#also this IS in preparation for JE week

[adascore]

Fouled Dreams | L. Oberdorf

pairings: lena oberdorf x dutch!reader (+ plays for bayern) / netherlands national team x reader / german national team x dutch!reader

warnings: netherlands losing. crying. swearing. changed some things about the match, but the result is the same. fouls. mentions of bruising and swelling.

author’s: been obsessed with her lately so just had to write something. writing about nations league losses have become my thing I fear :(

masterlist

•••••••

February, 2024

They'd know beforehand that this situation could happen, yet when both their teams lost in the semifinals, it was hard to grasp the reality that one needed to beat the other in order to go to the Olympics in Paris.

Herself and Lena had played plenty of times against each other, with both their respective clubs and national teams.

However, this felt different.

Their previous international meetings had merely been friendlies in preparations for other competitive events like the World Cup a year prior.

This was for a spot at the Olympics.

Y/N had been at the previous edition in Tokyo with the Dutch team, where they had stranded in the quarterfinals against the United States on penalties.

Lena had never played at the Olympic Games, something she greatly wanted to achieve with her German teammates.

Both teams also wanted to redeem themselves after disappointing World Cup exits.

There were many things at stake.

Of course, headlines and articles had been made about how the couple was going to go head-to-head in a very important match for both sides.

Prior to their arrivals at the stadium, they hadn't seen each other for a few weeks. Lena played for Wolfsburg, while Y/N was a striker for Bayern Munich.

Although, Lena's upcoming transfer to Bayern would assure they would only have to miss each other during international breaks.

The young footballers had gotten together about a year prior, all credit to Lynn, Dom and Jill who had played matchmakers.

The distance was difficult at first, but they eventually found a nice balance. It sounded cliche, but communication really is the key to a good relationship.

Y/N was strolling around the pitch with her teammates when the German team appeared in the tunnel.

She didn't notice her girlfriend at first, too occupied in a conversation with Andries and Sherida.

It was Lynn, who so ''sweetly'' screamed for her best friend to ''get her ass over here'' that got her to excuse herself from the discussion with her captain and coach.

''Echte uitslover jij, waar was je nou weer over aan het lullen met hen?'' (''You're a real teacher's pet, what were you bullshitting about this time with them?'') Lynn teased her as she approached her, Lena, Jule and Lea.

Y/N sarcastically smiled at her fellow Dutchwoman. ''Jouw dikke kop!'' (''Your big head!'') She retorted, with Lynn playfully giving her a shove afterwards.

Her eyes lit up once she spotted Lena. Despite the tension of the upcoming match, seeing her face brought a sense of comfort amidst the nerves.

''Hey, everyone.'' Y/N moved to embrace Lea and Jule first, their proximity making them the easiest targets for her initial greetings. She let out an awkward chuckle as she made eye contact with her girlfriend again, but went in for the hug as well.

''Missed you.'' Lena whispered softly, her arms wrapping around her partner's waist in a comforting hold.

''Missed you too.'' Y/N replied, her voice equally gentle.

Their embrace was brief, acutely aware of the prying eyes of the photographers stationed around the field. It wasn't that they were afraid of showing public displays of affection, it was more the discomfort that came with the knowledge that every moment captured on camera would be scrutinized and analyzed by the media and fans alike.

They were far from being a secret- their relationship was an open secret among their teammates and the wider football community. Yet, the constant surveillance felt suffocating at times. So, when they could help it, they kept the PDA to a minimum, opting for subtle gestures and fleeting touches that spoke volumes in their own right.

''My mum and dad are coming tonight.'' Y/N said to Lena, the pair quickly disassociated to their own small bubble.

The German grinned. ''Yeah? That's nice, haven't seen them in a while.'' She replied, her tone warm and genuine.

Y/N nodded, a sense of anticipation building within her at the thought of her parents' arrival. She had a good relationship with her family, they'd been supportive of her love of football from the moment she started and went to almost every game if they could.

''My mum did make a small sign for you, cause she thought you might get upset with her.'' She playfully rolled her eyes at the recalling of her mother sending her a picture of the small poster that said 'Go Lena!'.

Lena chuckled at the mention of her girlfriend's mother's thoughtful gesture, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ''That's very sweet, I can't wait to see it in person.''

''She's probably gonna want to take a picture of you with it, so you're warned beforehand.'' Y/N laughed, knowing her mother wanted photos of everything and everyone.

''I'll be sure to smile extra wide for the camera then, like this.'' Lena pretended to grin very big, showing off her teeth.

Y/N burst into laughter at her exaggerated pose, her eyes crinkling with amusement. ''Perfect, Obi! Exactly what she wants for a heartwarming photo.'' She teased, mimicking Lena's antics.

''Hey, you two,'' Lynn interrupted their moment, the entire group staring at the couple, ''the loser sleeps on the couch or what?'' The Dutch defender laughed.

Her national teammate mockingly rolled her eyes. ''Lynno, we don't even live in the same place. Idioot dat je bent.'' (''Idiot you are.'') Y/N responded.

Lynn chuckled in response, waving off her friend's playful insult with a dismissive gesture. ''Details, details,'' she replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, ''just make sure you've got that couch ready, wherever it may be.''

''I'm sure she has chosen a nice place.'' Lena retorted, chiming in on the banter.

Y/N's mouth gaped dramatically, and her eyes widened, exaggerating her reaction to the playful exchange. ''Actually, since you like breaking ankles, you can just sleep on the floor.''

Lena raised an eyebrow in mock surprise at her girlfriend's response, which drew another round of laughter from the group. ''Oh, I see how it is,'' she teased, ''floor it is, then. I'll bring my sleeping bag.'' She accepted.

She threw her arm around Lena at the feigned sadness over having to bring a sleeping bag, her pout being too cute to not fawn over.

It was a nice moment to have with the group, temporarily forgetting an important match would have to be played a few hours later.

There was a mixed atmosphere in the tunnel as both teams started gathering in a line, familiarizing themselves with their small mascots, who were all looking up at the players with wide-eyed excitement.

The Netherlands' usual captain, Sherida Spitse, had been forced to withdraw from the starting lineup due to a last-minute injury sustained during the warm-up. In her absence, Y/N found herself unexpectedly thrust into the role of captain for the crucial match.

As she entered the tunnel, the weight of the captain's armband felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. While she had stepped into the role of captain before, it had always been in moments of crisis, when Sherida was substituted during a match and Y/N was hastily given the band by one of their teammates.

It was not only a great moment for her, it would be one for her family as well. Though they weren't particularly patriotic, knowing that their daughter had been chosen by the entire Dutch team to lead them out for such an important match filled them with a sense of pride and honor.

Her usual spot in the line would be at the back, next to Lena. It had become almost routine for them to have a small chat before their matches, even when they were with Bayern and Wolfsburg, they were always the last players to enter the stadium.

Y/N held the pennant in her hands tight as she approached her girlfriend, careful to not make a big deal out of it since they were already filming the players as they waited for the officials to walk out.

A small pat on her arm was enough to grab Lena's attention, the German turning her head before a small, but nervous, smile broke out on her face once she noticed who it was.

''Hey, Captain.'' She grinned, her eyes briefly glancing towards where the armband was comfortably wrapped around her partner's bicep.

Y/N smirked once she noticed, but didn't say anything about it. ''Hi,'' she softly said, ''good match, alright? And please, don't break my ankles.'' She teased.

''No promises.'' Lena chuckled, playfully raising her eyebrow.

They shared a final glance before the striker made her way to the front of the line-up, only to be stopped by Dominique. ''Ze gaat sowieso je enkel breken.'' (''No doubt she's going to break your ankle.'') The Dutch defender said, a mischievous look in her eyes.

''Ik weet het.'' (''I know.'') Y/N sighed.

''Dom was right.'' The captain muttered under her breath as she was yet again taking to the ground by one of the German defenders.

It hadn't even been close to half-time yet and the Bayern Munich player had been assaulted from all sides. Funny enough, none of the challenges had been made by Lena- so far at least.

Danielle helped her get up from the ground, quickly checking in. ''I'm fine, Daan.'' Y/N reassured the older player, wiping her knees clean.

The first half proved to be eventful, yet no goals had been made by either side. The goalkeepers were making amazing saves, but both teams had also missed serious chances at scoring the opening goal.

Despite being deployed in Sherida's position as a defensive midfielder, Y/N managed to make an impact in the attacking third. She found herself with two golden opportunities to break the deadlock, however, luck was not on her side as both strikes rattled off the woodwork, denying her the chance to put her team ahead.

The opening minute of the second half was marked by a somewhat surprising moment:

Lena fouled Y/N.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling the late challenge made by the midfielder. Y/N, with a dramatic flair, collapsed to the ground, clutching her leg in feigned agony.

Recognizing the playful nature of the moment, Lena quickly understood that she was only hamming it up for the sake of a breather for her teammates and to ruin the Germans' momentum. However, she still bent down beside her girlfriend.

''You shouldn't go into acting anytime soon.'' Lena chuckled, briefly letting her hand caress over the part that 'allegedly' hurt so bad.

The captain let out a small smile. ''That's mean, you should get a yellow card for descent.''

The midfielder's eyes sparked with amusement as she helped her back up to her feet. ''Maybe later.'' She quipped, playfully nudging her girlfriend's shoulder before they resumed their positions on the field.

It didn't take too long for the fun to be over as Klara put in the first goal of the night, which had been assisted by Lena. About 10 minutes later, another Bayern teammate put one in the back of the net as Lea also got herself on the scoresheet.

As the game wore on, Y/N became increasingly determined to make a difference on the field. However, despite her best efforts, none of her attempts seemed to find the back of the net. Her teammates were not clinical enough, or the shots were deflected by the German defenders.

The more attacks she created, the more aggressive the fouls of the German grew on her.

They seemed determined to shut down Y/N's advances by any means necessary, resorting to increasingly rough challenges to disrupt her rhythm.

She managed to keep the ball from Nüsken, and send a pass to Esmee when a German player made a reckless tackle from behind, catching her off guard. The force of the challenge sent her crashing to the ground, a sharp pain shooting through her ankle.

A wave of concern washed over the stadium and the Dutch team as they watched their most vital player of the evening being abruptly taken out by Giulia.

People close to her rushed to her side, including Giulia who didn't have the intention to actually hurt her Bayern teammate. The referee swiftly intervened, issuing a yellow card.

''Shit, I'm sorry- didn't time it well.'' The midfielder apologized immediately, knowing right away it wasn't a great or necessary challenge.

Y/N made a gesture with her hand, which translated to ''it's okay, just give me space now,'' which Giulia understood, the pair having a great relationship at Bayern.

Lynn was the first of her teammates to reach her, shouting profanities at Giulia and the referee for letting the fouls on her best friend get to the point where she needed the medical team.

''Alles goed, meid?'' (''Everything okay, girlie?'') The Wolfsburg defender asked, concern etched on her face.

''Ik denk dat me enkel er elk moment gaat afvallen.'' (''I think my ankle is going to fall off at any moment.'') She sarcastically replied, rolling her eyes.

Lynn chuckled at her friend's attempt at humor, though the worry still lingered in her eyes. ''Ik hoop van niet, we hebben die nog nodig.'' (''I hope it doesn't, we still need it.'').

Meanwhile, the medical team arrived, quickly assessing Y/N's ankle to determine the extent of the injury. The other players quickly backed off so the staff could work in peace.

Lena noticed her club teammate's concerned expression and approached her quietly. ''How's she doing?'' She asked softly, her eyes flickering toward Y/N, whose ankle was covered in bruises.

Lynn sighed, her hand smoothing down her hair. ''I think she's trying to make it out as if she isn't bothered by it, but it's obvious it hurts- look at it, completely blue.'' The Dutchwoman motioned towards where one of the physios was icing her foot.

The midfielder nodded. ''I hope it's nothing too serious.'' She observed the way her partner was hissing at the way the staff was assessing her ankle, visibly agitated by the pain. She wished she could do more to help, but all she could do for now was offer her support from the sidelines.

The Dutch team held their breath as Y/N gingerly tested her weight on her injured ankle, her expression a mix of determination and discomfort. Every eye on the sideline was fixed on her, silently praying that she would be able to continue.

''As soon as the match is done, you're coming with us to the medical room. I'm surprised you can walk still.'' Their physiotherapist ordered her, glancing down at her iced and taped up ankle.

Andries sent her a thumbs up, asking if she was okay to continue. However, Y/N knew they had used up all their substitutes so there would be no use in forfeiting the game, so she confirmed with a nod that she would carry on.

She could walk on her own to the side of the pitch, though there was a limp in her step. The striker carefully jogged onto the grass as the referee gave her permission to join the match again.

A few tense minutes later, the shrill sound of the referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of the match.

Amidst the disappointment of the Dutch team, the German players erupted into jubilant celebrations. They hugged each other tightly, their faces beaming with joy and relief as they reveled in their hard-earned victory.

The Oranje Leeuwinnen on the pitch dejectedly gave each other hugs and consolations, most with tears in their eyes.

Y/N had lowered herself onto the ice-cold grass, the throbbing pain in her ankle too much to bear. She winced as she cautiously propped herself up against the turf.

She suddenly felt two pairs of arms slip beneath hers, lifting her gently off the ground. Startled, she looked up to see Esmee and Kerstin, their expressions filled with concern as they looked at their captain.

''Kom op, meid,'' (''Come on, girl,') Kerstin gently said, ''je was echt een beest op dat middenveld.'' (''You really were a beast in the midfield.'') The Manchester City player chuckled, trying to lighten up the somber mood.

Esmee nodded in agreement, her grip firm yet gentle as she supported Y/N's weight. The two youngsters guided her towards the waiting medical staff, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines.

Some of their teammates and staff patted their heads and ruffled their hair as they walked across the pitch, offering words of sweet nothingness.

With a reassuring nod from the physiotherapist, Esmee and Kerstin carefully lowered her onto the stretcher, ensuring she was comfortable before the medical team began to carry her inside the stadium for further examination.

The injured player could hear the applause from the bystanders, but it wasn't much solace as the pain and disappointment hit her like a truck. Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Y/N felt a sob escape her lips, the sound muffled by her hands as she covered her face.

The staff of the Dutch team carrying the stretcher watched with downcast eyes, feeling for the young player who had literally given her body and soul this match.

After what seemed like an eternity of navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the stadium, they finally reached the treatment room. With practiced efficiency, they set to work assessing Y/N's injury, carefully removing her shoe and sock to examine her blue ankle.

As the physiotherapists administered treatment, taping up her ankle and applying ice packs to reduce the swelling, the striker remained silent, lost in her thoughts and emotions.

Once her ankle was securely taped and she was given the green light to proceed, Y/N wasted no time in making her way back to the pitch. The pain was barely noticeable anymore as she walked with quickness in her strides, simply wanting to be with her team.

Surprisingly, the German and Dutch players were still exchanging handshakes with one another, acknowledging each other's efforts or catching up with teammates.

The Dutch captain delicately walked onto the pitch again going for the officials who stood in the center of the big field. On her way there, she shook hands or gave hugs with either her national teammates or club teammates, each of them praising her performance of the night- though the striker didn't feel deserving of it.

With a firm handshake and a nod of acknowledgment, she greeted the officials. One of them had asked about her injury, but the player assured her that she was alright. With a suppressed smile, she turned away from them.

''Y/N…'' She heard a voice next to her, immediately recognizing whose it was.

The Dutch striker tried to beam the best she could, a strained grin plastered on her face. ''Hey.''

Lena hesitantly motioned for a hug, not confident in how to handle the situation. Her girlfriend nodded, opening her arms, and welcoming each other in an embrace in the center of the pitch.

''I know it doesn't look like I am, but I am very happy for you and the girls.'' Y/N mumbled into Lena's neck, her voice thick with emotion as she fought to hold back her tears.

The German midfielder brushed her fingers gently through her hair, a soft sigh escaping her lips. ''Danke,'' (''Thank you,'') she whispered in response, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. ''I know you're happy for us, you don't need to say it.''

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, each reluctant to let go. But eventually, they pulled back, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange.

''How's your ankle?'' Lena asked, discreetly peeking at her girlfriend's taped up ankle.

The Dutchwoman shrugged her shoulders. ''It's just very bruised, that's it,'' she dismissed, ''you played really well- nice assist, by the way.'' Y/N changed the subject, not wanting to linger on the topic of her physical well-being.

Lena's cheeks flushed at the compliment. ''Thank you. I meant to score, though.''

The German glanced around the stadium, scanning the crowd. ''Where are your parents sitting?'' She asked.

Y/N pointed towards a section of the stands where her parents were seated, their faces alight with pride and excitement as they waved to them from the crowd. The couple happily waved back at them, Lena lightly chuckling at the poster that her girlfriend's father hastily pulled out of his wife's bag, motioning it around for Lena to see.

''They're so sweet.'' She remarked, her voice filled with affection as she glanced back at Y/N. But as Lena turned her gaze back to her girlfriend, she noticed a sudden shift in her demeanor.

As Y/N watched her family in the stands, a flood of emotions washed over her. She felt a lump form in her throat as she took in the sight of them, their smiles radiating nothing but support for their daughter and her national team. However, it was once she glanced down at the fans around them, downed in orange decorations and clothing, that her true feelings about the outcome of the match came to the surface. The sea of orange seemed to mock her, a painful reminder of the missed opportunities and shattered dreams that had taken place tonight.

The team had fought tooth and nail to simply make it out of the group stages, the late drama at the match against Belgium had filled the squad with newfound confidence and resilience. They'd come so close to their ticket to the Olympics, it was practically in their hands before it had been taken away from them and ripped in millions of pieces.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of profound loss. The weight of the defeat lied heavily on her, feeling somewhat the most responsible for the defeat, as if she had been the only player on her team. Deep down, Y/N knew this was far from the truth- football was a team effort, and their loss was a collective outcome. But the pressure she had felt was immense, spurred on by the absence of key players like Jill, Victoria, and Vivianne.

In the eyes of the Dutch media, Y/N had been hailed as the team's ''saving angel,'' a title that now felt like a heavy burden on her shoulders. She had been the one to step up in critical moments, delivering crucial assists and last-minute goals that had propelled the Netherlands to victory in the past. But tonight, she couldn't replicate that success- something she feared she would be crucified for by the fans and pundits.

Lena's heart ached at the sight of her girlfriend's distress, the lines of worry etched into her brow as she struggled to maintain her composure.

With a gentle touch, she reached out to Y/N, her fingers lightly brushing against her arm as she offered silent support. Lena understood right away what she was thinking as she watched her observe the crowd, it's what she had felt at the World Cup, it's what she had felt when Wolfsburg were knocked out of the Champions League.

Utter and complete disappointment.

''Hey,'' Lena murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she sought to break through the walls of self-doubt that surrounded Y/N, ''it's okay, you did well.'' She comforted as she pulled her into another embrace, her arms caressing the Dutchwoman's back.

Y/N buried her face against Lena's shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of her jersey as she clung to her girlfriend's warmth. ''I wanted it so badly,'' she admitted, ''and I played so fucking bad, missed so many sitters.''

It was frustrating for Lena to hear, especially since her partner was easily one of the best players on the field tonight, and was the sole reason the Netherlands were still in the game the entire match. ''Do you know how hard you made it for us? You kept taking the ball from me.'' She tried to convince her, her voice resolute.

Y/N sniffled, her breath hitching as she struggled to hold back her tears. ''But I could have- I should have done so much better.'' She lamented, her voice muffled against Lena's shoulder.

Lena pulled back slightly, cupping Y/N's face in her hands so she could look into her eyes. ''You did everything you could,'' the midfielder reassured her, her gaze unwavering, ''you were playing out of your position the entire time, you were constantly creating chances for yourself and for your teammates, you were my player of the match- and I'm not just saying that,'' she interrupted herself before her girlfriend could, ''you're a phenomenal player, and I was so proud watching you tonight.''

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and disbelief at Lena's words. She had been so consumed by her own self-criticism that she hadn't realized how much her partner valued and appreciated her efforts on the field.

She wrapped her arms around her, giving a swift peck on the cheek. ''Love you.''

''Love you too.'' Lena reciprocated, landing a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek as well.

The Dutchwoman glanced to her side, seeing the German team starting to form a huddle with one another. ''Obi,'' she caught Lena's attention, signaling towards her teammates, ''go and celebrate, we'll talk tomorrow, alright?''

As Lena hesitated, Y/N gave her an encouraging smile. ''Seriously, go join them, you're going to Olympics, have fun with them. I'm gonna be mad if you don't.''

''Okay, but we face time tomorrow?'' The young midfielder asked, needing the reassurance.

Y/N chuckled softly, touched by her partner's concern. ''We will. Now go, and party- oh my God.''

With a final nod of understanding, Lena gave her girlfriend's hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly turning to join the German team in their huddle.

As Y/N watched her disappear into the celebratory chaos, a bittersweet smile touched her lips. She could see her own team waiting for her, already standing in a circle.

She took the spot next to her best friend, as Lynn made space for her to join.

A slight grimace crossed her face as the entire team listened to Andries, prompting the defender next to her to furrow her eyebrows. ''Je enkel?'' (''Your ankle?'') She asked.

With a wry smile, Y/N shook her head. ''Nee, de rugpijn die ik ga hebben na het slapen op de grond.'' (''No, the back pain I'll be having after sleeping on the floor.'') She responded, a teasing smirk on her face.

lena requests are always welcome!

[vigilante-3073]

I LOVE YOUR HOUSE FICS

I really hope you’ll agree to write my request

Can you please write a Gregory house x reader in which they have a honeymoon or a just a romantic getaway to Paris that they have been planning for a while so reader tries to learn French between patients, (maybe reader is a department head as well?) and also practices at home; like during breakfast and in bed before they go to bed. Anyway, house being house makes fun of her and keeps telling reader to stop because he speaks multiple languages and reader gets annoyed at him and mad

Thanks in advance and have an awesome day ♥️

Est-ce Que Je Rougis?

Gregory House x Doctor Female Reader

Summary: In preparation for the trip of her dreams, Y/N decides to learn some French.

TW: Translations brought to you by Google Translate, House being House, playful arguing, annoyance.

Y/N and House had been married for three months and had finally gotten around to booking their honeymoon. Y/N had always wanted to go to Paris and House was happy to go along with her.

House already spoke the language and he could act as a translator for his wife. Y/N didn't like the idea and decided to start learning the language on her own.

Only problem, she sucked.

Y/N tried incredibly hard, but her pronunciations bordered on slander and House found it hilarious. Y/N got a few language apps on her phone and completed lessons daily both at work and home.

Whenever she had a break between patients, she would devote some time to learning the language. Y/N even watched videos online, desperately hoping to fix her pronunciations and better herself.

House couldn't contain himself when he heard her speaking French. He either laughed, made a joke or responded with the correct pronunciation, which was often met with a scowl.

House knew that the language apps were not setting her up to be able to hold a conversation, but he let her do whatever she wanted.

Y/N spent weeks working on her French, she sat with her back leaned against the headboard in their bed, mumbling along to her daily lesson. House could barely keep the smile off his face as she attempted multiple pronunciations, never voicing the correct one.

"Do you even know what you're saying right now?" He questioned.

"House, we've talked about this," She sighed.

"Est-ce que je rougis? Means 'am I blushing'? What good is that phrase gonna do you in a real conversation?" House asked.

"What about when someone asks if I'm enjoying life with my new husband? Oh, wait, he's already pissing me off," She said.

"If you want to learn a lanuage, you should take an actual class. The apps are just giving you random fluff," House said.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Well, you always know what's best, don't you?" She muttered.

"I speak roughly eleven languages, when it comes to this, I know what I'm talking about. But you, my dear, have absolutely no clue what you're saying," House said.

"Then help me. Teach me," Y/N said.

"You sure you're interested in that?" House asked.

"If it keeps you from screwing with me, then yes," Y/N said.

"What if I do it for the sole purpose of screwing with you?" House questioned.

"That wouldn't be very nice and I might just offer to take Wilson to Paris instead of you," Y/N said.

"Fine, you got a deal," House nodded.

....

Y/N made her way into the bedroom, she crossed her arms as she looked at her husband. House glanced over at her from the tv, "Need something, honey?" He questioned.

"You were supposed to teach me French tonight. Did you forget?" Y/N asked.

"No, I was waiting for you," House said, turning off the television and setting the remote aside.

"Step into my classroom," He said, gesturing to the bed.

Y/N made her way to her side of the bed and climbed in, settling with her back against the headboard.

House scooted back across the mattress, leaning against the headboard. He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to himself.

"What are you doing?" Y/N questioned.

"I have a theory and I'm testing it," He said.

"Does your theory have anything to do with teaching me French?" Y/N asked.

"It does, I assure you. How do you introduce yourself in French?" He questioned.

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Y/N," She answered, he nodded.

House brushed her hair off her neck, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin. He brushed the tip of his nose against the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume. House pressed another couple kisses to her skin, his thumb slipping under the material of her top.

"W-what are you doing?" Y/N mumbled, suddenly feeling breathless.

"Teaching you. How do you ask where the restroom is?" House questioned.

Y/N huffed a laugh, "This is ridiculous," She muttered.

"Answer the question," House said.

"Où se trouvent les toilettes?" Y/N said.

He nodded, "Good," House mused, pressing another couple kisses to her skin. His hand slipped under her shirt, his palm feeling hot against her side.

"You're distracting me," Y/N stated.

"No, I'm rewarding you. Every right answer gets you some action, Missus House... Or we could skip the lesson and get right to what to really want," He offered.

"What do you think I really want?" Y/N questioned.

"You want to learn about another valued French art," He said.

"What would that be?" Y/N asked.

"Their kiss," House stated, turning her face towards his and connecting their lips.

...

Y/N had given up on her lessons after that night, instead choosing to let House do the translating when they went on their honeymoon. He liked the idea of being able to look out for his wife and it also helped that she loved to see him speak other languages.

Y/N sat across from him at their candlelit dinner in the heart of Paris. They had spent the day sightseeing, visiting well-known locations in the area. House struggled when it came to walking long distances or standing for any length of time, but he did what he could.

Y/N never pushed him, he wanted her to have every experience that she hoped to have and was willing to endure some discomfort for a few days. House asked Y/N what she wanted to eat, relaying it simply to the waiter in flawless French that had his wife swooning.

She stared at him from across the table, sipping on her glass of wine as she watched him speak. Languages came so easily to him that it was almost unfair.

House had always been good at sophisticated things, hunkering down and teaching himself whatever he could. House always had a thirst for knowledge and worked to master everything he didn't know. House looked up at his wife across the table, he smirked when he met her gaze.

"I like the look that you're giving me, Doctor House. But if you don't stop playing footsie with me, we're not going to make it through dinner," He said.

"Are you saying that you don't want dessert before dinner?" Y/N questioned.

"I would love nothing more, but I am pretty hungry. Athletes gotta fuel up," House said.

"Fine, I'll let you enjoy your dinner. Weather forecast calls for rain tomorrow anyway," Y/N said, taking a sip of her wine.

"Why would that matter?" House asked.

"I don't need my new husband slipping on wet concrete. I think it would be better to keep you safe in our bed instead," Y/N answered.

"That is the best idea you've ever had," House smiled, picking up his glass and lightly clinking it into his wife's.

The couple enjoyed their meal and shared a succulent dessert before returning to their room. They slept soundly throughout the night, waking up to the soft patter of raindrops on the windowpane.

As the weather forecast had predicted, rain poured down over Paris the next day. Y/N and House stayed in bed, tucked between the sheets together and ordering room service for every meal.

It was House's favorite day of the vacation, holding his wife close and kissing every inch of her body. He held her for hours, devoting an entire day to showing her how much he loved her. They hadn't had much time to themselves before their honeymoon and House had taken full advantage of that.

He was almost disappointed when their honeymoon finally came to an end, but he knew that he wouldn't forget their time together. He was pretty damn lucky to have the wife that he did, even if she was terrible at speaking French.

[dead-dolphins]

Illicit Affairs: 1st Drabble

It’s been a long time coming, but here it is at last—the very first drabble of the cheating AU! Omg omg omg!!! XD Just a heads-up: I wrote this purely for fun, without a solid plot, just capturing the vibes of the AU. Don’t worry, there’s more to come! I hope to catch your attention and, well, enjoy! TW: Eren's fantasies and mentions of potential cheating.

Eren was always the first to arrive at the stables before dawn. As the morning light, indifferent to the season, began to spread over the meadows where the Jaeger and Arlert manors stood, his presence in that shared space came well before anyone else stirred.

It had been this way since he was a child, barely able to hold onto the saddle. He sought these quiet, uninterrupted moments to tend to his horse alone. The stable, the ride—they were his, his sanctuary, his refuge. In the early morning mist, he would steal away, feeling the power beneath him as his mount surged forward, the wind sharp against his face. And afterward, he’d return home, slipping into the warmth of a shower, letting the water wash away the grit and sweat before he made his way to the studio, where his hands sought a different kind of mastery—the mastery of art.

It wasn’t simply a matter of morning exercise—it was a ritual, a quiet preparation for the day ahead. In those moments, alone with his horse, he could feel the tension drain from him, a stillness settling in his bones before the storm of the day. Then the studio waited, with its demanding clients, always expecting more than he could give. And beyond that, the strained silence of home, where his wife’s rage simmered just beneath the surface, flaring up when the cold indifference could no longer be ignored—an indifference that perhaps, just perhaps had always been there. 

