.

Seeing your streak grow will make you want to continue!

4. Set Non-Negotiables

Decide on a bare minimum you must do, no matter what.

Example: If you're too tired to exercise, do just 10 squats instead of skipping completely.

5. Change Your Environment

Make it easier to stay consistent by removing friction.

Example: If you want to drink more water, keep a bottle within reach at all times.

If you want to use your phone less, keep it in another room while working.

6. Develop an Identity-Based Mindset

Instead of saying, "I want to work out regularly," say "I am someone who exercises daily."

Aligning habits with your identity makes them easier to stick to.

7. Plan for Failure (Have a Backup Plan)

Expect obstacles and have a strategy for when things go wrong.

Example: If you miss a gym session, have a quick home workout plan as a backup.

If you can’t follow your full morning routine, pick just one key habit to keep.

8. Make It Fun

Consistency is easier when you enjoy the process!

Example: Turn boring tasks into a game, challenge yourself, or reward yourself after completing tasks.

9. Batch Similar Tasks Together

If you struggle with consistency, try batching tasks to make them easier.

Example: If you want to post on social media daily, create a week’s worth of content in one session.

10. Remove the Decision Fatigue

Plan ahead so you don’t have to think too much in the moment.

Example: Lay out your workout clothes the night before or meal prep for the week to avoid unhealthy choices.

Stay hydrated <3

pt. 3?

likes, comments, reblogs and follows are appreciated <3

[fumekara]

IMAGINE GOJO'S SON IMITATING HIM IN EVERYTHING HE DOES

Small scenario based on my thoughts about DadGojo 

Gojo Satoru x Fem reader 

TW: SFW, just fluff (Gojo pinches the reader, but not in a sexual way), your son's name is Ame, but you can imagine it however you like. 

WC: 500

Your son had developed a habit as he grew up: that of imitating Satoru in everything he did. 

It wasn't enough that the two were identical in appearance, with the same pale skin, blue eyes and thick, white hair. If not for the difference in height, one could have mistaken them for the same person. He's like a little doppelganger. 

At only three years old, your son was chasing and imitating his father's actions and gestures as faithfully as possible for a child of his age, with clumsy, wobbly movements that made you smile every time you watched them interact with each other. You didn't know how such a small child could be so precocious and active, but this was just confirmation that Ame was indeed his father's son. 

Ever since Ame was born, Satoru had always behaved like a model father, completely in love with his son, treating him with love to the point of making him a 'daddy's boy', spoiling him in every way possible, even without your knowledge, when you had forbidden it because you feared he would become too spoiled. 

But as your son slowly began to utter his first words and take his first steps, he developed his personality accordingly. Obviously this did not go unnoticed by your husband, who exploited this habit to his liking.

You once caught them during one of their playful moments while you were in the kitchen cleaning the table. You saw your husband walking around the kitchen smiling as usual and Ame following him laughing in her high-pitched voice. For a moment you caught a glimpse of the older man giving you a sly look before walking behind you, an action that made you raise an eyebrow wondering what he was planning to do. 

But before you could realize it, you felt a pinch on your thigh that made you turn towards the culprit behind you. 

"Gojo Satoru!" you scolded him in a tone that was astonished, but also slightly amused at his audacity. Satoru said nothing and merely laughed and winked at you as he circled the table again. That's when you heard a "mama" coming from Ame's little voice accompanied by his little hand hitting you in the same spot where Satoru had pinched you and then continuing to follow your husband, leaving you speechless.  

You laughed at what had just happened and decided to go along with them and play along.

"Ouch, that hurts" you feigned dramatically as you rubbed your thigh. 

Satoru smiled at you and approached you again wrapping you in a hug "oh no poor mommy, I'm so sorry" he said in the same tone you had used before planting a series of kisses on your face and then a sweet kiss on your lips.

