#but leaving aside all of that‚ she's so fucking aggressively mediocre

[hussyknee]

cant put my finger on it, but Taylor Swift feels like walking racial microaggression

[rezzyromance]

Karl Heisenberg x GN! Reader

Summary: You try to calm down Karl from one of his temper tantrums, and he accidentally hurts you.

Tw: cursing, aggressive tones, blood, uuuhhh angst? Idk.

"THAT BITCH! THAT STUPID, OVERSIZED, SELF-RIGHTEOUS BITCH!" you could hear very clearly ringing through the factory like church bells. You were sitting quietly in the bedroom that you and Karl shared, reading a book to pass the time. It was one of the few rooms he felt comfortable with you being in alone. While he never told you that you weren't allowed to roam around the factory freely, he made it clear to you that he'd much rather you stick to the safer areas when he wasn't around.

The angry man had just returned from one of his "family meetings". You had never been to one due to the fact that Karl feared of Miranda finding out about you, but you could easily understand that they must be very frustrating for him as he always returns from them with such an angry energy that it almost felt like static popping around him. This time though, he was noticeably more angry. The stomping of his foot steps were louder and you could hear them approaching closer to the door. "SHE FOLLOWS MIRANDA LIKE A FUCKING DOG! A BRAINLESS FUCKING MUTT!" he yelled as he continued to stomp down the hallway. You could hear by the way his voice faded that he passed the door. "He must be heading to his office..." you think to yourself as you put down your book and make your way to the door. You walk out and follow the sounds of the angry man.

As you made your way to his office, muffled sounds of him bickering got louder and louder. They were accompanied by loud, thudding noises. You grab the doorknob and make your way slowly into his office. The room had been trashed during his fit of rage. Papers were covering the floor along with clutter from his desk. He was standing in the midst of it all, shoulders and chest rising and falling with each ravenous pant he let out.

"...get out" he says with his back facing you. You could tell that he had spoken through gritted teeth. "Karl, please calm down. Do you need to tal-" "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!" he interrupted you and turned to face you. His face twitched in anger. You had never seen him this angry before, and you didn't want to leave him like this. "Was it something Alcina did? Do you want to talk about it?" You step further into the room. "Oh why the fuck do you care?! What the fuck do you know about that big bitch and the shit I have to endure whenever I have to sit in a room with her for fucking hours on end?! Don't act like you give a good god damn!" He continued to scream. His words were harsh and his tone was harsher. His mind was so clouded with rage that he wasn't even paying attention to how it may affect you.

You hated seeing him like this. Despite his demands that you leave him alone, you persisted. "But I do care! Come on baby take a deep breath and settle down." He turned away from you and started anxiously running his gloved hand through his hair, knocking his hat to the ground. Metal objects from all around the room began to rise slowly. "I understand you're upset bu-" you continue to try and comfort him but he interrupts again. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND SHIT! STOP ACTING LIKE YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING THAT I GO THROUGH! AND STOP PRETENDING THAT YOU CARE!" He yells with all his chest as metal goes flying in all direction. Many of these sharp objects fly past you and soon enough you feel a hot sting on your right shoulder.

You would normally scream or even gasp at this, but you were so shocked at the pure rage coming from the man standing before you that all you could do is stand there and clutch your bleeding arm. Your shirt soon began to grow wet around the area. With a single glance you could tell it was deep. Your legs began to tremble and your breathing became unsteady. The room was completely silent as you stared at the back of Heisenberg. The burst of energy exhausted him slightly and he stared at the ground, trying to gather his thoughts. "What now?" He thought. "Look... I know you're trying to help but-" he turns to face you and is met with a sight that causes his stomach to drop.

Your eyes were as wide as a deer in headlights. You were frozen in place and the only movement coming from your body was your shaky breath and fearful trembling. He looked to where your hand was clutching your arm and saw a large red spot, growing in size fast. "Oh shit", he whispers as he runs over to you. You flinch slightly and take step back, worried of what he might do next. You knew he didn't mean to hurt you, you were just in shock. "Fuck (Y/N) I'm so sorry. I'm sososo fucking sorry." He apologizes and throws his glasses off so he can examine your wound better. He takes your hand and moves it aside and soon more blood begins to leak from the large cut.

He quickly picks you up and places you the chair by his desk. He's had to patch himself up many times before, so he felt confident about closing your wound. What worried him was how you must feel about him now. His heart was in his stomach as he gathered all the supplies necessary for a quick surgery.

"I'm so sorry.." he continues to say as the needle goes in and out of your skin, closing the wound. You could tell by his worried eyes that he didn't mean to hurt you. He was crouching beside you, making sure to be eye-level with your shoulder. With the hand on your unwounded arm, you reach over and cup his cheek. He doesn't melt into your touch like he usually does due to how focused he was on stitching you up, but it did provide him with some comfort. Finally with a deep sigh from the both of you, the mediocre surgery was done.

He began to stand up, but you stop him by placing a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you and makes eye contact for only a second. He felt too guilty to look for too long. You then wrap both arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. He wraps his around around you slowly, unsure if he deserves it. He felt like a monster for hurting you. "I love you", you say. These words hurt him and heal him at the same time. "I don't know how." He says with a broken smile.

That night, he held you a little tighter, kissed you a little more, and slept a little less.

[plus-size-reader]

Love

Geralt of Rivia x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2005 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Geralt confesses his feelings for the reader as she’s bleeding out but when she recovers, he isn’t sure how to navigate from there.

——————————————————————————————————

Geralt told you that he loved you.

He thought you were dying, and he told you that he loved you.

However, the stab wound you’d suffered at the hands of that man wandering through the forest hadn’t been as deep as you’d initially assumed and you were nearly back to normal in a few days.

That left the three of you; Geralt, Jaskier, and you in a rather precarious position. Jaskier had taken on the tedious job of changing your bandages and making sure you didn’t tear at the mediocre stitches he’d given you while Geralt wouldn’t even look at you.

You weren’t sure what it was that you’d done but you were sure of one thing, you were sure that Geralt hated you. For one reason or another, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he never spoke to you again.

The biggest trouble with the witcher was that you barely understood him in the first place but after everything that had happened lately, you couldn’t even guess what he was thinking.

...And you couldn't even ask him because he wouldn’t be near you for more than a moment or two in passing.

So, you had to stick to what little contact you did have and talked through all your worries and concerns with Jaskier. Even now, as he was fiddling with the wrap on your abdomen, you couldn’t focus on anything more than Geralt.

“Why would he say that to me? Assuming, ah, that he wouldn’t have to ever deal with the consequences?” you asked, only stopping in the middle to wince when Jaskier pulled away the bandage from the bloodied wound a little too aggressively.

You had thought over that moment over and over again since it happened, and you still couldn’t make sense of it.

Geralt was the first one of the two of them to find you there, laying in a puddle of your own blood, the man who stabbed you long gone by then. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, or what was happening as you faded in and out of consciousness.

However, what you did remember more vividly than everything else was when Geralt leaned down over you, holding the wound in your stomach tightly with one hand and bracing your cheek with the other as he urged you to stay awake.

The pain was numbing, but after that much time, you barely even paid it any mind.

All you could focus on was Geralt’s face, and the words that fell from his lips as he tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“You’re going to be fine, just keep your eyes on me” he begged, doing his very best to keep calm though it was hard to ignore how much blood you had lost. He wasn’t sure that there was any way to come back from that.

Still, he couldn’t help but hope that you were going to pull through. Normally, something like that wasn’t going to just slip through the cracks but with everything going on, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t leave me Y/N, I love you”

It was so real, and even though you did end up passing out on the way back to the camp, it was the first thing you remembered as soon as you did wake up.

Geralt loved you, and there was no moving on from that...at least, not for you.

He seemed to have wanted to completely forget it, as if he’d never said it at all. However, you couldn’t let it go nearly as easily, mostly because he offered no explanation.

If he told you that it was some kind of mistake, made out of the desperation of the situation, you could get on with your life as if it never happened, though it would hurt. The worst part of it all was that you had no frame of reference for it.

You didn’t even know if he cared for you or not.

...And Geralt wasn’t exactly clarifying.

Jaskier considered his words for a moment or so, folding a shred of cloth over itself a few times to make a bandage for your wound. It was healing rather nicely, all things considered but if you came down with an infection, it wouldn’t be for long.

Luckily, he had spent a few nights with a medicine woman a few years back and that brief knowledge helped both you and the witcher on your travels.

It wasn’t much, especially seeing as he spent more time studying her body than the things she was trying to teach him, but it was enough.

“Unfortunately my dear, Grumpy out there is the only one who can answer that. Who knows, maybe I would have done the same had I found you there” Jaskier shrugged finally, gesturing outside the tent to where Geralt was.

He wished desperately that he could help you understand and that he could give you the answers that you craved but he wasn’t in a position to do so. Truly, the only person who could tell you was the witcher, and you both knew it.

...Fuck.

You had really hoped that Jaskier would be able to tell you so you wouldn’t have to confront the man yourself, but as it would turn out, you didn’t have much of a choice.

So, you finished up with Jaskier, making sure to thank him for being so diligent in your care and then made your way out to the river, where Geralt was currently staring into the depths.

He had been being so strange lately, and there really was no explanation for it, the obvious aside. The two of you had never had trouble speaking to each other before but this was different.

These circumstances were beyond your control.

“Looking for something, witcher?” you questioned first, finding that was the best icebreaker you could have hoped for. You both knew where this conversation was going, but it had to be handled the right way.

You were both rogues as a general rule, but sometimes it was easier to hide behind the social pleasantries that you usually disposed of.

“No”

That was about what you’d been expecting, but you’d already made up your mind. You were going to have this conversation, even if you had to knock Geralt on his ass to do it.

You weren’t going to just sit around like a damsel in distress, waiting for him to decide that you were deserving of an explanation.

All you could do was sigh, unable to keep your frustration a secret anymore. You had been raking your brain for days, when you weren’t in inconsolable pain, desperate to understand.

Nothing made him say it, in that moment he deemed as the last of your life, but he did anyway and there had to be a reason.

“Enough of this Geralt, why have you been so distant lately? I can’t understand” you asked, no longer paying any mind to how crazy you may have looked.