Thus, following his routine, Eren arose from the emptiness of his double bed, its crisp linens untouched by another’s warmth.  Dressed in his riding gear and holding his whip, he approached the stable, eager for the thrill of the ride with Pearl, his black shire mare of ten years. The anticipation of the open air, the thrill of the ride, coursed through him as he approached the stall, ready to embrace the untamed spirit of the wind.

However, on that morning, as ostentatious as it was, Eren realised he was not the only one in his sacred place.

Upon crossing the threshold, he noticed an open stall. Though this might have unsettled him, because these things like these never, ever happened in such a methodic place a distant hum drew his attention. It was a soft melody, in a vague, haunting tone, which made him walk toward the source of, as if it were casting a spell over him. Schubert, it was. 

“Hello?” he called out, but the only answer was silence. 

Undeterred, he walked through the stables until he reached the last stall. When he finally entered, he felt as though the gods had smiled upon him.

There, atop a red cashmere blanket spread across the hay bales, a vision of serene grace was curled up with her tiny little nose buried in a book. Oh, he knew her, of course he did. The spell had been cast upon him weeks ago at that opulent, decadent gathering, but now, with her so near and so vulnerably exposed, he was even more entranced. This was Mikasa, the daughter of his closest friend, an enchantress bound by ties of loyalty and propriety that made her sight all the more tormenting.

She seemed blissfully unaware of his presence, and seizing those fleeting moments, he allowed his gaze to linger upon her with a fervent intensity. Her midnight-black hair cascading like a veil, and her skin, pale and flawless, gleamed with an almost otherworldly purity. Eren’s eyes were ensnared by her, unable to avert their gaze.  She was exquisitely beautiful, a beauty that cut to the bone, and also… agonisingly forbidden. 

“Hey,” Eren rasped, his voice rough as he knocked the gate with his fist. He forced himself to keep his gaze from lingering too long on the way her white jeans clung to her curves, especially in her butt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mikasa replied, her voice breaking from its melodic flow as she looked up from the book she had been engrossed in. From his vantage point, Eren first noticed her lips—her  natural, rosy lips. “I didn’t realise someone had arrived.”

Eren let out a groan, blinking. He thought the noise he had made should have been sufficient to alert her. It felt almost as if she had purposefully overlooked him, drawing him closer with the pretence of ignorance. But it sounded quite stupid to think, wasn’t it? “I was just concerned about the open box,” he said.  “We usually don’t leave them open for safety reasons.”

“I see.” She closed the book and rose from her makeshift seat. For a fleeting moment, Eren feared he had angered her, a thought that unsettled him deeply. The only person he didn’t mind provoking was his wife, but the idea of doing the same to Mikasa was far less agreeable. It seemed she harboured no such desire to be antagonised, and that realisation troubled him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he continued, trying to maintain his composure despite the turbulent feelings roiling within him. “It’s unusual to find the stables like this.”

She shook her head slightly, her dark hair falling around her shoulders like a silken curtain. “It’s no trouble. I came here to find a quiet place to read. I didn’t realise I was encroaching on someone’s routine.” She smiled, as if trying to ease him somehow. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Jaeger.”

The formal address sent a shiver through him. Her tone, innocently sensual, seemed to blur the line between reality and fantasy, leaving him momentarily uncertain if his senses had deceived him. But the small, wicked smile curling at her lips soon dispelled any doubt. It was clear now—she had spoken with intent, deliberately weaving her words to provoke.

Eren swallowed hard, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the effect of her presence. “I appreciate your understanding,” he said, though the words felt hollow against the backdrop of his confusion.

Mikasa nodded, a glint of amusement dancing in her face. “Of course. I’ll be sure to choose a more appropriate place next time.”

As the girl moved to gather her things, Eren’s gaze, despite his efforts to maintain propriety, inevitably fell on the fabric of her jeans, stretching against her round butt. For a brief moment, an intrusive thought crossed his mind—an unsettling curiosity about whether her ass cheeks would be as pale as her face skin, and whether it would redden easily if… if spanked them with his hand. The thought was both inappropriate and unwelcome, stirring a flush of guilt and shame within him.

He forced himself to look away, shaking his head as if to clear his mind of the unwelcome intrusion.  But he could not rid himself of the thought. It was as if it embedded itself into his consciousness with an unshakeable persistence. 

He had always harboured thoughts of restraint and discipline, of the primal urge to dominate. And something in her was calling to let those fantasies fulfil. Yet… she was still forbidden. She was his best friend’s adopted daughter, ten years younger and entirely beyond his reach. The boundary was clear, unbreakable, or so it should have been. He couldn’t betray Armin like that, nor could he do it to her, innocent as she was. Yet, the more he tried to suppress the thought, the more the desire took root.

When Mikasa finally rose, her book tumbled from her grasp, and he seized the chance to divert his gaze. As he picked it up, a surge of surprise swept over him. The so-called “innocent girl” was engrossed in something far from innocent. 

“Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” he read. “An interesting choice of book.”

Instead of reaching for the book as he had anticipated, she merely laughed. “Don’t tell anyone;  I borrowed it from the trunk of forbidden books.”

Eren looked at her once more, and it was then that he reconfirmed what his instincts had whispered all along. She was, in some way, playing a game to allure him, and if this was her strategy, then he was more than willing to engage.

“So,” he began. “The trunk of forbidden books, you say? I never imagined you to be one for such… provocative literature.”

Mikasa tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “One must explore the forbidden to understand the world fully. Don’t you agree, Mr. Jaeger?”

The question hung in the air. Eren felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks, both from her insinuation and the brazen challenge in her tone. He forced a casual smile, attempting to mask the growing tension. “Indeed,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I think we’re both aware of the boundaries that come with such… explorations.”

Her gaze softened, but the mischief remained. “Boundaries are meant to be tested, aren’t they?.”

“Have you ever explored your boundaries, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice taking on a rough, husky edge as he spoke her name.

“I suppose that depends on what you mean by boundaries. There are many kinds—emotional, physical, societal.” She brushed past him, and stopped just beyond his reach.  “And sexual.”

Her voice, low and sultry, made the word hang heavy in the air between them. Eren could feel the tension crackling, a charged silence punctuated only by the soft rustling of hay and the distant sound of a horse’s whinny.

“And which boundaries are you most interested in exploring, Mikasa?” he asked, his voice rough.

Mikasa turned slightly, her profile illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the stable’s open door. “At my age, I want to explore everything���absolutely everything. There’s still so much to learn, but…” She lowered her voice, ensuring only he could hear. “Lately, the idea of discovering my sexual boundaries has been calling to me, Mr. Jaeger. Quite strongly, I might say.”

Eren’s breath caught in his throat. Her bold response shattered any remnants of propriety he had clung to. 

“That’s why I’ve been pilfering these books,” Mikasa continued, her voice a blend of candour and intrigue. “Though, ah, they haven’t quite lived up to my expectations. They’re exquisitely written, and the portrayal of female pleasure is beautiful, but... I find myself craving something a bit more... intense.”

Her admission stirred a maelstrom of thoughts within him. His mind was consumed by a torrent of sinful fantasies, each more decadent than the last. All he could think about was how he could push the boundaries of her desires and explore the depths of their mutual transgressions.

He took a step closer, the distance between them now minimal. “I also have a chest of forbidden books,” he murmured, his tone dropping to a hushed, secretive note. “In my library at home. Perhaps someday, if you’re interested, I could lend you one. I have a collection of favourites that you might like.”

Her  gaze met his, a flicker of excitement mingling with the challenge in her eyes. “I would like that.” she said softly, “but there’s no need to bring it to me. I can fetch it by myself; one day when your wife isn’t around.” The hint of a smile played on her lips. “Hitch doesn’t seem to like me.”

The way Mikasa spoke Hitch’s name, devoid of any honorifics or any semblance of respect, nearly made Eren laugh. It was undeniable; Hitch, his beloved wife, was widely disliked, and he was no exception to that sentiment—he was among the first to voice it.

“Hitch has never been one to win hearts. Her absence is often a blessing in more ways than one, and, trust me, she blesses me most of the time.”

Mikasa smirked, stepping out of reach. “Then I’ll probably be visiting you very soon, Mr. Jaeger,” she said. “But you know, you shouldn’t mention this to anyone. It could get complicated.”

Eren’s eyes  lingered on her butt as she walked away, his mind filled with vivid, provocative images. He couldn’t help but imagine him not only spanking her with his hand but also with the whip he held so commandingly while her wrists were tied to one of his bedposts. Oh, what a beautiful scenario that was and he wanted to make it a reality.

“No, of course, no,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me.” It was unmistakably clear that Mikasa, that little wretched beast wanted him, and god fuck it, he wanted her just as fiercely. 

Later, as he rode his horse across the vast grasslands and encountered his best friend, who was already heading off to work, a sense of impending chaos settled uneasily in his stomach. Yet, the feeling quickly evaporated as he recalled Mikasa’s lips and her butt—her beautiful round butt.

[suspiciouscatastrophe]

An Experiment With Machine Translation/AI

Hello there, my friends! Usually, I'm posting about trans stuff. Today, I'm going to switch it up for translation.

So you see, I'm a student and translation studies are one of the degrees I'm desperately vying for. This week, one of my classes had an interesting assignment: We got an excerpt from a book (The Map of Us by Jules Preston) and our goal was not only to translate it but also create a second version, using a machine translation or ChatGPT. A lot of translation work nowadays is being more or less AI's factchecker and editor, so like it or not (and you can believe me that I don't like it), it's a skill to have.

And I thought I would share the comparisons! They're not surprising. They all show that unedited AI or MT is not by any means ready to replace human translators, the least of all in art. However, the ways they fail are quite interesting!

I was also fully prepared for ChatGPT, being, you know, a language model, to blow poor Google Translate out of the water. And while it was definitely the more creative of the two, it also performed... worse overall...? You can be the judge of that!

And of course, this post is best enjoyed if you're a Czech speaker, but if you happen not to speak Czech or Slovak, don't hesitate to read on anyway, I'll provide additional translation back into English for the fails.

And... if you happen to be a human with a penchant for translation and you're cringing at my solutions, trembling with the need to correct me, you will make me cry, but go ahead.

Example 1:

ENG: She did not ask his opinion, for he had already shown himself to be difficult and ill-tempered when it came to making a choice.

HT (human translator): Na jeho názor se ani neptala, protože už věděla, jak protivný dokázal být, když se musel rozhodovat.

GT (Google Translate): Neptala se ho na názor, protože se už ukázal jako obtížný a špatně naladěný, když došlo na volby.

[She did not ask his opinion, because he has already shown himself to be hard to do and ill-tempered when it came to elections.]

AI (ChatGPT): Neptala se na jeho názor, protože už ukázal, že je těžko rozhodnutelný a náladový, pokud šlo o výběr.

[She did not ask his opinion, because he has already shown himself to be hard to decide and moody in the matter of selection.]

In this one, I think the bots reached a tie in being wrong. Machine translation is notoriously wonky on composite sentences, however ChatGPT genuinely surprised me with somehow managing to "think" a little forward and already connecting "difficult" (těžko) with "making a choice" (rozhodnout se) and laboriously birthing "těžko rozhodnutelný" which would mean "difficult to decide/judge" but in the context of e.g. a competition being tight and it being difficult for the judges to choose the winner. It's not used with sentient beings at all. In my version, I've decided to merge the descriptors "difficult and ill-tempered" into one word "protivný" which is a little more general in meaning, so it encompasses both and drives home the idea of being a neutral way to call out somebody's mean and problem-generating behavior.

Example 2:

ENG: Every time she would have to press a small button and the top of the Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter would pop open automatically, making the interior of the machine accessible.

HT: Pokaždé, když se to stalo, musela zmáčknout čudlík, aby se horní část jejího psacího stroje Royal Quiet Deluxe automaticky odklopila a ona mohla sáhnout dovnitř.

GT: Pokaždé by musela stisknout malé tlačítko a horní část psacího stroje Royal Quiet Deluxe se automaticky otevřela, čímž se zpřístupnil vnitřek stroje.

(no fail here as far as I can tell)

AI: Každýkrát musela stisknout malé tlačítko a víko psacího stroje Royal Quiet Deluxe se automaticky otevřelo, což umožnilo přístup k vnitřku stroje.

[Everyonetimes she had to press a small button and the top of the Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter would pop open automatically, making it possible to access the interior of the machine.]

Now, the word "každýkrát" means "every time," however, in SLOVAK, not in Czech. Two completely different languages. In Czech? "Každý" means "everyone" and "krát" means "time(s)" (as in multiplying something), so "everyonetimes." I'm quite sure that passing the word as Czech counts as an anti-Slovak microaggression XD Google Translate slayed here, no mistakes, I would just word it differently because I've got that Human Touch TM and an insufferable superiority complex.

Example 3:

ENG: There was an 'e' in 'nose' and 'ear.'

HT: Nos i ucho měly 'o.'

This one is rigged against both GT and AI because what they do is gluing the most probable translation equivalents together, and they have no way of knowing that the letter the words "nose" (nos) and "ear" (ucho) share in Czech is "o" and not "e". GT performed as expected.

GT: V 'nosu' a 'uchu' bylo 'e'.

(besides making it sound a little like the letter was physically in someone's nose and ear, it's fine)

But ChatGPT? I wouldn't actually expect it to solve the problem and correctly switch the letters, but given that it is supposed to be much more advanced than GT, I had my hopes high and thought that it would show at least a trace of acknowledgment of the part being somehow difficult. AI: Bylo tam 'e' ve slovech 'nos' a 'ucho'.

[There was an 'e' in the words 'nos' and 'ucho'.] (liar)

Despite those words noticeably lacking in the "e" department, it's worth noting that while GT went out of its way to try to make it sound natural (too natural, in fact), its supposedly smarter cousin fully copied the English sentence structure, which is technically gramatically correct but sounds extremely reverse-Czenglish. (I guess if Czenglish is a Czech-speaking learner's English influenced by Czech, that makes an English-speaking learner's Czech... Ech. It sounds extremely Ech.)

Example 4:

ENG: Did it matter what an imaginary explorer's lips looked like or felt like?

HT: Záleželo vůbec na tom, jak vypadaly rty imaginárního dobrodruha, nebo jaké byly na dotek?

GT: Záleželo na tom, jak vypadaly nebo jak vypadaly rty imaginárního průzkumníka?

[Did it matter what an imaginary explorer's lips looked like or looked like?]

AI: Záleželo na tom, jak vypadají nebo jak se cítí rty imaginárního dobrodruha?

[Did it matter what an imaginary explorer's lips looked like or how they were feeling?]

Do facts care about the your (lips') feelings? As someone who likes to play around with GT quite a lot, I'm very familiar with the "when in doubt, just repeat whatever you've last said" strategy. If you fuck with it long enough, you can make the poor tool repeat one phrase so many times it fills the entire line. However, the mistake ChatGPT made perplexes me. It feels very humanizing. It's a mistake I can easily imagine an actual learner making, failing to distinguish between "to feel like" (comparison) and "to feel" (to experience a feeling). It's a mistake I would totally make several years ago, and fuck it, maybe even now if I'm trying to read fast on a very bad day. Good job at doing a bad job, GPT.

Anyway, these 4 were probably the funniest and most interesting of the whole excerpt. I must admit that analyzing them turned out to be a humbling experience because revisiting my work, I've noticed several mistakes I've made as well that I can't take back, because I've already turned the assignment in. Oh well. However, I did have fun!

I hope you had fun, too! Stay těžko rozhodnutelní!

[onlyonetifosi]

Behind the camera -> chapter 7

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: more yn/joris fluff 🥹🥹 don't worry drama is coming 😈😈 also 1'5 k words chapter :))

The sun hung low in the sky as the Leclerc family prepared for their much-anticipated summer vacation in France. Yn, Charles, Arthur, and Lorenzo packed their bags, excitement bubbling within them. The air was filled with a contagious energy, heightened by the prospect of spending quality time together in the picturesque French coast.

"Joris, hurry up! We're going to leave you behind," Yn called out from the doorway of her room, a playful grin on her face.

Joris appeared in the hallway, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Patience, mon amour. I just want to make sure I've got everything," he replied, his words dripping with a hint of French charm.

Charles chuckled, slinging an arm around his sister's shoulders. "At least someone has the right idea. We can't afford to forget anything when we're traveling with this bunch."

Downstairs, the Leclerc family gathered in the foyer, ready to embark on their escapade. Arthur, the youngest of the siblings, was already by the door, sporting a wide grin. "Are we leaving yet?"

Their father, Hervé, laughed. "Almost, Arthur. Just waiting for your mother and Lorenzo."

As if on cue, Lorenzo descended the staircase, his eyes scanning the room. "All set, Lorenzo?" their mother, Pascale, asked.

He nodded, his gaze drifting to Yn. "Ready for a summer to remember?"

Yn rolled her eyes playfully. "Please, as if any summer could top this one."

The Leclercs made their way to the waiting cars, joined by their friends and their families. Joris and his family, Riccardo's family, Martha and her parents—everyone had eagerly agreed to join in on the adventure. The air was filled with chatter as they set off, the promise of an unforgettable vacation lingering in the warm breeze.

In the car, Yn and Joris shared a quiet moment. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. "I can't believe we're finally going on vacation together."

Joris leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "Je suis ravi d'être ici avec toi (I'm delighted to be here with you)."

Yn giggled, the language of love a sweet melody between them " You are so cheesy."

He winked. "Guilty as charged."

Yn, stealing a glance at Joris, whispered, "Tu sais que je t'aime, n'est-ce pas?" (You know I love you, right?)

Joris smiled warmly, "Oui, et moi aussi, je t'aime." (Yes, and I love you too.)

"Ce sera une aventure incroyable, n'est-ce pas, Charles?" Yn whispered to her brother, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. (It will be an incredible adventure, won't it, Charles?)

"Absolument, Yn. I can't wait to explore Cote d'Azur with everyone," Charles replied, a wide grin on his face.

Once in the car, Charles leaned over to Yn, a mischievous glint in his eye. "This is going to be epic. Just wait until you see the places I've planned for us to visit."

The convoy of cars, filled with laughter and excited chatter, made its way along the winding roads leading to the beautiful picturesque villa that would be their home for the next few weeks. Yn, sitting beside her twin brother Charles, couldn't contain her excitement as they approached their destination.

The villa, nestled amidst rolling hills and surrounded by vineyards, welcomed the group with open arms. The Leclercs, along with their friends, settled into the spacious rooms, each decorated with a touch of elegance.

"Hey, Pierre! Tu es prêt pour des vacances épiques?" Arthur greeted, embracing one of his brother 's best friend Pierre Gasly.

"Absolument, mon pote! These holidays are going to be legendary!" Pierre replied, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

As the sun began its descent, the group gathered on the terrace for a feast prepared by the villa's chef. The aroma of very appetizing food filled the air, making everyone's stomachs rumble in anticipation.

Yn and Joris found themselves seated next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table as they exchanged affectionate glances. The language of love flowed effortlessly between them, a secret shared amidst the lively conversations.

"Tu es magnifique ce soir, Yn," Joris whispered to Yn, his eyes filled with admiration. (You look beautiful tonight, Yn.)

"Merci, Joris. Tu n'es pas mal non plus," Yn replied, a playful smile gracing her lips. (Thank you, Joris. You're not too shabby yourself)

"Demain, nous devrions tous aller explorer le village voisin. Qu'en pensez-vous?" Lorenzo suggested, the excitement evident in his voice. (Tomorrow, we should all go explore the nearby village. What do you think?)

"Oui, ça semble génial!" Martha exclaimed, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. (Yes, that sounds amazing!)

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

The next day, the group decided to explore the town and go to the beach, the group spread out on the beach, some opting for sunbathing, others building sandcastles, and the Gasly brothers challenging each other to beach volleyball. Yn and Joris decided to take a leisurely stroll along the water's edge.

After their beach escapade, the group ventured into the heart of Cagnes-sur-Mer. They explored the bustling markets, quaint shops, and iconic landmarks, capturing the moments with laughter and photographs.

"Regardez ce magnifique endroit! On dirait un rêve," Martha exclaimed, snapping pictures of the panoramic view. (Look at this magnificent place! It feels like a dream.)

As they strolled through the cobblestone streets, Arthur excitedly pointed at an ice cream shop. "On devrait tous prendre une glace, non?" (We should all get ice cream, right?)

Lorenzo chuckled, ruffling Arthur's hair. "Bonne idée, petit frère"

As they strolled along the picturesque streets, Yn walked hand in hand with Joris, their fingers intertwined. The connection between them was palpable, a testament to the love that had blossomed since they were 12 or 13. Their shared glances spoke a language of their own, a secret understood by everyone around.

The group arrived at a vibrant ice cream shop and créperie, the tantalizing aroma of freshly made crepes and the promise of sweet delights greeted them.

Yn turned to Joris with a mischievous grin. "Qu'est-ce que tu vas prendre, mon amour? (What are you going to have, my love?)"

Joris chuckled, "Je pense que je vais prendre une crêpe au Nutella. (I think I'll have a Nutella crepe)"

After the group had ordered their  ice cream, enjoying the cool treat as they strolled towards the city.  Yn's eyes sparkled as she savored the sweet taste of hazelnut gelato, her favorite. The sound of waves crashing against the shore mingled with the laughter and chatter of the friends and family.

"Tu devrais essayer celui-ci, c'est incroyable," she nudged Joris, offering him a spoonful of her chosen flavor. (You should try this one; it's amazing.)

Joris chuckled, accepting the offer. "C'est vraiment délicieux!" (It's really delicious!)

 Martha, one of Yn's closest friends, elbowed her, teasing, "Vous deux, c'est l'amour fou!" (You two are madly in love!)

Joris grinned, "L'amour rend tout plus beau!" (Love makes everything more beautiful!)

After the creperie, they meandered through souvenir shops, collecting trinkets to commemorate their trip. Yn couldn't resist a soft giggle as Joris playfully picked out a matching keychain. The laughter of the teenagers echoed through the air, blending with the joyous atmosphere of the coastal town.

"Regardez ces deux-là, toujours assortis!" (Look at these two, always matching!) teased Martha, a mischievous grin on her face. The group erupted into laughter, gently poking fun at the inseparable couple.

"Vous êtes vraiment mignons, vous deux!" (You two are really cute!) Lorenzo teased.

The girls, including Yn, took a detour to explore boutiques, finding summery clothes to add to their wardrobes. Yn's infectious joy radiated as she twirled in a vibrant sundress, eliciting approving nods from the group.

As they continued their adventure, they visited iconic tourist spots like the Renoir Museum and the Medieval village Haut-de-Cagnes, snapping photos along the way. The group playfully teased Yn and Joris, capturing candid moments of their affection.

"Les tourtereaux!" (The lovebirds!) Jacques exclaimed, causing Yn to blush.

Yn rolled her eyes playfully, "Arrêtez de vous moquer de nous!" (Stop teasing us!)

"Regardez cette vue magnifique! (Look at this magnificent view!)" exclaimed Charles, gesturing towards the azure waters of the Ligurian Sea.

"Vraiment incroyable!" replied Yn, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As the sun began to set, the teenagers returned to the beach, gathering for a group photo.

As they reached the sun-kissed beach, the group found a spot to relax. Yn and Joris, their fingers entwined, watched the azure waves together. Lorenzo, looking at them with a smirk, teased, "L'amour est dans l'air, n'est-ce pas?" (Love is in the air, isn't it?)

"Vous deux, toujours dans votre petit monde d'amour." (You two, always in your little world of love.) Pierre nudges both the teenagers with a grin on his face.

"Et pourquoi pas? L'amour est magnifique, n'est-ce pas?" (And why not? Love is beautiful, isn't it?) Joris says, pulling Yn closer to him.

The group spent the afternoon soaking up the sun, splashing in the crystal-clear waters, and taking pictures against the breathtaking backdrop. Yn and Joris, with gelato in hand, posed for a photo, the joy evident in their eyes.

The camera clicked, freezing the moment in time—Yn, Joris, the Leclercs, Gaslys, and their friends—bound by the magic of a summer escape on the enchanting Blue Coast of France.

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 89] || 100 Jours de Productivité [Jour: 89]

expect the unexpected; sometimes, it's going to be just what you needed.

this weekend I said welcome home to this little ragamuffin; a surprise [& early anniversary gift] from my partner. he's been keeping me on my toes, but life's been a little less lonely these days. my 3 month review at this new company went over well, & also came with a crazy promotion. hard work really does pay off, & it's nice to be working somewhere where my work does not go unnoticed.

the reason why I say this promotion is crazy, is because it's completely unrelated to my degree. I had been given various projects over the last few months – predominantly to do with bookkeeping & finances – that have resulted in me being selected to be the new company accountant. this work is not unfamiliar with me since it's something I do for my own small business, but to be doing this on a corporate level is humbling. it reminds me of a conversation I once had with my department head right before graduation. they were the person who I went to with many of my tearful vents and frustrations, & during this particular conversation they told me "do what you need to, but do more of what you're good at. that's how you bring the right things to your table." I held on to that for years. right now, I wish I could tell them thank you.

academic work:

-catch up on all unit reviews -re-write notes/organize

freelance work:

-catch up on all projects -continue signing up for markets -edit digital work -prepare shop listings

office work:

-answer all emails -complete payroll for tomorrow -review funding changes from last meeting -look at problems after system update

currently listening // Attention by Wyatt

Attendez-vous à l'inattendu ; parfois, c'est exactement ce dont vous aviez besoin.

ce week-end, j'ai souhaité la bienvenue à ce petit ragoût, une surprise [et un cadeau d'anniversaire anticipé] de mon partenaire. il me tient en haleine, mais la vie est un peu moins solitaire ces jours-ci. mon évaluation de trois mois dans cette nouvelle entreprise s'est bien passée et s'est accompagnée d'une promotion folle. le travail acharné paie vraiment, et c'est agréable de travailler dans un endroit où mon travail ne passe pas inaperçu.

La raison pour laquelle je dis que cette promotion est folle, c'est qu'elle n'a aucun rapport avec mon diplôme. Au cours des derniers mois, on m'a confié divers projets - principalement liés à la comptabilité et aux finances - qui m'ont valu d'être choisie pour être la nouvelle comptable de l'entreprise. Ce travail ne m'est pas inconnu, puisque je le fais pour ma propre petite entreprise, mais le faire au niveau de l'entreprise me rend humble. Cela me rappelle une conversation que j'ai eue un jour avec mon chef de service juste avant d'obtenir mon diplôme. c'est à lui que je m'adressais pour lui faire part de mes larmes et de mes frustrations, et au cours de cette conversation, il m'a dit : « Fais ce que tu dois faire, mais fais davantage ce pour quoi tu es douée. c'est ainsi que tu apporteras les bonnes choses à ta table ». J'ai gardé cela pendant des années. En ce moment, j'aimerais pouvoir leur dire merci.

travail académique :

-rattraper tous les examens de l'unité -réécrire les notes/organiser

travail en free-lance :

-rattraper tous les projets -continuer à s'inscrire sur les marchés -éditer le travail numérique -préparer les listes de boutiques

travail de bureau :

-répondre à tous les courriels -compléter la liste des salaires pour demain -Examiner les modifications apportées au financement depuis la dernière réunion -Examiner les problèmes après la mise à jour du système

chanson // Attention par WYATT

[ggjunkie]

Showmance

27,318 words

Adam x reader

Musical theatre! AU; College! AU

For anyone who'd rather read it on here:

You straighten out your clothes, fingers brushing off invisible lint as you take a deep breath, the excitement bubbling just beneath your composed exterior. The echoing sounds of chatter and nervous footsteps fill the audition room lobby, where a group of hopefuls wait for their names to be called. It's finally musical season at your university, and you’ve jumped on the train with unrestrained enthusiasm.

This semester’s show is Little Shop of Horrors, a classic choice that feels like putting on a comfortable pair of your favorite pants—familiar and comfortable. Though it's a basic pick, you definitely aren’t complaining; this is your chance to shine. For weeks, you’ve been meticulously preparing, working with your private vocal and acting coaches, honing every note and every intonation for this audition.

As a musical theatre major, a spot in the chorus is practically a given, but you’re not one to settle for just that. No, no, no. You have bigger ambitions. Your eyes are set on Audrey II, the mysterious talking, and singing plant. It's a role that demands charisma, vocal prowess, and a certain je ne sais quoi that you’re confident you possess. Or at least you really, really hope so.

Of course, you also understand you aren’t guaranteed a role! It’s really no biggie, you’re just excited.

Although theatre wasn’t always your passion, taking the class in middle school had spurred something in you. Since then, you’ve worked hard at your craft. And it’s definitely paid off! You managed to make it into multiple audition-based schools. At the memory, you pat yourself on the back.

Middle school was where it all began. You still remember the thrill of your first performance, the way the stage lights felt warm and comforting, and the applause that followed. It ignited a spark in you, a passion that has only grown stronger with time.

In high school, you faced more challenges. The competition was fierce, and the stakes were higher, but you rose to the occasion. You worked tirelessly, attending acting workshops, vocal lessons, and dance classes. You balanced your schoolwork with your theatrical pursuits, often sacrificing sleep and social activities to chase your dreams.