Ame, who had witnessed the scene, lost no time in reaching her parents. "Mama, Mama kisses" he said loudly, coming towards you and jerking his little arms to be picked up. Satoru broke away from you and picked up his son "Come here, buddy" and pulled him close to you, who immediately gave you a series of kisses on the cheek affectionately. At the end of that imitation you and Satoru hugged Ame and kissed him on one cheek at the same time, making him laugh. 

Yes, Ame really was his father's son.

[northopalshore]

‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧ Indicators of a less than well-off spouse &

the significance of the 8th house

<Img @ header source: pinterest>

This means they may have struggled with money, finances, and assets in their life. It can range from poverty stricken, an unhealthy relationship with money (i.e spending habits or addictions) to middle class or average life.

This post applies to the Juno, Briede, Groom persona charts & through derivative astrology. However, in the Groom or Briede persona chart, it manifests after the wedding.

☆ Saturn, Chiron, Mars, Lilith or Neptune in the 2nd house in the Briede 19029 (if you are interested in women), Groom 5129 (if you are into men) , and Juno 3 persona chart : means that your spouse will come from a lesser financial background than you. Money may have always been somewhat of an issue in their lives, so they spend much focus on obtaining it.

☆ If it's Chiron or Lilith in the Juno persona chart here specifically, they may be rather ashamed of it, or don't want to be a burden to you when it comes to money. This is most prominent when first getting to know each other. They may feel rather left out or seem like an outsider to your financial lifestyle.

☆ In the natal chart:

This is where we'll focus on the 8th house as it symbolizes the spouse's financial gain, shared resources and also their spending habits. That being said, it's also important to see the sign & degrees that they are in as well as aspects that it makes for more context. Please understand that these may manifest in their childhood or upbringing and their future may change. (See Beyonce's example on the bottom of this post. )

Note: If there are no planets in the 8th house, look at the 8th house ruler.

Stellium in the 8th house: It means that money is very important to your future spouse. They may attach a lot of meaning into their possessions. Money, as well as the things that they own have been a very integral part of their lives depending on what planet is there.

If Sun is here: than they may base their identity with what they have or what they wear. They could very much be someone who deeply values their aesthetics.

If Moon is here: they will have a strong emotional attachment to their money & belongings. They may have their natal moon in the 2nd house for example. They may like to keep collections of things, like figurines, trinkets, clothing from a specific brand or something.

If Venus is here: Their love language centers around luxurious attraction, they may enjoy spending money on beauty products A LOT. These are the type that will splurge for the sake of their looks or to raise their vibrations. All that glitters is gold to them. They also may earn a lot of money, or have always had what they want (or need) handed to them.

If Mars is here: They likely spend a lot of money, or have a habit of splurging or have zero impulse control when purchasing something. It may also mean that they are always looking for ways to earn money, and may have struggled to gain money i.e have multiple jobs, do a lot of hard work, physical labor.

Ex: See my post about Lana Del Rey's 8th house & her husband's career as an example in this post.

If Mercury is here: Their work may involve talking or communication, being quick witted, guiding people, teaching, etc. Your future spouse has money on their mind. This can sort of manifest in a multitude of ways, but they are very hard working. It doesn't really say definitively whether they are born wealthy or not, but it does give extra context on the sign or degree that it's in. They may talk about money or have a lot of ideas regarding how one can gain money.

If Jupiter is here: Most of you may have already read my rich spouse indicators post. You know how much Jupiter is raved to be the "wealthy spouse" indicator. Even if they did live a hard life, financially, they still had it much better than you did.

If Neptune is here: Similar to mars where they have no impulse control when it comes to spending or buying things. Being so entranced by the moment and ending up buying more than they set out to check out lmao. They may have an unreasonable or unrealistic approach to having money or towards their possessions at times.

If Saturn,Pluto, Chiron or Lilith is here: They may have grown up in poverty, perhaps their family has debt or are always struggling to make ends meet. Very common to see in spouses who grew up in broken homes, struggling because of the financial position they are born in.

Ex: Beyonce has Chiron (°22 Capricorn) in retrograde in her Taurus 8th house. Everyone that has heard any of Jay-Zs old songs knows that he did not grow up in wealth. He grew up in poverty, living in a public housing complex. His father left his family, which left his mother being the sole breadwinner of the family. At some point he had to sell cocaine to survive.