He wasn’t the only one who’d had to face your mortality. You couldn’t have died there in that moore, and still, you couldn’t get him to even answer a few simple questions.

Of course you were losing patience.

“I’ve spoken to Jaskier, he has no idea. I’ve given it every possible moment I could, but I can’t think about it anymore. I’m going to drive myself mad” you explained, both your hands rubbing hastily over your face.

You just couldn’t sit back and pretend it didn’t happen and maybe he could. Maybe Geralt was perfectly content with never speaking to you again, but you werent.

If nothing else, he was a good friend of yours and that would be a loss all its own.

Now, Geralt had been ignoring you purposefully, of course. He had no idea how to address what had happened there under that oak tree but he understood where you were coming from as well.

It truly wasn’t fair of him to expect you to forget it.

...But he just wasn’t sure how to explain himself.

Deep down the witcher knew that he was completely and irrevocably in love with you but that wasn’t even something he was willing to admit to himself so how was he meant to just tell you?

There was too much at stake on both sides. If you did happen to feel the same for him, you would be in danger for all the days of your life that you had left but if you didn’t, his heart would surely shatter.

How was he meant to approach you after that?

You had made it abundantly clear that you were in this voyage for the long haul and it would be terribly strange to have to see one another every day after this.

Still, there was no refuting the truth.

You had started this conversation, and he couldn’t very well back out of it again. He could only get away with that for so long, and it was time to own up to what he’d done.

“I thought I’d lost you” he started finally, his voice low in his throat as he tried to keep any composure he still had. These weren’t the sort of things he was used to talking about, and it was difficult.

Though, he had already made peace with the fact that he owed you an explanation, so he just had to swallow his pride and get it over with.

Whatever was going to happen, it was best to just get it out of the way now.

“As did I” you joked, not missing a beat as you tried to lighten the mood but Geralt only looked at you, those golden eyes of his silently begging you to just let him get through this.

...So you did.

You held your tongue, fiddling with your fingers as you let the man compose his thoughts. You understood that this was difficult for him but at least he was trying to tell you the truth.

It was more than you thought you’d get, frankly, when you came out here.

“I could not bear the idea of losing you without telling you the truth, and the truth is that I love you, Y/N” he admitted, his words shocking you more than even you were prepared for.

Until this moment, you could only think back in hazy memory to when those words had left his lips, but you had no confirmation that it was real. As soon as he spoke them into existence again, it confirmed what you’d believed all this time.

Geralt was in love with you.

“I was a coward, hiding behind what had happened but it doesn’t really matter. I have felt this way for quite some time” he shrugged, not once looking you in the eye the entire time.

He would never admit it, but Geralt was afraid. He was terrified of how you would react to his grand confession but that was quick to fade. You didn’t even have a chance to reject him really because you immediately found yourself in his arms, your lips pressed to his own.

It was a quick motion, something you shouldn’t have done, because as soon as you pulled away from him, the haze melted away from the two of you and you realized that you’d just really hurt yourself.

Though, Geralt beat you to it. “Your stitches” he warned, setting you down on the ground almost immediately after scooping you up.

The realization left you as quickly as it had came, but you didn’t really care. Frankly, you had more on your mind than a few torn sutures and from the tent, where Jaskier had been watching, all he saw was you, leaping into the white haired man’s arms again.

He was going to have to clean that all up, but it was best to just let the two of you have your moment for now.

After all, it wasn’t everyday that you admitted your love to one another.

[yungfuckfacemcgee]

After many many months I FINALLY finished this Westallen fanfic that has now morphed into a 74,500 word behemoth

It’s called Everything in Existence. It’s a no powers, meet-cute AU that is basically just the novelized movie I’m waiting for Netflix to cast Candice Patton in. Here is the first chapter (I’m gonna post it on AO3) I hope you like it because I like it and this is the first big, real-ish thing I’ve written and I am proud.

Chapter 1

“…so, I guess, what I’m trying to say is it’s not you, it’s me. And I know people say this all the time, but, I really hope we can stay friends.” 

“Are you serious, Iris?” 

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have done this while they were lying in bed together after another night of sub-par sex. But Iris West couldn’t take it anymore: every second of their “relationship” felt like a knife scraping a dinner plate. At the time, she thought it made sense to finally agree to be exclusive with Scott after a month of casual post-work hookups. Their relationship made sense on paper. They were the two hot, young, Black reporters in the office. He was good looking, smart, nice, and he was almost as good at his job as she was at hers. It was logical. But the longer they stayed together, the clearer her image of Scott became. What she initially thought was kindness turned out to be charm; she could see it in the way he would suck up to their editors or all of his patronizing interactions with the new hires. On more than one occasion she caught him checking himself out in the mirror; looking back on it Scott never looked at her with the same appreciation. And she could’ve set all of that aside, she really could’ve, if he hadn’t fucked with her at work. He took her idea for a new feature to their misogynistic, asshole of a boss. Scott got his ticket to the office's inner circle and left Iris behind writing listicles with 21-year-old interns fresh out of undergrad. 

He was staring at her expectantly, apparently waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah I am, Scott,” she said. “This isn’t working for me anymore.” 

“Wow” he scoffed, offended. He started getting out of bed and redressing, angrily pulling on his raw denim jeans. 

“You know everyone at the office always said you were kind of a bitch but I saw past that.” “Excuse me?” Iris asked, her eyebrows shooting up in shock. Any semblance of Scott’s nice guy act evaporated as soon as his feet hit the floor. She sat up in her bed, watching as he collected the few belongings he had in her apartment, stuffing them into his monogrammed leather overnight bag. Even though they’d been together for nearly half a year Scott never left more than a stick of deodorant or an extra pair of socks at her place. Truthfully, Iris never wanted him to.

“Wasted all my time giving you this ‘exclusive’ shit,” he muttered to himself as he took his watch from the nightstand. “You’re not the only hot girl who wanted me, you know. I had so many opportunities, sweetheart. Okay? I could’ve been sleeping with white women.” Who even says that? “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Scott!” Iris yelled as he flung open her bedroom door. She got up to follow him through the living room, “and you know what? I take it back! I DON’T want to stay friends!” And with that she slammed the door.

“Morning sunshine.” “Fuck!” Iris grabbed her chest. She hadn’t noticed her roommate, Linda, sitting in the kitchen while she was chasing Scott out. 

“So I take it you finally gave Scott ‘the talk’?” Linda asked over her morning paper. 

The two girls had met Linda’s first night living in the city, through a mutual friend who invited a group of them out to a bar with fifty cent jello shots. Iris left early without saying goodbye, feeling a blackout coming on. At 4 a.m. a wasted Linda was pounding on her door, saying “I wanted to make sure you made it home” before pushing past her, into her shoebox of an apartment, throwing up blue into her toilet, and passing out on her bed. They’d been best friends ever since. 

“Mmmhhhh,” Iris moaned in the affirmative as she flopped face first on to their old couch. “Sorry, honey. At least you don’t have to deal with that dickhead anymore. You know I never liked him.” For as long as they’d known each other, it felt as though Linda was constantly saying I told you so. It occasionally ignited standoffs that never lasted more than a couple days, and more often than not got resolved with apology tequila and kitchen karaoke. 

Iris peeled herself off the couch and straightened out her disheveled hair. 

“You’re right. He’s a dick. And I’m glad to be done with him.” She sat for a second, mulling it over before forcefully flopping back down. “But now I have to see him at work on Mondayyyyy. Lindaaaaa. What am I gonna do?” “Hon,” Linda said, sitting on the couch. Iris went boneless, half her body slid to the floor. “Iris, listen to me” Linda grabbed her by the shoulders, “you’re gonna go into your room. You’re gonna clean yourself up and get dressed.” Iris leaned into her friend, starting to feel comforted as Linda smoothed down her hair. “And then you and I are gonna go to trap-yoga.” “What?!” Iris pulled away to look at the traitor. “Exercise is not what I need right now, Lin! My heart is broken! I need to wallow and eat junk food and stay on the couch.” She shot puppy dog eyes at her friend. “No bitch. You didn’t even like Scott!” Linda exclaimed. Iris cringed at that, but she knew that Linda was right. Screaming at him now was the most emotion she ever felt in that relationship. Go figure. “Iris, you need to get up and move. You wasted five and a half months on that jerk for what? Some mediocre sex?” 

“It wasn’t that bad” Iris said. “Girl. I share a wall with you. All I ever heard was Scott grunting and hyping himself up.” “Dude!”

“What was the longest it ever lasted? Five minutes?”

“I–” Iris started but shut her mouth, having to agree with Linda, and no longer feeling the need to defend Scott.

“That’s what I thought. So go get your little yoga pants on, we’re leaving in 20.”

——

Two hours later, Iris was splayed out on the floor of a dance studio in Midtown, trying to catch her breath while the rest of the class went on with their Saturdays. She tries to make it to the gym a couple times a week (if she were being honest with herself it was more like a couple times a month) but that was just absurd. She could barely touch her toes on a good day, how could she be expected to add dancing to that? At least the music was good. 

“What…the…fuck” Iris panted to Linda as she came to sit beside her with two bottles of water and a towel. Linda, of course, had barely broken a sweat so the towel was for Iris. 

“A couple times there Mari and I thought you were gonna throw up,” she replied, pulling Iris up into a sitting position.

Their mutual friend, Mariana taught the class. Mari (as her friends called her) was  a curvy woman with a blonde afro. Part time trainer, part time back up dancer, she had aspirations of becoming the next Rosie Perez. Linda met her a while back taking one of her other dance/exercise classes and decided the three of them had to be friends. The decision was cemented the first time the trio went out and all ended up dancing on tables and laughing until they couldn’t breathe. 

Mari finished talking to one of her clients (a middle aged white woman in a coordinated Lululemon outfit) with a fake smile that immediately dropped as she came to sit with the girls. 

“Ay díos, this woman always wanting to talk to me about some new diet and her son’s gluten intolerance. Christ!” she sat with a huff. “Lin, you looked great. Iris…at least you didn’t throw up.” She flashed a sympathetic smile. 

“Okay,” Linda said redirecting the conversation, “phase one of Mission: Iris Reclaims Her Time in which she sweats out her anger and does her annual workout—” 

“Hey!”

