#child development without screens

[newsepick]

Teaching Our Children in Digital Age — Commanding Minds Before Machines Do Young Students Really Need AI, Robotics, and Coding in Early Schooling? Let’s Pause and Reflect! What should we teach our children? Making education suitable for the current age.

[kingdom-carer]

How to regress when you’ve literally never done it and you have no idea what to expect (or it’s been a while)

*turns around in chair like Captain America* so ……. you wanna be tiny.

Awesome! :D

Voluntary regression, when done intentionally, can be immensely fun and healing. Let’s get you set up for success.

Step 1: Set Your Goals

Your goal should never be “to regress” - it may not happen. You may spend all of your time just age dreaming (acting small with your big brain still in). You need to be okay with that.

The reason you’re regressing isn’t the same as your goal. “Because I’m traumatized,” “for fun,” and “for chronic pain” are all valid reasons, but they don’t provide you with the framework for healing that we’re looking for.

Here are some specific, achievable goals:

“I want to relax and have uninterrupted fun after a long day.”

“I want to reparent my inner child through affirmation work, gentle parenting, and rules for self-care.”

“I want to work through trauma I’ve experienced through play so I can experiment with new outcomes for tough situations.”

“I want to complete easy tasks/assignments to give myself a sense of pride and accomplishment.”

“I want to allow myself to trust and be cared for in a way that I am usually resistant to.”

“I want to allow Jesus to speak to me when I feel most vulnerable and receptive to His kindness.”

“I want to improve my self/care habits by making them fun and digestible.”

“I want to revisit childhood/deep-rooted fears so I can work through them with effective coping mechanisms, like journaling.”

Step 2: Selecting Your Tools

Here, you might have seen lists of things that people like to use when they’re little, but rarely do they explain why they like to use them. These lists also may not resonate with older or alternative regressors.

So instead, I will give you categories of things that I believe are relevant to regression, and you fill decide what satisfies it best for you.

Something to wear: do you have clothing that is easy and comfortable to move around in, makes you feel good to wear, and/or gives you sensory input you crave?

Something to watch: do you know of a show, movie, or YouTube channel that holds good memories for you? Is there one out there that piques your interest? It doesn’t have to be “kid-friendly,” but its effect should be comfort and peace, not intellectual or emotional strain. We are not looking for challenge - that is for developing your grownup brain. Many regressors prefer kids media for this reason.

Something to do (with your hands): Stimulating senses other than sight is vital for grounding, especially in today’s online world … and, considering the nature of the work we are doing, you may need it. Painting, sensory sand, going to the beach, swimming, making music, woodworking, crocheting, polymer clay, diamond painting, puzzles, coloring books, and more can all bring out your inner child. Again, we are looking for joy, not challenge; perhaps your local dollar store has a craft kit!

Something to read: are you a scientist who loves learning about animals? A horror fan who loves spooky tales? Do you remember a series from your childhood that brought you joy? Reading is a great way to escape into a simpler world and evade screens, especially if it’s crafted without profanity or triggering subjects. Children’s books may also minister to you in ways that adults failed, such as teaching emotional regulation, socialization, and how to fight common fears.

Something to hold: plushies have been proven to be beneficial for mental health, but a companion doesn’t have to be stuffed! Action figures, dolls, and other friends can be thrifted, bought, or dug up from closets. They provide sounding boards for scary thoughts that get less scary when said aloud, companionship during play, travel, or sleep, and serve as willing recipients of your creative outputs (bracelets, clothing, drawings, etc). And, when you need a hug, your favorite toy can be right there with you in the absence of a human friend.

Something to nibble: food is fuel for the body, but it is also love. Choose foods that are nutritious and fun, just like you’d give a child. My personal faves are Slim Jim’s, pepperoni, berries, nuts, dairy, and veggies with dip. Treats are great too, but spend your tummy bank on nutritionally valuable food first! Regressors also find fun in experimenting with different vessels for food and drinks, like crazy straws, bottles, ZooPals plates, or character dining sets.

Something to play with: ‘play’ has many definitions and types. Below is a short list of types of play. No matter if you like toys or not, gather objects or activities that encourage play.

Symbolic play - using one object to represent another (i.e. a flower becomes a wand - try blocks or play scarves)

Locomotor play - moving play (try roller skates, online exercises/dance classes, or small exercise trampolines)

Creative play - invoking a desired or experimental outcome (try Legos and art supplies)

Deep play and rough-and-tumble play - play that involves bodily risk and movement (try hiking, rock climbing, or swimming)

Dramatic play - orchestrating play without personal involvement (“setting up” elaborate scenes with toys was a big part of my childhood play! Try small toys and accessories like Calico Critters, stuffed animals, or dolls)

Exploratory play - play to gain information (try boxed or homemade science experiments, or simply asking, “I wonder what happens if I …?”)