When it came time to apply for colleges, you aimed high, auditioning for some of the best programs in the country. The acceptance letters that followed were proof of your hard work and dedication. You had made it into multiple audition-based schools, each one a testament to your talent and perseverance.

Now, standing here, you can't help but feel a swell of pride. You've come a long way from that middle school elective. You've faced rejections and setbacks, but you've also experienced triumphs and growth. Every step of the journey has been worth it, and you're excited for what lies ahead.

Eventually, you finally hear your name called, pulling you out of your thoughts. You smile at the runner, a freshman eager to get their required hours in, and hand them your resume. They take it gratefully, glancing over the neatly printed sheet as they lead you into the audition room. It’s a black box theater, a square room with black walls and flooring. The stark simplicity of the space serves as a blank canvas, allowing the directors to transform it into whatever they need, just as they have for these auditions.

Their table is set up near the back, papers and coffee cups scattered across its surface, giving them a perfect vantage point to observe and take notes without being overheard. They chat quietly among themselves, their voices a low murmur that blends into the background hum of the building. You can feel their eyes on you as you step into the room, the anticipation almost tangible in the air.

Near the door, a piano sits, and at the bench is what you can guess to be your accompanist—a tall, chubby brunette with a messy sort of look about him. He’s honestly kind of cute, but you can’t afford to focus on that right now. You have an audition to nail.

You greet the directors with a confident smile and a nod, then march over to the piano. Handing the accompanist your binder, you ensure it’s open to the marked sheet music. Like a seasoned performer, you’ve already highlighted the 32-bar cut of your song, clearly indicating where he should start and stop.

As he scans the music, you take a moment to explain your plan. You point out the precise places where you’ll be taking breaths and describe the tempo you have in mind. He listens attentively, nodding along as you speak, his fingers instinctively moving over the keys as if mentally rehearsing the piece.

You glance over at the directors, expecting them to be ready, but they’re still shuffling papers and folders on their desk, likely comparing notes from previous auditions. A flicker of impatience might cross another's face, but not yours. Instead, you smile, savoring the rush of adrenaline that auditions always bring.

The anticipation heightens the moment, and you use the extra time to center yourself even more. You roll your shoulders, subtly release the tension in your hands, and take another calming breath. The hum of quiet activity behind the directors' table, the muted clink of pens and rustle of paper, only amplifies your focus.

"So, got any plans after this?"

You frown, snapping back to the present as you turn to the accompanist. "Excuse me?"

He smirks, leaning in slightly. "I can take you out on the town, show you a real good time. My roommate is even out for the night, if you know what I mean." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You scrunch your nose, not appreciating the distraction from your audition. You need to get in the zone and focus, but he’s throwing you off. You can entertain the idea after the audition, not during. However, at your reaction, he takes it as a no and furrows his brows. He starts to say something, probably something rude, before you walk off.

You head to the tape marking your spot on the floor, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement mingled with nerves. The directors stare at you blankly, their faces giving nothing away, but you know better than to let it get to you. This is your moment.

Taking a deep breath, you slate in, introducing yourself with a clear, confident voice

“I’ll be performing the song ‘Jenny’s Blues’ from ‘It Shoulda Been You,’ and a monologue from ‘Confrontation’ by Kelly Powell.” You smile before dipping your head, breathing in, and starting your piece. Your voice is strong, resonant, effortlessly sliding into the comfortable range of the song. Each note is delivered with precision, every word infused with emotion. You make sure to breathe deeply, expanding your diaphragm to support your powerful vocals.

However, halfway through your audition cut, you hear the piano falter and fumble, the notes coming out jumbled. You pause for a split second, a flicker of concern passing through your mind, but you quickly regain your focus. Mistakes happen, and you're determined not to let it throw you off. You press on, maintaining your composure and delivering a flawless performance despite the hiccup.

As you reach the climax of the song, you hold out your money note, pouring every ounce of emotion into it. The accompanist manages to catch up, albeit a little off rhythm, but you don’t let it deter you. With a final flourish, you finish the song.

You manage a quick glance at the accompanist before looking back– but wait, hold on. You look back again. That fucker has a smug smirk plastered across his face. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and suddenly it all clicks into place: He tried to mess you up on purpose because you ‘rejected’ him. Any chance you had with him suddenly goes straight down the drain, and now you're fuming.

You grit your teeth, trying to tamp down the surge of anger that threatens to consume you. How dare he sabotage your audition like that? But you refuse to let his petty actions derail your performance. Instead, you channel that newfound adrenaline, that simmering rage, into your audition.

With renewed determination, you throw yourself into the monologue, each word dripping with raw emotion. Your voice crackles with intensity as you inhabit the character, every gesture charged with conviction. The room seems to pulse with energy, your presence commanding attention as you deliver a performance that's nothing short of electrifying.

Well, not like you’d think as much.

You perform your piece, and as you finish, you try not to beat yourself up about it. It was… okay. A little frustrating, perhaps, because you ran more on muscle memory and pettiness than actually existing in the moment, but the dedication and hard work you had put into it still shone through. You remind yourself that perfection is an elusive goal, and what truly matters is the passion and effort you poured into your performance.

As for the song, you try not to dwell on it too much. Otherwise, you know you’ll get stuck in your perfectionist head, picking apart every single detail until it drives you mad. Instead, you choose to focus on the positives, reminding yourself of the moments where you truly connected with the material and let your talent shine through.

You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you now that the audition is over. Whatever the outcome, you gave it your all, and that’s something to be proud of.

You thank the directors, offering them a quick but polite goodbye, and head over to the piano to retrieve your binder. The pianist smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hands you the binder. But as you reach out to take it, he doesn’t let go. You tug gently, expecting him to release it, but his grip remains firm.

Your frustration mounts as you give the binder another tug, but still, he refuses to hand it over. With a growing sense of annoyance, you pull harder, and finally, he lets go. But instead of handing it to you properly, he lets it slip from his fingers, and it drops unceremoniously to the floor with a thud.

This bitch.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool, you bend down gracefully, feeling his eyes linger on your backside, and pick up the binder. Straightening up with a sense of quiet determination, you shoot him a subtle, sour look, and exit through the door.

–

You needed to be pinched awake.

There it was, plain as day—your name listed next to Audrey II. The role you'd yearned for, sweated for, poured your heart and soul into securing. And now, here it was, yours for the taking. You stare at the cast list, almost disbelieving, as if expecting the letters to rearrange themselves at any moment. But no, there it remains—your name boldly printed beside the coveted role.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the excitement threatening to bubble over, you find yourself remarkably composed. It's as if a serene calm has settled over you, masking the tempest of emotions swirling beneath the surface. You're totally normal about this, you tell yourself, even as your heart races with exhilaration.

But inwardly, you're anything but calm. You're ecstatic, over the moon, practically floating on air. It's a dream come true, a validation of all the hard work, late nights, and sacrifices you've made in pursuit of your passion. And yet, there's a sense of quiet gratitude mingled with the jubilation—a recognition of the privilege bestowed upon you, the opportunity to bring this iconic character to life.

As you continue to scan the rest of the cast list, a few of your friends approach, their faces beaming with genuine happiness and excitement for you. They pat you on the back and offer heartfelt congratulations, their words a chorus of support and admiration. You take it all in stride, offering each of them an easy smile and a gracious thank you. At one point, you even go as far as to herd some of them into a group hug.

As you continue down the cast list, you recognize a few names, but none that you're particularly close with. Still, you can't help but feel a sense of optimism as you imagine the bonds that will form over the course of rehearsals. After all, there's nothing quite like the camaraderie that comes from working together towards a common goal.

One name stands out among the rest—Quinn, the guy playing Seymour. Memories of your collaboration on a project in Theatre History come flooding back, and you can't help but smile at the thought of working with him again. You remember how seamlessly you worked together, bouncing ideas off each other and complementing each other's strengths. With any luck, that chemistry will translate into a dynamic partnership on stage.

You can already envision the two of you bringing Seymour and Audrey II to life, each playing off the other's energy and timing. It's an exciting prospect, and you can't wait to dive into rehearsals and see how your dynamic evolves.

And then there's the puppet—your puppet. God, you were so excited for your puppet.

Still riding high on the euphoria of landing the role, you feel as light as a feather. It's as if you're floating on cloud nine, sipping Shirley Temples and being pampered like royalty. Every step you take feels effortless, every breath filled with a sense of elation. You glide all the way to rehearsal, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin.

But as you step into the rehearsal room, the bubble of bliss threatens to burst. There, standing before you, is the accompanist from before—the same one who tried to sabotage your audition. Instantly, the weight of reality comes crashing down, dragging you back to earth with a resounding thud.

You can feel his gaze boring into you, a silent challenge in his eyes. You roll your eyes in response, refusing to let him see how much his presence rattles you. At least he doesn’t seem too thrilled to see you either, his lip curling into a sneer as if he were growling in disdain.

Redirecting your attention back to the room, you notice that seats have been pulled to create a circle, a common setup for read-throughs. Your eyes scan the space, and you catch Quinn's enthusiastic wave, his smile infectious. You feel a sense of relief flood through you, grateful for the easy decision on where to sit, and you make your way over to join him.

"Hey!" he greets, his excitement palpable. "Congrats on Audrey II!"

You return his smile, the warmth of his congratulations washing over you. "Thanks! And congrats on Seymour! You definitely deserve it," you reply, genuinely happy for him.

The two of you strike up a conversation, the easy rapport between you quickly filling the air with laughter and shared excitement. But as you chat, you can't shake the feeling of someone's eyes on you. You glance around discreetly, your gaze landing on Adam, who's peering at you with a curious expression.

You lean over to Quinn, a puzzled frown creasing your brow. "So, why's the pianist here?"

Quinn follows your gaze before turning back to you, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Adam? I think he's getting extra credit for this. He's a music major, so... It's kinda cool."

You shrug your shoulders, a bemused expression on your face. It makes sense that Adam would be here for extra credit, but what doesn’t make sense is why he's glaring daggers at you. All you did was turn him down, and then get upset because he tried to sabotage your audition. What a dick.

"Are y'all exes or something?"

You shake your head, a perplexed frown forming on your lips. "No, definitely not."

"Then why is he glaring at you like you killed his dog?" Quinn presses, his curiosity piqued.

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "He tried asking me out in my audition, and I didn't respond because I was trying to lock in."

Quinn's eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh my god, you should've totally said yes! He's a total hunk!"

You can't help but let out a wry chuckle, acknowledging the truth in Quinn's words. "Yeah, he's definitely hot," you admit. "But he's a dick though. He purposely messed up my backing accompaniment."

At that, Quinn sucks in a sharp breath before nodding solemnly. “So just a one night stand.”

At Quinn's suggestion, you cringe, feeling a surge of indignation rising within you. "What?" you squawk incredulously. "No! I'm not sleeping with him!"

“Sleeping with who?”

As the new voice breaks through the conversation, you and Quinn turn to see a girl– probably playing Audrey, your brain retorts. She's thin and gorgeous, her presence commanding attention. It’s probably best to keep her away from Adam.

However, when you glance over to see Adam's reaction, you're surprised to find that he hasn't even spared the girl a passing glance. Instead, his focus remains fixed on you, his glare as intense as ever. Annoyance prickles at the back of your mind, and you return his glare with equal intensity.

Adam seems to realize that you're looking at him, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something cross his features. But in a swift attempt to maintain his cool guy facade—or perhaps because he enjoys the attention—he smirks and throws up his hands in a playful gesture, as if suggesting a game of rock, paper, scissors.

You surprise him by joining in.

Rock… Paper… Scissors… Shoot!

But instead of throwing one of the three conventional options, you catch Adam off guard by flipping him off, a gesture that leaves no room for misinterpretation. With a satisfied smirk, you turn your attention back to Quinn and the girl, refusing to give Adam the satisfaction of any further reaction.

“Hi!” The girl’s voice is perky and energetic. “Sorry, I hope I wasn't intruding with my earlier question. I’m Sadai! You’re playing Audrey II, huh? That’s pretty cool! I’m excited about your puppets.”

At that, you perk up. “Yeah, me too!”

She glances away before leaning in, just as you had done before. “I don’t mean to overstep but… I can't help but notice a certain someone’s eyes on you. Did you break up or something?”

You frown, sinking into your seat. “No, why do y’all keep asking me that…”

“Well, that’s the more logical explanation.” Quinn pipes up.

“There’s an explanation?” Sadai grins. “Spill!”

As your director calls for everyone's attention, the lively chatter in the room gradually subsides, replaced by an air of anticipation. Rehearsal is about to begin, and you can feel the energy buzzing in the air.

When it comes time for Adam’s introduction, it's surprisingly more formal than what you would’ve thought. But that's probably because your director is right next to him.

“I’m Adam,” he says, his tone serious and professional, “and I’ll be the accompanist for rehearsals. I’m also a part of the actual band you’ll be performing with.”

You can't help but roll your eyes at him. It's a stark contrast to his earlier antics, and you can't shake off the feeling of disbelief at his behavior. You stick your tongue out at him.

As Adam clacks his teeth in response to your gesture, a strange sensation washes over you. It's a fleeting moment of amusement mixed with something else—something you can't quite put your finger on. You quickly dismiss the thought, shaking your head to clear it.

As the read-through gets underway, you find yourself slipping into the mindset of Audrey II, the iconic character you're tasked with bringing to life. It's a role unlike any you've played before, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement mingled with apprehension. With each line you deliver, you try to embody the essence of the character, exploring different nuances and inflections.

But despite your best efforts, you can't shake the feeling that your choices aren't quite hitting the mark. They're not big enough, not bold enough—at least not by your own standards. Still, you refuse to beat yourself up about it. It's only a read-through, after all, a chance to explore the character and experiment with different interpretations.

However, the distraction of Adam's antics doesn't help matters. Every time you say a line, you can feel his eyes on you, making faces and mocking you. It's infuriating, to say the least, but you try to push past the distraction and focus on the task at hand.

Adam can get fucked.

–

As the ballet class draws closer, the familiar excitement begins to bubble up inside of you. You eagerly anticipate the opportunity to immerse yourself in the world of dance once again. Dressed in your favorite leotard and tights, you feel a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over you. The snug fit of the leotard and the sleek lines of the tights serve as a second skin, allowing you to move freely and gracefully without any hindrance.

As you enter the studio, you take a moment to soak in the atmosphere—the polished wood floors, the mirrored walls, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. You’ve always made a habit to arrive early to class, giving yourself ample time to prepare both mentally and physically. Taking your place at the barre, you begin with a series of gentle pliés, allowing your muscles to awaken and loosen with each movement. From there, you move through a sequence of tendus, jetés, and dégagés, each step flowing seamlessly into the next.

As the warm-up progresses, you feel your body gradually opening up, the tightness in your muscles giving way to a sense of suppleness and strength. You revel in the sensation of your limbs stretching and extending, reaching for the ceiling with each grand battement and arabesque.

But it's during the stretch routine that you truly lose yourself in the moment. Finding a spot on the floor, you lower yourself into your middle splits, your muscles protesting slightly as you sink deeper into the stretch. With each breath, you feel yourself melting into the floor, your body becoming one with the music that fills the room.

But as you're bent over, laying your chest on the floor, you're suddenly aware of a presence behind you. Startled, you lift your gaze to meet the reflection in the dance mirrors, and your heart skips a beat as you see Adam standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Adam.”

“That’s my name, baby. Go ahead and practice screaming it for tonight.”

You ignore that. “This isn’t an open class. You should leave.”

“Aw you’re looking out for me, how sweet. Good news though. I’ve been invited, bitch.”

You finally turn and look him in the eye. “Don’t call me that.”

Adam raises his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, but his smirk remains firmly in place. "Woof. Rough subject, huh?" he quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Alright, what would you prefer for me to call you? Sugartits? Sweet thing? Mine?”

Your patience wearing thin, you shoot Adam a withering glare. "I'd rather you leave.”

Adam's grin only widens at your request. "Again, I can't," he replies, his tone smug. "I need this extra credit."

Confusion furrows your brows as you try to make sense of his words. "What do you mean?"

His smile widens even further, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm playing piano for your class," he reveals.

"Oh god.”

Feeling the ache in your muscles, you mindlessly begin to pull yourself out of your middle splits, sensing that you're warmed up enough for the time being. But before you can fully relax, Adam's voice cuts through the air, drawing your attention back to him.

"You know what stretch might be good for you?" he asks.

Your eyebrows knit together in suspicion, wary of whatever suggestion he might have up his sleeve.

“Baby pose or whatever it’s called.” he licks his teeth.

“...Do you mean child’s pose?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you show me and we’ll find out. If you’re correct, you get a reward.”

The retort slips out before you can stop it, your frustration boiling over. "Go to hell.”

Adam's expression shifts into something more serious. "Hey, that's not funny,"

You're taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, surprised by the hint of offense in his voice. "You're... religious?"

Adam's lips quirk into a wry smile, always ready to talk about himself. "Minoring in religious studies, babes.”

“And you act like this?”

Adam looks genuinely offended. “Hey! God loves all His creations.”

You decide to test the waters, aware that this isn't just a question about religion, but more about understanding Adam. “So, you’re okay with gay people?”

“What kind of porn do you think I watch?”

“You watch gay porn?” What the fuck.

“Only the girls– it’s hot as fuck. Besides, look at you– I’ve disrespected everything about you except your pronouns.”

Well you’ve got to give him that.

As your instructor walks into the room, effectively diverting your attention from the unsettling exchange with Adam, you're grateful for the interruption. She calls Adam over, and you watch as he trails obediently toward her, unable to shake off the lingering annoyance from the wink he sends in your direction. The gesture sends a wave of bile rising in your throat, leaving you feeling unsettled and off-kilter.

Thankfully, the start of class offers a welcome distraction as you begin with barre exercises. The familiar structure of the routine allows you to slip into autopilot, your muscles responding to the familiar movements with practiced precision. Despite the discomfort of the exercises, you push through, knowing that each repetition brings you one step closer to improvement.

When the instructor calls for places to run the combination, your heart skips a beat as you realize it's finally your turn. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to showcase the combination you've been practicing diligently.

But before you can fully focus on the task at hand, you notice Adam's persistent attempts to catch your eye in the mirror. His gaze feels like a weight on your shoulders, but you steel yourself, determined not to let his presence distract you.

As the instructor calls for Adam to take his place at the piano, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. With him occupied at the keys, you're free to focus solely on your own performance without the added pressure of his scrutiny.

As you wait for your turn to perform the combination, you can't help but find yourself drawn to Adam's piano playing. Despite the tension between you, there's no denying the skill and finesse with which he handles the keys. Each note flows seamlessly from his fingertips, filling the room with a melodic richness that captivates your senses.

You watch in quiet admiration as he navigates the piano with ease, his fingers dancing across the keys with precision and grace. There's a gentle quality to his playing, a delicate touch that belies his earlier brashness. It's clear why he's been enlisted to help with productions like Little Shop of Horrors and ballet classes—he possesses a rare talent that really elevates the performances he accompanies.

As you square your shoulders and turn out from your hips, preparing to execute the combination you've practiced tirelessly, you can feel Adam's eyes boring into you from across the room. Despite the tension that lingers between you, you refuse to let his presence throw you off course.

With a deep breath, you begin to move, allowing the music to guide your every step. Despite the lingering doubt that Adam's presence instills in you, the music never falters, reaffirming your belief that his attempts to sabotage you during the audition were indeed intentional.

But you refuse to dwell on the past, pushing aside the nagging thoughts and focusing solely on the dance. As you move through the combination, something feels different. It's as if you've suddenly become one with the music, feeling its rhythm pulsating through your veins and guiding your movements with an effortless grace.

A quick glance in Adam's direction reveals that he too is caught up in the magic of the moment, his expression mirroring your own sense of connection to the music. Despite the tension that exists between you, there's a shared understanding in that fleeting glance—a recognition of the power and beauty of the music that transcends any animosity or resentment. In other words, you can forgive him in this moment.

In that moment, as you dance to the haunting melody of the piano, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. All the worries and doubts that had plagued you before melt away.

As you're swept up in the exhilaration of the dance, an unexpected twist of fate brings you crashing to the floor as your ankle buckles beneath you. Embarrassment floods your senses as you find yourself sprawled on the ground, the sudden halt to your movement jarring and disorienting.

But before you can fully process what's happened, a kind-hearted classmate rushes to your aid, offering you a supportive hand and helping you to your feet. Despite your attempts to brush off the incident with a forced smile, the humiliation of the fall lingers, casting a shadow over your confidence.

With your ankle throbbing painfully, you're guided out of the room by your compassionate classmate, grateful for their support and understanding. As you limp away from the dance studio, you can feel Adam's eyes following your every move, his gaze burning into your back like a weighty presence.

–

Thankfully, you hadn’t torn or broken anything. All that came out of that incident was a rolled ankle. The recovery was straightforward—alternating between icing and heating it. Before you knew it, your ankle was back to normal. You were able to rotate it without any stinging or pain.

The relief was immense. You had been worried that the injury might keep you from participating fully in rehearsals. Right before you walked into ballet class, you tested your ankle carefully, rotating it and putting a little weight on it. No pain. Perfect.

When you push open the doors to the space, Adam is already seated at the piano, idly messing with the keys. You know Adam never made a habit of being early to this class—especially since he didn’t need to be. During warm-ups, your instructor usually played music from her speakers. So why would he be here early?

Curious, you linger near the door for a moment, observing him. His fingers dance over the keys with a casual grace, producing a soft, almost melancholic melody. It's unlike the boisterous, cocky persona he usually projects. For a moment, he seems lost in the music, unaware of his surroundings.

You clear your throat softly as you walk further into the room. Adam’s head snaps up, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—before he masks it with his usual smirk.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping your tone neutral.

“Morning,” he replies, his fingers pausing on the keys. “Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this early”

“Same goes for you,” you counter, setting your bag down and beginning your stretches.

Adam shrugs, looking back at the piano. “Just felt like playing a bit before everyone else got here.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but not wanting to pry. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He resumes playing, the notes filling the room with a soft, intricate tune. You settle into your stretch routine, focusing on your warm-up but unable to ignore the beautiful music emanating from the piano.

However, it seems as though Adam can’t go more than a minute without being a certified dick. He leans over the piano, watching you stretch, before speaking up.

“Seems like you healed up well.”

Your cheeks ignite, embarrassed by the reminder of your tumble. That shame shortly turns into anger, and you’re quick to throw it in his face.

“Yeah, and it seems like you finally know how to play piano, huh? No messing up?”

“Oh baby, daddy never messes up by accident.”

Indignation rises in your chest at Adam's casual confession that he's been deliberately messing with your music. The realization blooms on your face, and Adam smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Just as you're about to take off one of your ballet slippers and give him a well-deserved bitch slap, Miss Nicole, your instructor, signals for class to begin. With a final glare at Adam, you take your place at the barre, forcing yourself to focus on the exercises ahead.

You spend the entire class wishing you were in tap, imagining the satisfying clatter of metal taps scuffing up the floor. Instead, you're stuck in ballet, with Adam just a few feet away, his presence a constant reminder of your frustration. You do your best to channel your rage into your dance, pushing yourself harder with each movement. The burn of exercise helps somewhat, providing a physical outlet for your anger. Your muscles ache as you stretch deeper into each plié and extend further in every arabesque.

By the time it’s your turn to work the combination, the anger has faded to a dull background hum. You step up, squaring your shoulders and prepping your feet before beginning.

Your chasse leads you into a middle leap. As you ascend, it feels good, almost as if nothing can touch you while you’re in the air.

Adam is a rude reminder that you are not.

But then, mid-leap, the music jarringly falters. You miss a beat, your landing is shaky, and the momentary lapse causes you to stumble. He had done it again, intentionally disrupting the music. It takes every ounce of your self-control not to let it throw you off further. You manage to avoid a full-on trip and finish your combination, but the disruption leaves you seething. As you head over to grab your water bottle, you glare daggers at Adam, who, despite appearing focused on the keys, is clearly smiling to himself.

One of these days, you think, you’re going to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

Class wraps up, and you see the clock signaling the end of the session. Why not today? The thought plants itself firmly in your mind. You decide it’s time to confront him directly.

As the other students start to filter out, you march over to the piano, your anger giving you a surge of confidence. Adam looks up, still smirking.

“What is up with you trying to sabotage me?” you demand, your voice edged with frustration.

He has the nerve to act confused. “Whaaaat? Lil’ ol’ me? I’d never! When have I even tried?”

“Just now. And my fucking audition.”

“Okay but is it really sabotage if you got the part? Think about it— maybe they were impressed with the way you continued on. Maybe I helped you,” he retorts, his tone flippant and infuriatingly smug.

Your jaw tightens, struggling to contain your anger. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “Impressed or not, you had no right to mess with my audition. It was unprofessional and disrespectful.”

Adam shrugs nonchalantly, not appearing at all remorseful. “Hey, it’s a tough world out there. Gotta learn to roll with the punches, sweetheart.”

“There’s a special place in hell for you.” It’s a low blow and you know it. But you get the reaction you’ve been waiting for, his nostrils flaring with offense.

“Bitch, you care way too much about college-level theatre.”

“At least I care about something other than myself,” you snap back.

“Aw, baby,” he drawls, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I can put some extra care towards you. Lay you out all nice for me, make you see heaven. Prove to you I can take care of you. Might make you beg a bit.”

“Eat a dick.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” he retorts, a childish grin spreading across his face.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, exasperated.

Before the argument can escalate further, your ballet instructor, Miss Nicole, approaches. “Is there a problem here?” she asks, concern etched on her face. You stumble over your words, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and the need to explain the confrontation.

“No ma’am! Just some classic friendly bickering. You know how it is! We were just about to head out and grab some lunch, weren’t we?” Adam interjects smoothly, throwing you a glance that suggests you go along with his narrative.

You grit your teeth, seething at his audacity, but reluctantly nod in agreement, knowing you can’t contradict him in front of your instructor. The last thing you need is to cause a scene and get thrown out from the class.

“Yep. Just….bickering,” you reply through gritted teeth, your frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“Ah. It’s nice to see you getting along with our accompanist. I was a bit worried how everyone would treat him. Where are you going to get lunch?” your ballet instructor asks, oblivious to the tension between you and Adam.

“The campus cafe,” Adam responds smoothly, suddenly looking smug as if he’s won some sort of victory.

“Oh! I was walking that way. Mind if I join you on the walk? I’d like to talk to you about our future classes, Adam,” she says cheerfully, turning to you both.

You go to interject, to protest adamantly that this is NOT okay. But before you can speak up, Adam beats you to it. “Of course! We don’t mind, do we, babes?” he says, flashing a faux-charming smile in your direction.

You clench your fists at your sides, seething with anger at being maneuvered into this situation. With a forced smile, you nod curtly, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Great!" Your instructor claps her hands together in excitement, seemingly pleased with the arrangement.

The three of you walk. Adam seems effortlessly engaged, occasionally nodding and adding insightful comments. Meanwhile, you follow along half-heartedly, tuning out most of the conversation as your frustration with Adam continues to simmer.

You try to focus on the scenery passing by, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, anything to distract yourself from the situation at hand. However, snippets of their conversation still reach you, reminders that Adam's presence is more entrenched in your academic life now than ever.

“So Adam, are you also the accompanist for the voice recital?” Miss Nicole asks, navigating the three of you past a group of what you assume to be freshmen.

“Oh, no ma’am. One of my classmates beat me to the punch,” Adam responds.

"Really?" Miss Nicole raises an eyebrow. "I thought for sure you'd be the first in line for that."

Adam shrugs, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to Miss Nicole. "I guess they were just quicker this time."

“Well I’m sure they’ll be good. Just maybe not as good as you,” Miss Nicole says, her tone warm.

You internally roll your eyes. Barf.

Adam seems pleased to hear that, and not just because his ego is getting fed. “Absolutely,” he replies, his smirk widening.

“You’re not a fan of them?” she asks.

Adam cringes. “You could definitely say that.”

“Is it that skinny blond kid? I know we were warned not to pair you two together,” Miss Nicole inquires, her curiosity piqued.

“Worse,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Confusion clouds your expression as this new piece of drama unfolds unexpectedly. “His girlfriend?”

Your voice cuts through the conversation, drawing the attention of both Adam and Miss Nicole. They seem momentarily surprised, as if they had forgotten you were there amidst their discussion.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, considering you two are friends!" Miss Nicole responded, her tone tinged with surprise and a hint of curiosity, her eyebrows arched expectantly.

"I don't think friends is the right word to describe us," you muttered under your breath, though Miss Nicole's sharp ears caught your words. Immediately, she began to backtrack, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I hadn't realized you two were... Well, you know what? That makes much more sense," she stammered, her words rushing out in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness.

"What makes sense?" Adam asked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced between you and Miss Nicole. Finally, it seemed, both of you were on the same page, even if it was only because you were confused.

"Well, would you look at that!" Miss Nicole diverted suddenly, pointing upwards. Following her finger, you spotted the familiar sign of the campus coffee shop. Finally, your destination had arrived.

"Here's your stop! I'll see you in class! Bye!" Miss Nicole blurted out, her cheeks now a deep shade of red as she hastily retreated. It was almost comical, and a snort of amusement escaped your lips. Even Adam chuckled softly before his expression turned mischievous.