“—complete. On to phase two: we’re all going out tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that guys.” It was only 2pm and Iris was already sweaty and exhausted, she was pretty much done for the day.

“Iris, mama, we’re taking you out!” Mari interrupted, in an aggressively friendly tone. “And not to one of our usual places, we’re getting on the train and we are going downtown–”

Iris let out a groan. 

“ –and you have absolutely no say in the matter” Linda finished.

“But��” Iris tried.

“Dude, you need to go celebrate your freedom! It’s been half a year! Haven’t you already wasted enough of your time doing nothing?” Linda and Mari watched as she contemplated their words.

If it were anyone else Iris would have told them to fuck off and leave her alone, but these were her girls; she trusted their judgment the majority of the time. Besides she knew from experience that they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Okay fine.” She gave in. “But you two are buying my drinks all night.” 

“Yes!” Linda rejoiced, “This is going to be the best night ever!” 

——

  “This is the worst night ever” Linda sighed. 

Linda and Iris met up with Mari at some swanky club on the Lower East Side after a pregame at their apartment. Apparently, Mari met a couple guys in line who gave her a few pulls from their flask. When they finally managed to get to the front she was a shade past too drunk, falling off her ridiculously tall heels she exclusively wore for clubbing. Iris and Linda loved the girl, but this wasn’t the first time (and it certainly wouldn’t be the last) that they would have to play party mom. They’d hold it against her but every time it happened she was genuinely remorseful — besides she did her fair share of emotionally/physically/spiritually-responsible friend duties so no one was in debt to anyone as far as they could see. They consoled Mari, assuring her that she hadn’t ruined the night, and put her in a cab across the bridge back to her roommate who, by this point, knew the drill. 

It started to rain by the time they successfully got her in the car and tipped the driver extra to make sure she got home safely. Rather than waiting in line for another hour, the two decided to leave. They walked around the unfamiliar neighborhood, searching the block for someplace dry to figure out plan b. They happened upon a grimy, all-night pizza place first and made a break for it.  Each ordered a slice — pepperoni for Iris, plain cheese for Linda — and they claimed a table by the window away from the groups of loud, underage college kids, completely soaked from the rain and obviously wasted on cheap liquor. 

“Really, Lin, it’s fine. You guys still got me out of the house for the night” Iris tried to assure her friend that the outing wasn’t a total flop. 

“No, it’s not fine. Look at us! We look hot! I’m not letting this go to waste.” An idea dawned on her face making Iris nervous. She abandoned her slice on its paper plate and reached into her bag. “Here.” Linda pulled two lollipops from her clutch. She offered one to Iris. “Lauren gave these to me last week. Welcome to phase 3 of Mission: Iris Reclaims Her Time, baby.” 

Now, Linda and Iris weren’t stoners by any stretch of the imagination. But they were two young women living in a big city, paying rent that was way too high, working stressful jobs that paid them way too little, and taking anxiety inducing public transit every goddamn day. Once in a while booze just didn’t cut it.

“Weirdo, stoner Lauren who lives down the hall?” Iris asked, somewhat shocked though not entirely surprised. Lauren was an aloof, surfer-looking girl who lived in their building and who, against all logic, Linda had a huge crush on. Iris imagined that Lauren got lost on the way to the beach one day and wandered around until she somehow found herself living in the city, miles from the ocean and selling drugs out of a loft that her parents paid for. She had long, wavy hair the color of sand, and always greeted Iris with a zen smile. 

“Yup,” Linda responded nonchalantly.

Iris took a lollipop from her “And why were you with weirdo stoner Lauren who lives down the hall?”

“Oh…you know…” Linda squirmed on the receiving end of Iris’ growing smirk and finally gave up trying to think up some half-assed excuse. “Just shut up and eat it.”

They unwrapped their edibles and held them in a toast. “Cheers,” Linda began, “to my best friend who finally vagged up…” Iris cringed as Linda only got louder. “…who finally VAGGED up, dumped that loser Scott and got her life back. In Beyoncé’s name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” Iris agreed. “How long until these kick in anyway?” “A couple of hours I think.” The college kids were getting rowdier. They were like drunk toddlers – screaming, laughing, falling down and blurting out the most random things. Iris watched them, jealous of the hangover free mornings they would have the next day, and suddenly felt too old to stay any longer. “Hey, why don’t we check out that bar across the street? I’ve seen three groups of hot guys go in since we got here.” “I like where your head’s at, West! Let’s go.” Linda grabbed Iris’ hand, forgetting their half-eaten slices, and pulled her across the street, nearly getting them killed by an oncoming cab. 

——

Linda was off with a tall finance bro with a cute butt and Iris was figuring out a way to get out of a dry conversation with some guy about the app he developed. Every time she tried to interrupt him, he cut her off with a new question that he would just answer for himself. 

“Well, this has been really gre– ”, Iris tried. Again. 

“What’s your favorite TV show? Mine’s definitely Narcos, I just think the story structure is so sophisticated, you know? It really transcends language, I think, you know? I just feel like…” 

Iris zoned out. She started looking around the bar for Linda to shoot her the please come pretend to be my overprotective girlfriend so we can go home look, but she couldn’t find her in the crowd of twenty somethings. As she looked around she took in the atmosphere of the place. She noticed how the bar was decorated like a library with beat-up leather arm chairs scattered around, an illuminated globe sitting on the floor by the bathrooms, and a bookshelf on the wall behind the counter — half-filled with drinks, half-filled with actual books. The place was crowed, but no more so than any other Lower East Side bar on a Saturday night.

She started to turn her attention back to app boy, Tom? Or maybe he said Todd?   Iris had no idea what he was talking about at this point. She was about to try, yet again, to escape when the bartender leaned over. 

“Excuse me, miss?” She looked up at him. He was a white guy with floppy brown hair and a little bit of scruff. He had on a worn-out flannel over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows like it was 2010. 

“Miss?” He said again. She met his eyes and focused on what he was saying. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but there was a problem with your card. I need you to come to the register at the other end of the bar so we can sort it out.”

“My card?” She asked confused, “but I didn’t…” Iris trailed off as she saw him widening his eyes at her, looking between her and Tom/dd. 

“Oh! Right! My card!” She turned back towards Mr. Talksalot, “I’m so sorry, but I have to go deal with this. Have a lovely night.” “I can wait for you to figure it out.” 

“Don’t!” Iris yelled a little too eagerly over her shoulder as she followed her flannel-ed white knight to the opposite end of the bar. He was lean, with broad shoulders, like a swimmer. 

“That guy wouldn’t stop talking! Why do guys like that always think they’re the most interesting thing in the world? Thank you so much…” Iris trailed off, realizing she didn’t know his name. 

“Barry. And because guys like that are douchebags. So, what are you drinking tonight…?”

“Iris, I’m Iris. Um, whiskey, neat.” She answered. He pushed at his sleeves even though they hadn’t slipped from their fixed position on his forearms.

“Iris the badass,” he said with smirk. Her stomach fluttered at that. She noticed him pause for a second, his eyes fixed to the counter. 

“Um,” he faltered then regained his composure, taking out a tumbler and filling it with the well drink, “yeah I saw you get that look on your face.” He slid Iris her glass. 

“What look?” she asked taking a sip.   

“That look. The one that says this guy can’t take a hint and I can’t find my friends anywhere.” He smiled a little and she looked down at the drink, her fingers fiddling with the glass. 

“So you were watching me?” She hadn’t intended for it to sound that flirty but once it was out of her mouth she decided to roll with it. 

The question clearly surprised him. He looked at her, flustered for a moment, before shaking it off and clearing discarded pint glasses off the bar. She tried not to let that hurt her pride too much and finished off her drink. 

Barry turned back to her, looking like he was about to say something until he noticed her empty glass. 

“Wow.” He stated. “Rough night?”

Starting to loosen up and feel that familiar warm buzz that came with finishing her second drink she responded, “I’m supposed to be here with my best friend celebrating, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, congratulations. What are we celebrating?” he asked, leaning on the bar. His arms looked strong.

“We are celebrating my break-up!” She announced. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Iris,” he said as he stood up straighter. Her name sounded good coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re sweet, but really I’m okay. He was just some asshole I work with.” A stupid, vain, asshole who ironed his jeans. Who does that?

“Where do you work?”

“I write for that website Snub,” she said begrudgingly. Admittedly it wasn’t a bad job, but Iris started there so young — it was the only real, paid writing gig she ever had. After Scott screwed her over she started thinking maybe she’d been there a few years too long. 

“Very cool.” Barry said. She couldn’t gauge by his reaction if he knew what Snub was. She kind of hoped he didn’t. “Wait a second,” he bent down and brought up two 

glasses, “if we’re going to make this a proper celebration we need shots.” 

At the mention of shots Iris raised her hands in protest. 

“That sounds nice, but my wallet can’t handle $17 drinks.” Living in the city Iris and Linda figured they could either order shots when they went out or pay their rent, but not both. A couple times the drinks won.

“No worries,” he told her as he poured the tequila and slid a glass to her, “these are on the house.”

“That’s really, really nice, but I can’t let you do that. Wouldn’t your manager or the owner or whatever be pissed?”

“Nah. I mean he’s a major asshole but I don’t think he’d mind giving some congratulatory shots to a beautiful woman.” 

Normally a line like that from some dude in a bar would come off as skeezy and insincere and Iris would blow him off. But coming from him it felt genuine, like he honestly thought she was beautiful. For the first time in a while Iris wasn’t quite sure how to react. 

“Ehrm,” he interrupted her stupor, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and raising his glass with the other. “Here’s to… here’s to…” 

“The future?” She offered questioningly.

“Yeah. Here’s to the future. May this be the first drink of many towards forgetting your ex.”

“I’ll drink to that.” 

They clinked their glasses and knocked back their shots, Barry wincing after his while desperately reaching for a slice of lime. 

“Punk,” Iris teased. 

He smiled back at her and for a moment the din of the crowed bar faded to the background. She looked at his face, dusted with freckles. Only his left cheek had a dimple which she had the strange urge to poke.

“There you are!” She felt Linda’s hand on her shoulder. Just like that her moment with the cute bartender was over and she was thrown back into reality. 

“I’ve been looking for you forever!” Linda shouted a bit too loudly to Iris. 