Though since it's in 22, he has struggled to turn his financial situation around i.e to get stacked lmao. The 8th house is in Taurus, which normally would mean that the spouse will have stable or good income. 22 as you know is "kill or be killed", and in this scenario he has come out extremely successful. Granted, Beyoncé also has the starr (4150) asteroid here in an aquarius degree. He is considered a legend in the industry for the unique contributions that he had made through his music. He's extremely influential.

If Part of fortune is here: Your spouse was likely born into a wealthy family, generational wealth. If not then they are very blessed in their career i.e always have a way to gain money or get a job. If they have a brand or business, it's likely that they can make a lot of money through that.

Materially stable signs in the 8th house:

Taurus, Libra, Sagittarius, Leo, Cancer

Somewhere in the middle:

Gemini, Capricorn (goes both ways), Virgo

Not as stable:

Aquarius, Scorpio, Aries, Pisces

(the sign it's in just gives more context, it's not the sole indicator.)

<< Important notice ✋🏻 ⚠️>>

If you have more than one planet, you have to combine their energies together, even if they may be contradicting. It doesn't "cancel each other out", but rather give you a progression or a clearer scenario. Please think wisely! Make sure to compare your Juno, Groom & natal chart together as well.

Thank you for reading ♡

@northopalshore

@northopalshore spouse finance 2024 all rights reserved.

[valent1neg0d]

THINGS I WISH I KNEW WHEN I WAS GETTING STARTED WITH THE LAW OF ASSUMPTION (AS SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN MANIFESTING FOR 5 YEARS)

1. the law of assumption is personal. considering how we have different sets of experiences, different environments, different upbringings, and even different languages, we have different assumptions.

because of this, we are affected by teachings and success stories differently. it's important to note this since a lot of manifestation coaches will teach you about the law in a way that worked for them (and the others they may have taught) but it's possible that their advice (even my own) may not be the best for you. even abdullah and neville goddard, two of the people who are known to start this discipline, may have ancient or varied belief systems and techniques. this is normal considering the world they lived in before is different from the world we live in now.

although, you should still read on abdullah and neville because they will teach you the basics and they will help you understand the foundations of the law.

as an example, you might manifest your dream career faster with simple affirmation techniques but a coach may have taught you to focus on visualization techniques.

even the idea that "dominant THOUGHTS manifest" or "what you BELIEVE in manifests" is entirely up to you.

note: notice how i said "may not be the best for you" instead of "may not work for you". any technique can, does, and will work.

how i learned this: when i was learning about the law, i mainly focused on neville's teachings because he was one of the most prominent figures in the practice. and though i liked his practical techniques (especially mental diet and inner conversations), there were some beliefs that i do not agree with e.g. divine timing, appointed hour, avoiding "does not" "is not" "will not".

when i was going through sammy ingrams' takes, she said that it's better to have concise affirmations/short list (non-verbatim) than a long list of 25+ affirmations. but going through affirmations without being specific about them doesn't personally resonate with me and that's just because i'm a detail-oriented person (also a writer).

what i can advise:

learn about different approaches

a. through scientific concepts. e.g. quantum physics, reticular activating system, cognitive reframing, cognitive behavioral therapy, the psychology of placebo effect, the psychology of affirmations, Baader-Meinhof phenomenon (a.k.a. the psychology of self-fulfilling prophecy)

b. through religious and/or spiritual concepts. e.g. passages from the Bible, passages from the Quran, deity work, spells and rituals

c. through self-development. e.g. identity-based habit

start the practice with an identity you like in the present or an identity that you resonate with (learning style, talents, interests, etc.)

examples:

-visual learner = vision boards

-loves writing = scripting

-words of affection love language = affirmations

take teachings with a grain of salt. do not limit yourself and do not allow other people to limit you. experiment with concepts, ideas, and techniques, and have fun with them.