Fantasy and imaginative play - playing in a way that is unlikely to occur in real life and/or the rules have changed (try dressing up to be a superhero, royalty, animal, etc)

Mastery play - bringing a task to completion (build a campfire, dig holes in sand to fill with water, complete a video game level, etc)

Object play - manipulating objects to learn more about them (common in developing babies and autistic stimming; try fidget toys)

Socio-dramatic play - taking on a role that involves social interaction (I.e. playing house or doctor)

Somewhere to go: novelty can be hugely effective in delighting your inner child. Try hanging out in the backyard, going to a park/museum/aquarium, taking yourself on a “little” shopping spree with a set budget, going to a theme park/state fair, or checking out kids media from your local library. Since you are exiting your safe space, you must be mindful of those around you. This is why I usually recommend this to those who know they will only be age dreaming, unless they are completely alone. For your safety, please do not involve anyone who has not consented in your regression.

Something to see: if you can, decorate your safe space or a portion of your safe space in a way that makes your inner child happy. Try changing your phone wallpaper, collecting figures, displaying stuffies on your bed, putting up wall stickers or drawings you’ve made, or changing your bed sheets.

A note on pacifiers: pacis made for adults are a great way to abate thumb-sucking and unhealthy oral stims. They will shift your teeth only if you use them excessively; try limiting use to an hour at a time, and always wear your retainer if you have one. If you feel pain, stop. Disassemble and clean immediately after use.

A note on diapers: I personally do not use diapers because I don’t want or need them, but should you choose differently, there are lots of creators who have more information on them. Most importantly, they are not shameful.

Step 3: Meeting Your Inner Child

How do you know when you’ve regressed?

When play takes over.

When you find yourself fully engaged in what’s in front of you, finding captivation in the simplest things, you are regressed. It isn’t some magical transformation - you’re just revising a part of you that has always been there, latent. It is an unlocking of childhood whimsy … a state of being easily awed.

Thoughts may simplify; adult reasoning for comfort objects may reduce to a petulant mine. Anxious spirals may be replaced by a simple mama, I’m scared. Thoughtful analyses of character arcs and subplots may sound more like yay, ponies!

If you have an internal monologue, it may disappear, replaced with more primal emotions like “angry” or “scared” or “happy” or “calm.” There have been many times that my husband has asked little me what’s wrong, but instead of words, only sobs make it out of my mouth. Then, when he holds me, a warmth I can’t name fills my chest and makes me sleepy.

What is your inner child like? Are they more or less …

Sensitive?

Chatty?

Energetic?

Creative?

Impulsive?

Experimental?

Outspoken?

Stubborn?

Relaxed?

Giggly?

Curious?

Focused?

Defiant?

Angry?

Expressive?

Your inner child, like all children, is subject to fits and flights of fancy. This is normal! Love them as you would love a normal child.

Step Four: Caring For The Bunchkin

Since our goal is not to regress, we have the freedom to take a third-person point of view while we are in our safe space, check in on ourselves, and see how we are doing.

If your goal is to heal, take things slow. Choose one activity at a time that allows you to explore your deeper thoughts, and allow ample room for fun and relaxation.

Instead of focusing on your trauma and hurt, start by asking yourself - “what are my deepest desires? What am I lacking? What is important to me? What can I give myself that I did not receive?”

Kids’ “About Me” worksheets are a great place to start, since there are no wrong answers. As you get more comfortable being small, try making or completing worksheets that ask the weightier questions.

Caring for with your inner child can be as simple as imagining them like another person. For example:

If you are shameful of your desire to connect with an old fandom, ask yourself why that might be. Did someone tell you that it was shameful? Did you have a bad experience in that fandom? Were you at a turbulent point of your life? What might you say to a child experiencing these emotions now?

If you are reluctant to make noise or take up space, ask yourself why. Did someone tell you that you were ‘too much?’ Were you afraid to be judged? Did someone punish you for getting in their way? What would you say to a child afraid to take up space in your presence?

If you are distressed at the idea of stimming openly while small, ask yourself why. Did someone - or life experience - teach you to mask? Are you afraid of being judged as a “faker?” Are you afraid of looking or feeling incapable in some way? What would you say to a child who is afraid to stim?

If you are upset with yourself for reacting to a trigger, ask yourself why. Do you feel like you should be more healed, or more in control of yourself? Are you afraid of slipping back towards a state you used to be in? Are you afraid of re-experiencing trauma?

What would you say and do for a child who struggles with a trigger?

Showing your little self compassion and modeling joy from an adult headspace is vital. Don’t say anything to your inner child that you wouldn’t say to an actual child.

You may not be quite ready to believe the healing truths you have learned when you are big, but putting them into practice when you are small is a great way to soothe yourself from the inside out.

(I filled up my star chart by making my bed each day! Good job, me! I worked so hard, and now I get a treat!)