“Yeah right, Lin!” She shouted back. She turned to introduce her new friend but he was already gone. For a second she wondered if it was even real. She couldn’t lie, she was a little disappointed.

“How are you feeling?” Linda grabbed Iris’ face and studied her eyes. “Has it hit you yet?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied through her smushed cheeks. Truth be told Iris had completely forgotten they took edibles earlier, otherwise she definitely would have turned down those shots. 

“How ‘bout you?” She asked, though as Linda began to separate the individual strands of Iris’ hair she was certain of the answer. 

“Alright, pretty girl, time to go home.”

“Whattt, noooooo. I feel great, Iris. Have I ever told you how soft your hair is, dude?”

“Okay let’s go.” Iris responded. 

She thought about leaving her number for Barry as she closed out her tab but then Linda started to touch other people’s hair so she rushed to get her out of there. 

Just as Iris began to think her’s must have been a dud, the high hit her. It was like being frozen in a giant jello mold; it seemed like the entire world slowed down while her brain raced at a million miles a minute. One second she was washing her face and the next she was thinking about how the faucet was like a teeny tiny waterfall, making her feel like a giant. The minute a 5’4” girl starts calling herself a giant, it’s a wrap. 

She fell asleep that night feeling like a rowboat on the ocean caught in a whirlpool. She dreamt vividly of pepperoni pizza and bartenders with green eyes and floppy hair. 

——

The next morning Iris woke up in Linda’s bed, the TV still on, reheated Chinese leftovers, and, now, very melted ice cream surrounding them. She grabbed her phone from the night stand, checking the time and making sure she didn’t send any regrettable texts — as she’d been known to do on more than one occasion. She saw a text from Mari:

Mari 9:43am

> Sorry I ruined the mission :( 

> I don’t know what happened! Those guys were really hot!

> AND THEY WERE DOMINICAN. You KNOW I don’t act right around Dominican men!!

> Buy you and sleeping beauty brunch to make it up???

Iris 10:46am

> You didn’t ruin anything! I’m just happy you got home safe 

> Girl you were MESSED UP

>But I’ll never say no to free brunch. Let me try to wake up the monster give me an hour

She put her phone aside and rolled over to face Linda who had a puddle of drool on her pillow. 

“Gross,” Iris whispered. She cleared her throat, “wakey, wakey”. She started gently poking Linda’s face. 

“Ughhhh,” Linda groaned as she came to, “What?” 

“It’s almost 11 and Mari’s buying us brunch. Time to get up.”

“Five more minutes, mom,” Linda bargained.

“Sorry, kiddo, but the bottomless mimosas are calling your name. Listen: ‘Lindaaa, Lindaa, come drink us Lindaaa’,” Iris whispered into her friend’s face as Linda half-heartedly attempted to swat her away. 

“Coffeee,” Linda whined as Iris got out of bed and began to clear away the remnants of their late-night feast. 

“There’s coffee at brunch, so get your ass up,” she emphasized as she smacked her through the thick layer of blankets, “and let’s go!”

“You’re so mean to me!” Linda called out as Iris left her bedroom, but she could hear the covers drawing back and Linda’s feet hitting the wood floor. 

As she was getting ready she thought about the bartender again. Iris thought about his stupid brown hair and, really, who has that many freckles? He was pretty cute and he made her laugh. He was definitely flirting with her, right? Or had she just projected on to him in her cross-faded haze? And why was she still thinking about him? She usually didn’t get hung up on pale white guys, especially ones that looked like they were in Mumford & Sons. She shook it off, telling herself to forget about Barry, and that she’d probably never see him again. 

——

They met at their secret Sunday brunch spot, the only place without a line out the door. To the average person it was a nondescript, touristy diner, but Jitters had the best bottomless brunch, the best coffee, and, not to mention, the best prices in the entire city. They met there whenever they needed to catch up or when they needed the best hangover breakfast any of them had ever had. 

They slid into their usual booth towards the back. Mari immediately began rattling off her apologies while Linda, sunglasses still on, laid her head on the table until their coffee cups were filled. After Iris assured Mari no one was upset, and Linda had two cups of coffee, they filled the others in on their nights. 

Mari talked about her Dominicans who gave her a flask of rum. Linda reported back on her finance bro. It turns out while Iris was marooned with Tom/Todd (“Can we just call him T Money”, Linda offered), Linda was making out with Bro, getting familiar with his butt, until they got into a fight about fetishizing Asian women. 

“And then he said he’d been waiting for a hot Asian chick like me to show up the entire night.”

“Gross,” “Yikes,” Iris and Mari said simultaneously. 

“Then he had the audacity to say I was being too sensitive when I called him on it,” Linda spat out with disgust, then immediately clutched her head with a wince at her volume.

“That motherfucker,” Mari responded, pounding her balled fist on the table. 

“Why the hell do people think that’s okay? Like, seriously, don’t they see how patronizing it is?” Iris said. 

“Exactly! So I spilled the rest of the drink he bought in his lap before I found our girl sitting alone at the bar.” 

“Alone?” Mari asked, turning her attention from Linda to Iris.

“Actually, the bartender kind of saved me from the dude who wouldn’t let me leave.” 

Mari and Linda exchanged a brief look before turning their attention to Iris with matching smirks on their faces. 

“What!?” Iris asked from behind her coffee mug.

“Would this bartender happen to be good looking?” Linda asked while lightly nudging her arm. 

Iris looked down at her eggs, pushing them around with her fork.

“I mean, he wasn’t ugly.” 

“Oooh, girl. Did you guys talk?” Mari asked. 

“I thanked him for getting me away from–“ 

“–T money,” Mari interrupted.

“…from T money…and then I told him I was there with Linda celebrating a break-up and he kinda bought me a drink.”

Mari and Linda looked at each other in disbelief. 

“BIIIITTTTTCCCCHHHHHH!” A startled busboy turned around at Linda’s deep exclamation.

“Oh my god, Linda there are children here.”

“That’s not my problem. You’re telling me you sat here and listened to me whine about some racist asshole and you weren’t even going to mention this fucking superhero you met last night?” Linda was practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

“I don’t know about superhero, he was just a good dude.”

“What’s the difference, babe?” Mari chimed in.

“Either way, we didn’t exchange numbers and I doubt I’ll see him again.”

“Wait, what was the name of the bar you guys ended up at?” Mari asked. 

“Um…” Iris said.

“Dude I couldn’t even remember my name this morning” Linda added.

“Christ.”

“Well, there wasn’t a lot of time to notice with Linda almost getting us killed crossing the street!” Iris said. 

“What!?” Mari asked.

“Are we alive? Yes. So everything’s fine and Iris is being dramatic.”

“Mhmm,” Iris rolled her eyes at Linda.

They finished their food and eventually reached the bottom of those mimosas. After a short yet loud argument, Iris and Linda convinced Mari to let them pay their parts of the check. When Iris went into her wallet to get her card she realized it was missing. 

“Fuck me,” she exclaimed, exasperated. 

“Language, dear!” Linda joked. “What’s wrong?”

“My credit card’s gone!”

“Where was the last place you used it? Retrace your steps,” Mari offered. 

“Well, Lin and I took the train back, and I used cash for the pizza,” Iris rattled off. 

“Wait, didn’t we use your card to open the tab when we got to the bar?” Linda asked, hardly trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

“We don’t even know the name of the bar!” Iris protested. 

“It’s Sunday, we have all day to retrace our steps and reunite you with your hero. Commencing phase 4 of Mission: Iris Gets Rebound Dick.” 

“What happened to Iris Reclaims Her Time?”

“Plans change, just go with it,” Mari said, the two of them already rushing out the door.

Iris rolled her eyes but if she had to be honest with herself, she couldn’t deny that she was a little bit thrilled at the idea of seeing Barry again.

“Wait you guys! We still have to pay!” Iris yelled after them.

[kettlewrites]

bad boy!han (jisung) [negative utopia!au]

thank you to the anon who requested this! [totally inspired by nosedive from black mirror]

warning: min. profanity! (no proofreading) [2.9k words]

also,, it’s a bad boy who is not really a “BAD” boy au

jisung has always been viewed as a “bad” boy, it was never his intention but in a world that is based on “stupid” star ratings and fake interactions,, he had no choice but to be viewed as an outcast.

after dropping below a 3.0 rating from protesting these views he held

he was disowned by his own family, but luckily was picked up by a few guys around his own age and have been with them ever since.

and now it’s been three years since chan and changbin offered a place in their run down cabin to jisung,, all of them not accepted by the world of fake smiles and friendships.

throughout the years, the three of them went along in their lives to discover the true meaning of life that was hidden by the government,, finding that there was more to the world than a swipe of 5 stars

jisung had the lowest score out of them,, still running around with that 1.4 rating above his head that created on-lookers who were complete strangers to continue to drop his level down

and this is where you come around

you were from a family of high 4.0s,, you being a 4.7 who had never gone below a 4.5 in years

you had always been used to the artificial interactions you come across in your everyday life,, whether it was given something on the house for an easy 5 star rating or someone who complimented you with their full pearly whites, smiling so hard and wide that their botox was seeping out of their pores,, you became numb to it and would respond back with the same disingenuous smile before swiping your thumb to the five star option

it was your everyday,, and almost everyone else’s in the small bubble you associated with so you never felt odd or out of place with your routine

it was something that you could expect a mlle away,, probably even in your sleep

“good morning, y/n.” jennifer says with a giant smile, “would you like a croissant? they gave me an extra one by accident.”

you smile back, although on the inside you were frowning in disgust, “no thank you.”