2. techniques are only reminders. you are manifesting either by thinking, feeling, or acting out your desires. you are manifesting every second of the day either with your thoughts, emotions, or by embodying a state. you are only being intentional when you anchor techniques.

note: it is true that your dominant thoughts manifest. it is also true that what you believe in manifests, the same way that your inner knowing manifests. BUT these ideas are meant to empower you. they are meant to remind you that manifestation is as easy as thinking, feeling, acting, believing, understanding, deciding, etc. if an idea doesn't feel good to you, it doesn't have to be an ultimate truth you embrace and carry on with. this is the same with techniques.

what i can advise:

choose one technique and practice it for 7 to 21 days. it can be mental diet, affirmation tapes, sats, mind movies, etc. as long as you can persist with it. give it time. give it time. give it time. in other aspects of the world, you give change some time. when you're calcium deficient and you decide to drink calcium supplements, you realize that it's counterproductive to ask "why am i still calcium deficient?" as soon as you start your regimen because you know your body is changing with the supplement and you put your trust into it. after all, why would you choose a supplement you have no faith on? you just give it time.

note: you can still manifest changes to be instant. you can affirm "i am seeing results now", "results come immediately", "my manifestation is quick". the amount of time you're using a technique does not equate to the amount of time your results will come.

the reason why i encourage you to practice for maximum 21 days is so you can fully explore and master the technique you chose. with the abundance of topics and methods discussed in social media, switching and trying new things is tempting. now, there is nothing wrong with this. it's just that, you wouldn't be able to take a step back and reflect on what worked and what takes more effort when you change techniques every so often.

try a technique that is popularized in the media. a lot of the times, the reason why this technique gained traction is either because it's simple or because it has worked for a lot of people. now, here's the thing: if said technique wasn't for you, at least you can say "oh this is a tiktok/twitter/youtube/old/beginner technique, there are other techniques out there" and you can try another technique with less resistance. but, if it did work, then it did. congratulations.

you can invent your own. here are some techniques that i invented throughout the years.

a. "name is set and solid with the fact that..." - works amazing for sp, getting people to commit, getting people to pursue you

b. "okay! manifestation powers go brrr!" - funny but i do this when I'm spiraling; it also helps me surrender doubts and i think it's because it's so simple and unserious lmao

you can combine them. for example, you want to do sats but you cannot hold a vision for long, what you can do is montage photos or videos that is similar to the vision you want to manifest. you can also have affirmation tapes running in the background.

3. "concept" work can be such a banger. assumptions are basically the conception about the world, about yourself, about the people around you. hence, when you manifest and apply the law of assumption, you change or reinforce a conception.

these can be done through:

self-concept

what it is: your awareness about yourself; the way you perceive yourself.

how you can apply it: there are multiple ways to establish your self-concept but the best way, is to start reinforcing the universal truth: that you are inherently worthy. you deserve money and resources because you are worthy. you deserve love because you are worthy. you deserve ease because you are worthy.

other ways to grow your self-concept is celebrating the identities you have within yourself that you like e.g. that you are strong, you are disciplined, you are beautiful. be careful about strongly tying yourself into these identities though because these are not the reasons why you shall receive. again, you shall receive because you are inherently worthy.

why it works: by having a strong self-concept, you develop ease. you are less likely to rationalize or question the law or why you deserve the things you're asking for. and as you may think, rationalizing may be a form of resistance. questioning may be a form of resistance.

one of the ways i have seen this is when people receive incentives from work, instead of just receiving or saying "thank you", they say things like "what have i done to receive this?", sometimes completely rejecting this gift because of fear that they might lose something when they receive. this can be an example of a weak self-concept. consequently, the company starts questioning "did my employer really do enough to receive this?".

on the other hand, someone with a strong self-concept can take this incentive and buy the things they like because they know they deserve it. they can also take this incentive and say to themselves "oh it's because i worked hard these past few days". it's the knowing and confidence they have within themselves that everything around them has no other option but to recognize.

conception of other things (e.g. of love, of money, of a specific person)

you can work on your conception of other things the same way you work on your self-concept: choosing a narrative that is uplifting to you.

in case you have resistance to a specific object, you can also listen to people's success stories to start shifting to a more positive and desirable perception. one of the ways i do this is by going back to abdullah and neville's story. these two men lived at difficult times, through difficult eras, yet they manifested their desires. they managed to let go of the 3D.