"She totally thinks we're boning," Adam remarked with a smirk, his tone teasing.

Your smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of disdain as you curled your lip in disgust. "As if. You can only wish," you retorted sharply, the implication of Miss Nicole's assumption leaving a weird taste in your mouth. Not unpleasant, but you wish it was.

"Oh?" He challenged, striding ahead to hold the door open for you. "I'm the dick master over here. One of these days, you're gonna be begging and drooling for my dick, and I'm gonna say no, bitch."

You walked past him, rolling your eyes as he followed you into the store. "You've already been drooling for me."

"I drool for everyone," he retorts nonchalantly.

"That—" you pause, scrunching your nose, "that's not something to be proud of."

"So what're you getting?" he asked casually, not-so-subtly cutting in front of you in line. You sighed inwardly, not having the energy to react, so you let him take the lead. It was hard to gauge whether that pleased him or annoyed him.

"Probably just a chai with oat milk," you replied, your voice neutral.

"No food?" he inquired further.

"Eh, I don't know," you shrugged, feeling indifferent. "I don't feel like getting anything."

"Do you think their blueberry scones would be any good?" he asked, his voice contemplative as he eyed the display case of pastries.

You followed his gaze, your mouth watering involuntarily at the sight of the tempting treats. If only your bank account had a bit more padding, you might indulge yourself. A faint rumble from your stomach emphasized the point. "Yeah, they look really good," you admitted wistfully.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Cool, cool," he replied, his tone casual as he continued to scan the assortment of baked goods.

It didn't take long before it was Adam's turn to order. He stepped up to the counter, clearing his throat nervously. Glancing briefly in your direction, he then turned back to the barista.

"Could I get one large frozen hot chocolate, one large iced chai with oat milk, and two blueberry scones? Actually, make it three," he requested.

The barista nodded, punching in the order as Adam glanced back at you briefly, a subtle smile playing on his lips before he focused on completing the transaction. "Man, you must be hungry, huh? Your piano teacher starving you?" you teased lightly, trying to inject some levity into the moment.

"Piano isn’t my only hobby. I only learned because I have to if I want a music major," he replied with a hint of a pout, sinking into a chair. You took the seat across from him, the uncertainty of how to navigate this conversation lingering between you. Bickering was your comfort zone, but this felt like uncharted territory.

"So," you ventured cautiously, hoping to keep the conversation flowing. "Why did you become a music major?"

"I want to be in a band. Well, I am in a band. But I want to write our own music," he answered earnestly, his eyes lighting up with passion.

"Why the minor in religious studies?" you asked, genuinely curious as you leaned forward slightly.

He smirked, pleased that you remembered something about him. "My dad wanted that. It's my backup, I guess. Makes him feel better about paying all this money."

Nodding in understanding, you replied, "Yeah, sometimes I wish I took a minor—Musical Theatre isn’t exactly the most stable major."

"So then why'd you take it?" he probed gently.

You shrugged, a smile playing on your lips. "There isn’t a world in which I don’t do musical theatre."

Adam looked at you for a long second, his gaze almost penetrating, as if he could see right through you. That same unsettling feeling from before crept in, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat. However, before the moment could linger, you were saved by the barista calling out Adam’s order. He stood up and headed over to collect the snacks and drinks.

Meanwhile, you tried to steady yourself, willing your thoughts to stop spinning. He was so... infuriating. Yes, that’s it. You were still annoyed from earlier.

But then Adam returned, deftly balancing the tray of food and drinks. The sight of him bringing back lunch for you softened your irritation. Of course, you were grateful. That’s all it was.

The two of you ate in silence. Adam seemed content, devouring his two scones and his drink without a care. On the other hand, you found it difficult to swallow, the food sitting heavy in your stomach. It felt like you were on the brink of a realization, a sensation that made your stomach churn with uncertainty. Still, you weren't about to waste free food.

Once you managed to finish your lunch, you found yourself unexpectedly thanking Adam. Gathering your things, you prepared to leave. However, to your surprise, Adam stood up too.

“So where’s your dorm?” Adam asks, following you out the cafe door.

"We're not having sex," you retort firmly, making your boundaries clear.

"For once, not my intention," Adam replies with a grin, his charm still evident despite your skepticism. "It's getting late, and I'm offering to walk you back."

"It's like 1:30 in the afternoon," you point out, slightly amused by his insistence.

"Exactly," he counters smoothly, his tone making it clear he’s not backing down. "It’s going to get dark soon. Let me walk you home."

You exhale a dramatic sigh, reaching for your dance bag and slinging it over your shoulder with a practiced motion. “Fine. But I expect payment.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Payment?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, giving him a pointed look as you start heading towards the exit of the café.

“But–” he sputters, his voice trailing off as he rushes to catch up with you. “I’m walking you! What more do you want?”

“That was your own choice!” you call back.

“Okay, fine!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he falls into step behind you. “How much do you want?!”

You pause mid-stride, causing Adam to almost bump into you. “How much– Adam, I don’t mean actual money. I just meant filling me in on your drama.”

His eyes widen in surprise as he forms a soundless ‘o’ with his mouth. “What, you mean with my ex?”

The two of you begin walking side by side. “The blond guy?” you ask, trying to piece together the details.

Adam scratches his beard scruff, his expression thoughtful. “No, well—no, I mean his girlfriend.”

You cringe slightly, trying to wrap your head around his words. “His girlfriend is your ex?”

Adam nods, looking somewhat resigned. “Uh huh.”

You frown.

When you arrive at your residence hall, you invite Adam to walk you to your room. His smile widens into a sharp grin as he agrees, and you both head up to your floor.

As you reach your door, Adam pulls out his phone, and you hear the distinct sound of a camera shutter. You glance at him, puzzled, but he doesn’t explain. Before you can ask, he starts to say his goodbyes, but you quickly shut the door in his face. The click of the latch echoes in the hallway,

–

You were backstage, flipping through the program selection, counting down how many performers were left until it was your turn to go onstage and sing. Voice recitals always made you nervous, despite knowing this was what you hoped to do for a living. The pressure for your notes to be pitch-perfect, the intense focus on your singing—it all weighed heavily on you.

Months of preparation with your vocal coach had gone into this moment. Together, you had meticulously chosen and honed your repertoire, though you only got to perform your favorite piece tonight. The culmination of all those hours spent practicing, tweaking, and perfecting was now just minutes away.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. The murmur of the audience beyond the curtain was a constant reminder of the scrutiny you were about to face. You glanced around, taking in the familiar backstage chaos—the hurried whispers, the rustling of sheet music, the occasional burst of nervous laughter from other performers.

So far, only two people were left before it was your turn. If you really paid attention, you could strain your ears and hear the beginning notes of "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific. Your shoulders bounced in a silent laugh—what a classic choice.

The girl after him sang "Memory" from Cats, another timeless and powerful piece. As she exited the stage and entered the wings, she patted your back and gave you a thumbs up for encouragement. You grinned and whispered back, "Great job," before puffing out your chest and walking on stage.

The lights were bright, the audience a dim blur beyond their glow. You took your position at the center, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves.

Your vocal coach was busy introducing you and your piece—I Don’t Need a Roof from Big Fish—so you looked at the pianist.

Otherwise known as Adam’s ex.

Something about the thought pissed you off, but you refused to delve deeper into it. Her name was Lilith, and she was, without better words, hot. Which pissed you off even more. You dreamed about grabbing her by her waist-length hair and demanding to know how someone like her managed to date someone like Adam.

…Because she was totally out of his league, that’s all. You were just curious, yep. It’s not like the thought of her dating him filled you with this indescribable rage, something that felt so incredibly close to jealousy. She was hot, Adam was hot, and you... were not.

Lilith glanced up from where she was hunched over the piano, scanning your sheet music and cracking her knuckles. Seemingly unaware of your torturous thoughts, she offered you a small wave. The gesture made you feel incredibly guilty, and you forced yourself to smile back.

At that moment, your vocal coach seemed to have finished with the introductions, stepping off to the side of the stage to watch you. She gave you a wink of encouragement, and you took a deep breath, centering yourself.

Those past months of technique training come to mind, and you breathe out. You relax any tension in your shoulders before expanding your diaphragm, and start singing. Of course, you’re still a musical theatre major, so you act alongside the song. As you began to sing, you immersed yourself fully in the piece. The familiar lyrics and melody took over, carrying you along in a blur of emotion and intensity. You lost yourself in the character and story of the song, each word infused with meaning and purpose.

It goes by in a blur, too caught up in the song to really be conscious of what’s happening, but something feels wrong.

The piano.

It’s not as if Lilith is bad. Quite the opposite, actually. She’s practically perfect, understanding each breath mark and each shift in dynamics. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the two of y’all work extremely well together.

Except… something is missing.

You don’t feel the music in your soul, like you did that one time in class. When Adam was playing. And even if Lilith is objectively better at piano than he is, it’s missing his spark. The final notes hung in the air, leaving you with a sense of dissatisfaction. In your own critical assessment, it felt like the worst performance you had ever given at a voice recital.

Someone seems to disagree though.

Hidden a few rows back in the audience, Adam suddenly leapt to his feet in raucous applause. His gesture, though likely intended to embarrass you, had an unexpected effect. Instead of feeling self-conscious, a smile spreads across your face. You were delightedly surprised to see him here, especially since Lilith, his ex, was seated right behind you.

As you listened to Lilith mumble something under her breath, your attention was drawn back to Adam in the audience. He was enthusiastically encouraging others to stand and applaud, and though most remained seated, a few near him joined in. When he called out your name, you waved your hand down at your side, a mix of amusement and exasperation at his antics.

His gesture, though somewhat obnoxious, strangely warmed your heart. Despite his teasing and occasional insensitivity, there was something endearing about Adam's unabashed support. He had come all this way just to see you sing—or at least that's what you hoped. Sure, he might be here for other performers or academic reasons, but the idea that he might have shown up primarily for you filled you with unexpected warmth.

As you processed these conflicting emotions, a sigh escaped your lips. Adam was, in many ways, a complicated presence in your life. His unpredictability, his charm, and yes, his 24/7 dickish behavior kept you on your toes. But underneath it all, there was a connection that you couldn’t deny, something past just irritation.

…

Fuck.

–

It's finally a rehearsal where you're called to the stage. The moment you've been waiting for, to step into the character's shoes and bring the scene to life. But for now, you're off to the side, nestled in a comfortable chair, flipping through your script and silently rehearsing your lines. The stage is a hive of activity, filled with the sounds of crew members adjusting lights, actors practicing their entrances and exits, and the director calling out instructions.

Right now, you’re using a facial steamer to help your lungs recover after a night of smoking weed with friends—which, in your opinion, is a good summary of theatre kids. The steamer emits a gentle mist, soothing your throat and helping you clear your lungs for the rigorous rehearsal ahead.

As you look over the steamer, eyeing the lines in your script, you quietly mumble the lines to yourself. Each word feels foreign at first, rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar cadence. You're determined not to lock in one specific delivery, knowing that variability will keep your performance fresh and dynamic for the show.

You glance up from your script, noting how they’re almost up to your first line. The realization sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, a delightful excitement curling in your stomach. You’re totally gonna blow the socks off of everyone here.

Speaking of people being here, Adam is in the audience. You aren’t really sure why, considering it’s just a blocking rehearsal. All you know is you'd prefer for him to be literally anywhere else. Ever since you found out you don't hate him as much as you thought you did, you’ve been avoiding the hell out of him.

This strategy has definitely worked against you. Adam probably thinks you're playing mind games with him, ignoring him just to get under his skin. He’s been working hard to try and catch your attention—apparently going as far as to show up to rehearsals. During breaks, you hear him call out to you, likely saying something provocative to get a reaction, but you always turn the other way.

Yes, you feel bad. No, you won’t stop.

The director calls for you, snapping you out of your thoughts. As you flip to the right page in your script, you feel Adam’s eyes boring holes into you from his seat in the audience. You awkwardly clear your throat, doing your best to ignore the sensation of his gaze, and instead focus on preparing for your section of the scene.

The director walks Quinn through Seymour’s blocking for this scene, giving detailed instructions and adjusting positions to ensure everything flows smoothly. You try to stay present, listening closely, but the awareness of Adam’s presence is a persistent distraction.

Finally, the director finishes with Quinn and calls for the two of you to begin. So… you do.

“Oh boy,” Quinn starts, reading the lines off his slightly crumpled page. “Here we go again. Look, I haven't got much left. Just give me a few more days to heal, okay? Then we'll start again on the left hand and—”

“Feed me!” you whine, your voice taking on a pleading, almost desperate tone. It feels good, acting. Not just good, but right. Like stepping into a pair of pajama pants fresh out of the dryer. The warmth of the role envelops you, and the words flow naturally, embodying the character’s urgency and need.

As you continue the scene, there’s a spark of energy between you and Quinn. The two of you effortlessly bounce off each other, each line building on the last, creating a dynamic and engaging interaction. You internally fist pump in victory.

However, you make the mistake of glancing out into the audience and meeting the eye of none other than Adam. Lately, since you’ve been ignoring him, he’s been wearing this resting pouty face that sort of looks like he sucked on a lemon. But not now. Watching the two of you, his eyebrows are raised as if he’s impressed.

You watch as he realizes you're looking back at him, and his expression shifts into something upset. The sudden change throws you off balance, and you stumble over your line. Embarrassed, you quickly avert your eyes to your script, desperately trying to find your place.

Quinn, sensing your struggle, tries his best to help by repeating his line. Your finger traces the lines on the page until you find where you left off. Taking a deep breath, you catch up, delivering your line as if nothing had happened. The brief disruption had felt like an eternity, but you manage to slip back into character, focusing on the scene and Quinn’s supportive presence.

The director, who had been watching closely, gives a small nod of approval as you recover. The scene continues, the rhythm gradually restoring itself.

You’re beating yourself up, disappointed in yourself for getting flustered. You need to get your head in the game–you’re paying a pretty penny to learn how to be the best performer, not whatever that was back there. You need to get it together, unless you want your director to replace you. That thought fills you with fear.

But then your blame shifts to Adam, and that fear transforms into anger, even though it shouldn’t. It’s easier to be angry with Adam than it is to feel the embarrassment and self-doubt that were creeping in.

You clench your fists, letting the anger simmer. It’s a distraction, but one you can channel. You mentally replay the scene, pinpointing where you stumbled and how Adam’s presence threw you off. The frustration fuels a determination to not let it happen again.

So when your director calls for a water break, you gracefully exit from the side stage and make your way towards the audience area. The theater is a hive of activity during the break, with cast and crew members scattered around, discussing scenes in hushed tones. You find your water bottle among the clutter of chairs

Chugging down over half of it in one go, you feel the cool liquid refresh your parched throat. As you lower your bottle and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you suddenly come face to face with Adam. He’s standing there, leaning nonchalantly against a nearby chair, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air thick with unspoken tension. You resist the urge to say something biting, reminding yourself to stay composed in the professional setting of rehearsal. Instead, you give a curt nod, acknowledging his presence without inviting further conversation.

Adam’s smirk widens slightly, as if he’s enjoying the discomfort he’s causing.

“So, gonna blame me for sabotage with that one, too?” Adam quips, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans closer.

You roll your eyes and turn away, not in the mood for his teasing.

“Hey,” he whines, reaching out to grab your arm, but you pull away, annoyed. “Don’t be like that. I was only joking.”

“Piss off, Adam,” you retort, frustration bubbling up. “I’m trying to memorize my lines.”

“What, are your lines written in your water bottle?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you are definitely crazy enough to do that. How about we grab dinner after this and I can help you run lines.” He walks his fingers up your arm slowly. “And then maybe after dinner… we can have dessert…”

You flick his hand away, irritation simmering beneath your glare. His attempt at humor falls flat, and you feel a pang of hurt at how he’s toying with you, even if he doesn’t realize it. “Haha, very funny,” you retort dryly, crossing your arms defensively.

He frowns, but before you can respond, the director calls for places at the top of what you’ve blocked today. You peel yourself away from Adam and head to your seat on the side stage.

With Adam, it feels like one step forward and thirteen steps back.

–

You were still avoiding Adam, but he finally seemed to take the hint and left you alone. Occasionally, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, but whenever you turned to look, he’d quickly avert his gaze.

Rehearsals had been... okay. No matter how hard you tried and how much effort you put into it, it felt like none of it mattered. You weren't getting Audrey II down, and it was plain frustrating. The other cast members seemed to be finding their grooves, their characters coming to life in ways that left you feeling envious and disheartened. The role you had worked so hard for, the one you were so excited about, seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

You’d run through your lines over and over, trying different inflections, different approaches, but nothing seemed to click. It felt like you were hitting a wall, and every attempt to break through only left you more battered and bruised. The director's notes, meant to be constructive, started to feel like a litany of your failures.

The only thing you could fault was yourself. There were points where you would leave rehearsal in frustrated tears, feeling utterly defeated.

At one point, you had made the mistake of walking past Adam during one of those tearful nights. He stepped in front of you and blocked your path, his presence a sudden and unwelcome barrier. You could feel the heat of your frustration and sadness rising, threatening to boil over. The urge to scream at him, to lay into him and unload all your pent-up emotions, was almost overwhelming. Especially when he was looking at you with eyes full of pity, a look that made your skin crawl.

Instead, you swallowed it down, forcing the words to stay trapped in your throat. The effort it took to hold back was physically painful, like swallowing shards of glass. You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms, and shoved past him with a force that surprised even you. He let you go, not saying a word, just watching you with that same pitying look that made you want to scream.

Today, though, was going to be a good day. The cast was scheduled to meet the band that would be playing for the show, and you were determined to make the most of it. You had been looking forward to this day, hoping that the energy and enthusiasm of the musicians might reignite your own excitement for the production.

As you arrived at the rehearsal space, you could already hear the faint sounds of instruments being tuned and tested. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and it gave you a much-needed boost. You spotted Sam, one of your acquaintances, setting up their drum kit with a focused expression. When you found out they had volunteered to help out, you had immediately warned them of Adam.

"Where's Adam?" you ask Quinn urgently, scanning the room for any sign of him. The last thing you want is to have driven him away from the show with your own behavior– you’d never forgive yourself.

"Aw, I knew you cared about me."

Startled, you spin around to find Adam standing right behind you. His smirk is evident, and you realize with relief that he hasn't left after all. On his back is an instrument case, not the familiar piano you've grown accustomed to seeing him with.

You purse your lips, still mulling over Adam's earlier comment. This conversation is the most you've engaged with him since that rehearsal.

"I thought you were our pianist," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual despite the lingering tension between you.

Adam tilts his head, his expression shifting from playful to more serious. "For the extra credit. But piano isn't really my first choice. I learned it for music theory purposes."

Quinn chimes in, always eager to fill the silence. "So if you're not on piano duty for the band..."

Adam readjusts the strap of his instrument case, his grin widening mischievously. "I'm on guitar, obviously," he declares, a hint of pride in his voice.

That… actually makes a lot of sense. He doesn't fit the typical image of a pianist; his personality is more intense and unpredictable. You mentally correct yourself, aware of not stereotyping, but Adam's demeanor aligns more with someone wielding a guitar, ready to bring an edgier vibe to the performances. The image of him strumming away fills your mind, and you find yourself fighting the urge to bite your lip at the thought, because, well, yoohoo! Adam is right there.

Sadai bounds up to the three of you, playfully knocking Quinn on the upside of his head as she enters. Quinn, caught off guard, lets out an unattractive squawk that makes her giggle. Honestly, there’s something there that even you can see. And looking across at Adam, he sees it too.

He opens his mouth to say something, you assume to make a teasing remark on their romantic life, but you instead smack him on his head. Instead of a squawk, he lets out a huff of a laugh. He looks less pissed that you hit him, and more pleased to have your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Quinn and Sadai share a knowing look. Are you that obvious? Embarrassed, you grab Adam by the sleeve and tug him away. Adam, still preening under the attention no matter how harsh, obediently follows you. Once you’re a reasonable distance away, you remove your grasp and it makes Adam frown.

“Listen. I know you have a big, trashy mouth—”

“You love it,” he interrupts with a grin.

“—And maybe no one has smacked actual sense into you—”

“You have,” he quips again.

“—Stop interrupting,” you glare, cutting him off. “But if you intervene in whatever the two of them have going on, I’ll personally murder you myself. Let them figure it out themselves, without any side comments from you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but mimes zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key.

Your glare is still flat. “Do I make myself clear?”

He points to his still zipped mouth and makes muffled noises. Annoyed, you roll your eyes before digging into your pocket for the key. You pantomime unlocking and unzipping his mouth. “You’re hot when you take charge.”

Exasperated, you lock and zip his mouth again, this time tossing the imaginary key as far as you can. Adam pretends to look shocked, making exaggerated muffled noises between his closed lips. You raise an eyebrow, silently repeating your earlier question. He sighs dramatically, as if accepting defeat, before slowly nodding his head in agreement.

In appreciation, you gently pat his cheek and he leans into it. You quickly redraw your hand, feeling your face burning up, before you march off back to your friends. You see the question on their faces, but they never get the chance to ask because your director is calling for everyone’s attention.

As she talks, you see a clump of music students behind her– Adam and Sam included. Using the basic common sense you sometimes have, you’re able to deduce that this is y’alls band. Despite most likely volunteering for extra credit, they seem excitable. Well, minus Adam, but he doesn’t count.

After introductions, your director has the brilliant idea to let the musicians show off. They set up in the pit, adjusting and tuning their instruments. Although they don’t have their conductor with them, they feel confident enough to perform the title song.

Adam and Sam take their positions, with Adam adjusting his guitar strap with practiced ease while Sam eagerly checks the tuning of their drums. The other musicians, a mix of eager students, also seem ready, their faces showing a combination of nerves and excitement.

As they begin to play the title song of the musical, the auditorium fills with the lively melody. Despite the absence of their conductor, the musicians manage to synchronize well, each instrument blending harmoniously with the others. Adam’s fingers move deftly over the strings of his guitar, adding a distinct flair to the music, while Sam’s drumming provides a steady backbone to the ensemble.

The image of Adam with his guitar has absolutely nothing on the actual sight of it. He looks, for lack of better words, sick as fuck. Incredibly hot. You feel yourself getting hot under the collar the longer you watch him.

His concentration is palpable as he strums the strings, his fingers moving with a practiced grace that speaks of hours spent honing his skill. The way his hair falls across his forehead, the slight furrow of his brow in concentration, and the way he leans into each note—all of it adds to his allure.

You’re really fucked.

–

Fortunately for you, the band wasn’t called back until the sitzprobe in a week, so Adam was back to playing the role of accompanist. Although you couldn’t wipe the image of him shredding the guitar, at least you weren’t getting distracted at rehearsals.

Considering how close you all were to tech week, rehearsals had been extended an extra few hours. The long hours were grueling, but you pushed through, knowing it was all for the final performance. Today’s run-through was particularly intense, leaving everyone exhausted and hungry.

After rehearsal, someone suggested grabbing dinner together, and the idea was quickly embraced by the group. It seemed like a good way to unwind and bond after a tough day of work. As you gathered your things, you noticed Adam packing up his sheet music, glancing at you every now and then with that familiar smirk.

“Ready to grab some food?” Quinn asked, nudging you gently.

“Yeah, I could eat a horse,” you replied, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The cast and crew gradually made their way out of the rehearsal space, chatting and laughing about the day’s mishaps and triumphs. You tried to avoid Adam’s gaze, but you could feel him watching you. He was always watching. You wondered what the dinner would be like with him there, knowing his penchant for stirring the pot. But maybe, just maybe, you’d all have a nice, drama-free meal.

For whatever reason, Chili’s had been chosen as the restaurant for the evening, and the thought of their triple dipper had your mouth watering. Quinn had kindly offered to drive, and you gratefully accepted, settling into the passenger seat and buckling up. As Quinn gripped the steering wheel, he paused, not making a move to start the car. Concerned, you turn to him.

“Quinn? You okay there?”

“I have something to admit.” his voice was serious, the most serious you’ve ever heard him. He was avoiding your gaze, and alarms were sounding in your head.

“...Okaaaaay?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I… hm.. I..” he took a deep breath before blurting it out. “I have feelings for Sadai!”

You stared at him… Did he not think you could tell? You had to stop yourself from laughing, as he was obviously distressed. Instead, you placed your hand on his shoulder. “Quinn, dude, I know.”

Quinn's eyes widened in surprise, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly. “You know?”

You nodded, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. The way you look at her, the way you act around her—it’s clear as day.”

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. “I thought I was hiding it well.”

You chuckled softly. “You’re not. And you know what? I think she might feel the same way about you. You should talk to her.”

Quinn finally started the car, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thank god.”

“I’m rootin’ for ya.”

As you drove to Chili’s, you felt a sense of hope for Quinn. Maybe things were finally falling into place for him.

When you arrived at the restaurant, the rest of the cast was already there, chatting and laughing. You spotted Adam at the end of the table, waving you over. At first, you ignored him, glancing around for other open seats. However, it seemed fate was against you, as those were the only two seats open. You sighed, making your way over to him. His smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes that you were starting to recognize all too well.

Sadai, who was seated next to him, perked up at the sight of you and Quinn. Or, you know what, maybe just Quinn. He froze up in response, so you pushed him down to sit across from her. You plopped yourself in the seat next to him… which was, of course, across from Adam.

Great.

You took a seat next to Quinn, who was looking more relaxed than you’d seen him in a while. “Feeling better?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing at Sadai who got dragged into a conversation with the group next to her. “Yeah. I think I will talk to her.”

Adam leaned over, grinning. “What’s the gossip?”

“None of your business,” you replied, shoving him away.

“Aw,” he whined. “I was nice enough to save you seats, and this is how you treat me?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “You saved a seat for me?”

“Yep.” he popped the p. “Had to make sure I had eye candy while I ate.”

Adam’s attempt at humor fell flat, and you found yourself frowning, feeling the familiar urge to shut down again. "Gross," you muttered under your breath, not appreciating his comment.

Despite his usual dense demeanor, Adam seemed to sense he had said the wrong thing, even if he didn’t fully grasp why. His expression shifted, suddenly looking bashful. “Besides, you three are the only people who talk to me here. Theatre kids are very...”

He trailed off, searching for the right word while you waited, arms crossed.

“Clique-y?” you finished for him, understanding all too well the feeling of being an outsider. His admission struck a pang of guilt within you. You realized you had been ignoring him, afraid to confront your own romantic feelings. It hadn’t occurred to you how this might have made Adam feel, especially since apparently you were his only "friends" in the theatre department.

He smiled lightheartedly, clearly not deterred by the topic. “Yeah, that’s the word.”

Quinn awkwardly cleared his throat, and you jumped, realizing you had forgotten he was there. You had gotten a little too wrapped up in your vulnerable conversation with Adam.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Quinn said with a hint of amusement, “but can we get back to the menu? I’m starving.”

You blinked, feeling slightly embarrassed by the abrupt shift in focus. “Right, sorry. Food. Yes.”

Adam chuckled softly. “Food sounds good. What’re y’all getting?”

Quinn is the first to respond. “I wanna try their quesadillas.”

You nod. “I want to get the triple dipper, but I’m stuck between getting the mozzarella sticks, or the eggrolls.”

Adam paused, gluing his eyes to his menu as he talked. “Get the eggrolls.”

You sigh, nodding your head in agreement. It did feel strange to be getting along with Adam like friends after all the tension between you. You weren’t sure how to navigate a conversation with him without being rude or defensive. Well, guess you’ll have to learn.

Eventually the waiter makes his way to the end of the table where y’all are sat. Adam is the last to order. As the waiter writes down his food, Adam clears his throat.

“Um,” he glances at you before looking back at the waiter. “Can you also add an order of mozzarella sticks? We’re gonna share,” he gestures to you. “Put it on my tab though.”

Your jaw slightly drops as the waiter scampers off. Apparently Quinn is just as shocked, as he nudges you under the table, out of Adam’s view. At your reaction, Adam becomes defensive. “What?”

His remark catches you off guard, but you resist the urge to retort with something sharp, something that would escalate into banter. Instead, you find yourself smiling genuinely at him, a gesture of gratitude you hadn't anticipated making. It feels different, acknowledging his gesture without a layer of sarcasm or defensiveness.

"Thank you," you say, the words soft but sincere. There's a flicker of surprise in Adam's eyes, quickly replaced by a faint smirk that hints at his usual playful demeanor.

"You're welcome," he replies casually, though his tone holds a hint of something softer beneath the surface.

Quinn, sensing the shift in dynamics, nudges you lightly again under the table, his silent approval evident. You keep your gaze on Adam, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking away, the weight of unspoken words lingering between you.

Sadai, unaware of the weird tension, turns to the three of you. “Okay guys, help me out. Is Hamilton technically an opera.”

Quinn guffaws, caught off guard by the question. Or maybe he’s just flustered, you can’t ever be too sure. Adam just narrows his brows.

You, on the other hand, nod your head. “It’s a rap opera– it’s completely sung through. Just like how Rent is a rock opera. Duh.”

“Thank you!” Sadai exclaims, clearly relieved to have you on her side. “They’re trying to tell me I’m wrong!”

She turns back to her group, her expression a mix of concentration and amusement as she engages in the lively debate. You and Quinn exchange a glance, silently observing the group.