‘a little try-hard aren’t you? just for a five star, yuck.’ you mentally groaned as you slid through her timeline, full of pictures of her dogs

you couldn’t lie, you had a soft spot for cute puppers which raised her score to a mediocre 3 star rating

funny how she was acting all nice then immediately curses you out once you left the elevator as she saw her level ding down a few decimals

you walked out of the apartment complex, mindlessly scrolling through the timeline that was projected on your phone not paying attention to the world around you

that was when you bumped into him,, your eyes widened as you laid eyes on the blond boy who had a flashing 1.4 at the side of his face

“s-sorry.” he mumbles, “i should’ve paid attention to where i was going.”

you furrow your brows, pondering how someone like him was able to get such a low score

“the 1.4? yes, it’s low. no, i’m not on double-damage. yes, i’m perfectly fine at where it is.” it was as if he had read your mind

you smile, almost genuinely the feeling quite odd to you, “i hadn’t even said anything yet.”

his smile was radiating, sending a pang into your chest, even if it was just a small half smile it was one of the brightest smiles you have seen in a long time

his hand was on the back of his neck as he laughs off your statement, “i just know that look. i’ve gotten them almost every day for the past three years.”

he was intriguing, everything about him sparked your curiosity, from the way he felt so genuine to the story he held behind that flashing score

“what’s.. your name?” you ask, putting your phone aside, your heart wanting to interact with him face-to-face rather than letting you find out his every detail by yourself from your phone

“do you not want to look yourself?” he asks, that same half smile on his face, “a 4.7 actually wanting to have a conversation with me?”

you shrug, cocking your head sideways, “there’s just something about you.” ‘that makes me want to learn more and more.’

“the name is jisung.” now your chest was twisting when he smiled widely, it had looked the same as every smile you’ve seen but how did his make you feel so differently?

the way his eyes curled into crescent moons and his nose crinkled. the way his smile felt so warm and at home unlike all the other ones you’ve seen that were cold and distant.

“jisung.” the way the name rolled around your mouth made you giddy and warm, “i like it.”

his laugh was hearty, bouncing off of his chest and the way he threw his head back as he laughed made you want to laugh but you didn’t know how to sound as genuine as he did

you subconsciously heard that awful sound of his level dinging down every minute he spent standing outside with you as yours was ringing up causing you to scrunch your face in uneasiness

“it’s okay, i’m used to it.” jisung mumbles, nothing about his tone was sad or disappointed

you looked around at the people around you, how they were looking at you and jisung differently although you both were doing the exact same thing

the only difference was his low score and your high one

“i should probably get going, i wouldn’t want you to ding down.” his smile was still radiating, how was he able to be so positive in a world that treated him so poorly?

“i’d love to see you again one day!” it was one of your automated goodbyes, but this time saying it felt so authentic to you

“you can always find me with that phone of yours.” he says before waving goodbye

‘phone of yours? what could be possible mean by that?’

it had been a few days since your encounter with jisung

he was wrapped around your everyday thoughts, something always leading you back to your short conversation that you held with him

you were sitting at the breakfast bar in your family home, mindlessly scrolling through jisung’s feed for the tenth time in hopes that he would give an update

you were hesitant to send him a message, scared that he would ignore you

your father places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a startle

you instantly shut off your phone and turn to look at him, that fake smile wrapped itself onto your lips once again

“i talked to your reputelligent therapist.” he started, taking a seat beside you on the empty stool, “he showed me your conversation with that 1.4 kid.”

you gulped down, now feeling extremely nervous which was also a new feeling

“i don’t like that kid.” he says outright not hesitating anything he says, “you know what means, I shouldn’t have to hear about him again the next time i talk to your therapist.”

“therapist.” you scoff, “a fucking therapist? you call him a therapist? dad, he looks at how i swipe my finger i’m pretty sure that’s not a therapist!”

you anger was boiling, you’ve never been so upset at anyone like this before

“do not speak to me in that tone.” ironic as his was just as harsh and cold as yours was, but what was the point when everyone spoke that way towards each other in this house.

“then don’t judge a book by it’s cover, or in this case a person by their number.” you snap, before hopping down from the stool and heading to your room

as you were almost at the end of the hallway you heard that disgusting down-voting sound that you heard when you were with jisung

you look down to see that your father had given you a single star rating which caused you to,, loosen all of your held up aggression

“you would do that to your own child?” you were screaming at this point, your face was red and your knuckles became white as you gripped your phone tightly, “all of this is just a game to you isn’t it?”

he huffed, furrowing his brows and crossed his arms across his chest to close himself away from your attacks, “you deserved it.”

“even the conversations you have with your own children have to be rated? do you even know a life where you don’t rate every interaction?” your tone was bitter, but you were speaking from your mind

something you hadn’t done in years

“stop it now, y/n.” he insisted. 

“all this life is to you is holding that stupid 4.8.” you pointed at the flashing number beside his face, “i guess genuine isn’t in your vocabulary anymore.”

and with that, you walked past him towards the front door, another down-vote sound ring from your phone,, you don’t even bother to turn around since you felt his eyes boring through the back of your head,, all you did was raise your arm to flip the bird at him.

the outside world felt different to you,, trying to distract yourself from the flashing numbers beside everyone’s face

you had that urge to rip out your eye-implant that allowed you to see it

the bubble in your throat was threatening to become into a sob, the overwhelming feeling rushing through your body after releasing all your pent up anger

you felt a ring coming from your phone, it wasn’t a rating this time but a text

‘two one star ratings? ouch.’ you read the message summary from your notification screen, the name sending your mind into a whirl

jisung

‘you’ve been watching my score? you don’t seem the type.’

‘and you’ve been watching my feed so you don’t seem like that type either.’

‘touché. we should talk.’

‘i can meet you by the old library?’

jisung had ran the library after you agreed,, his heart was racing and some of his strand of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead

you were sitting at the front of the building, looking at the scenery around you instead of putting your nose into your phone

“what was it,, being rude to a cashier or being too loud in the back of a taxi or was it both?” he was already smiling, not bothering to greet you with the usual hi, hello, how are yous

you chuckle, "you won’t believe me if i told you.”

“try me, i’ve gotten a one star for almost everything you could possibly think of.” he sat beside you, leaving inches between the two of you

“defending you.” your voice was soft, but you turn to look at him.

his eyes widened and the confusion was written all over his face

“defending me? you’re kidding right?” his tone had changed, his smile faded into a thin straight line.

“i was right. i knew you wouldn’t believe me.” you laughed again, it was more of a in-your-face-i-told-you-so laugh

the feeling between the two of you changed,, it was tense and the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife

“why would you ever defend me? you don’t even know me.” he sounded rather upset and it struck you in the wrong way,, why would he be upset for you helping him?

“jisung,, just because i don’t know you well doesn’t mean i shouldn’t stand up for you from people who judge you just for your number.” your eyebrows furrow in frustration,, you didn’t have the words to express your emotions

“who was it?”

“my,, dad.” you hesitated to answer, you were still trying to process the argument you had with him earlier

“are you a fucking idiot?” his tone was harsh, just like the one you had heard come from your father. his body language went through the same process, closing himself away from you.

“excuse me?” you asked,, taken aback by his reponse

“are you stupid? why would anyone in their right mind defend a 1.4 especially you,, a person with a 4.5.” you could tell his stance was getting more serious, he had turned into someone you’ve never seen before

granted,, you’ve only seen him once and stalked his feed but more so you’ve never expected such a happy-go-lucky guy be so serious and upset

“so what you’re saying is that i should have let him bad-mouth you?”

he shrugged, “what’s new? it’s not like i don’t go through it everyday anyways. one more person doing it wouldn’t hurt me.”

“jisung,, just because people do it all the time does not mean it’s okay!”

“i don’t want you the end up like me!” he finally screams, “as happy as i am with where i am in life,, i don’t want you to end up being mistreated like i have. you’ve been so sheltered with your score... there’s so many things people do to you just because of the number of your score.”

it took him a minute to calm down,, and he leaned against the wall of the building before looking at you again

“i was disowned by my family after protesting against the reforms..i see them in town and they won’t even blink an eye in my direction. everywhere i walk in town i get cursed at or tossed around,, i’m seen as a bad guy and i really don’t want that to happen to you.”

“but you’re happy.” you acknowledged, “you’re happier now than i would ever be if i stayed in my home and i want that happiness in my life jisung. i’m so tired of all of the artificial interactions.. of all the fake smiles and the fake friendships.”

your eyes began to water, “even if means that i have to give up my family and my privileges of having a high score to be happy,, i would do it.”

jisung looked at you, watching the tears stream down your face. his heart twisted in his chest,, looking at you reminded him of himself three years ago

“you’re not a bad guy.” you whisper, still choking on the sob you were trying to keep in, “everyone in this town doesn’t even know what a real interaction is anymore and it’s sad.”

“you really want to leave everything behind.. for me?”

that’s what made you laugh,, you knew he was teasing you as well from his emphasis on ‘for me’

“shut up.” you laugh, his teasing helping you feel better, “i’d give everything up if that meant i could be happy and if you happen to make me happy in the long run then yeah for you as well idiot.”

so,, you never ended up reconciling with your father. you avoided him when you had gone home that day after meeting with jisung.

jisung had told you to give a thought for a bit before jumping into a big decision over fresh anger

but you,, knew it was the best decision you could make as once you got home,, your brother and mother were both ignoring you already as if they all made a silent agreement to not see you as family anymore

that night you packed a bag and jumped out of your window,, not even bothering to leave a letter goodbye

you messaged jisung about your actions as you were walking back to the empty library with a duffle on your side,, he was already there when you arrived

jisung had convinced chan and changbin to make room for you,, as you really didn’t have anywhere else to go. they decided to use your score to their advantage until it went down in return for housing.

you didn’t object to it,, jisung and you were assigned to go around running errands and that’s when your score started to spiral down to match jisung’s

word had spread quick that you left your family

after a year of being free,, you couldn’t ask for anything different. you were happy.

now whenever you looked back to your first encounter with jisung,, it all made sense of how and why he was so happy.

“so you did do it for me.” he teases, holding your hand as you both walked downtown to the grocery store

“not really for you when we weren’t even dating when i left everything.” you joke back, wrapping your arm around his still holding into his hand

“that’s only because you wouldn’t admit you liked me until six months ago!”

“as if! you’re the one who couldn’t ask me out until changbin told me you were trying to so I asked you!”

“but you wouldn’t change it for the world right?”

“hey that’s my line.”

and he was right, you definitely wouldn’t change it for the world.

[conoscenze]

Momoko + soft!

prompts — @duskfloret — not accepting.