(I did a drawing all by myself! I can put it on my fridge now. Wow, I’m so glad I made something today.)

(I went outside, and there are so many cool things to see! What an awesome world I live in.)

Healing can be tough, but it’s so fantastic. It all starts with being kind to yourself. You can do it!

Step 5 - Putting Out Fires

Oh dear, something went wrong, and now a tantrum is afoot. Or a meltdown. Or a flashback. What do we do?

Hold up your fingers like birthday candles and blow them out to encourage deep breathing.

Play a song that makes you feel good, and dance if you can. Physical movement is your best antidote.

Name 5 things you can see, 4 you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, and 1 you can taste.

Repeat your affirmations aloud. There is power in hearing something that isn’t your own mental hurricane. “I am loved, I am safe, I am going to be okay.”

Assign the trigger to a stuffie (don’t worry, they are willing participants!). Say, “hey, wait a minute, why should you be in charge? These are MY thoughts! Take that! And that! And that!” Toss your stuffie around and get those crazy thoughts away from both of you!

Assign the trigger to a stuffie, and pretend they are you. What would you say to calm them down and tell them you are here for them?

Get a change of scenery. Go outside, go somewhere else, take a shower or bubble bath.

Scribble your feelings on paper. No, really, go ham. Break some crayons. Then crumple them, tear them, and throw them away.

Most importantly - don’t be mad at yourself.

The debrief - what can we do for next time?

Handle triggers with care, but don’t be afraid of the feelings that accompany them. There is an unmet need somewhere in your soul - what is it, and how can you meet it?

Journaling and affirmations - record what happened and why you think it happened, and then write kind things to and about yourself.

“Do it scared” - push past the lies you have been told about yourself and enjoy things anyway.

I am a Christian, and I live by the phrase: “if it isn’t your reality, make it your prayer.” Even if you don’t believe now that you are safe, loved, and capable, saying these things to yourself constantly will help them be realized.

Obviously, avoiding negative language about yourself in your adult life is the other half of the pizza. Your inner child is doing work for adult you, too! Don’t undermine it!

The Wrap Up

Well, Kiddo, I’m so glad you’re taking this step in your healing journey. A few things to remember before you go:

You may grow out of regression! That’s good! It’s a sign that your inner child is happy and content.

You may never grow out of regression. That’s okay! Your inner child can get love all your life!

Your regression is your business. You don’t have to tell anyone about it if you don’t want to. Choose who you tell very carefully.

Ignore the haters. You’re doing great.

Bye, Kiddo! You are so loved!! 🥰

[sirfrogsworth]

This man just loves shooting movies on "hard mode."

The 15 perf, 70mm film he uses is pretty special. In very limited circumstances, it can have the same detail as an 80 megapixel medium format camera. Roughly 12K if you average out the sharpness of the lens (the center is sharper).

It's gotta be the lowest speed film and on a tripod and *nothing* can be moving and there has to be plenty of light and the lens needs to be sharp enough to resolve that much detail and the air cannot be too moist or dusty... but yeah, sure... theoretically you can get a tiny circle in the center of the frame to be 18K. With the entire frame averaging out to be 12K.

And as you watch that 12K image on a 100 foot IMAX screen you can say to yourself, "Cillian Murphy should really try a pore cleanser."

But Nolan *rarely* uses it under those ideal conditions. So he is mostly preserving the resolution of the grain structure.

I know people go to movies to admire the high-resolution film grain structure. Right? Any grain nerds reading this?

So why is he doing this?

There is the "film look" that is a bit of a cheat code to reduce the need for extensive color grading. People just like the look of film. It has a nostalgic aesthetic that gives us comfort. All of the films of my childhood were on film. All of my childhood photos were on film.

But you can get film without film.

They have developed workflows that emulate film to a near-imperceptible level. There are filmvestigators who think they can always tell. But if it is close enough that only a few specially trained people can see the difference, it is imperceptible.

You can also hack digital to be film. Dune 2 took the digital footage and exposed it onto film and then scanned it back to digital.

Looked great.

Looked like film.

So he doesn't need to do this to get the film look.

WHY? What else could compel him to go through this considerable bother to capture his movie?

I could make an argument for gradients.

Any large format is going to capture very nice gradations. Gradations are probably the most underrated aspect of image quality. People get obsessed with Ks and megapixels, but 1080p is enough detail for most people.

Whereas having one color smoothly transition into another color is a very subtle thing that gives our brain an aesthetic buzz. It's that thing that makes people go, "Oh wow, you must have a really nice camera." It's that subconscious element in photos that helps differentiate snapshot from art.

This iPhone photo is great.

It is amazing this can be captured by a phone.

But a large format image just hits different.

And you can't always put your finger on why.

I mean, the why is because a professional photographer took the photo. (Unless that is one of those dentists with a Hasselblad.)