Suddenly, a light tap on your head breaks your focus. You instinctively turn, catching sight of Adam across the table. He sits with a mischievous grin, busily rolling up straw wrappers into small projectiles. With practiced precision, he flicks them in your direction, each one landing with a gentle thud against your shoulder or bouncing off your arm.

You deftly dodge one of the trash balls, your reflexes kicking in as you narrowly avoid being hit again. "How did you even get those?" you ask incredulously, amusement dancing in your eyes despite the slight annoyance.

"I asked for a bunch before you got here," he replies nonchalantly, launching another wrapper ball in your direction. This time, it catches you off guard and smacks you square in the nose, prompting an involuntary grumble and a playful pout.

Before you can retaliate, another wrapper ball grazes your arm. Determined not to be outdone, you swiftly grab one from the table and send it sailing back towards Adam with a flick of your wrist. The small projectile arcs through the air, landing neatly in his lap with a satisfying thud.

Adam chuckles "Nice shot,"

You smile, finding yourself surprisingly enjoying the playful banter with Adam. Despite his occasional crudeness, his sense of fun is infectious. As you glance over at Sadai and Quinn engrossed in their conversation, a smirk tugs at your lips. It seems Adam has noticed too, his sly expression indicating he's been watching your reactions closely.

With a casual flick of his fingers, Adam pulls out his phone and swiftly types a message before sliding it across the table to you. You pick it up and read the screen.

‘Are they together now or what?’

You slide his phone back, shaking your head. "You're such a gossip, Adam."

He pretends to look offended. "Hey, curiosity killed the cat– but satisfaction brought it back."

As the waiter sets down the plate of mozzarella sticks between you, you and Adam both reach for one almost simultaneously. He's quick to grab one, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied crunch. Following suit, you dip yours into the marinara sauce before taking a bite, savoring the gooey cheese and crispy coating.

Mid-chew, you notice Adam staring at you with a peculiar expression. You tilt your head in silent question, wondering what has caught his attention. Without warning, he leans forward, and you freeze, unsure of his intentions. His hand gently cups your chin, and with a surprising tenderness, he uses his finger to swipe at the corner of your mouth, where a smear of marinara sauce has escaped your notice.

The brief touch feels oddly intimate.

All too soon, he leans back to his seat, bringing his hand with him.

"You had sauce there," Adam says with a smirk.

Is…

Is he flirting…?

The realization sends a thrill through you.

The rest of dinner goes on without a hitch. You and Adam keep flirting– at least you think so. But based on how Quinn keeps sending you looks, you’d say you weren’t wrong. However, with all the water you’ve chugged, you get up to use the restroom. Quinn, probably determined to talk to you about Adam, practically leaps up from his chair, offering to join you.

You accept.

As you make your way to the restroom with Quinn trailing behind, you notice him shooting furtive glances back at the table where Adam sits. The restaurant's ambiance wraps around you, filled with muted conversations and the clinking of cutlery. Quinn waits until you're both out of earshot from the table before he speaks up.

"So, what's going on with you and Adam?" Quinn asks, his voice low but filled with curiosity.

You pause, considering how much you want to share. Quinn has been your friend for a while now, always there with a supportive shoulder or a witty remark when needed. "I don't know," you finally admit, trying to sort through your own thoughts. "It's... complicated."

Quinn raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. "Complicated how?"

"I used to really dislike him," you begin, your words slow and thoughtful. "But lately, things have been different. He's been... different. I guess I've been different too."

Quinn nods, understanding dawning on his face. "So, are you saying there's something between you two now?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. "I honestly don't know, Quinn. Sometimes it feels like we're on the same wavelength, and other times..." You trail off, not wanting to voice your uncertainty aloud.

He nods again, his gaze thoughtful. "Well, just be careful," Quinn advises gently. "You know Adam can be unpredictable."

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. "I know. That's what makes this all so confusing."

Quinn gives you a reassuring smile. "Just take it slow, okay? Figure out what you really want and go from there."

"Thanks, Quinn," you say sincerely, grateful for his support.

You step into the restroom, taking a moment to freshen up before heading back out to join Quinn. There's a smile on your face, anticipation building as you look forward to rejoining Adam and continuing the lively atmosphere at the table. As you walk back towards your group, you feel a rush of excitement.

However, as you approach the table where everyone is seated, you suddenly come to a halt.

You freeze in your tracks, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you watch Adam leaning in close to Sadai, his fingers toying with her braids. The sight hits you like a punch to the gut, shattering the good mood you had moments ago. For a split second, you feel a surge of anger and betrayal, mixed with a pang of hurt that catches you off guard.

Quinn notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to Adam and Sadai. He frowns, sensing the tension in the air. "Hey," he murmurs softly, touching your arm gently. "Are you okay?"

You swallow hard, trying to push down the swirling emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I... I don't know," you manage to reply, your voice wavering slightly. “Are you?”

Adam and Sadai seem engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to your presence. The image of Adam flirting with Sadai stings, igniting a mixture of jealousy and frustration within you. You had started to feel a connection with Adam, and now it feels like a slap in the face to see him cozying up to someone else so effortlessly.

“Not really.”

You stand there, frozen in place, as Adam and Sadai continue their animated conversation, completely absorbed in each other's company. Quinn's quiet admission hangs in the air, echoing in your mind as you watch Sadai laugh at something Adam says, playfully smacking his arm. The joy on Adam's face is unmistakable, and in that moment, it feels like a dagger to your heart.

A rush of emotions floods through you—embarrassment, disappointment, and a profound sense of being utterly foolish. You had allowed yourself to get swept up in the playful flirtation with Adam, only to realize now that his attention has shifted elsewhere, toward Sadai. The bile rises in your throat, a bitter taste of rejection and self-doubt washing over you.

You glance at Quinn, who meets your gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding the turmoil churning within you. The urge to turn and walk away tugs at you, to escape this painfully awkward moment. But you stand rooted to the spot, grappling with your emotions and trying to compose yourself.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reach into your wallet, determined to handle the situation with dignity. Beside you, Quinn does the same, silently acknowledging the need to gracefully exit from what has become an uncomfortable scenario. Together, you count out enough money to cover your meals and leave a generous tip—a gesture of gratitude for feeding the group of loud theatre kids.

With a sense of numb resolve, you make your way back to the table, each step feeling heavier than the last. You avoid making eye contact with Adam and Sadai, focusing instead on the task at hand—settling the bill and preparing to leave. The once vibrant atmosphere around the table now feels tinged with an awkward tension, and you silently curse yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

As you approach, you set the money down on the table without a word, your movements deliberate yet distant. Quinn follows suit, his expression mirroring your own subdued demeanor.

As Sadai and Adam remain engrossed in their… position, seemingly oblivious to your departure looming nearby, Adam's intermittent glances in your direction don't go unnoticed.

You instinctively turn away, shielding your face from view, determined to conceal the raw emotion threatening to spill over. You muster a smile as you bid goodbye to the rest of the group.

As you and Quinn make your way out of the restaurant, you're caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to maintain your composure despite the disappointment weighing heavily on your heart. As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Adam's face, and for a fleeting moment, you swear you see a frown etched across his features. It's a look of disappointment, unmistakable in its fleeting intensity. Despite your efforts to avoid his gaze, his reaction doesn't escape your notice.

–

The next day brings rehearsal, a welcome distraction from the previous evening's emotional upheaval. You find it easy to avoid Adam; he's at the piano, absorbed in his music, while you remain backstage, clutching your microphone. The distance between you feels like a necessary buffer, allowing you to focus on your part without the complication of seeing him.

You can't help but feel for Quinn, though. He has the unfortunate task of performing a scene that requires him to make out violently with Sadai. This scene had always been your go-to for teasing him, but now the dynamics have shifted. Quinn is doing his best to avoid her backstage, and you choose to keep your observations to yourself, respecting his discomfort.

As you sit there, the quiet moments between cues offer too much space for your thoughts to wander. Each time you think of Sadai, your mind inevitably drifts to her interaction with Adam from the previous night. The memory stirs a sickening emotion within you, a queasy sensation that threatens to unsettle your stomach. The vivid recollection of their interaction gnaws at you, bringing back the bile that rose in your throat.

Your director calls for a water break, and you can't help but watch as Adam immediately stands up. He scans the room, his eyes moving through the various clumps of people, clearly searching for someone—likely you. When he doesn't find what he's looking for, he bangs a fist on the piano in frustration, a gesture that sends a jolt of mixed emotions through you.

As you're absorbed in observing Adam, a sudden presence at your side startles you. You spin around quickly, a small squeal escaping your lips as you come face-to-face with your director. The surprise causes your heart to race, and you notice out of the corner of your eye that Adam's attention has snapped in your direction. Thankfully your director is straight to business… well, once she’s done laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wiping away a stray tear from laughing too hard. “I just came to tell you that your puppet is finished. Want to come look at it?”

You nod eagerly, feeling a spark of excitement light up within you. The emotional turmoil from moments before takes a backseat as anticipation takes over. You follow her backstage and into the workshop, your steps quickening with each stride.

As you enter the workshop, your eyes widen in amazement. The puppet, which had only been a concept in your mind and a sketch on paper, now stands before you in all its detailed glory. It's even more impressive than you imagined. Every joint, every feature, every piece of fabric and paint has been meticulously crafted.

"Woah," you breathe, stepping closer to inspect it.

The puppet was a mesmerizing blend of alien grotesquery and organic menace. Standing as the largest iteration of Audrey II, its slender frame defied your expectations, draped in sickly pink with accents of puke yellow that sent a shiver down your spine. The puppet's design looked like it was inspired by a Venus flytrap, with a face that opens like the petal-like maw of a demogorgon.

In other words, it’s sick as fuck.

“Go on ahead, you can touch it.” Your director gives you permission.

Giggling eagerly, you carefully lift one of the plant's roots. To your surprise, it's heavier than expected, its weight adding to the puppet's realistic feel.

You playfully make the root squirm in your hands, marveling at how lifelike the puppet is even in its stationary state. The texture is smooth yet strangely slippery, reminiscent of a reptile's scales. As you manipulate the root, you can’t help but continue to laugh in awe.

“Be careful though,” your director warns. “It’s not completely finished, so it’s easy to tear.”

You nod obediently at your director's warning, fully aware of the delicate craftsmanship that went into creating Audrey II. With careful hands, you gently place the root back onto the workshop's table, ensuring it rests securely.

As you do so, a sense of fondness washes over you. You pat the root gently once, twice. "Goodbye, Audrey II," you murmur softly, your voice filled with a weird mix of affection.

Your director smiles warmly at your gesture, appreciating your connection with the puppet. "You're going to bring it to life on stage," she says encouragingly, her confidence in you evident.

As the rest of rehearsal proceeds smoothly, you notice Quinn standing by the piano, deep in discussion with Adam, probably about the timing in the music. From the subtle shifts in Quinn's demeanor and the tension in Adam's posture, it's clear that the atmosphere between them is strained.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to suck it up like a big boy and offer Quinn some support. Swallowing any residual discomfort, you make your way over to where they're standing, determined to ease the awkwardness if only for a moment.

"Hey, Quinn," you greet him warmly as you approach, flashing a genuine smile that belies the effort it takes to maintain composure. You deliberately avoid making eye contact with Adam, focusing your attention solely on Quinn.

Quinn's relief is palpable as he meets your gaze, a faint smile of gratitude tugging at his lips. "Hey," he responds, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

"Have you seen my Audrey II puppet yet?"

Quinn glances at you, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Oh, did they finally finish it?"

"Yeah, sorta! I was just heading to go look at it again now. Wanna come with?" you offer, hoping to include him in something that might lift his spirits.

He grimaces slightly, apologetically meeting your gaze. "I would, but I HAVE to run through my lines. Sorry, dude.”

"No big!" you reply with a casual shrug, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“I want to.” Both you and Quinn swivel your heads to Adam. His tone carries a hint of annoyance, likely catching on to the fact that you've been pointedly avoiding him.

“You want to…?” you ask cautiously, unsure of his sudden interest.

“Look. I want to look at the puppet.” Adam interrupts, standing from the piano stool and closing his binder of sheet music. His abruptness catches you off guard, and you awkwardly laugh, glancing over at Quinn for his reaction.

"Are you sure you don’t want to join us?" you hastily interject, silently pleading with Quinn not to leave you alone with Adam.

“Oh uhhhhh yeah sure! Why not! In fact, let’s get the whole cast to come and look!” Quinn exclaims enthusiastically, seizing the opportunity to divert attention away from any potential awkwardness. His declaration gathers the attention of the entire cast, who readily agree to join in.

Grateful for the distraction, you lead the way to the workshop, guiding everyone towards Audrey II. As the group gathers around the puppet, curiosity and excitement fill the air. Conversations bubble up among the cast members, sharing their thoughts and impressions of the intricate design.

When one of your castmates reaches out to touch the puppet, you instinctively slap their hand away. “Don’t touch it— it’s still fragile,” you caution, a hint of protectiveness in your voice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Adam raising a brow as your castmate apologizes and joins the rest of the crowd to ogle at Audrey II.

After a few minutes of everyone marveling at Audrey II, they begin to file out of the workshop one by one. You watch the group gradually disperse, feeling a mix of relief and lingering excitement from the shared experience.

Turning back for one last look at Audrey II, you take a moment to soak in the puppet's eerie beauty and the significance it holds for the upcoming production. As you start to turn away, ready to join the others, your heart skips a beat and you clutch your shirt, a startled shriek escaping your lips.

Adam is still there.

His presence catches you completely off guard, the sudden realization causing a jolt of embarrassment to course through you. You hadn't noticed him lingering behind, and now he stands alone in the workshop, observing Audrey II with a thoughtful expression.

You could've sworn Adam had exited with the rest of the group, but there he stands, still in the workshop. Your attempt at a polite smile falters as you realize he’s holding one of the puppet’s roots.

"Adam, put that down," you warn firmly.

"Why should I?" Adam retorts, a playful glint in his eyes as he continues to hold onto Audrey II's root.

"It's not yours," you state matter-of-factly, trying to maintain your composure despite the frustration creeping in.

"Technically not yours either," Adam teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You bristle at his response, the playful banter hitting a nerve. "It's my character.”

"And yet you don't move the puppets even once.”

"Adam," you warn, your patience wearing thin.

"Baby,"

You huff in frustration. "I'm not going to be nice about it."

"You never are.”

"Put. It. Down," you grit through your teeth. "Adam!"

He moves it again, and this time, you hear a faint tearing sound. Your heart sinks as you see the seam start to pull taut.

"Adam!!" you practically shout, urgency in your voice now.

Finally, Adam looks up, his expression shifting from casual amusement to concern as he realizes what he's done. The tear in the puppet's root is evident, a small but significant damage that threatens its fragile structure.

"Oh, shit," Adam mutters under his breath, his eyes widening in realization.

You stand there, a mix of anger and disappointment washing over you. "Adam, please put it down—" you start to say again, but it's too late.

Rrrrrrrip! The tear worsens, the fabric giving way under the strain. You wince at the sound, knowing the damage is done. You both stare in shock as the root rips from the body of Audrey II. Adam jumps, his hands instinctively letting go of the root, which drops to the floor with a soft thud. Your heart sinks as you quickly bend down to retrieve it, hugging the damaged puppet piece protectively against your chest.

The workshop falls silent, the weight of the moment hanging heavily in the air. You shoot Adam an angry glare, your eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and disappointment. His usual nonchalant attitude falters under your gaze, and for once, he seems genuinely remorseful.

"I didn’t know it was gonna do that!" Adam exclaims, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation as he tries to justify his actions.

Still, you say nothing, your focus solely on assessing the damage to the puppet. The torn fabric and strained seam speak louder than Adam's words.

"Seriously, I didn’t know!" Adam insists, his tone pleading now, seeking validation or perhaps forgiveness.

Silence greets him once more, your expression unreadable as you continue to inspect Audrey II's damaged root.

Adam's nervousness grows palpable. "Really, if it was going to be that fragile, then it totally would’ve ripped on stage!!" he continues, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

But still, you offer no response.

"Why won’t you respond? Say something!" Adam finally demands, his patience wearing thin.

“Why do you have to be such a dick?!”

Adam flinches visibly at your outburst. His expression shifts from defensiveness to a mix of surprise and guilt

“Seriously, you complain and whine about how no one wants to be your friend here, but then you go around and act like this!” Your throat hurts. “Do you have no common sense? No respect for other people? This isn’t some show, Adam, this is my future!”

Adam's tense and nervous laughter only serves to fuel your frustration, his dismissive response hitting a nerve as you confront him with the seriousness of the situation.

"I'm not joking," you assert firmly, your voice edged with determination. "This is my first chance at a lead. If I don't do well now, my director won't consider me for other roles. And without that experience, I'll have nothing to show for when I enter the real world. It's my dream, Adam, and it means everything to me."

"Baby," Adam begins, attempting to placate you, but you cut him off sharply. “I think you’re being a bit overdramatic–”

"Don't tell me how to react!" you snap, your anger bubbling to the surface. "You're such an asshole!!"

"Why? All I did was fuck with a puppet!" Adam retorts defensively, his frustration mirroring yours.

"And then you went behind Quinn's back and flirted with Sadai," you say, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. The reminder of his betrayal overwhelms any lingering anger.

Adam cringes visibly. "I wasn't flirting—" he starts to defend himself, but you’re quick to cut him off.

"Adam," you interject.

"Okay, fine!" Adam admits, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was, but not for the reason you think!"

You meet his gaze, your eyes searching his for an explanation. "Then why?" you ask quietly,

"Jealousy is a very powerful emotion—" Adam starts, but you cut him off, unable to contain your incredulity.

"—you flirted with Sadai to make Quinn jealous?"

Adam hesitates for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Well, I mean, something like that."

"What the fuck," you exclaim, your frustration boiling over. "You manipulative asshole."

Adam winces at your words, his usual bravado crumbling under your righteous anger. "Sadai was in on it!!!" he blurts out defensively. "We were just hoping that... he'd… make a move on her."

"Because he was jealous," you conclude bitterly, the pieces falling into place.

"Yes," Adam confirms, his voice quieter now, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, good luck with that now! Now he thinks he has no chance, so he’s not interested anymore. And I can’t say I blame him," you say, your voice tinged with resignation.

Adam's gaze remains steady on you, his expression unreadable as he waits for your response.

"Are you?" he asks gently, much softer than before.

What?

"Am I..." you repeat softly, the question lingering in the air.

"Not interested anymore?"

You feel a lump form in your throat as Adam's gaze lingers on you, his silence echoing loudly in the workshop. The vulnerability of the moment washes over you, leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain.

"In Quinn?" you ask again, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping for clarity amidst the swirling emotions.

Adam's expression remains unreadable, his eyes searching your face as if weighing his words carefully. He doesn't respond immediately, the tension between you palpable.

"No," he finally answers softly, his voice steady but devoid of further explanation.

Your heart sinks slightly at his cryptic response, the lack of elaboration leaving you with more questions than answers. You struggle to maintain composure, your mouth dry as you attempt to process his words and the unspoken implications behind them.

You're very careful with your words. "If I were in Quinn’s shoes, I wouldn’t be.”

Adam sniffs softly, his eyes momentarily flickering away before locking onto yours again. He seems to choose his next words carefully, his demeanor serious yet contemplative.

"Okay. So you’re in Quinn’s shoes and you’re mad at Sadai. What now?" Adam asks.

"I wait for an apology," you reply firmly, your voice gaining strength as you articulate your stance.

"An apology? That’s it?" Adam questions, his brow furrowing slightly in apparent skepticism.

"No, that’s not it," you clarify, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. "But it’s the first step."

Adam purses his lips. "Okay, she apologizes to you. Now what?"

You shrug. "I don’t know.”

"The fuck you mean you don’t know?" Adam exclaims, his frustration escalating.

"Adam.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Whatever. So what, should Sadai just go up to Quinn and apologize? What if she’s not sorry?”

"Then she better not talk to him until she is," you assert firmly.

Adam frowns, his expression troubled as he considers your response. "What if Quinn doesn’t forgive her?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

"Then Sadai better respect that.”

"And what if it kills Sadai that she won’t have Quinn in her life anymore, if he doesn’t forgive her. What if that’s too big a risk to take— to apologize and find out."

You can't decipher if Adam is speaking from a hypothetical standpoint or if there's a deeper personal resonance behind his questions. Nonetheless, you stand firm in your belief, doubling down on your stance with resolve.

“At least then she’d know.”

Adam nods slowly in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he processes your words. "Right," he acknowledges, his voice subdued.

You stare at him, waiting for an apology that never comes. The silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken expectations and unaddressed emotions. When it becomes apparent that Adam isn’t going to apologize, you sigh deeply, the disappointment evident in your voice.

"Alright Adam, time for you to get out of here," you say with resignation, firmness creeping into your tone.

"But—" Adam starts to protest, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Just go, Adam," you interrupt, cutting him off before he can say more. "I’ll see you in class."

"C'mon baby—" Adam tries again, a hint of pleading in his voice.

"Goodbye.”

As Adam begins to muster a response, he catches sight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. The defiance in him wavers, replaced by a sudden deflation. Adam nods silently, his resolve faltering. Without further words, he turns and exits the room, leaving you to grapple with the aftermath of your exchange.

You’re left still hugging that damn puppet’s root to your chest. Holding it tight makes your heart hurt a little bit less.

–

After ballet class, you find yourself lingering with a mix of emotions. Adam's absence didn't go unnoticed, and while a part of you is concerned, you're also determined to convince yourself not to care. Getting over a crush is never easy, and you're trying your best to stay focused.

Class was fine. The familiar routines and movements provided a welcome distraction, allowing you to immerse yourself in the physicality of dance. Your muscles ache in that satisfying way that signals a good workout, and your mind feels clearer, if only for a little while.

The sight of Adam waiting outside the dance class catches you off guard. He's sitting on one of the benches, his head buried in one of his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he jumps up, his posture stiff with tension. You watch, puzzled, as he nervously gulps and reveals a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. The confusion must be evident on your face because Adam's expression shifts from nervousness to something resembling desperation.

"Um, you're late to class," you say dumbly. Of course he knows that.

He glances at the clock. "Yeah, I was waiting for it to be over."

"Why weren’t you here?" you ask, still trying to wrap your head around the situation.

"I wanted to talk to you.”

You glance behind you to see more of your classmates piling out. Contemplating, you bite your lip. “Can it wait?”

“Oh, oh yeah, no, totally, that’s fine,” he stammers, his nervousness evident in the way he shifts on his feet. He passes you the flowers and you take them, cradling them to your chest.

“Okay,” you say, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your hands.

You awkwardly snap your mouth closed and wait for everyone to leave. Ms. Nicole is the last one out. She notices you, Adam, and the bouquet in your hands. She coos, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile.

“Aww, you two look adorable. Have a good evening, okay?” she says, waving as she exits.

You offer a tight-lipped smile, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “Thanks, Ms. Nicole. See you tomorrow.”

As the door closes behind her, you and Adam are left alone in the now-quiet hallway. The silence is thick with unspoken words, and you shift uncomfortably.

“So…”

You click your tongue. "So..."

"Uh, listen." He finally looks at you. "I'm not good at apologizing—"

"Yeah, I can tell."

His eyes narrow at your interruption, but you remain firm. He hurt you, whether he meant to or not, and you're willing to hear him out, but you won't make it easy for him. "I'm trying here."

“Yeah?” you ask. “Well, try harder.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated but determined. “I’m sorry for messing with your puppet.”

“And?” you prompt, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbles, his voice dropping. “I’m sorry for flirting with Sadai.”

You nod your head slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay. So we’re good?” he asks, hope in his eyes.

You laugh, but it’s a bitter sound. “Fuck no. You were a dick.”

He winces. “I know, I know. But I apologized—”

“You tore my puppet after I told you to put it down. Who do you think got in trouble for that? Not you. And then you go behind our friend’s back and try to make him jealous. You didn’t even get anything out of it!”

“He wasn’t the only one we were trying to make jealous!” Adam blurts out, eyes widening as if he didn’t mean to announce that.

You don’t stop to think of the implications, your anger flaring again. “Right, because that makes it much, much better.”

“Well, I already apologized!”

“I know.”

“So, I’m forgiven?” he asks, hopeful.

“No,” you reply firmly.

“Cut me some slack here!” he begs.

“I have been. For a long time,” you respond, your patience wearing thin.

“I even got you flowers! I never get any bitch flowers!”

Your eye twitches. “Try again.”

He takes a deep breath, realizing his mistake. “I never get anyone flowers. I promise, I’m really trying here.”

“Trying what? Because you’re certainly not trying to apologize. You’re just saying the words.”

He groans, exasperated. “I’m trying to confess to you, alright! I’d like to take you out, but I can’t do that if you’re mad at me!”

You stare at him, the anger quickly being replaced by a deep sense of disappointment. “…so you’re only apologizing so I’ll go out with you.” It’s not a question.

Adam is silent, the guilt evident in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He realizes how hollow his apology now sounds.

You sigh, continuing. “Listen, Adam, you’re a dick. But you can be real sweet when you try. Being around you can be a whole lot of fun, when you’re not being a little shit. I like you a lot too, Adam.”

He perks up, hope lighting up his eyes.

“—but I can’t go out with you.”

His face falls, the hope extinguished as quickly as it appeared. “Why not?”

“You’re not boyfriend material. You’re real rough around the edges.”

He looks desperate, pleading almost. “You can help with that!”

"Adam, I'm not going to fix you. You need to fix yourself before we even consider going out. And that starts with a proper apology. A meaningful one, not just because you want me to forgive you."

For once, he shuts up and nods. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Nice try. I'll give you some time," you reply firmly, holding your ground.

Adam looks at you, seeming to understand the gravity of what you're asking for. He nods again, more earnestly this time. "I'll do better. I promise."

You give him a small, cautious smile. "I hope so, Adam."

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving him to contemplate his actions and words. It's a step forward, albeit a small one, and you're hopeful that he'll take the time to reflect and make the changes necessary. For now, you're content to wait and see what happens next.

–

The next day at rehearsal, when you walk in, Adam waves at you from a distance. You appreciate the space he's giving you; being around him still leaves your head spinning. The rehearsal proceeds smoothly, with everyone focused on their roles and scenes.

As you go through the routines and lines, you find yourself immersed in the production, trying to put the recent events with Adam aside. Your performance is your focus now, and you're determined to give it your best despite the distractions.

During breaks, you catch glimpses of Adam occasionally glancing your way, but he doesn't approach you. Part of you wonders if he's taking your words to heart and giving you the space you need. It's a relief in some ways, but also leaves you with a lingering sense of uncertainty about where things stand between you.

–

It’s finally sitzprobe time, which means it’s the first time the cast gets to sing along with the band, and not just Adam’s accompaniment. Usually, you’d be a bit nervous about rehearsing with Adam, but he’s been surprisingly respectful with your distance.

That, you’re incredibly grateful for, as opening night looming closer and closer, you haven’t had time to think about romance or drama or whatever. Your free time has been spent going over lines, rehearsing your music, and stressing over this show. Basically, your life is now revolving around your production of Little Shop.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were all herded into the music room, music stands holding binders– or for the less prepared, loose papers. The actors were pushed to the back of the area to make room for the band’s equipment.

You flip through your binder, mentally going over your music in your head. The sitzprobe was to start in a few minutes, so you were making sure to have everything down. Since you were just singing along with the band, you didn’t need to worry about lines or blocking– just your music.

As the band fine-tunes their equipment, the room is filled with a low hum of anticipation. Adam, with his guitar perched on his thigh, looks focused as he adjusts his amp chord. The heat and the crowded space have left a sheen of sweat on his forehead, causing his messy hair to stick to his skin. You catch yourself biting your lip at the sight, your mind momentarily drifting despite your best efforts to stay focused on the rehearsal.

When he meets your eye– because of course he would– you almost look away. But you don’t. Instead, you hold his gaze, feeling bold. He stares back. From your side, you hear Quinn call your name.

“Do you have a spare pencil?”

You look over to see Quinn’s backpack completely turned inside out in search of a pencil. You laugh before handing him one of your extras. You nod at his quick and embarrassed “thanks” before looking back to adam–

–Who is still watching you.

You feel yourself blushing under his warm gaze, your cheeks tinged with a faint pink hue. Despite your shyness, you manage to muster a timid smile. His response is a surprisingly sweet smile that melts your nerves and sends a flutter through your heart.

This time, it's he who breaks the gaze, turning away to start tuning his guitar. Each testing strum reverberates loudly through his amp, filling the room with its vibrant sound. With every chord he adjusts, you feel yourself grow more and more hot under the collar.

So he looks sexy playing guitar– go fuck yourself!

When it’s time for the sitzprobe to actually start, you almost miss your cue, too distracted watching Adam. He’s completely focused on his guitar, and you’re completely focused on him. Can you blame yourself, though?

Eventually, it's your turn to sing, and you hear the familiar notes creeping in. Taking a deep breath, you belt out the song with all your heart. A smile spreads across your face as you feel the electric guitar blending beautifully with your voice.

–

Before you knew it, tech week had sneaked up on you. With opening night just around the corner, the days leading up to it were a whirlwind of adding the finishing touches—adjusting lights, fine-tuning sound levels, and perfecting costumes down to every last detail.