It’s a weird sensation. Not unfamiliar; but it’s been long since she’s felt it brush against her skin. Momoko is not used to softness. In general, she might as well admit that with time, she’s grown to dislike it due to various reasons---two of them being that she’s grown rough, and that she’s become sandpaper. Scraping her hands against anything tender might simply ruin it. (Sticking around rotten things makes her feel less conscious about it.)     Yet, every time she walks by a flower shop, she can’t help but stop. And stare. For a good few minutes. Which is what happened just now.     All the memories---all that she remembers---which she claims to be obscured play like an old, corrupted videotape in the back of her mind: the scratchy VHS sounds and glitches keeping her from walking further away come back from the trusty drawers in which she’d closed them after the last session, and haunt her. Quite literally. Her left eye twitches, and her lips grimace. Her gaze is both in the real world and swallowed by her subconscious, not quite there. The more she keeps her eyes locked on those hydrangeas the more she can feel the corners within her sight darken, blurry, confused, fuzzy---

“Eh, Chihiro-tan, stop whining. See? We’ve arrived to your favourite flower shop!”     “Mamaaaa, but I want ice cream...”     ---Voices snap her out of her trance, making her realize that she’d been standing there since at least five minutes. Behind the shop’s window Momoko can, with enough squinting and focus, make out the disgruntled and vaguely perplexed expression of the owner, who immediately snatches his glance away as soon as he hears (ding ding ding, it’s the bell on the entrance door) and sees new customers stepping in. His expression melts, she notices, as he lays his eyes down on the child that’s being accompanied by an older woman, likely her mother.     Momoko doesn’t like this. She prefers silence. It’s muffled, but she can detect the ringing laughter of the little girl. Her eye twitches once again. A sharp inhale.     “Come on, Chihiro-tan,” the mother says, “See? Look at this pretty flower. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” (crouching down, she hands a small pot to her daughter, which hesitantly holds it goofily as children usually do.)     “Hum... it’s cute...” a picky kid, Momoko irritatedly thinks. Just talk already. “But I saw prettier flowers outside...”     “Hmmm? Like what flowers? Wanna show them to me?”     “Okay!”

Ah. They’re going to get out.     She’s still standing there. Momoko, pitifully, has become engrossed in overhearing witnessing everything this mother and daughter will end up doing in the exact spot where she’d decided to touch and analyze her favourite flowers. Even though she’s aware that this is not a place for her to claim, she feels as if they’ve invaded her territory. Thus, as such, she wants to monitor their every move, no matter how naive they might be. (You never know.)     Maybe she should step aside, leave some space for the two individuals to move; but Momoko decides against it, instead keeping her stance firm right in front of the shelf where hydrangea pots of all varieties are placed. Her hand is still reaching out to feel the petals, which are soft... tender... more tender than the others’. She tried to find good contenders, but up until now, only hydrangeas really feel this way to her.     The door’s bells chirp once again, their sound dying easily and quickly.     “Show me, Chihiro-tan! If you like those flowers so much,” the woman winks at the kid, “You can have it, okay?”     “Yay~!!” the kid seems positively excited about the proposal, but she easily sneaks a mischievously pout after her exclamation, “... but what about ice-cream?”      A drained, but defeated sigh is emitted right after.  “It seems I have no way to distract you from that, huh...” she pauses, before patting her daughter’s head. “Fine, we can have ice-cream too. But first let’s see the flowers.”     Momoko tenses. She’s still staring at the hydrangeas, but she’s also dying of curiosity. She wants to see what this girl looks like. Her voice’s not the same, it’s barely similar, but the way she acts, it’s...     “U-um,” she can hear a stutter, and that still isn’t enough to have her turn her head. “Those... those flowers...” the glee in the child’s voice has disappeared within seconds, and Momoko initially wonders why, but only for a split second before she can hear the girl mutter:

... Where the creepy lady is standing...     That’s right, is her first thought. But she still doesn’t move, not even after having been basically imputed as a nuisance. She’s not here to buy flowers, she’s just been standing and staring and breathing uselessly since minutes, now. What reason is behind her presence? The kid is scared, isn’t she? What’s her problem?     Her fingers eventually take a gentle hold of a petal, before ripping it off the flower with a swift, harsh motion. The little girl gasps when she does that, but her mother doesn’t seem to notice it, although she does look concerned (upon having noticed Momoko as well). Nevertheless, after making sure “Chihiro-tan” is okay, and after propping her upon her forearm, she stands and begins to approach. A mediocre middle-aged woman.     “Excuse me,” she politely initiates, “Could you please let us see the flowers?” there’s seemingly no passive aggressiveness in the way she talks, but Momoko’s eye still twitches. Slowly, she turns her head to face the stranger, whose expression abruptly turns grim at the mere sight.     (That’s right. I’m the creep. You better be fucking scared.)     Momoko’s eyes eventually lay on the daughter---her curiosity’s dying to know---and the breath in her throat hitches as soon as she registers that the kid has a pixie cut. No pigtails.     What a shame.     “... Ah, me?” Momoko says, slowly, faking ignorance. The woman nods, trying to evidently keep her composure. “...” her own eyes fall on the petal that she’s ripped from the hydrangea which she had been caressing since not long ago. “... This is a beautiful flower,” her croaky voice spells out, dirty nails probing at the fragile texture of the petal almost brutally, “To appreciate it, you ought to cherish it everyday.”     “...”     “...  Sorry. I’ll move.”     Politeness isn’t her strong suit, and it shows. Nonetheless, Momoko can’t stay there any more, since mantaining her presence there might eventually prompt the shop owner to step outside and confront her. She doesn’t need that waste of time. All she wanted to do was to look at her favourite flower, feel its softness, let the memories linger...     ... It’s that child’s fucking fault, Momoko reasons as she walks away, mumbling and growling under her breath as her hands are shoved inside her coat’s pockets. The petal she grabbed before is nothing more than light blue remnants scattered on the sidewalk by now. That kid, Momoko ponders, barely realizing what’s going on in the real world as she marches on, that kid...  too much. She’s too much like...

Her thoughts are interrupted as soon as she reaches the subway station.

[marksfire]

Keep pushing my buttons, I dare you (you don't know why you do it)

The Flash I Harrisco I Humor, Banter, First Kiss I Read it on Ao3

This all started when Cisco decided to try to "bond" with Wells. Now, he's somehow moved on to - mostly accidentally - accusing him of being an awkward lay.

Cisco sat motionless across the table from Wells, hands clasped beneath his chin and eyes narrowed. He’d been trying to get Wells to loosen up for seventeen minutes now. Not that he’d been counting, or anything. Seventeen just seemed about right.

Plan 1.0 - trying to get Wells' to divulge his guilty pleasures - had ended in abrupt failure when Cisco had been told that there was no YouTube on Wells' Earth.

Plan 2.4 - sharing his music - had culminated in Wells looking unamused until Cisco had finally taken the hint and turned off ‘Hips Don’t Lie.’

Plan 3.7 had led to the coffee stain on the white ceiling and all that was left of plan 7.3 were the two broken crayons on the lab table to their left.

Wells was as still just as closed-off as ever.

He was like some serene eagle, Cisco reasoned - standoffish as fuck and oddly majestic. Definitely not Cisco’s best analogy, but accurate, nonetheless.

The fact of the matter was, it was fun, trying to engage Wells, and the fact that he seemed to be annoyed by Cisco’s efforts just made the endeavor that much more enticing.

“I bet...” Cisco drawled deliberately, hands still clasped underneath his chin with an air that made him look like a mediocre auditionee trying to pull off the prompt ‘lost in thought,’ “you’re a virgin.”

Wells raised in eyebrow. “You have met Jesse? You do know how humans are typically conceived?”

Cisco waved his words aside. “She was probably, like, an isolated incident. Fact is, you’re way too awkward. And maybe conceiving is different on your Earth. And also, I’m pretty sure that you treat sex like some stupid mortal activity you would never deign to participate in aside from after a very lengthy, quasi-essential discussion.” He was spouting bullshit, but Wells no longer looked bored, so Cisco was cool was that.

“Mortal? Do you think I’m a god, Ramon?”

Now, Cisco was having a fun conversation. “Is that seriously all you got from that?”

“No. In addition to your misconceived religious notions, I got that you apparently think about my sex life a lot.”

“Not unless I have literally nothing else to do,” Cisco defended. “For examples, see: figure one. Fig. 1: right now.”

“You have plenty of projects to work on. How’s that temperature stabilizer coming?”

“Finished.”

“The polymer you were putting together for implementation in the fiber of otherwise non-notable clothing at risk of being put under unexpected duress exceeding the limits of the non-notable fibers’ torque and endurance?”

Cisco blinked for a second, digesting the sentence.

“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis and held up two fingers. “One-” he bent down a finger, “you read way too many books. Seriously. I think a lot of people would have to tackle that sentence with a highlighter, notepad, and a thesaurus in tow. And two-” he ticked off the other finger, “also finished.”

It wasn’t finished - he’d run into an issue with the fire-retardant coating - but it was close enough.

Harry (‘So now he’s Harry?’ Oh well. Cisco wouldn’t overthink it.), sitting back in his chair, held up two fingers of his own, mimicking Cisco. “One-” Harry ticked off a finger, “you seemed to handle that sentence just fine, so I’m not dumbing it down for you, and two-” he ticked off the other finger, “my point still stands.” He returned his hand to the arms of his chair.

Cisco inhaled deeply, then returned to his hands-clasped-under-chin position as he exhaled. “My point stands too. You’re still probably awkward as hell in bed.” ‘Why the fuck am I doing this, honestly?’ Pushing Harry like this was like a habit, but worse. Also, he kept doing it. And at this point, he didn’t even know why.

“Really?” Harry looked a little amused by Cisco’s allegations.

“Yep.” ‘Nope. Cisco, stop.’

“What makes you think that?”

“I mean,” Cisco looked Harry up and down pointedly, “all that.” ‘Cisco.’

“I look,” Harry replied, eyebrows raised, “like someone who’d be, quote unquote, ‘awkward as hell in bed?’”

“That is what I said.” ‘Goddammit, Cisco!’

“I’m not going to take offence to that.”

“Oh, don’t. Nothing’s cemented. Actually, I think that you’d either be super awkward or surprisingly good, I just said the one that seemed more likely.”

‘Did I accidentally download the ‘aggressively bad, flirty compliment’ malware package? Can I uninstall? Can I reboot!? Please!?’

“Not,” Cisco continued, “that I think about it a lot. I actually think about it very little, I’ll have you know.”