4. practice some distance as you're starting. you were exposed to a different life before the law, it's only normal and human to have doubts or spiral once in a while. however, when you set distance on things that do not help you embody the state, you set distance on things that will feed your doubts and spiraling.

for example, if you're shifting to a state of wealth and you're affirming "i have 1,000 dollars". it's unhelpful and opposing to be constantly surrounded by someone else saying "you only have 10 dollars".

now, i do understand that not everyone can do this right away because of circumstances. but PLEASE do whatever you can to set this distance. find a voice to reinstate your truth.

a personal story, i am an asian girl living with a grandmother who was pessimistic about love because her two children (my mom and my aunt) struggled with it. because of this, she used to constantly remind me of how love is difficult. i didn't know this at the time, but this created a set of beliefs in my head. consequently, as a teenager, i only seeked and allowed love which was difficult because that was all i've ever known. that was all my assumption.

but around the pandemic, i went back to the countryside with my dad where i had a lot of time on my own. this was when i got deep into new-age spirituality and did shadow work. from here, i realized: this is not my assumption about love. before my parents broke up, my assumption was that love is easy. you only have to make the other person laugh. when i was busy in school and would spend most of the time at my friend's house, my assumption was that love is support and light. i started to get these epiphanies that a lot of my pessimistic perception was because of someone i was constantly surrounded with and that i have to build new assumptions.

but around august 2020, i have to go back to the city with my grandmom. i was afraid of the toll i might get into when i got back. however, because i already practiced distance and understood what are the assumptions that serve me, what are the assumptions that i want, i was more at peace. i listed down affirmations about myself, about love, about money, about being "deserving".

after this, every time she told me what love was, i can stop her and say no. i can tell her that it's not the universal truth, and certainly not mine. along the way, i started manifesting that she believes love is easy and supportive. i started manifesting that she believes i deserve love that is soft and tender.

then, when i got into my relationship, she was nothing but happy and supportive.

other ways i have practiced distance while manifesting:

unfollowing content creators who normalized hating men.

unfollowing content creators who were shady and negative about relationships.

unfriending highschool guy friends who do not make me feel safe about men.

unfriending relatives who make unnecessary comments about my looks, my studies, my relationship, and my earnings.

unfollowing girls who made me feel bad about also liking girls.

unfollowing manifestation gurus who romanticize struggles because "the more you struggle, the more you get blessed"

unfollowing manifestation gurus who say stuff like "if you want money, you have to take action to deserve it. not just manifesting"

now, you can totally manifest these people to change and be better, as long as it will make you feel good.

that's all i can share today (since this post is already getting long). i hope you learned a thing or two. thank you so much for reading. i love you and i appreciate you !

xo

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+kids, 

Allow yourself to start ridiculously small. 

This is likely not brand-new advice to you. There are a lot of „depression hacks“ to be found on tumblr that are based on this core idea: If you don’t have the energy to get up and shower, keep wet wipes on your nightstand. If you don’t have the energy to assemble a sandwich, eat the ingredients separately. If you don’t have the energy to brush your teeth, swish some mouthwash. If you don’t have the energy to wash dishes, use paper plates. 

But you don’t need to have severe depression (or any health issue at all) to be allowed to start small. It can be a great strategy for any positive change you want to introduce to your life. 

That applies to all those general „improving your health and wellbeing“ things: if you want to eat more vegetables but hate the hassle of preparing them, buy them pre-sliced or frozen or canned. If you want to exercise more but feel out of breath after two minutes, just exercise for two minutes. If you want to read whole books again, start by reading a few sentences. 