Today's agenda had been slated for running through lighting cues and honing the synchronization between your voice and the Audrey II puppet; You were eager to finally meet the puppeteer who would bring your character to life. However, upon meeting her, despite her incredible talents, it didn’t seem like she wanted to be there very much. Or maybe that was just her serious RBF. So instead, you spent your breaks avoiding her.

Since today was focused solely on lights, the band wasn't called in. Despite your best efforts to downplay it, you couldn't shake the disappointment that settled in. After the last sitzprobe, you had been eagerly anticipating another chance to watch Adam shred his guitar. The thought of his skilled fingers dancing over the strings made your mouth water.

Not that you’d admit it, though.

After checking in with the stage manager to confirm your attendance, you heaved your monster-sized duffel bag towards the dressing room. The door protested with a loud squeal as you pushed it open, prompting a wince from you. However, your expression quickly turned into a wide grin when you realized you had the dressing room all to yourself for now. It was a rare moment of tranquility before the whirlwind of preparations began—a brief calm before the storm of tech week.

As you approach your designated spot at the mirrors, you're taken aback by what you find. Sitting neatly on your seat is a fresh bottle of water and a thermos. Intrigued and slightly skeptical, you twist open the thermos lid and bring it close to your nose, taking a cautious sniff. A smile spreads across your face when you recognize the familiar scent of throat coat tea. Score!

You hesitate, momentarily questioning if you should be tampering with these items, worried they might have been placed at your station by mistake. Yet, your curiosity gets the better of you when you notice a card tucked behind the water bottle. With cautious fingers, you pick it up, finding your name neatly written on the back. Perplexed, you carefully tear open the envelope and pull out the card.

"Break a leg. Or whatever the fuck you say. This isn't an apology. Not yet. You deserve something better than a card."

You notice a few lines that have been crossed out, suggesting some hesitation or revision. But at the end, it's signed with a heart—

"Adam"

Giddy butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and this time, instead of brushing them aside, you allowed yourself to revel in the sensation of hope and happiness. It felt absolutely wonderful.

You opened the thermos once more, letting the comforting scent of throat coat tea waft out, and took your first sip. The warm, soothing liquid eased your nerves as you continued to prepare for rehearsal. You carried the thermos with you out onto the stage, still taking generous sips. .

Mid-sip, you choke slightly as your eyes meet Adam's in the audience. There's a moment of surprise, followed by a rush of warmth when you see the pleased—no, relieved—expression on his face as he notices you enjoying his gift. With the hopeful butterflies still fluttering in your stomach, you can't help but smile and wave in his direction, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude.

He blinks in surprise before a warm smile spreads across his face, and he waves back. It becomes clear that seeing you enjoy his gesture was his sole purpose for being here today. With a practiced casualness, he slips his hands into his pockets and begins to make his way towards the exit. For once, you’re the one watching him go.

You totally look at his butt while he walks.

–

The past two days of tech week had been long and grueling, each hour stretching into what felt like an eternity. Yet, somehow, you managed to push through, thanks in large part to an alarming abundance of energy drinks. Who could blame you, though? The relentless schedule demanded it.

You'd developed a strategic habit of stashing energy drinks in every conceivable spot—your bag, your dorm room, and especially your dressing room. This way, no matter where you were, a quick jolt of caffeine was always within arm's reach.

Today, as you arrived at rehearsal, you polished off yet another can and felt the familiar pang of needing a refill. Without a second thought, you made a beeline for the dressing room, determined to grab another energy drink before diving back into the demanding pace of tech week.

Now that the lights and sounds had been meticulously carved out, the band was invited back today to perform with everyone. You had already run through the show once, which meant it was now time for a break before notes and then another run-through.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at the thought of a second run-through. The first one hadn't been your best, and you couldn’t help but replay every minor mistake in your mind. Although you knew you were your own harshest critic, you couldn't shake the desire for perfection. This show was important to you, and you desperately needed it to go well.

You finally reached the dressing room door, grateful for a moment of solitude. Everyone else was taking their water break and snacking in the lobby, leaving you the dressing room all to yourself, which you always appreciated. The quiet space provided a welcome respite from the chaos outside.

Plopping yourself down in your seat, you rummaged through your belongings in search of another energy drink. When your fingers finally closed around the familiar can (thank god), you quickly pushed on the tab to open it, savoring the crisp sound of the release. Without hesitation, you took a big gulp, feeling the rush of caffeine invigorate your senses.

Suddenly, as you were wiping your mouth on your shirt sleeve, a knock echoed through the dressing room door. Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was someone from the neighboring dressing room, probably looking for more hairspray or some other last-minute item.

However, what greeted you when you swung open the door was entirely unexpected. Instead of a fellow cast member, you found yourself face-to-face with a gigantic piece of poster paper. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust and process the sight in front of you.

"Pretend it's your director," the poster read in bold, messy letters.

"Um," you muttered, looking around in confusion. "I'm the only one in here..."

Before you could make sense of it, Adam's head popped up from behind the poster board. Of course—it had to be him. He looked absolutely giddy, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your bewildered expression.

“At least pretend,” he playfully pouts, his eyes twinkling. It's surprising to see him in such a good mood.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, laughing. You can’t help but join in on his contagious amusement.

He flips the poster.

“With any luck, by next year,” it reads.

He flips it again.

“I’ll be going out with one of these people.”

The next flip reveals a collage of different models and celebrities. Despite yourself, you can't help but burst into laughter.

“Are you stealing this from Love, Actually?” you ask, grinning.

“Shhh, don’t spoil the surprise,” he replies, putting a finger to his lips dramatically.

“But for now, let me say,”

“Without hope or agenda”

“Just because its tech week—”

“(And at tech week you tell the truth)”

“…I’m sorry”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, setting aside the signs to focus fully on him. His playful demeanor has shifted subtly, revealing a softer, more vulnerable side. His gaze meets yours, and you notice a hint of bashfulness in his expression. His Adam’s apple bobs noticeably as he swallows, the tension palpable in the quiet moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out in a rush. “I’m sorry I messed with your puppet, and I’m also sorry I flirted with Sadai. You made this whole point about how it upset Quinn. You didn’t say it, but I knew it upset you, too.”

He pauses, searching your face for your reaction. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, his voice earnest.

“It’s… why I did it. I hoped you would have confessed to me. But instead it hurt you. And so then I messed with your puppet because I’d rather you be mad than sad, but you still were and I was a dick. I’m really, really sorry. I’ll even get on my knees. I—”

"Adam," you interrupt softly.

He flinches, expecting a different reaction—perhaps yelling, tears, or a freak-out. What he doesn’t expect is for you to lean in and give him a gentle peck on the cheek.

Adam blinks in surprise, his eyes widening as he processes the unexpected gesture. His cheeks flush slightly, and for a moment, he's at a loss for words.

“I forgive you,” you say softly, leaning back into your own space.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, before a dopey smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features.

“I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” he admits, his voice tinged with relief and happiness, as if he's floating on cloud nine.

“You will,” you reply with a knowing smile.

“I will,” he agrees, a look of determination settling in his eyes as he finally comes back down to earth. He smiles at you, then places his hands on your shoulders with a resolute expression.“This doesn’t mean we’re going out yet, though. I need to sweep you off your feet.”

You can’t help but laugh at his declaration. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “You deserve the best, and I’m going to prove that I can give it to you.”

Touched by his sincerity, you nod. “Alright, Adam. I’m looking forward to it.”

He nods, then raps his fist on the door frame. “Welp, looks like we better get back to rehearsal…”

You hum in agreement. “Yep…”

A moment of stillness hangs between you before you grab him by his shirt collar and tug him forward. He grins the whole way, eyes sparkling with anticipation. You plant a kiss on his mouth, and he smiles through it, pressing his lips firmly against yours. The kiss is brief but charged, lasting only a second before you both pull away.

“Well!” you bring your hands together in a loud clap, bashfully embarrassing his eyes. “Gotta go!”

–

The next day, after a long rehearsal, you start packing up to head to dinner. As you're in the middle of a conversation with one of your castmates, your phone buzzes with a notification. You pick it up from the dressing room table, pausing mid-sentence to glance at the screen.

You tilt your head in confusion as you see that the notification is from a random number.

UNKNOWN

You hesitantly click on the attachment, and a video begins to play on your phone screen.

The video is of your song "Feed Me." You watch in awe as the puppet comes to life, synchronized perfectly with your voice. This is the first time you've seen yourself perform as Audrey II, and you find yourself captivated by the seamless blend of your vocals and the puppeteer's movements.

Surprisingly, you’re impressed with your own performance. Your voice sounds powerful and emotive, carrying the song with confidence and flair. Watching the puppet and hearing your own vocals, you realize just how much you've accomplished. A sense of pride washes over you, mixed with a touch of disbelief.

The video is taken from the pit of the stage, where the band is located. You notice the phone recording is propped up on what you assume is a music stand, angled perfectly to capture the stage. A hint of suspicion about who took the video begins to form in your mind.

Your suspicions are confirmed when, after the song ends, you hear an enthusiastic whoop and holler from behind the phone. A drumstick suddenly appears, swinging into view, and you hear Adam curse loudly, likely having been smacked with the stick. The unexpected moment makes you giggle; the scene is endearing and somewhat cute.

When you click out of the video, your phone buzzes again.

UNKNOWN You were super good. -your secret admirer

You can't help but smile as you type back.

YOU Adam

A moment later, your phone buzzes again with a quick response.

UNKNOWN Dammit.

You quickly add his number to your contacts, labeling it with a fond smile. As you finish, you glance up and catch sight of yourself in the dressing room mirror. The realization that you're grinning from ear to ear makes you blush. Your cheeks warm, and you can’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

ADAM Wanna sit next to each other at dinner I won’t bite And I know you won’t either ;]

YOU Are you gonna flirt with Sadai again

ADAM Okay so apparently you /will/ bite. And no I will not.

YOU Then yes

ADAM Ok I’m boutta leave I’ll save you a seat

Just as you're about to put your phone away, another notification pops up. You open it to find a selfie of Adam, flashing a peace sign with a goofy grin. The only caption reads, “Am I kawaii?”

You laugh but decide not to respond, clicking your phone off with a shake of your head.

Determined to get to the restaurant, you gather all your belongings and throw them into your duffel bag. Slinging it over your shoulder, you take one last glance around the dressing room, feeling a mix of excitement and satisfaction.

As you step out into the bustling hallway, you feel lighter, a spring in your step as you head towards the exit.

With your head down, still thinking about Adam’s ridiculous text, you almost run face-first into Quinn. He steps back just in time, and based on his expectant expression, you already know what he's going to ask.

“Yes, I can give you a ride.”

He cheekily smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Sick.”

You both walk to your car in silence. Once inside, you unlock it and slide into the driver’s seat. As you click your seatbelt in place and adjust the rearview mirror, Quinn awkwardly coughs, breaking the quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice a bit uneven, as if he’s unsure. “You and Adam.”

“Me and Adam?” you prompt, glancing over at him.

“Are y’all… a thing now?” he asks, his curiosity evident.

You awkwardly shrug as you turn on the car ignition and begin to back out of your parking spot. Technically, you aren't lying. Adam hasn’t asked you out yet, but you did kiss—it's like some sort of limbo.

“Are you just going to look past his dick actions?” Quinn asks, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

“He apologized. Like, actually. It was this whole thing,” you explain, trying to convey the sincerity of Adam’s apology.

“Oh,” Quinn replies, looking down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

You get on the road and steal a quick glance at Quinn. He’s anxiously bouncing his knees, his shoulders as taut as a rubber band.

“So, you and Sadai.”

“Me and Sadai,” he echoes, his voice carrying a hint of tension.

You roll to a stop at a red light, keeping your eyes forward as you attempt to carefully breach the topic. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his legs.

“Have y’all talked after that night?” you ask gently.

“No,” he replies, his tone clipped and filled with frustration.

You click your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe you should.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

You can’t take it anymore. The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “Sadai and Adam only flirted to make us jealous!”

Quinn’s legs stop bouncing, and he perks up, suddenly full of energy. “I knew it!” he exclaims, a triumphant look on his face.

You laugh, relieved to have finally admitted that information. But then you pause, realizing something. “What do you mean you knew it? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me!” Quinn laughs.

“Touché…”

“But yeah, no!” He sits back in his chair, a smug look on his face. “I totally knew it! They kept looking at us!”

You frown, trying to remember. “They did?”

“Yes! And when we left, Jared said they just... stopped talking to each other entirely!”

You groan, facepalming. “Oh my god.”

Eventually, you both pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. You park your car and step out, Quinn following suit.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You turn to see Sadai perched on the sidewalk, standing up and brushing off any dirt as she sees you. Her expression is tentative, eyes flicking nervously between you and Quinn.

You glance between Sadai and Quinn, noticing the tension in the air. Quinn’s eyes are locked on Sadai, a mix of emotions playing across his face. Just as he moves to open your car door, clearly trying to escape the situation, you quickly press the lock button.

He tugs at the car door handle, but the door remains firmly shut. His frustration becomes apparent as he glares at you, a mixture of betrayal and disbelief on his face. His eyes dart between you and Sadai, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

You stand firm, meeting his gaze with a resolute expression. “Adam’s waiting for me. Don’t take too long,” you say, your tone carrying a hint of finality.

With that, you turn on your heel and walk towards the restaurant entrance, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. You can feel Quinn’s eyes boring into your back as you move away, his disapproval palpable even from behind. You almost falter, a pang of guilt hitting you for leaving him to face this conversation alone. But you remind yourself that sometimes, facing uncomfortable truths is necessary for growth and resolution.

You push open the restaurant door and step inside, the lively hum of conversation and clinking cutlery greeting you warmly. Your eyes scan the room, quickly locating your table. A wave of relief washes over you as you spot Adam among your friends, seated comfortably towards the middle of the group.

You wave hi to everyone, your smile widening when you see the empty seat next to Adam. You make your way over, feeling a mix of excitement and relief.

“Hey, dickwad!” you call out playfully.

Adam’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. His face lights up instantly, his smile spreading from ear to ear. The sight makes your heart flutter, just a little, as you approach him.

“Hey, bitch!” he responds with equal enthusiasm, waving you over. “I saved you a seat!”

He pats the seat next to him, and you slide in with a smile. As soon as you’re settled, Adam wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a playful half-hug. The gesture feels warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the awkwardness you left behind outside.

“How’d you like the video?” he asks, his voice light and full of enthusiasm. “Aren’t you just the best?”

You feel your cheeks warm under his praise, and you duck your head slightly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “My favorite part was when you got hit with the drumstick,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Adam dramatically groans, pulling his arm away and releasing you. “I really thought I cut that part out…” he says, pretending to be exasperated.

You laugh, the sound genuine and joyful, and it feels good to let go of the day’s stress. Reaching for the menu, you start browsing through the options, feeling the familiar sense of comfort and relaxation settle over you as the conversation flows around the table.

As time passes, you find yourself genuinely enjoying dinner. The food is delicious, and the atmosphere is lively and warm. Adam is surprisingly attentive throughout the meal, making a point to include you in all his conversations. He listens intently to your stories and takes an active interest in the topics you bring up. His easygoing nature and the way he makes you feel heard only add to the evening’s enjoyment.

Despite the pleasant distraction, your mind occasionally drifts to the Quinn-and-Sadai-shaped hole in the group dynamic. They’ve been outside talking for what feels like forever, even after your food arrived. The minutes tick by, and you start to wonder what’s going on.

Just as you’re nearing the end of your meal, you catch sight of them finally making their way inside. Your gaze naturally shifts towards the entrance, and your eyes widen in surprise when you see them walking hand in hand.

Your jaw drops in surprise as you watch Quinn and Sadai approach the table, their hands intertwined. You glance over at Adam, who is mid-bite into a juicy rib, his mouth full and his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nudge his attention towards Quinn and Sadai. Adam’s eyes follow your gesture, and as he takes in the sight of them holding hands, his face lights up with genuine excitement and happiness.

“They’re holding hands!” you exclaim, unable to keep the delight out of your voice.

Quinn and Sadai settle into the only available spots— a table a few feet away from you. Without a second thought, you peel yourself off your seat, nearly bumping into other diners as you practically race to Quinn.

As you approach, you come up behind him and place your hands firmly on his shoulders. The sudden contact startles him, and he turns his head slightly, looking up at you with a mix of surprise and confusion.

You lean in slightly, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “Hey,” you say softly. “I need to use the restroom. Care to accompany me?” You tighten your grip on Quinn’s shoulders just enough to make it clear that this is not up for debate.

Quinn chokes, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y-yeah. That’s all good. Let me just…”

He stumbles slightly as he stands up, clearly flustered. Your hands fall away from his shoulders, and he avoids making eye contact as you start walking toward the bathroom. You let him be, content to lead the way

You’re seriously getting deja vu from the last cast dinner.

Quinn, trying to maintain a nonchalant demeanor, shrugs casually. However, a telltale smile tugs at the corners of his lips, betraying his genuine happiness. “We talked,” he says simply, though the glimmer in his eyes suggests there’s more to the story.

You place your hands on your hips, trying to hide your impatience. “You have to give me the details! Now!”

Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s too many details to go over right now. I’ll just call you tonight and fill you in.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t help but smile at the thought of hearing all the juicy details later. “Okay, okay fine,” you concede. “I wasn’t kidding about needing to pee, though. Wait here for me, okay?”

After you finish up in the restroom, you and Quinn walk back towards your respective tables. As you reach his table, you pause for a moment and give him a quick, affectionate ruffle of his hair. The gesture is filled with genuine excitement and happiness for him.

“You really deserve good things,” you say warmly, your voice brimming with sincerity. “I’m so glad you and Sadai worked things out.”

Quinn's face lights up with a grateful smile, and he nods appreciatively. “Thanks for everything. I’ll fill you in on all the details tonight.”

You give him a final encouraging nod before turning back towards your table.

You slide back into your seat next to Adam, and immediately notice his subtle attempts to inch closer to you. His movements are slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to discreetly close the gap between you without drawing too much attention.

For the fun of it—and maybe because you actually enjoy the closeness—you let him continue his subtle advances. You shift just a bit, allowing him to inch closer. His arm brushes against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

Adam seems to sense your willingness and takes the opportunity to move a bit closer. His shoulder lightly brushes against yours, and he offers a soft, satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the closeness.

As you settle back into your seat, you feel Adam’s mouth come close to your ear. His breath tickles your skin as he murmurs, “Wanna get out of here?”

You turn your head slightly, catching the playful glint in his eyes, and nudge him away with a light shove. “I need to pay, dipshit,” you reply with a teasing edge to your voice.

Adam’s face lights up with a smirk, clearly pleased with his little revelation. “Oh, I already took care of it,” he says, his tone almost smug. He reaches over and gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and reassuring.

You blink in surprise, your eyes widening. “What??”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening at your reaction. “Yep. I’ve got it covered, baby. It was getting late, and you need to rest up for tech week.”

You let Adam guide you out of the restaurant, feeling a mix of excitement and contentment. As you walk towards the exit, you turn back to give a cheerful wave to the rest of your castmates, your smile wide and genuine. “Goodbye, everyone!” you call out, your voice full of warmth.

Your thoughts briefly drift to Quinn, who are likely only now getting their food. You’re confident that he’ll be just fine to ride home with Sadai.

As you approach your car, Adam walks beside you, his hand still gently holding yours. When you reach the driver’s side, he steps back to let you unlock the door. You’re pleasantly surprised by his gentlemanly gesture as he opens it for you with a wide grin.

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised in playful suspicion. “Did you make me leave early just so you could have a kiss?” you ask, your tone light but teasing.

Adam’s grin widens, and he gives a mock sheepish shrug. “Ya caught me,”

You roll your eyes with a playful sigh, feeling the warmth of the moment. Gently, you cup Adam’s face in your hands, and he melts into your touch, his expression softening into a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed, and he purses his lips expectantly. You meet him halfway, leaning in for a kiss.

The kiss is sweet and brief, lasting only a second, but it’s filled with an undeniable connection. You’re pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t try to sneak in any tongue action; instead, he keeps it tender and simple. When you pull away, he surprises you again by planting a quick kiss on your forehead, his touch light and affectionate.

Before you can react, Adam’s hand gives your backside a playful smack, and he bursts into laughter. “Adam!” you gasp, your face flushing with a mix of shock and amusement.

He chuckles heartily, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and begins to sprint away towards his car. You watch him run, laughing at the impish grin on his face as he disappears into the distance

What a guy.

–

You’re sprawled out on your stomach, idly kicking your legs in the air, when you hear a knock on your dorm room door. Assuming it’s your roommate who’s forgotten their card key yet again, you roll off your bed with a sigh and pad over to the door, swinging it open without a second thought.

“Heeeeyyyyyy bitch,” a familiar voice greets you.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in the sight of Adam leaning casually against the door frame. In one hand, he’s holding a loaf of bread, and in the other, a steaming cup of what you assume is coffee.

“Why are you here?” you ask, the surprise evident in your voice. “How are you here?”

“Remember that one time I walked you home? Yep. Took a picture of your room number so I’d never forget.”

You feel a mix of emotions—both a little creeped out by the fact that he remembered your room number like that, and oddly flattered by his dedication.

“So,” you say, tapping on the doorframe. “what’re you doing here?”

Adam’s grin broadens. “I was thinking about taking a walk around campus. Care to join me?”

You glance down at the loaf of bread in his hand, then back up at him. “Do you need to put that down or...?”

“Nah.” Adam slaps the loaf lightly, careful not to crush it. “This big guy will be joining us.”

“Um, okay.” You smile, amused and curious. “Why?”

Adam tugs at his collar, a bit sheepishly. “I was hoping to take you to the lake down by the library. Maybe feed the baby ducks.”

You can’t help but melt a little. “Aww, cute!” you say, and Adam ducks his head, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Let me go change out of my nasty pajamas,” you add, stepping back into your room.

“Aw, but I like the bed head,” he teases, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You push him off, swatting him playfully until he steps out into the hall.

“Give me a minute,” you call out as you close the door. You quickly change into something more suitable for a walk around campus, then open the door to find Adam engrossed in his phone. When he notices you, he clicks it off and smiles, eyes lighting up.

“Here.” He shoves the hot drink towards you. Confused, you glance up at him through your lashes. He quickly explains, “I bought you an herbal tea. Figured it’d help for tech week.”

Your eyebrows quirk up in surprise, and a slight blush fills your cheeks at the thoughtfulness of it all. “Aw, Adam, you didn’t have to.”

“I know. Just wanted to.” He shrugs, but there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes.

You two had walked the expanse of the campus, mindlessly chatting. It was surprisingly pleasant, and you found yourself enjoying the conversation as you sipped on your tea. It was a bit bitter, but you appreciated the gesture, knowing it would help during tech week. When you finished, you quickly tossed the empty cup in the nearest trash.

Adam was just as bold and brash as ever, but as you looked past his jokes and playful banter, you noticed the subtle signs of his nervousness. The way he kept squeezing the loaf of bread, squishing the slices between his fingers, was almost too endearing. For someone who usually plays it so cool, seeing him so anxious about something as simple as feeding ducks made him seem more genuine.

You couldn't help but smile, appreciating this different side of him. It was clear he was trying hard to make the day special for you, and his nervousness only made the gesture more touching.

You eventually find yourself at the library’s lake, the peaceful setting a perfect backdrop for your outing. The ducks are a welcome distraction, and you both sit shoulder-to-shoulder, enjoying the serene atmosphere. The sun casts a warm glow over the water, and you can’t help but feel content.

You’re deep in conversation about the oddest things when you spot the baby ducks. Your excitement bubbles up, and you grab Adam’s arm, pointing towards the tiny, fluffy creatures. He turns to look and immediately lights up, a soft smile spreading across his face. He places his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before reaching into the loaf of bread he brought.

You both begin tearing off small pieces of bread and tossing them into the water. The ducks quickly flock to the crumbs, their tiny beaks pecking eagerly. You take turns feeding them, each small piece met with a flurry of happy quacks and paddling.

As one particularly brave baby duck waddles up almost to your feet, you struggle to contain a squeal of delight. The sheer cuteness of the moment makes your heart flutter. Adam chuckles beside you, clearly amused by your reaction.

That doesnt last long, however.

You hear a dramatic gasp of offense before some short, blond twink comes angrily waddling towards you both. Adam, upon spotting him, immediately glowers.

“Um, hey..?” You greet, unsure of the appropriate response.

The blond ignores you in favor of pointing a sharp finger towards the loaf in your hands.

“Is that bread?” He asks, incredulous.

“Yes?”

He furrows his brows and puffs out his chest. “And you’re feeding it to the ducks?”

You look to Adam for reassurance, however he’s too busy glaring daggers at the short man. “…yes?”

The man lets out an ignified squawk. “You can’t do that! You’ll fill them up with nutrition-less food, and then they won’t have an appetite for their actual diet! Are you insane?”

You sheepishly tug the loaf of bread behind your back, hiding it from the man. “Sorry.”

He goes to say something else, before finally noticing Adam next to you. His eyes dart between you both before coming to some sort of conclusion. His once offended face splits into a smug grin. You don’t like how he’s looking at you.

And apparently neither does Adam, because he’s maneuvering you to stand up. Before he gets a chance to turn you around, the man grabs your hand and starts shaking it.

“How rude of Adam to not introduce us! The name’s Lucius, but you can call me Lulu.” The man, Lucius, purrs.

You wrinkle your nose. “You want me to call you lulu?”

Adam forces his way between you both, managing to make Lucius let go of you. You’re thankful for him not to be touching you anymore. “Alright, cunt, leave them alone. You’ve already taken two, that should be enough.”

You’re somewhat offended to be reduced to some number, but your confusion stops you. Whatever dick measuring contest the two of them are holding right now, you want no part of it. “Adam, relax. He’s just upset about the bread.”

“Like hell he is! That’s how he gets you!

“Gets me to do what?”

You look between Lucius, who’s smirking and whistling like he’s in a cartoon, and Adam, who’s staring at the ground with a deep scowl. You feel like you’re missing something big, like there’s an inside joke you’re not a part of. The situation is honestly frustrating.

“Gets me to do what?!” You repeat.

Lucius ignores your question. “You know, you’re rather pretty, aren’t you?”

. “Don’t.” Adam says.

Lucius goes for a more personal approach, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You instinctively dodge his hand, but he doesn’t seem deterred. Instead, he rakes his fingers down past your head, his touch lingering as he toys with your shirt collar. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans in closer. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing slumping around a tool like Adam?”

“Lucius…”. Adam warns.

“Better to run while you still can.” Lucius laughs. You don’t think it’s very funny. “No one ever stays with him for too long, and it’s better to not find out why. “

Adam’s shoulders slump as his anger melts into hurt. He grumbles something under his breath before turning on his heel and marching off, leaving you standing there with Lucius. You watch him walk away, feeling a pang of disappointment at his sudden departure.

Lucius catches your gaze, his eyes filled with what seems like pity, and it makes you bristle. How dare he assume he knows more about your relationship with Adam than you do? The audacity of this man, who’s clearly intruding on your time together, is infuriating.

Before you have a chance to voice your frustration, Lucius’s lips curl into a reassuring smile. But something about it is far from comforting. The smile exposes unnaturally sharp teeth, making you feel even more uneasy.

You nervously flash him an almost-smile before scurrying off to join Adam. He seems honest-to-god surprised you chose him over that other guy, which is sort of rude, but you try to look past it. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He grunts.

“Okayyy…? Then where are we going? I thought we were getting lunch.”

It looks like it hurts him to say whatever’s next. “No. I’m taking you home.”

“Why? I thought we were going on a date?”

“Because.” He swallowed hard. “The date was ruined.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking a second. You know not to take it to heart— poor dude’s ego was just watered down right in front of him. So you choose a different approach. “Ruined?”

Adam, still sulking, nods his head. “Ruined.”

“Do you think it was ruined?”

“No, but you do.”

You scrunch your face up. “I do? Since when?”

Adam finally looks up from the floor and into your eyes. He’s a bit more energetic than before. “Since Lulu came in and ruined it?”

“First off, don’t call him that. Second off, he was just some crazy twink! What, did you think I was gonna run off with him into the night just because he gave me a compliment?”

“The others did.”

Okay, now you really are confused. “The others?”

Adam rolls his eyes, but not at you. He huffs and sits down on the nearest bench, encouraging you to follow. When you do, he grabs the bread from you, opens it, and starts absentmindedly chewing on a slice.

“I used to have two girlfriends. Not at the same time, though. That’d be way too much drama to deal with.”

Nice to know that that’s where he draws the line…

“But Lucifer—“

“Lucifer?” You balk.

He rolls his eyes and corrects himself. “Lucius set sights on both of them. When I wasn’t looking, he went behind my back and swept them off their feet. Both of them!!! Both of them chose him over me! So excuse me for getting upset when I thought you would too!”

A pang of sympathy plays at your heart, and it takes everything in you to not pull him into a tight hug and never let go. Sure, Adam’s a jerk. A cocky, jerky, dickhole. But he’s been sweet to you. And funny. And thoughtful.

“Well I’m not like your other two girlfriends, am I?” You carefully say.

Adam looks at you with a confused expression, not exactly sure on where you’re going with this. “…no.”

“Then Adam,” you reach for him and feel awful when he flinches away. However, you keep going and manage to pet his hair. “Why would I run away? I want you, plain and simple. I’m still waiting for you to ask me out, ya know.”