‘Oh my god, bury me underneath a skyscraper and leave me to rot so I can haunt some secretaries fifty years in the future. I’ll be the ghost of bad, mostly accidental flirting.’

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, walking over to stand beside Cisco’s seat. Earlier, Cisco had pushed his chair away from the table, which left him about eighty percent open and facing Harry. Cisco didn’t know how the hell he could look so imposing, hair greasy and wearing a coffee-stained S.T.A.R. Labs sweater, but he somehow managed it.

Harry deliberately leaned over, gripping the arms of Cisco’s plastic chair and maintaining unnervingly steady eye-contact. The corners of Cisco’s lips had just begun to pull up in a smile as he thought about a joke to make - humor was his default communication mode - when Harry leaned in, lips pressing over Cisco’s.

The first thing that Cisco registered was ‘holyfuck.’

The second thing was ‘hot.’ Harry’s lips were hot - literally hot. The way he kissed was hot - figuratively, this time.

And Harry. Goddamn.

Safe to say, Cisco was pretty much brain-fried.

In his defense, it was kind of hard to think. Harry’s lips were little bit chapped and his tongue was sliding gently between parted lips and it was way too nice against Cisco’s own. The calloused skin of a firm hand was cupping his face and he could hear, feel Harry’s breathing. It was gentle, controlled, and feathered against his lips. Cisco was reduced to the sensation. 

To be frank, Cisco was half-convinced that he was absorbing oxygen through his pores, because there was no other reasonable explanation for how he was still conscious enough to kiss back when he was so breathless. Harry had somehow managed to send Cisco spiraling into a jumbled headspace of “fuck,” “hot,” “more,” and “fuck,” with a single, albeit, heated kiss. It wasn’t his proudest moment but Cisco couldn’t even bring himself to care.

When Harry pulled back, Cisco followed him unconsciously. He didn’t like the cold on his mouth and his lips were wet and he was a little bit dizzy and so it was only logical that he wanted Harry back.

When Harry spoke, his, “You might want to re-evaluate the respective likeliness of those two possibilities” didn’t fully register. His words sounded foggy, Cisco had forgotten what half of those words meant, and somehow, his ears were ringing. His left brain knew that it was from his racing pulse, but his right brain was still hung up on that fucking kiss.

“Huh?” Cisco said, dazed.

Harry actually smiled.

[literaryclubiiti]

Growling Shriek(s)

DISCLAIMER: This is an admittedly light-hearted conversation about the trends of our most beloved IIT Indore between two not entirely happy-go-lucky stalwarts about to graduate. Following the tradition, this can be considered as a whole-hearted, but nonetheless well-intentioned rant. Reader discretion is highly advised.

By Amey Ambade and Ashish Bharatwal

(SCENE 1: SILVER MESS)

(It’s about noon on a Saturday in March. Amey is sitting on the wildly recognizable red chair, steel plate on the beige table, as ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’ plays loudly on the TV, almost in sync with the water dripping off the water filter behind him. He dons a grin as Ashish joins him, visibly frustrated.)

Amey: Dude, what’s up with your mess refund?

Ashish: Motherfuckers. They should be drowned in their own broth.

(Murderous glances from judgemental postgrads across the table)

Amey (unconcerned) : Hard luck, eh? What did you expect, though? Four years on, they’d understand why you dislike them? Didn’t you get to fill a pointless form to get something out of it?

Ashish: It’s not the first time I am getting the short end of the stick in IITI.

Amey: Not the first time you’ve said that.

Ashish (smiling) : Not the first time you’ve said that. You tend to be able to predict each other’s moves after this long a swim in the shitpool as comrades.

(Random Mess Guy comes up: ‘Bhiyaa, mess fees pay kar di na?’ They look at him disapprovingly, and taking the hint, he promptly disappears.)

Amey (doubtfully breaking a piece off a roti with bare hands) : Amen to that, brother. Chal, aaj khane mein kaunsi insect species ki discovery hogi dekhte hain. Talking of insect species, what’s up with E-Blockers suddenly hitting the gym?

Ashish: Well, whaddya know? Trying their best to feel good about themselves before leaving; what were they even doing the last four years, haha!

Amey: Ah well. You know and I know. Now that everyone else is in Simrol, I don’t know what eyeballs you speak of. I give the fad a month to drop off. We clearly couldn’t give two shits.

Ashish (chuckling with disgust) : Especially now.BTW, speaking of shits, look at this - Lauki Ke Kofte. BC’s trademarked turd-sized dumplings® are turning out to be a favorite of those who haunt the Jain food counter. Tatti khaaye par pyaaz na khaaye.  

Amey (proud to not have made the unfortunate sabzi choice) : Chuck that, chal Fresco chalte hain, Snickers pe fir se PayTM cashback aaya hai.

Ashish: Yeah, I have to get a couple of photocopies too. These B-schools! Why do they even have CAT if that is just meant to be a ‘Fuck you!’ to mediocrity?

(They leave the mess, their untouched food-laden plates still on the table. The freshness outside is liberating, it’s like getting out of a green fart convention.)

Amey (finally inhaling air) : Perceived mediocrity… Thodi toh political correctness chahiye, bhai. But yes, I agree. I’ve been swamped with my MS applications lately, and they are equally exhausting. Thinking about our lives after graduation is perhaps more frustrating than trying to maintain a straight face when Batra talks. Add to that the lifelong terror that we will take away from boarding harmfully yellow buses, and lo, you have the recipe for a migraine.

(They reach Fresco, and scan through the hastily placed products. Amey discreetly picks up a Zandu Balm)

Ashish: Remember when as freshmen we were singing at the top of our lungs the lewd version of ‘Chahun Main Ya Na’ and didn’t give two shits when we noticed a furious Batra peering over us ominously from the half-open door? Ah, I miss those careless times.

Amey: And the countless number of times we partied with complete disregard for the neighbors or Digant? It helped that we had no immediate neighbors, aur guards to apne jigri thhey. But with no authorities to piss off now that everyone except us is thankfully in Simrol, it’s like, hum kiske dimag ko shot de ab?

(They’ve collectively picked up stuff worth 150 bucks but will pay only a hundred because subsidy.)

Ashish (showing his phone screen) : Hey, look at this article in ToI: Fluxus event winners haven’t received their prize money. This one guy says IITI owes him fucking 10k. Much ado about Fluxus every year. The only ones happy are the OCs, until last year, right? From what goes around in the campus, they reported earnings of 3000 from Sunidhi’s concert, and an attendance of 3000 in the media. What an absolute load of crap?! 70 lakh mein toh teen decent Fluxus ho jaayenge BC.

(They’re walking, surrounded by the white buildings with eerily jail-like black railings that have defined their time in Silver Springs. Now that Silver isn’t infested with overexcited juniors, final years are loitering in the quaint streets.)

Amey: I still stand by my idea to only have an e-Fluxus to save the money and the Kejru-level shaming.

Ashish: Haha, if only you knew e-Fluxus actually happened this year. We had a middling singer Shirley Setia adorning the terrains of Simrol. I also heard Aditi Agrawal was their second choice, now that she has her own YouTube channel. Way to go!

(They get to the lift, sharing it with the classically unconcerned 4th floor wali aunty as they hear the dulcet voice on loop, touting “Please. Close. The Door. Krupaya. Darwaza. Band. Karein.” Somewhere, Hodor’s soul is shedding a single heavenly tear.)

Amey: The terrains of Simrol! There’s some places in our new campus that look like scenes from True Grit, Blazing Saddles and Mad Max were filmed there. I could swear the dust twisters could effectively upend an unsuspecting Simmi and Avnish holding three Cormens each. Avnish will probably be ecstatic about that, too.

Ashish: It’s miraculous how so few cases of asthma have popped up given the dust bowl Simrol is and the number of students cooped up in there. We are a resilient lot, I must say.  

(They get out of the lift on the famous 3rd floor and enter D-314.)

(SCENE 2: ROOM)

Amey: We’re wasting an entire sunny afternoon for my bloody transcripts. ( He pauses to check a news notification on the antics of a certain orange unhinged toddler-psychopath.) You have to agree, though, with all the negatives aside, isn’t it actually pretty convenient to navigate around the half-built pods in pyjamas?

(They change in a minute, time is important here, and Amey reaches for his shoes. There’s no way he’s going into the arid Wild West in flip-flops. Ashish checks the bus schedule on his phone. They have bus schedules, for fuck’s sake, doesn’t that say a lot by itself?)

Ashish: Yes, but that doesn’t outweigh having no good food, good booze and good company in a ten-kilometer radius, does it? Taste Butts? Screw you, Rohan Rathore.

Amey (disapprovingly) : No cash, only college Smart Cards accepted. And you have to try the infamous Chicken Fried Rice. Nothing screams appetizing as half-cooked rice with boiled chicken bits and spring onions sprinkled on top to emphasize the near non-existent efforts that went into serving it. Maybe if our batch was shifted to the forsaken place too, we wouldn’t have had such a pessimistic opinion. Maybe angoor khatte hain.

(Both take a minute to check if they haven’t forgotten their ID cards and proceed to exit the building. ID cards hold more importance in the Simrol campus than platinum credit cards.)

Ashish: But then I wouldn’t have been able to go to TIME for classes twice a day at ungainly hours. (Phone pings) Iss Utkarsh Kumar Singh ko chayn nahin hai. And then there’s the IIT Indore Discussions and Complaints and Grievances and Suggestions and Repercussions and Discombobulations and Fornications page. People have no chill, this Gymkhana has no chill. Which is a good thing, actually. This one tried its best to make things right. The Constitution was a pretty good move.

Amey: Yeah, they tried to right some wrongs. Avadhesh is hands-down the most proactive Gymkhana President I have seen, especially in regard to being responsive. Can’t say the same about the vigilants-in-their-own-right juniors who were more concerned about lengthening the mail threads with their bull than making their contribution count. The juniors really get on my nerves sometimes.

Ashish: Sometimes? Hah. What have the Quiz and Literary Clubs been up to? I count one… two… three… Three events in the last year, both our clubs combined - no aggressive, only passive, these runts. I’m pretty sure we left the clubs on high notes, but the future for these exclusive groups of students seemingly aspiring just for PoRs is obscure at best. The clubs are almost decrepit now, but the enthusiasm to forward mails from other institutes’ fests has not dwindled a bit.