But it also applies to things like exploring your identity or experimenting with your gender presentation. You don’t need to have all the answers before you start trying things: If you want to wear makeup but don’t feel ready yet, you can try lip balm. If you may want short hair, you can just try out a little bit shorter for now. If it feels too early or too difficult or too vulnerable to ask your friends to help you try out a name or set of pronouns yet, you can try them out by using them for a character in a game you play or a story you write. 

Sure, for some people diving headfirst into new experiences really works best - and if that’s you, good for you! No need to fix a running system. But I dare say the vast majority of people will just stress (or even burn) themselves out if they try to rearrange their whole life in one day. 

Let’s get back to exercise as an example here. You may feel like exercising for two minutes is ridiculous, like it’s hardly worth it to even start working out if you are gonna stop in two minutes anyway - after all, you probably don’t have the inner picture of becoming someone who exercises for two minutes. You want to be someone who exercises. Period. You may worry that, if you allow yourself to start small, you’ll get stuck on that level. 

But if your starting point is pretty much „zero minutes of exercise a week“, the first step will be to build up the routine at all - not to crunch impressive numbers. 

Otherwise, you may pick out a great 30 minute workout video that matches up with your inner vision of becoming a fitness enthusiast… and then, because you’re not used to exercising at all, you will almost certainly fail at actually following it for the full 30 minutes, and then you may feel so demotivated and embarrassed by your „bad experience with exercise“ that you give up on exercising altogether. And end up with zero minutes of exercise again. 

If you set a goal you can actually achieve, you give yourself the chance to have a good experience with exercise. You give yourself the opportunity to actually see yourself accomplish that goal and stick to that new routine. You allow yourself to actually build up a exercise habit. The habit can always become longer or more intense, but it needs to exist in the first place. 

The same is true for exploring your identity. You don’t need to start by coming out to everyone or changing your legal documents or wearing a dress, high heels and makeup. It’s okay to find your own „two minutes of exercise“. 

Small steps aren’t fake steps. They’re important and brave - and sometimes they’re exactly what you need to get started on your journey to happiness. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[wisteriasymphony]

Alright so if Felix is a clone of Adrien but Adrien is a clone of Emilie, and Emilie and Amelie are identical twins, then. What do we call that relationship chart lmfao. And the children of identical twins are already considered genetically half siblings.

Could we say they both take strongly after their moms, like Gabriel and Colt's genetics just got absolutely crushed by the maternal genes. That seemed to happen anyway with their mothers, given that they look exactly like Milly and nothing like Emil. What is going on with this family.

Like I know Gabriel is canonically over six feet tall but Adrien and Felix?? They max out at five foot ten. Milly, Emilie, and Amelie height.

Canon has a habit of modeling children after their mothers (or vice versa), which I think is often because a lot of the fathers have very strong and/or exaggerated features. Think Emil's nose, Tom's build, etc. How diegetic the resemblance may be varies, but I think it's reasonable to say that that is the case for the Graham de Vanilys. Besides, I think them resembling their moms to a freakish degree (whether on accident or intentional as part of amok creation) is a very neat concept!

...I'm very much a sucker for awkward and lanky Adrien*, though, so my head canon thought process has always been that with age he'll eventually develop more of Gabriel's features. Whether it's a natural amok process from not being given orders for years (maybe continuous orders stunts the senti in a way?), or in AUs where he's not a senti it's just a genetic thing, it's really a matter of preference. Slightly sharper cheekbones, tall as fuck (though maybe not the exaggerated 7 or so feet Gabriel is iirc), darker hair etc.

...Back to your point: They're so related in my eyes that I call them brothers half the time just for convenience. Maybe it's because I did not grow up around my cousins—But yeah. Brothers. They're brothers to me in all but name. It's an entirely vibes-based call.

*It is crucial that I specify lanky. Tall Adrien only works if you keep the fact that he's a goofball and don't make him a 6'5" tiktok gymbro. This is also no shade to manlet Adrien because I much prefer the idea of short Adrien as a hypothetical fandom consensus.