Despite everything, he bashfully smiles and looks away. “Yeah, alright. I get it.”

“Do you?”

He looks to you, really looks. And finally— “I do.”

You both stare at each other for a second. You’ve never seen this side of Adam before— vulnerable and open. It’s addicting, and you want more of it. You want to know him inside and out. Before you can think of the overwhelming ache in your bones, you’re standing again and brushing off your clothes.

“Alright, Adam, baby.” Your voice is still soft with emotion. You reach towards him and smile when he grabs ahold of your hand with no hesitation. “Let’s keep walking.”

You pull Adam up, and he follows your lead with ease. As he stands, he doesn’t let go of your hand, holding on tightly. His face is a mixture of emotions—pinched tight with tension and his eyes a bit glossy, but he’s still smiling. It’s a vulnerable sight, and your heart aches for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, concerned.

Adam brings his free hand up, roughly wiping at his face as if trying to clear away the emotions that are threatening to spill over. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… I don’t know. I kind of expected you to run away after all that. I’m just relieved.”

Seeing his struggle, you squeeze his hand reassuringly. The touch is gentle but firm, a silent promise that you’re here for him. He squeezes back, and you both stand there for a moment, connected by this simple but meaningful gesture.

The air between you feels lighter, filled with an unspoken understanding. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day’s emotions start to lift. With a comforting smile, you nod toward the path. “…wanna go get food?”

He laughs. “Fuuuuck yes.”

–

Rehearsal later that day was so incredibly hectic, you didn’t get a chance to utter even a word to adam. Your time was spent polishing the show, as you opened tomorrow. The thought alone filled your stomach with dread and excitement.

However, after your songs and scenes, Adam did let out a few cheers. Of course, that led to him getting reprimanded while the director sat you down and gave you notes. You tried to get a peek at him, but he was too far and you were too busy jotting down your notes. Once he was done getting scolded from the conductor, he walked back down to the pit near where you were sat. He caught your eye and, despite having been dug into moments prior, brightly smiled at you. Your heart ached.

Eventually, rehearsal was called to an end. You were grateful that class had gotten canceled tomorrow, as you are quite literally dead on your feet. When you feel a pair of hands land on your shoulders, you jump a few feet in the air. You spin to see Adam, who had grabbed your bag before you could. He slung it over his shoulder, juggling his own guitar case, and held out his hand.

You took it, pressing yourself into his side. Normally you most likely wouldn't have done this, but you’re so exhausted so you lean your weight into him. He laughs and removes his hand from yours, instead wrapping it around your shoulders to pull you in. Together, he silently walks you to your dorm.

–

The velvet curtains closed with a final, satisfying thud, and the applause roared through the theater like a crashing wave. After rushing onstage for your bow, you stood center stage, chest heaving with exhilaration and relief. You had done it. The months of rehearsals, the late nights, and the countless hours of self-doubt had all led to this moment.

You could see the faces of the audience, all beaming with appreciation and admiration. But there was only one face you sought out among the crowd. You felt a rush of warmth, knowing Adam had seen you at your best.

As the house lights came up, you made her way backstage, your fellow cast members congratulating each other with hugs and high-fives. You accepted their praise graciously, but your mind was elsewhere.

You knew you had one more performance to deliver tonight.

Finally, the stage manager gave you a nod. It was time to greet the audience in the lobby. You took a deep breath and stepped out, your heart racing in anticipation. The crowd gathered, forming a semi-circle around the cast. Autographs were signed, selfies were taken, and congratulations were exchanged.

And then, there he was. Adam stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting patiently. As their eyes met, your heart skipped a beat. You excused herself from a conversation with an enthusiastic parent and made your way over to him.

"Hey, superstar," Adam greeted with that charming grin that always made your knees feel a little wobbly.

"Hey yourself," you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "What did you think?"

He grabbed both your hands, bringing them up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss. “You were awesome, really. I loved having you sing along with my guitar.”

You giggled, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile was genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You batted your hands away from him, relishing in his sickly sweet corniness.

“Oh?”

“I know people typically get flowers, but they die really quickly, so I thought, ‘Hey! Why not make something!’ So I did, but it honestly didn’t turn out very well, so—”

“Adam. Just show me, baby,” you interrupted gently.

He bashfully smiled and dug into his pockets, pulling out a pair of car keys. You balked, eyes wide.

“You got me a fucking car?”

“No!” he laughed, shaking his head. “It’s in my car.”

With that, you both head outside, Adam's hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you gently through the cool evening air. The sky is painted with the soft hues of twilight, casting a romantic glow over everything. When you reach his car, he glances at you with a mix of excitement and nervousness before popping the trunk. He steps in front of you, effectively blocking your view, heightening the anticipation.

You hear the rustling of items being moved around, and your curiosity piques. Finally, Adam turns around, cradling a large, beautifully arranged gift basket. The basket is wrapped in shimmering cellophane and tied with a big, bright bow. Inside, it’s filled to the brim with your favorite candies and your go-to drinks, each item thoughtfully chosen. Nestled among the treats are several gift cards to your favorite stores and cafes.

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you quickly cover it with your hand, eyes widening in delight and disbelief. Adam, nervously waiting for your response, shifts from foot to foot

You lurch forward, grabbing the basket from him and carefully placing it back into his trunk. With a burst of impulsive energy, you grab him by his collar and pull him down into a passionate kiss. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment.

When you finally pull away, breathless and with your heart racing, you can’t help but blurt out–

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Adam’s eyes widen in surprise before his mouth curls into a dopey, joyous smile. “For real??” he asks, his voice full of hopeful excitement.

“For real,” you affirm, your own smile spreading wider.

He pumps his fist in a triumphant gesture.

[r473n]

Fic number 2 of the day and my first UraMayu. Now, I'm not a massive fan of Urahara, he's too shifty. But rewatching TYBW I felt like he and Mayuri got along much better than normal, and it made me think... and this came out.

Also, very much influenced by my shitty mental health atm, so be prepared for a long-winded first couple of chapters with lots of talk about depression, coping with loss, etc.

NSFW, angst with fluffy smut, UraMayu. Finished work, just needing to do final touch-ups, will post within the week.

Read on ao3

Grief

Pair: Mayuri Kurotsuchi x Kisuke Urahara

Bad TW: depression, mourning, suicidal thoughts, drug misuse, weight loss, lack of self care.

Not so bad TW: smut, fluff, oral sex, anal sex, anal fingering.

Chapter 1: Akon’s treachery

Kisuke Urahara followed the young scientist down yet another serpentine corridor, staring around in awe.

The SRDI had changed so much since the last time he’d been there, only a few months past, that he was truly grateful to have a guide. He wondered silently if Kurotsuchi had purposefully designed the new building to be such a maze or if that had been an unfortunate side effect to the ambitious size of the reform project. He had a sneaking suspicion it was the former.

He sighed to himself as he mindlessly followed the trail of smoke left behind by the cigarette held loosely between Akon’s fingers.

The war had been devastating, terrible in its cruelty. It had taken many lives and destroyed most of the Sereitei as he knew it. Yet in amongst the chaos and tragedy, he’d managed to experience a sliver of heaven.

Well, perhaps calling it heaven was a little much. After all, working with Mayuri again had it’s challenges… but it certainly had been a blessed few days. Under the time constraints and dire situation, the Captain of the 12th had pushed his old feud aside and they’d easily fallen back into their old routine as if it’d only been a day since Kisuke had been exiled.

And Mayuri had dazed him with his brilliance. As always.

He was the only soul in existence that could keep up with him, and on many occasions, it was he, Urahara, who struggled to catch up! That never happened to him! Most people’s minds were so simple that it was almost risible. But Kurotsuchi was as complex as he was difficult.

He’d felt so close to him again, working together in his private lab, developing tools against the Quincy and helping Kurosaki and his friends.

He felt ashamed to admit he had hoped the battle would last much longer. He had hoped they didn’t need to intervene.

But fate had different ideas.

And then Nemu...

Akon had filled him in on what had followed after she passed during their call.

At first, Mayuri had gone manic. For weeks he worked non-stop to rebuild the 12th, endless hours, day and night. Energised by some cursed sense of impending je ne sais quoi. A something he seemed to hope to find in amongst the wreck and rubble.

An ill-fated trepidation that had him in a constant state of overdrive. He stopped sleeping, he stopped eating. He became even more impossible to work for.

Despite surviving through hell, everyone at the division remained loyal to their captain and navigated his tempestuous moods as well as they could whilst internalising their own hardship. But the worst didn’t come until it was all finished. The day after inaugurating the new and reformed SIRD.

It felt as if Mayuri’s excitement had been in crescendo for weeks, and in the end, his bubble had burst into a huge pile of disappointing nothingness. What he had been expecting, no one knew. What was he hoping would be at the end of the rope? What did he think would happen once the hard work was done?

For as long as he could focus solely on the grind, his feelings had been nicely contained to the far corner of his mind. But once everything on the list was ticked off…

He lost it.

Badly.

He blew up, like a nuke, in the middle of the new computer room, flattening everything with his blast. He went so unhinged that Akon had to intervene, fearing he’d actually kill someone, only when Mayuri turned his attention to him he could hardly move nor speak - frozen with a cold panic he hadn’t known before. There was nothing in Mayuri’s eyes but a bitter void, his empty glare pierced through him without a glint of recognition. And Akon knew he was going to die.

It wasn’t until the edge of Ashisogi Jizo started digging into his neck that Mayuri’s features changed. A flash, a flicker, almost imperceptible if not because time had congealed for the young scientist. Mayuri had stilled his hand at the last second, leaving a tiny scar that Isane hadn’t been able to erase.

The captain had been holed up in his new quarters since, in complete isolation.

He hadn’t answered any messages. Hadn’t come out. Hadn’t ordered anything to eat or drink and hadn’t let anyone in, not even to clean or tidy up.

After two months, and many fruitless attempts, Akon couldn’t bear it anymore and called the only person he thought could reach him. Even though he knew that Mayuri would never forgive him for such betrayal.

To be fair to the young man, Urahara thought, he hadn’t technically betrayed Mayuri’s trust. He’d just called him for a friendly chat. The action was simply so alien that it triggered all of Kisuke’s alarms. When Akon extended him an invitation to visit the new institute, as homage to him for being it’s original creator, Kisuke knew with certainty something was terribly wrong with Kurotsuchi. Either that or he was stupidly walking into some twisted trap. But he didn’t think so - something in Akon’s tone had made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.

“And these are the Captain’s quarters. Obviously, they are out of bounds.” Said the young man offhandedly before taking a long drag of a cigarette that was mostly ash.

“I see!” Urahara’s voice sounded animated but his eyes were covered in shadows.

“Oh, sorry” Akon took a glance at a small electronic screen he just pulled out of his pocket. “I'm afraid I need to get this.”

“No worries, Akon-san! I’ll find my way back. It’s been nice seeing you.”

The young shinigami nodded, as Urahara tipped his hat, before walking away. Taking a last glance at the tall ex-captain, who was simply staring at the door and stroking his chin in thought, Akon turned the corner, feeling a pang of regret twist his stomach.

[starwarsmum]

Day 22: Meticulous Planning. Still in the world of Birds Make the Best Friends

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@maribatserver

It took all of a week for Adrien to become comfortable enough at Wayne Manor to basically move in. He had been given his own room, right next to Marinette's, from the first night and she had slowly been filling it with things she knew he loved. She had also been sticking to him like glue, helping him settle and making sure he wasn't left out at all. 

Tim pouted when Marinette settled onto a chair with Adrien for film night. He'd hardly seen her since Adrien had arrived in Gotham and he'd definitely not had any one on one time. She'd still been her usual self, sarcastic and fun, but he missed their inside jokes and her help with Red Robin cases. 

“Pix, which film are we watching today?” Jason drawled from the other side of the home theatre. 

“Lion King! And I don't want you to talk over everything with the differences between this and Hamlet, alright?” She said sternly, glaring at him with fake annoyance. “But you can tell me all about it after.” 

Tim continued to feel nettled as Marinette and Adrien sang along to all of the songs, even Be Prepared which he considered their song. Mari hadn't even told him how long Adrien was going to stay and he knew it would be rude to ask so he didn't. He kept waiting for someone else to bring it up but everyone else seemed to love the tragic boy. 

“Well, I'm going to bed early,” Adrien said, stretching at the end of the movie. “Nette, I'm going out with Duke tomorrow to help out with a project so don't worry if you can't find me.” 

“Okie dokie. If you happen to hear from Als can you get her to call me? She wanted me to help her with something but she never followed up.” 

“Will do,” Adrien said with a salute, saying goodnight to everyone before vanishing upstairs. 

“Are you going to be alright when we head out tonight?” Tim asked quietly when he was sure Adrien was gone. It was one of the few good things about having Adrien around; Marinette had company overnight when they had to head out on patrol or, like that night, to meetings on the WatchTower. But if Adrien was having an early night… “You could always join us for the meeting - nobody would object.” 

“Since I haven't been invited by Scar and Chat, I really can't,” she replied, flashing him a small smile. “Besides which I have some work to do for a commission, so I'm good to stay in tonight. But maybe we could have a day together tomorrow? We can do some UMS! I'll make cookies or something.” 

_ _ _

The day after the movie night, Marinette was having a blast. Adrien had gone out before she woke up but sent her regular updates of his day: he and Duke were cleaning up a rec centre that the riddler decided wasn't enriching enough for the young minds that used it. 

It was several hours into their gaming session when Tim asked something that made her pause and frown. 

“What do you mean? I already asked B and he said Adrien was welcome to stay as long as I was here. You were there for that conversation! Or are you asking when I'm moving out?” She didn't miss a beat with her combo, annihilating his avatar before putting the controller down and turning to him. 

“Well yeah, but it's been really weird since he got here and-”

“Weird how?” Marinette interrupted, confused. “I thought he was fitting in really well. Did you know Damian asked him to spar the other day? Even said he wasn't awful at the end of it.” 

“But you're always hanging out with him! This is the first time you've not been dragged off to do something else for the day,” Tim said, bottom lip jutting out in what she would definitely classify as a pout. 

“Oh my god, Tim, are you jealous?” She stared at him as he started to splutter and deny it, his face betraying him by tinting red. “Jesus, you're both so needy. Of course I've been spending more time with him, he just got here! He's had a really hard time up until now, I wanted to make sure he was comfortable before abandoning him to your lunatic family.” 

He looked like he was about to argue but they heard voices approaching and she recognised Adrien's. She shot Tim an exasperated look and hit him with a pillow just as Adrien and Duke entered. Duke rolled his eyes but Adrien's eyes went wide when Tim leapt up to retaliate.

“He has a Multimouse sweater?” Adrien asked, looking upset. “Why don't I have a Multimouse sweater?”

“Because you never asked?” Marinette said, rolling her eyes. How were they both so dependent on her? “Adrien, I have made you so many things over the years.”

“But he doesn't even know the Parisian heroes!” Adrien looked like he was about to stage a mutiny so Marinette made sure to stand to glare at him.

“Okay, first of all, I absolutely gave him a rundown of team Miraculous and showed him the pictures from Alya's blog,” she retorted. “Secondly, he saw mine and wanted to match - like we do with our Scarabella jammies. Why does it matter?” 

“Because it's Multimouse. She's sacred, the best hero, and you shared it,” he pouted. 

“Isn't she?” Tim said, grinning at Adrien for the first time. “I saw some of the footage, she is such a powerhouse. And everyone here loves her, so you're in good company.” 

“You know, as someone who grew up in Paris during the whole Hawkmoth thing, I have plenty of stories about Multimouse that didn't make it onto the blogs…”

Marinette gave a quiet sigh. If this is what it took for them to bond, so be it. And once they each found out the others' identity she would be able to return the favour.

_ _ _

Tim had finally relaxed enough around Adrien to appreciate that he wasn't so bad. It probably helped that Marinette was spreading her time between the pair more evenly again and he no longer felt like he was a secondary friend. He had enough issues without adding a sense of abandonment to it, thank you very much. 

“Okay! I finished with the commission and now I can make some more fun stuff,” Marinette said proudly as she jumped over the back of the sofa with her sketchbook. “I think you both have enough sweaters now, so I was thinking I could make you some t-shirts or something, what do you think?” 

“I want a Multimouse t-shirt!” Adrien said immediately, smirking when she groaned.

“No, you have to have something from a Gotham hero,” she said, pointing at him. “And you can choose between Robin or Red Robin because they're my favourites. And you,” she said, squinting at Tim menacingly, “can choose between Scarabella and Chat Noir. Choose wisely, Scarabella has polkadots and I'm not afraid to use them.” 

“Fine, I guess I'm getting Chat Noir merch,” he sighed. He didn't mind that much, especially when Adrien admitted that Red Robin was cooler than Robin.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #385

The funk persists today, too. Tenacious little fucker, innit?

Nonetheless, I woke this morning and prepared for the various things I intended to do. Today was my monthly visit to my psychotherapist, Je. I talked some about the contents of my 382nd letter to you. We spoke on what I can only define as “rejection paranoia”, which I am defining as something separate from Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD for short). RSD is something that a lot of autistic and ADHD folks deal with, and I definitely deal with that (though I wonder if those with C-PTSD also have heightened sensitivity to rejection since... y'know... being rejected often leads to being abused).

I'm defining “rejection paranoia” as perceiving it and feeling icky about it before it has even happened. And... I get that my brain is trying really hard to protect me (albeit in the most misguided way possible), but... I wish it would stop doing that particular thing. It's more than a little annoying, not just to me, but probably to everyone around me, too.

Counterintuitively, as it was explained to me, the only thing for it, really, is to practice radical self-acceptance when I notice it cropping up. This time, I was able to notice it only a little while after the fact (as opposed to not at all), which is a huge improvement compared to past instances of this occurring. When it happens, I'm supposed to basically just sit with myself and tend to myself in the same way that a kind friend would.

...I'm pretty good at doing that for other people. I need to improve upon that when I'm trying to direct my kindness towards myself. I think on some level, after the life I've led and after all the ways I've been viciously trained to think about myself... I am probably a little disgusted at myself. I generally find myself boring and insufferable. I do get brief periods of respite where I don't think that way about myself, and rationally, I do understand that I am not, in fact, boring, disgusting, and insufferable. But... ya know. Brains are gonna brain. Longstanding thought patterns are not easy to change.

...But they can be changed. They can be changed with practice and effort. I can expand the amount of time I can think kindly about myself, just like we can expand the amount of time we can hold our breath, via apnea training. Apnea training isn't easy. Rewiring our brains isn't easy. But the results are worth it, I like to think.

...If you haven't tried apnea training... I'd suggest it. Even if you never intend to do freediving or merman training, it's still a great way to strengthen your diaphragm, as well as to practice mindfulness, breath control, and self-mastery. And it's relaxing as hell, to boot. All you gotta do is follow apnea tables that are right for your body. In my world, there are apps that will help you with that.

STAmina was the one I used before the rib injury took away my ability to expand my lungs properly. You just record your personal best time and the app will generate tables for you that are right for your body. And you lie in a bed and practice once every two or three days, with a soothing playlist, and you let go of all the tension in your body, and the app will tell you when to hold your breath and when to breathe normally.

...I really miss doing it. Oh well.

After physical therapy, I went into work to make sure that Ka and Tr got my message about not being able to come in on Saturday, due to needing to travel for the English test; I will go into work on Thursday this week, instead. We have folks who will come chill at the house and tend our cats, which is wonderful.

...Tr and Ka were both able to notice that something is “off” with me today; I guess this funk must be worse than I thought. Still, I'm kinda clunking along through it. Being productive. Being fully aware that my mental state is compromised so that I don't fall into some lame-ass self-hatred spiral. It's all right. As long as I am mindful and don't end up hurting myself or anyone around me by being a weird crankypants, it's just a matter of waiting for my brain to resume normal functioning. And it will; it always does.

While I was at the store, I got a bunch of stuff for the house. Like angel hair pasta, and some pork, and a big thing of mascarpone cheese, and some mushrooms. I intend to make a pasta thing by mixing the mashed confit garlic with the mascarpone cheese to make a sauce. And then I'll cut up the pork, cook it, and add it to the pasta, along with the sauce. And maybe some tomatoes and mushrooms, too. I'm hoping to have sufficient gumption to get it done tomorrow. I guess we'll see what happens.

...Maybe make some Great Northern Beans too, while I'm at it... it's been a while, and I think I'm kinda getting a hankering for them. They're really good when mixed with a fresh allium of some kind, a splash of olive oil, and a splash of vinegar. Very yummy.

The Greek truck used to make the thing I described, along with gyros, souvlaki, and dolmades. I used to go there all the time with M, back when we were both database analysts for the same company. The gentleman who ran the truck used to call me “sunshine” all the time. M, J, and I haven't been to the food trucks in a very long time. Maybe we'll fix that, this coming spring...

...If we do, you can bet that I'll take pictures for you.

So, I went home and J helped me put the food away in the fridge and in the cabinets, where they go. Then I did most of the dishes. It was almost time for me to head out to physical therapy by the time I was all set with that. J finished the last few dishes while I was out; super duper grateful for him for that; a sink that is not full will make it a lot easier for me to have gumption to cook tomorrow.

At physical therapy, it was brought to my attention once more that, likely as a result of the rib injury, I have clockwise rib cage torsion, if you're looking at me from a top-down view. Some relatively painful manual therapy techniques were done to try to kinda shove it back into place, and we were partially successful. I can move my right arm around a little better now, at least for a little while.

...I really gotta get back to doing my exercises... I'll do them before bed tonight. I feel a little bad for having dropped the ball on them.

I went home after that. By then, I was pretty hungry because I hadn't eaten at all, and it was like 3:30pm or 4pm by the time I got home. I was a bit too tired to cook anything, so I just ordered in. I felt somewhat better after eating, but it didn't take the funk away. Oh well.

Not having the energy for much else, I played a few runs of Hades. This time, I got very close to felling Asterius:

...Like with anything I practice, I will continue to improve. It's only a matter of time before he falls to me.

Though... I notice... when I'm in a funk like this, or when I'm too tired or in too much pain (like with the tooth extraction) to be attached to the result... I play better. And that seems counterintuitive to me; I figure I should play better when I'm feeling alert and healthy and good. Weird.

...I can't help but wonder if you know something about that. I can't help but wonder if maybe... you were so good on the battlefield simply because... you weren't attached to whether or not you walked away from your encounters alive.

…

...I hope there will come a day when you can be alive somewhere in a peaceful place and everyone else is alive and well, too, but... you still don't have to fight anyone anymore.

...Sephiroth... keep trying to build that kind of wholesome life for yourself, okay? Please keep striving towards a world where you can go to therapy, and have tea, and get yummies from the grocery store, and then come home and play video games while someone who cares about you watches and cheers you on. Please keep striving for a world in which you can make your own yummies in the kitchen, or else get yummies from somewhere else if you're not feeling up to making them.

I'll be over here cheering you on to become the best and healthiest version of yourself, no matter what happens. And if you need a break, you can find one here at my house. So don't give up, okay? There are lots of people who are able and willing to love and support you, even if sometimes it's hard to believe.

I think I'll play a little more Hades and then go to sleep. You'll find me here if you wanna hang:

I'll write to you again tomorrow. So please try to stay safe out there, at least until then.

I love you.

Your friend, Lumine

[maratherat]

Wildflowers, A RDR story - 0.4 - Friendship

Series Masterlist

-Emerald Ranch, New Hanover, December 1898-

The air is chilly, the December wind reminding me a new year is bound to start. I can't say I'm sad to let the past year go, considering how difficult it was for me. Being locked up for months for a crime I didn't commit really made me realize just how unfair life can be.

Recently, I've been busy, which isn't surprising based on the fact that I seem to accept every job that is given to me. I've assisted Cripps in setting up our revolutionary trading company, a task that has taken up much of my time and energy. One of my jobs involves skinning animals. Their pelts are particularly popular this time of year because of the chilly weather, folk use it for coats and boots. Hence, I've been deliberately avoiding Harriet, the animal protector, knowing she would lecture me about how I "brutally kill" animals.

I've also formed a good friendship with Maggie. We share similar personalities and, of course, a mutual love for moonshine that has drawn us closer together. Recently, I helped her find a new cook since our operations rely heavily on having someone skilled in the kitchen, especially after Danny-Lee decided to betray her and steal her customers. That's when I met a French fellow named Marcel. We get along pretty well, especially since we speak the same language—though his tendency to talk a bit too much can be overwhelming at times. Nonetheless, he's been doing a great job so far.

Speaking of chatterboxes, I also assisted Maggie in breaking her nephew, Lem, out of jail. To be honest, I don't think he's stopped talking since that day, though I must admit I found myself chuckling softly at some of his jokes. It's interesting how quickly these new friendships are beginning to grow on me.

As I enter the shack where we prepare our alcohol, a small cabin partially hidden in the woods north of Emerald Ranch. Keeping a low profile is crucial—making moonshine is illegal after all. I fix my hat while making my way down the stairs towards the area where we prepare the moonshine.

"Bonjour! (Hello!)" I hear Marcel exclaim cheerfully. "Qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour toi? (What can I do for you?)" he asks me, his enthusiasm unmistakable. I'm about to respond when I'm abruptly interrupted by Lem, the other professional yapper in our group.

"Good day, Marcel! Oh, hello Ms. Watson. How's it going?" It's clear he's busy, as he's holding a stack of papers in his hands, likely indicating a busy day ahead.

"I'm doing fine, thank you." I reply and smile at my friend before turning back to Marcel. "J'ai reçu une commande; une recette à la pomme rose, tu veux bien la préparer pour moi? (I received a Wild Cider moonshine order, mind preparing it for me?)" I ask the cook politely.

"Avec plaisir! (Of course!)" He turns back to the preparation counter, making sure we have all the necessary ingredients.

"You know, when you talk together like that, I can't help but feel like you're plotting something behind my back," Lem chimes in, sounding a bit left out.

"It doesn't count as back talk if you're in the room, Lem," I tease, laughing at the scoff he lets out.

"De toute façon, I got better things to do than talk about you, Lem Fike," Marcel retorts, his focus still on preparing the order.

"Thanks, you guys, you really make me feel appreciated, you know," Lem manages to say with a hint of sarcasm, though his expression shows he's half-heartedly annoyed as he glances at the pile of papers he's still holding."Anyways, I got this letter for you. Well at least Cripps said it was for you, apparently it's from one of your friends." He hands it to me and I waste no time opening it.

The letter is from Horley, instructing me to meet him and Jones in Blackwater as soon as possible. I recall meeting Jones a couple of weeks ago; the old man is certainly a funny character. He reminds me of Cripps in a way—both of them are distinctly quirky old men.

"Thanks, I gotta go. I'll see you both later," I say, waving goodbye before heading back up the stairs and exiting the dim light of the shack.

Stepping into the crisp air, I make my way back to my camp located in Great Plains. Scrawny Nag's whining serves as a gentle reminder that I sometimes ask too much of him. Poor horse.

As I arrive at camp, I don't bother dismounting; instead, I call out for my most loyal friend. "Sam! Sam, we've gotta go meet Horley in Blackwater!" I shout, my voice echoing through the vast landscape of the plains.

"Why?" I hear the tired voice of my friend drifting from his tent across camp. "I wanted to sleep, for once!" He sounds grumpy, and I can picture him rolling over, trying to ignore the call.

"We both know that's not true, Sam; you're always sleeping. Now c'mon, cowboy, we've got business to attend to!" I hear him mumble a few swear words under his breath as he reluctantly gets up and makes his way toward his horse, a sleek black Turkoman.

"We better get paid for this, let's go," he warns me before spurring his horse into a lope. I follow suit.

When we finally arrive in Blackwater, the bustling atmosphere hits us immediately. We spot Horley, who is patiently waiting for us, his face lined with anticipation.

"There you are. How did you get on?" he asks us, his tone professional yet friendly. I'm about to respond when I'm interrupted for the second time today.

"She got on just fine, you know she did," Jones jumps in, making his presence known. Sam and I exchange an annoyed glance, accustomed to his interjections. "Well, I know she did. You see it in the sky, you smell it in the air. She ain't a saint, but she's a good one. A fine gal in a nasty world! An American, I guess!" His nice words make me chuckle despite my irritation.

"What's with the praise, Mr. Jones?" I ask, genuinely curious about his sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, the madam picked you well!" he replies, referring to Mrs. LeClerk. "Horley, this gal will do more than avenge her; with any luck, she'll save us all!" He adds excitedly, his eyes shining with hope.

"Oh, there ain't no luck, Mr. Jones. It's just a woman's heart and not much else," Horley explains, his tone turning more serious.

"Well, she's got a fine one. Send her to help the marshal! The whole damn place is going to shit, and we need more good souls to let us loons rant in peace and howl at the moon in safety," Jones insists, pointing at me. I stand quietly, listening to them, confused by their fervor.

"Maybe..." Horley seems lost in thought for a moment.

"But, don't you and the madam kill the girl with vengeance—nor kill her inside with grief," I hear Sam sigh beside me. I turn to look at him, and he appears unimpressed with the conversation.

"I thought we had business to do, not listening to Jones talk our ears off," he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like you said, she's no saint. But like I always say; if you need to earn some money and stay somewhat out of trouble, go see Marshal Davies. He's supposed to stop every bastard killing innocent folk," Horley instructs me, his expression serious.