Amey: Our work defined these clubs, but I agree, lately, confusion seems to have taken them to a standstill.

(They board the dangerously yellow bus after a 10-mile walk)

(SCENE 3: FREAKISHLY YELLOW BUS)

(Amey proceeds to sit on the right side of the bus. Arey naive child.)

Ashish: Bhai, uss taraf dhoop aayegi.  

(They sit on the double-seat and share a headphone. Ashish bangs ‘Another Day of Sun’)

Ashish: I can listen to the ‘La La Land’ soundtrack on end. This and Abusive Aunty Mix and Chodu Singham...  Did you know they caught a third guy for downloading umpteen gigs of porn @36MBps in Simrol?

Amey: Kya?! Yeh kaise hua bhai? That poor pervert.

Ashish: The IT guys can obviously track you in the new hostels. The surprising thing here is, they cared enough. They ALWAYS care when it comes to the quotidian aspects of student life gone slightly haywire. Khaane mein keede se koi problem nahin hai, par Frooti ka payment overdue hai toh expulsion.

Amey: Well, if one guy hogs the whole network, others have to come jumping like it’s The Dawn of The Rise of The Dusk of The War for the Planet of The Apes. I remember how we used to go bat-shit crazy when someone was downloading the latest episode of Game of Thrones from our gareeb 80GB limited Airtel networks when we already had it. Some people were so goddamn serious about the bandwidth they’d become whinier than a Goth kid trying to find his eyeliner.

(The bus hasn’t started yet. CultSec boards. Bus revvs.)

Ashish: Here comes our poor sacrificial lamb. He should wear a tee that says, ‘I am Kalash and I am not a terrorist’.

Amey: Sir, I have known him since my first day at IIT Indore even though that is technically impossible, but impossible is just a word at IIT Indore and apparently everyone had such a good rapport with him so they decided to keep him 22 km away. <insert GRE words image here>

(Both chuckle and greet Kalash, who proceeds to sit behind them.)

Amey (checking phone) : Naya email. Best BTP submissions ke liye. Alag hi! BTP awards are farcical. No interdisciplinary uniformity in grading or evaluation. Two submissions from Mech and both got some prize or the other at the Symposium because of their presentation.

Ashish: Or just plain luck. Still, man. Our BTPs saw some real effort. Our many advisors deservedly became Associate Professors. It was high time, wasn’t it?

Amey: My faith in the IITI academic system is still maintained thanks to these hardworking guys. You remember how hard they had to fight to get us great courses for a Minor degree?

Ashish: The Minor program was unarguably the best decision that defined the academic policies for our batch. And the future batches too.

Amey: Personally, I’d love to see a core subject Minor for the new batches. And Abhishek Sir is the best DoSA we have had since Granny’s left Silver Springs. He’s doing a commendable job, especially given all the student shenanigans.  

Ashish: I think you discount the students’ role tad too much. Our batch has some of the best coders in the country. Utkarsh and the Shah bros are going to the ACM-ICPC World Finals, hopefully turning it into an institute tradition. Then we have prodigies like Tripathi. These guys have done a lot to promote the coding culture at IITI, if only by setting examples. Look at the placements and internship trends you and I noticed this year at the PO: we are near the top of the ladder in India as far as CS is concerned. But more focus on other branches would not do harm, would it *rant intensifies*? 

...Look at the abysmal performance by Electrical and Mechanical; for a decent salary we non-CS guys either have to learn programming and leave our core studies for the night before the exams, or go into research, or take GATE or CAT or IES or IAS or KLPDS and what-not! While we as students need to grow balls and learn how to not get swayed away by first CTCs, some push from the institute would be great.  

(Amey isn’t listening. Notwithstanding the growls and *shaking* of the bus, Amey is cozily napping.)

(The bus stops at the campus main gate after what seems like the whole length of ‘Jodha Akbar’ and ‘What’s Your Rashee?’ combined.)

Entry Gate Security Guard: Sir, ID card. (Ashish has been pretending to sleep too because guard overlook karne ki probability 80% hai and as accent-torn Deepika Padukone in xXx quotably says: he likes his odds.)

(These adamant seniors are not giving up)

Entry Gate Security Guard: ( unable to cut the bullshit, nudges Ashish) Ser! (shudder) ID.

(reluctantly pulling out his ID, Ashish mumbles under his breath.)

(The insidious dust has broken Amey’s sweet nap. He coughs as the scarily yellow bus proceeds into the vastness of the campus.)

Amey: Look, kids with donation boxes for used clothes. AVANA has consistently been on a roll. Although the sight of someone silently looming over you as you sleep, whispering ‘Thatty Rupes’ is almost as scary as the time we watched The Descent and shit ourselves simultaneously crying and laughing.

Ashish: ( in an impressive Marathi accent) Nepali Vachli bhau. Nepali Vachli. (Both share an inside joke as the bus comes to a halt. Destination reached.)

(SCENE 4: SIMROL)

Amey: ( getting down) In the end, that’s what matters. Although persisting regionalism is a good talking point for students, with all its pros and cons.

Ashish: Closely-knit antelope herds are not easy to penetrate.

Amey: Is that the first time you’ve said that? (another chuckle shared, this is getting cheesy) I don’t even remember why we came here. Oh yes. Transcripts.

(A friendly junior smiles and greets them. In contrast to the shade thrown in Simrol, cordiality is still burgeoning here.)

Amey: There are perhaps no stronger polar opposites than AVANA and SESC. I might be horribly wrong, but from what we’ve noticed, it seems like SESC has become redundant and unproductive. The startups they have been promoting either sold stationery or just took the MHRD grant for pizzas, getting bundled up in a matter of months.

(They approach the Physics Pod complete with cinderblocks to cranes and the evergreen sounds of metal hammering. )

Ashish: Yeh bik gayi hai SESC. Ab is SESC mein kuch nahin hai. Yeh saare milke humko pagal bana rahe hain m--

(Ashish stops abruptly as Professor Vishvakarma passes by, greeting them briefly.)

Amey: This guy is THE man. Our Placement Office and the IAC would never be as well-established without him. What’s up with IAC this year?

Ashish: Santosh Sir worked selflessly for both Placements and the Conclaves. Never will the student members be as happy and well-fed as we were under his rule. Haan, this year’s IAC is going to be a mish-mash effort by Rajveer - all hot air and no real content. Ah, who cares? It is anyway under a different professor now.

Amey: But you must admit, PKU sir has been a worthy successor to SKV. The Placement Office is working as a well-oiled machine thanks to him. Won’t you miss our Placement Office perks?

Ashish: Do you mean the divine morning coffees, occasional mayo sandwiches and sour-ass lemon teas or the long hours of highly productive meetings and equally unproductive bakchodi? We’ll definitely miss both.

(They get to the new Academic Office. Ashish listens to the incoherent dialogue between Amey and Rinki Ma’am, and watches her give Amey his precious transcripts.)

Amey (whispering) : Tapesh sir and Rinki ma’am have really grown on us fourth-years, haven’t they?

Ashish (whispering back) : Yeah. I used to get a cold shoulder earlier. Last time I was offered tea. I guess they understand how being seniors is difficult and that our problems begin to get more genuine as we grow through the college. Familiarity here bred sympathy, instead of contempt.

(Cut to: One hour later they leave from SS in an Uber to the city as the dangerously catchy

Swachh Bharat jingle is being heard everywhere. Pity the driver of those poor garbage trucks, people. You can only listen to so much of Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids. Hey, Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids sounds like a decent band name.)

(SCENE 5: INDORE CITY)

Ashish: Yahaan Johnny ke paas rok dena, bhaiya.

(They get out of the Nano and pay using PayTM because demonetization. The driver is conveniently named Ramesh. He frowns over not having received cash. Bitches.)

Amey: Where our fuckbois at?

Ashish: Dugar and Bapat are at Sam’s (free) Momos, they tell me. Diggi, Govil, Dhaivat and Avnish are having Fire Paan. Prajwal is at Nafees for biryani. Damn! His attraction to biryani is borderline sexual!  

Amey: Can you blame him? It is magnificent. Though not as magnificent as the one we had at the notorious Love Palace party. Our juniors will never experience the thrill of gatecrashing a wealthy Punjabi’s lavish food fiestas.

Ashish: That was quite a fiasco! The Curious Case of Love Palace! The slaps, the drunken brawls, the humiliation, and, in the midst of it all, the most delicious meal we have ever had, owing in large part to its absolutely undeserving our shorts, slippers and hoodies.

(For our unwitting readers, on 24th February 2014, allstudent received a mail inviting us to the housewarming celebrations of an ostentatiously built residence, the Love Palace that falls on our way to the Axis Bank ATM in Silver Springs. We turned up in full strength, especially the first years who were early to arrive and plunder and leave. Our super-seniors flocked to the open bar, exhausting it of its offerings within an hour. As it turns out, the mail was a hoax perpetrated by *insert_mysterious_name_here* and we were actually not invited. The hosts were gonna have none of that shit. What followed was some lit slapping and thrashing game from our truly Punjabi hosts, which effectively ceased all the faggotry in mere minutes. Amey and Ashish obviously escaped unscathed because they were dressed decently, which was a camouflage. The Bhatias, in the week that followed, saw the wrath of the slap-ees in the form of broken car windows and some dope graffiti. Some of the first-years got their long-overdue slaps well in advance, though.

This event was perhaps one of the most happening ones at IITI, even more than a few Fluxuses. Or is it Fluxii?)

(As they gobble up a hotdog each, they see their homies approaching and a shitstorm of banter follows)

If you’ve manage to read all of the rant above, you can flatten as you go up. The writers want you to know that despite all its flaws, IIT Indore is actually a pretty good place to be, and they cherish their years here. Ashish (rather suspiciously) knows the roll numbers and names of all the people here, and Amey knows how to ignore them. The best hostels in any IIT system, the united outcry that we so often witness (*cough* mess *cough*), a filial feeling that comes with the perk of having a small student population, and the shared respect for friends, professors, and everyone else around, definitely make our IIT Indore journey memorable.

(BONUS)

director@iiti.ac.in  : Wish you all a great life ahead, Batch of 2013–17!

lenka@iiti.ac.in : And I