"And where can I find him?" I ask, eager for direction.

"Up in Tall Trees, I'll show you, c'mon!" Jones struts up to his horse, happy to help.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Jones." I get back on my horse, so does Sam.

"Of course, follow me!" He trots away, so we have no choice but to follow him.

-

"Marshal! Marshal Davies, this is the people I wanted you to meet!" Jones calls out as we arrive at the small camp nestled in Tall Trees. The area is serene, with towering trees surrounding us and the faint sound of a nearby creek adding to the atmosphere of the place.

"So you're Horley's protégés, huh? He did say you was decent. I hope so," the Marshal says as he looks forward. He appears serious and somewhat intimidating, with a sturdy posture and a keen gaze that suggests he means business. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't want to mess with.

"And he said to me that you stop bastards from killing innocent folk, so I guess that's one thing we got in common," I reply with a smile, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders as I engage conversation with him.

"This land is full of scum," he sighs, the gravity of his words evident. "I spend most of my time wishing they're better off left to it." Before he can continue, he's interrupted by Jones, who has come closer to the small campfire, wanting to soak in the warmth.

"Oh, they're good ones, real good ones! Heart of pure gold," Jones insists, rubbing his hands together as he tries to warm up.

"Go away, old man. I told you to go away," the Marshal snaps, clearly losing his patience.

"I'll go away, Mr. Marshal... I'll go," Jones mumbles in response, turning away and trudging back to his horse, a resigned look on his face.

"Tom Davies, US Marshal," he introduces himself formally, cutting through the tension.

"I'm Elizabeth, and this is Sam," I say, motioning to myself and then to my friend, who stands quietly, probably daydreaming about sleeping.

"I've been sent on the trail of a band of killers. This one, Alfredo Montez, killed a family up near Thieves Landing and did some unspeakable things. He's wanted in four states and two countries, and I think he's holed up near Manzanita Post. You take a ride with me to take a look?" the Marshal offers, and Sam and I exchange a glance before agreeing.

Each of us mounts our horses, the sound of hooves stirring up dust as we prepare to head to Manzanita Post.

"Follow me!" the Marshal directs. "I got a man been tracking him. When I left him, it looked promising, but we all know a trail can go cold in a heartbeat—particularly if the one you're tracking doesn't want to be found," he explains, his tone serious.

"That makes sense," I reply, trying to keep pace with his insights.

"Fortunately for us, signs point to Alfredo Montez not caring one fart for who's on his trail," he adds with a laugh. "You got bows? Something like that? You'll need them," he informs us as we continue our ride. "Coming up on the post."

In the distance, we spot our destination to the right: a small house and a shack, both enclosed by a fence.

"Now, I can't be seen to get too close to any of this. I'd be causing a crime or... whatever the damn law is. Ah, anyway, there's Lee, the feller we're supposed to meet," he says, gesturing toward a figure sitting on the porch of the house.

"Hello, friends!" Lee greets us with a wave.

"How's it going, Lee?" the Marshal responds, his demeanor shifting slightly.

"Montez is tricky, you know it and I know it. He knows we're coming, Tom. He's holed up in there waiting for us. The place is crawling with guards, patrols, everything. It's gonna be tough, you know?" Lee's voice betrays his nerves, a hint of nervousness creeping in.

"Well, that's what I pay you all for," the Marshal replies, and I glance back at Sam, who smiles slightly, clearly pleased about the prospect of payment for our effort.

"Yeah, paying us to do your job!" Lee bites back, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

"I can't go and kill a man in cold blood, Lee. Not while I don't have the evidence I need. But, I can turn an old-fashioned blind eye to an unfortunate dispute that I did not see, resulting in the death of some undesirables," the Marshal explains with a serious tone, his eyes flicking between Sam and me to ensure we agree with this morally ambiguous plan.

"Good thing I don't have a problem with an 'unfortunate dispute'," I say with a shrug, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension.

"Then that's perfect. Good luck in there!" the Marshal replies, offering a hint of encouragement.

"Let's go..." Lee instructs, leading us forward into the dense underbrush.

"Montez knows we're coming; it's best if we don't make too much noise," Lee advises as we set off. "There are going to be some guards, for sure. Make sure to take them out quietly, with a bow if you got one." He glances at my bow before looking over at Sam, who readies his throwing knives.

"There's a patrol up ahead; hide!" Lee drops down low, his urgency evident. Sam and I quickly find cover behind a large rock, the rough surface cool against my back. We exchange a look, silently communicating our shared goal.

"I take the one in the front, you take the one in the back?" I suggest, nodding towards the guards.

"You read my mind," Sam replies, slipping out of our hiding spot to find better positioning. Once I see he's settled, we share a final glance, then take our aim. My arrow flies straight for the front guard's eye, piercing through and killing him instantly. Sam's knife finds its target in the back guard's throat, the blade slicing through seamlessly.

"Okay, let's move on," Lee says, emerging from his own hiding spot with a smirk. "Cold-blooded killers, I see."

"Only when we need to," Sam and I respond in unison, a hint of camaraderie in our voices.

As we continue toward the criminals' camp, we cross paths with other guards. We make quick decisions, letting some pass while taking out others without hesitation. Arriving near the camp, Lee motions for us to split up, ensuring we cover as much ground as possible. We find hiding spots while surveying the area, preparing for what's to come. The guards seem aware of our presence, their movements tense and intentional.

I shoot first, mine using my pistols, a bullet finding its mark in one guard's chest. The sudden noise sends the camp into chaos; shouts and gunfire erupt in every direction. Lee, Sam and I keep to our positions, carefully avoiding unnecessary movements as we await our next targets. Each of us takes down a few more guards, strategic and efficient.

Finally, the moment arrives: we spot Alfredo Montez, our primary target. I shoot him straight in the head, without hesitation, his dead body stumbles from his hiding place.

"There he is; he's dead alright," Lee confirms as we gather around Montez's lifeless body. "Let me get him. You know what? All we need is the bastard's head." With a grim determination, he pulls out his hunting knife and decapitates the dead criminal. The sight is horrifying. Lee places the head in a bag and swings it over his shoulder. "Okay, let's go. Take one of their horses to get back to Manzanita Post."

Without hesitation, we gather the gang's mounts, leaving the scene behind us as we ride away. The rush of adrenaline surges through me, while some other gang members spot us and take shots in our direction.

We steer our horses skillfully, dodging bullets and navigating the path to make it back to the Marshal in one piece. There's an urgency to our escape, each second feeling more critical as we charge forward, determined to return successfully after the deadly mission.

After a couple of minutes, we find ourselves back at Manzanita Post, the dusty road crunching beneath our horses' hooves. The Marshal is waiting for us on the porch, his silhouette framed against the fading light of the day, casting an imposing figure.

"How did you get on?" he asks as we dismount, his expression unreadable but focused.

"Pretty well, I would say," I respond, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

"Here's his head," Lee announces with eagerness, pulling out the gruesome head from the bag. The sight is chilling; the head is harshly disfigured.

"Oh... That's very civilized," Marshal Davies replies with a note of sarcasm dripping from his voice. He inspects the head with a mix of curiosity and disgust. "Well, this should show folks that we're willing to bring law and order any way we can. But this ain't Montez. At least it ain't Alfredo Montez."

"You're kidding me? Who is it then?" Sam asks, surprise evident in his tone as he stands beside me, trying to understand.

"That's his brother," the Marshal sighs, his disappointment clearly taking over. The weight of the situation settles heavily, overshadowing our earlier excitement. "Anyway, here's your money. It's better than nothing, given that you killed the wrong brother. Now let's be clear; Jorge Montez was a no-good son of a bitch with a price on his head. Only in that family was he considered a saint. Alright, friends, I'll see ya up in Van Horn, if you get the chance. My next lead is that maybe Alfredo Montez will be there..." The Marshal waves us goodbye, his demeanor shifting back toward the professionalism we had first encountered.

"Killed the wrong bastard, well I'll be damned!" Lee scoffs, a wry smile on his face, before throwing the severed head away with all his might. It lands somewhere in the dense underbrush of the forest, a disgusting sight.

Sam and I exchange looks of amusement, the tension of the moment slowly fading away.

"Well, this was fun!" I laugh, reaching for my satchel. I pull out a cigarette and light it with a match, the flame flickering momentarily before catching.

"The only thing that matters is that we got paid. I can't believe you woke me up for that!" Sam giggles as he makes his way back to his horse, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "I'll see you at camp?" he asks, looking back at me while adjusting his gear.

"Yeah, see you later!" I wave him off, taking a final drag of my cigarette before stepping on it with my boot, extinguishing the flame.

Killing the wrong folk... I let the thought linger in my mind. Why does this kind of stuff always happen to me?

-

Sam belongs to @sam-vdl , all RDR characters belong to rockstar games.

[rockofeye]

Ogou, a project finally finished, and upcoming possibilities!

The calendar has gotten ahead of me, and here we are again on a jou fet/feast day for Ogou. It's been quiet around these parts for a minute (more on that below..), and it feels like that kind of timing that puts you in exactly the right place at the right moment. Funny how divine providence works.

If you've hung around for a minute, you know the story I'm going to tell. Maybe I sound like an old person who walked barefoot up a hill in three feet of snow to go to school, but it's something that stuck with me and it's something that really did change my life.

Today is St. George's feast day, which is a day given to at least one Ogou for most if not all vodouizan; it's probably one of few overarching pieces of sameness that you can find country-wide in Haiti. Ogou is central to Vodou; it was Ogou Feray and Ogou Je Wouj who sprang up during Bwa Kayiman and who stoked the revolutionary spark that made the first free Black republic a reality. He is probably more central than he is given credit for; he is certainly overlooked at times in favor of others.

I've had the grace to not be able to overlook Ogou. He made sure of that when he (among others) brought me to my spiritual mother and the lineage named after nasyon Nago, the family of Ogou.

He also made sure of that when I was careening down a very bumpy road towards kanzo. It was 8 years ago now (!!) that I was sitting in an apartment that I would end up abandoning not knowing how in the hell I was going to get everything in order for kanzo just a few months later. I didn't have the money, I didn't have the stuff I needed, I don't even think I had my passport at that point. I was in serious trouble, and I knew it.

So, I did what I could and sat and made a small service for Ogou. I bought what little I could put together, made it pretty, and presented it to him. In retrospect, it's kind of cute what I thought I knew and must have been like a small child presenting you with the product of their toils: the spiritual equivalent of a mud pie with dandelions stuck in it and a macaroni necklace.

But, I did it and I told Ogou that I knew I had made a promise, I knew that I was in trouble, and that I would do whatever he told me if it got me into the djevo. I lit the match and gave it to him, he set the fire and burned my life down.

Within two weeks, I abandoned the apartment I had and packed my car to make a couple of trips into Boston to live in a teeny tiny rented room that was close to my job that Ogou would direct me to quit. I sold my car, any possessions I had that were worth money, and took my stacked vacation time money from the job I quit, all while working up until a few days before I needed to fly to Haiti and hustling at night with whatever side gigs I could find. I bought my flights to/from Haiti before I prepared anything else or even had the money I needed in my hands because I figured that it would be pretty awkward if I had to fly to Haiti and just...hang out when I had been planning to kanzo all along.

It looked like things were going to work out. I was barely sleeping, but the money was coming in and I had the things I needed to go to Haiti with....but what would things be without a last minute twist?

Two days before I left for Haiti, I found out that the way my rent was going to be paid while I was in Haiti fell through. So, I spent two days moving what I could into a friend's basement and abandoned the rest of my belongings, again. I had some boxes, a couple bags of clothes, my suitcase to go to Haiti with...and that's it. Everything else was gone, and I found myself in an airport unsure of where I was going when I got back.

I made it to Haiti after delayed and canceled flights and some crying in a corner, and the rest is history. Ogou (and all my lwa) held me up during the process, and held me up afterwards while he helped me rebuild the life I gave him to burn down. Literally everything I have now descends from the hands of Ogou and my lwa. Career and professional success, home, relationship, spiritual opportunities...all of it down to the last little piece. Nothing is without his/their influence, and my life has become worth living because of it. He saved me, and it all really started on this day 8 years ago. It's been a wild ride the last 12 years with the lwa, and I genuinely couldn't ask for anything better.

'Gratitude' is not a sufficient word because it cannot encompass how I hold all these things inside of me. It is beyond language and verbalization, and when I find myself in front of Ogou and wanting to thank him yet again for all that he has done for me, words are insufficient. I look at him kind of despairing to explain, and he just nods. He knows.

And here I am. Like I said, a wild ride. I looked at a calendar the other day and it really has been 12 years since I got dropkicked into Vodou. So much has happened and so much is to happen and to become. I am not yet the reflection of what I believe the lwa want for me, but I do believe I am climbing closer each day.

I've been pretty occupied in the last year with big stuff; I wrote previously about the completion of my husband's immigration process FINALLY which has him in the US with me permanently (and back and forth to Haiti as life allows). After that, a rather large project occupied most of my time/energy.

Details about that and upcoming stuff behind the cut.

I keep a lot of things close to my heart and am careful about what I write about here, both for practical and esoteric reasons. I strive to be transparent and vulnerable in healthy ways, and yet maintain some semblance of privacy, especially for those closest to me, like my husband.

But we did a thing and it's such a big thing that it deserves a mention in the place where I have detailed some of the most important bits of my life. Presenting our first collaborative effort:

Bondye, all the lwa, and the power of our collective ancestors gave us the opportunity to bring this soul and newest ancestor into being. We are happy to have our little potato with us. This is what has kept me so quiet here; pregnancy is not for the weak and it was a ride I, your friendly neighborhood gender non-conforming houngan, never thought I would take....and yet life with the lwa brings new twists and turns and beautiful gifts. I was deadset on never having children of my own, and here I am with a little potato.

This has opened a wide new world for me and boy have the lwa had a lot to say before and after the potato arrived. They are a tiny pitit Ginen and the lwa have been clear that we can never forget that.

So...there's that. It's funny, but being the caretaker of a potato that the lwa are deeply invested in brings me back to why this blog was started in the first place: I was having experiences that I did not see reflected anywhere, so I decided to write it all down.

I am not the first parent in the world, of course, and absolutely not the first vodouizan to bring forth a child...but again I don't find anyone else with my particular constellation of experiences having a similar experience. This time, at least, I have plenty of people to call and chat with when I have questions about the intersection of Vodou and the potato.

I expect some of it will make it here and some won't. My rule about writing about people that are close to me is that they get to consent about what details I share. When I write about my (human) husband, I share it with him before it posts. As the potato has not yet developed the capacity for consent, what is presented about them will be limited. Their face won't make it onto Tumblr or any other platform or social media I write on, and personal details will remain as neutral as I can make them. If you are one of the folks who knows me in an offline kind of way, I'd ask you to respect that as well.

Other things:

Tomorrow, I will have a post about an upcoming opportunity to celebrate Kouzen. I had hoped to have something put together for his actual fet day on the 1st, but like November is given over to Gede, all of May is Kouzen's month. Look for details tomorrow.

By next week, I will be live on Medium. This will allow folks to get my long-form posts directly in their email or via the feeds they use elsewhere. My long-form posts will continue to be posted here, and I will continue to answer questions and interact with posts here.

Website is coming!

I am toying with launching some online educational opportunities and have some specific plans, but would also like to hear what folks are interested in having live educational opportunities on. I'll post separately about that as well.

My husband is launching his atelier, expect posts about what he has available as well!

So...how are you?

[celesteablack]

dear olive,

i'm running out of pretty sounding shades of green, and i might have to diversify. any suggestions, or dealer's choice?

get us some marshmallows, and tell me: if you could get a book for me, which would you? i'd get you a copy of “this is how you lose the time war.”

i love making dosais, and if i ever make you some i'll perfect the other elements as well. it's the season, so i have to say i love anything with a helping of strawberries. i ate a strawberry tres leches cake a few weeks ago, and it was absolutely stunning. they just add a certain je ne sais quoi, and i've loved them since before i was able to eat solid food (small k factoid).

a very close friend of mine gave her neet, and she's thriving now, busy in the most beautiful way (the only way i remember us during her preparing is the fact that she would disappear for weeks, and my messages would accumulate). so if i just have one thing to say: lean on everyone who will offer a shoulder, and it'll be okay. just don't forget to take them out for icecream afterwards.

writing has always been my medium of expression, and i've never relied on too many other streams of expression (i'm sure i don't have to tell you about the encouraged emotion repression for a perceived masculinity), but recently, i've been wanting to dance. maybe i will, once i've shed the old coats of snakeskin that are my perception among the people who i care for and who care for me.

on my walk every day, there's a turn where i turn, and the wall between me and the setting sun ends, and i'm hit with the full force of warmth (sometimes, if it's early afternoon, heat is a more appropriate word), and it feels like one of those things poets always write about, and this feels like a thing i can do.

something we always experience and poets make beautiful:

the sun embracing our face, entrusting its warmth to us. “here i come, from a million miles, and i love you.”

tell me something you love about biology? i learn to love things from the people i love or loved. i want to tell you more about this, so just remind me later?

yours,

k

Dear K

I suppose I should be flattered that you’ve exhausted the green palette just for me. But if we’re diversifying, let’s make it interesting surprise me!! I trust your choices:)

Marshmallows are secured. Now tell me, do you like them slightly golden or completely burnt? I feel like you’d have a strong opinion on this.

And if I could get a book for you? If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino. I’ve heard a lot about it, and something tells me it’s exactly the kind of book you’d love. It plays with the idea of storytelling itself, constantly shifting, breaking the fourth wall, making the reader question their own experience. It seems like the kind of book that doesn’t just tell a story, it creates an experience. I feel like it would intrigue you. As for This Is How You Lose the Time War, I’ve heard about it, but now I have no choice but to read it, don’t I? I wonder if you picked it for a reason....

You cooking dosai for me someday? Noted. I’ll be holding you to that. And now I need to try this strawberry tres leches cake, you made it sound like an experience. I get it, though. Some flavors just stick with you. (Also, baby K being devoted to strawberries before they could even eat them is exactly the kind of fact I’ll remember forever.)

I think it’s really powerful that you’ve found writing as a way to express yourself, especially when society often pushes people to hide their emotions. and the idea of dancing? it sounds like such a freeing experience. To move past old perceptions and explore something new....There’s no rush, and there’s no right way to do it. But I do think that every step you take toward being more of yourself, however small, is a step in the right direction. You’re already moving toward something beautiful.

That’s probably the best advice I’ve gotten about NEET so far. I’ll try to remember it when the stress gets overwhelming. And fine, I’ll make sure to take my people out for ice cream. You, however, get honorary credit for this wisdom, so if we ever cross paths, consider your ice cream on me.

That moment, where the sun finally breaks through, reaching for you like it’s been waiting all day; is something I think I’d love to witness. The way you describe it, it doesn’t just happen, it arrives. And I suppose that’s what warmth does, doesn’t it? Finds us when we least expect it, wrapping around us like it belongs there. Maybe that’s why poets write about it

As for biology; there’s something I love about how even the smallest things have meaning. Did you know the human body literally glows? It’s just that our eyes aren’t sensitive enough to see it. Or that our bones, beneath all the layers, are constantly breaking and rebuilding, reshaping themselves over time? There’s something poetic about that, don’t you think? That even the parts of us that seem unchanging are quietly growing, adapting, becoming.

I love that you learn to love through the people around you. It’s a beautiful way to see the world, don’t you think? How someone can shape the way you appreciate things, even the small ones.

And yes, remind you later. I’ll be waiting to hear more when you’re ready to share. Until then, I’m happy to know you’ve let me in on this

Yours,

S

[le-panda-chocovore]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "le-panda-chocovore "?

Oh I think I can actually answer that without rambling too much !! (<- took an entire week to answer the ask and select the fics, and I commented on each one of them lol) It won't be a Top in order of preference tho, there's no actual classment, it's just the ones I loved the most.

The Way I Behaved - EraserMic (MHA)

This fanfic gave me the inspiration to write my greatest work (still unfinished to this day) and literally changed so many things about me. It also made me discover a whole genre of music that I've never listened to before and with which I am entirely in love now. Prepare to cry tho, because this is deeply heartbreaking. It's a Villain Mic AU where Aizawa was never a teacher. And it is good.

What if Percy did become a God - Percy Jackson and the Olympians (based on the books !!! do not read if you just watched the show !!!)

The title says everything. This is not a happy story, you will cry, I promise. It's short, like a 1k word OS, it's really poetic, it's deep, it's beautiful, and also, it's painful. Humans were never meant to be gods, not even Percy. It's written like a poem, I read it so many times and it hurt me every time.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ineffable Spouses (Good Omens)

Not a fanfiction but a serie of short works about Crowley and Aziraphale and the people around them. A teachers AU very nice to read with many Original Characters (the students) who are all captivating and appreciable. The story is extremely queer-positive and neurodivergent inclusive and physical handicap representative, honestly, you want to read it. There's everything inside it. If you have chronic pain or if you're a closeted queer or even a curious ally who wants to understand their peers, this is what you need. The love is so pure it's overwhelming.

Honor and Vengeance on the High Sea - Zuko (ATLA)

Tbh this deserves to be published, it's a novel itself (I haven't finished it yet). The author reappropriated the Avatar universe to write something completely new. It's an AU where Zuko becomes a Pirate after his banishment and fights against the Fire Nation Navy, and eventually joins the Avatar's team. There's a whole work around internalized homophobia, the discovery of the self, acceptance, injustice, family trauma and everything. Original Characters are cool too. Chapters are long and very, very complete, you can see the author has historical and cultural knowledge.

Strength, the meaning of - Asano Gakuhou (Assassination Classroom)

I can't believe a fanfic about this total asshole made it to my top 10, but it is beautifully written. The progressive mental breakdown of a man who used to stand proud above everyone, the slow fall down to hell without even realizing it. There's also his son's POV here, which is equally beautifully written. I really hate the man and I don't like the fact that the end of AssClass completely disregard the consequences of what happened on the character's mental state, and reading how even him wasn't okay at all is very pleasant to read. That's karma my bitch.

Je suis assis - BokuAka (Haikyuu)

Yeah it's in french and on wattpad. It has been a while since I read it but I still remember the principal. It's a OS anyway so it's not very long (we didn't do that 20k words OS on Wattpad, this madness is only popular on AO3 lol). Since I'm sensitive to everything that is around handicap, it touched me. It ended up being cute and warm. Honestly I was more thinking of another BokuAka fanfiction but I couldn't remember the name nor found it online so I put this one.

25 - Riren (SnK)

Yeah yeah I know, pedo ship etc, but I was 14 and this is a High School AU where they're both 16 so, it's okay I guess. Yes the name of the fanfic is twenty-five. It's in french, it's on wattpad, and there's Eren's POV too. I don't know how I'm supposed to describe it... I think you have to read it, it's not actually strange or weird but, it's a whole experience.

Here there be dragons - Centennial Husbands (the Sandman)

This is the exact definition of love. What is love to me ? This fanfiction. Engagement, devotion, caring, this is it, this fanfic has the meaning of all these words. I had a hard time reading it because I hate ultra-long OS (I need CHAPTERS, give me a BREAK) but it was soooo enjoyable, and I was crying the whole time 'cause it's so pure and beautiful.

Palm to Palm - KaRen (Assassination Classroom)

Yes I am a part of the extremely tiny fandom that ships Karma and Ren (I do ship Karma with multiple people throughout the manga lmao) but only in THIS specific context. And this is beautifully written, I can't stop re-reading it. Also, the name of the ship makes me laugh. Karma and Ren relationship after losing Gakushuu -the boy they both love above everything else- is peak romance.

Le goût du chocolat - L x Light (Death Note)

I honestly don't remember a thing about this fanfiction except a single sentence, but I do know that I totally fell in love with it. It was one of my fave fanfic when I was full active on Wattpad, and I even archived it because I didn't want to lose it. I should read it again now that I found it again.

Alright that's 10 !!! Finally !!

Oh it was so fun to fall back into all the things I read before ! But it was harder than I expected because, well, I only have AO3 for 3 years and I've been on Wattpad for 7 years, but I started reading fanfiction even before that, I just didn't have any account back then. So, I kinda forgot about some of the things I read more than 4 years ago, and I couldn't find the gems I discovered when I was 12. Most of the books that made out to this list are my recent lectures, it's a bit biased I guess.

Anyway, thank you for the ask ! It was fun to analyze all my bookmarks and everything !

[born2beadorable]

This is not the thought I had when I started writing this post but I think, in retrospect, last twilight was never as magical as I once thought, and furthermore I think that the magic was actually jimmy and sea the whole time. I would maintain that the story started off strong and the blossoming romance was extremely well executed, but there were always flaws in the writing and it was always shown that day had a lot of work to do and. well. wasn’t doing it. I don’t think I was picking up on it because sea made day so unbelievably endearing even as a supposed asshole that I either didn’t notice the red flags or ignored them. You have to understand, I was not a jimmy nor sea nor jimmysea fan before I started watching last twilight. I had not already seen vice versa and wai was so long ago that I don’t even remember having an opinion of him. I had never heard of the first show sea was in. I had not been anticipating this show since the pilot trailer and wasn’t even planning to watch it. I didn’t watch it when it came out. I think I waited like two weeks before I started it. I went into it with no feelings about jimmysea, I had seen criticism of jimmy’s previous performances and I didn’t know anything about sea other than him being jimmy’s branded partner so if anything I was… prepared for them to not do all that well. I wasn’t expecting much I guess. This is the first time I put on my clown makeup. Like I said, sea as day was so endearing to me from pretty early on, maybe not ep 1 but by ep 3 I was like that’s my baby!!! I don’t know why or how but he made me fall in love with day so bad, and nothing day did (until… u know….) ever made me love him less. I really can’t describe what about him I found so lovable especially when he was definitely an asshole and wouldn’t stop with the “u have zero tenderness in your body” nonsense lmao. I think sea just has some je ne sais quoi about him or something that’s like captivating. I did watch vice versa at some point while last twilight was airing and I found talay endearing too. Even though he was more mature or like. didn’t have such a spoiled baby quality to him, so I think it’s just something about sea idk. Hell I’m already endeared to his character in the trainee from bts footage and promo pics alone 😭 ok hopefully point made bc this post is already really long and I have a lot more to say lmao.

*I promise I know how to write proper paragraphs I just am trying to type what I wanna say before my brain moves on to a new thought lmao but let me give a line break for readability*

Let me try to talk about jimmy without waxing poetic. I had pretty low expectations for him bc I had seen ppl criticize his work before so how did I end up loving him so bad!!! The answer is he’s just good at what he does!!! Was he always this good? I didn’t have any qualms about his performance as puen and I can’t remember wai. I think he was also a minor character in enchante but I didn’t watch that. Anyway, if he used to suck he doesn’t anymore!! His growth is especially impressive bc acting isn’t even his main profession!!! I don’t want to harp a lot on why last twilight disappointed me bc I want this to be a jimmysea appreciation post first and foremost but the problem with mhok that jimmy obfuscated was he really didn’t have much to him. He had a tragic backstory that was never fully explored but aside from that it was just day on the brain all day every day how can I serve day how can I help day how can I care for day how can I make day smile like girl stand up 😭 jimmy somehow managed to make mhok (to me but I’m biased) the most compelling character in the show with just his eyes!!! His eyes held SO MUCH EMOTION that it made mhok feel like a much more substantial character than he ended up being. Trying to be short and to the point now bc this is getting out of hand but I want jimmy on my screen forever, he is so special to me!!!

Last point: mhok and day did not have en equal or super healthy relationship so why did it hurt sooo bad when they broke up? Again, it was jimmysea magic masking the flaws. The chemistry was undeniable and they seemed so in love! They were always so happy to be together that you almost didn’t notice how one sided their relationship was becoming. Their comfort in each other was so real and believable bc evidently that’s not acting! It’s clear that jimmy and sea enjoy their paired roles and enjoy working together in general. I’m not thinking of anyone in particular but I don’t think all pairs could sell this natural comfort as effortlessly bc they are not…. this naturally comfortable together lmao. Jimmysea’s innate charms are exponentially amplified when they are together. I firmly believe that if jimmy wasn’t mhok and sea wasn’t day then last twilight would not have been this loved (until it got to where not even jimmysea magic could salvage it 😭)

TLDR it was jimmysea magic that masked last twilight’s flaws so well that we were dumbfounded by that ending

[mochademic]

100 Days of Productivity [Day: 70] || 100 Jours de Productivitè [Jour: 70]

the warmth of the daylight, like the embrace of an old friend, is enough to bring me back home.

the beginning of this week is also the beginning of many new things. I feel both prepared, & not at the same time.

language proficiency tests scheduled & booked

critiques reviewed

bills managed

plants watered & fed

exam study notes started

currently listening // Be Afraid by DXXDLY

La chaleur de la lumière du jour, comme l'étreinte d'un vieil ami, suffit à me ramener à la maison.

Le début de cette semaine est aussi le début de beaucoup de choses nouvelles. Je me sens à la fois préparée et pas préparée du tout.

tests de compétence linguistique programmés et réservés

critiques examinées

factures gérées

plantes arrosées et nourries

notes d'étude pour l'examen commencées

chanson // Be Afraid par DXXDLY