But if you account for the skill of the photographer, what else makes the photo special?

I think it is the gradients. The megapixels are nice. The color science is nice. But the way those tones just seamlessly shift into each other makes my brain tingle.

But the Arri 65 digital cinema camera is also large format. It has nicer lenses that weren't designed before the 90s. It doesn't cost thousands of dollars just to develop a few minutes of footage. It has more dynamic range. It can do the buttery smooth gradients. It weighs an entire 2-year-old child less than IMAX cameras.

And you don't need 4 dudes to deliver the movie to the projectionist.

And unless Christopher had them develop a silent IMAX camera, I guess all of the dialogue is going to be recorded in post.

I mean, IMAX claims they made them "30% quieter."

Which is a bit like when I inquired about an $8,000 treatment and explained that I had 0 money and the doctor offered me a 30% coupon.

So whyyyyyy?

It's heavy. It's loud. It doesn't offer better image quality.

I think it is just because film is cool and he doesn't want it to die.

I wish he would stop saying unscientific things about the magical 15/70mm film and just say "Because it is fucking cool."

I'm sold. That works for me.

By using the most extreme film camera, he brings attention to the use of film. He inspires people to learn about it and maybe even use it in their personal photography. (Film photography is very popular right now.) And he makes other big Hollywood directors think they can manage the pain in the ass of film as well.

I'm glad Nolan is this stubborn and willing to take on the challenges of using the heaviest and loudest cameras in existence.

The large format quality is good enough that it will be preserved well. We won't have a Star Wars crisis where people are trying to stitch together degraded 40 year old film to make sure Han shot first.

An 18K scan of IMAX will stand the test of time.

That doesn't mean IMAX is 18K or any other K.

The Ks don't matter! Stop talking about 18K! All you reddit r/IMAX nerds need to calm down about the Ks.

Talk about them sweet, sweet gradients.

Film is a variable resolution medium. If it is dark and you are using a Russian lens from the 50s, you might be getting 3K IMAX. You could have one scene from two angles be completely different resolutions. It's fine. No one is complaining that a movie isn't Kenough.

The only thing "scanned in 18K" means is that all of the detail will be well preserved, including that sexy grain structure.

Nice.

[p0orbaby]

Hi ,

May i request a cute short blurb of alexia putellas x reader where the reader is pregnant but she doesn't like anyone to hover and alexia is trying to hover quietly so that the reader doesnt notice or else the reader will bite her head off

-

“You’re breathing on me.”

You don’t look up. Your hand stays suspended an inch above the polished quartz island you had imported from Valencia last spring, poised carefully over the final, meticulous flick of buttercream on the Victoria sponge you didn’t even want to bake but decided on after a week-long craving that you blamed squarely on homesickness, the hormonal kind. Somewhere between your third and fourth trip to El Corte Inglés in one afternoon, you realised nostalgia tastes faintly of strawberry jam and bitter disappointment.

“I’m not,” Alexia says. She is, obviously. You can feel it—the faintest mist of her breath, close enough that if you turned, your reading glasses would fig up with a single exhale.

You straighten slowly, with the exact measured indifference of a Michelin inspector dissecting an amuse-bouche. You catch her reflection in the brushed steel of the Miele coffee machine she insisted on buying after a two-hour row in a Sant Cugat appliance showroom. She’s standing exactly 1.3 metres away—you’ve measured it with your eyes because you’re the sort of person who knows the circumference of a football (68–70cm), the exact sugar content of a Mercadona tarta de queso (approximately 32%), and the London to Barcelona flight time down to the minute (2 hours 5 minutes).

Alexia is pretending to check her phone.

It’s upside down.

The screen is blank.

The effort is almost insulting.

“You’re hovering,” you inform her, conversationally, like announcing the weather.

“No I’m not,” she replies, voice high, too fast, guilty.

You glance at her sideways. “You’re hovering like a fucking Guardia Urbana drone.”

She flushes.

You return to the cake, smoothing the top with the flat of your palette knife—a heavy Sabatier you brought over from England because Spanish knives, in your experience, are either dangerously blunt or designed exclusively for stabbing jamón. You’ve developed a twitch lately: an overwhelming need for everything to be perfectly symmetrical. The chaos of pregnancy—skin stretching, organs rearranging, blood pumping like a dodgy plumbing system—has made you obsessed with control over the insignificant.

Matching mugs. Alphabetised spice rack. Towels folded exactly to hotel standards: tri-fold, not half.

Alexia’s presence thrums in the background like tinnitus.

You can feel her trying not to fuss. Trying and failing.

“I’m blending,” she says, without conviction.

“You’re about as subtle as Sagrada Família,” you mutter.

She shifts awkwardly, the rubber soles of her Nike P-6000’s squeaking faintly on the hand-tiled floor you both spent a month arguing over—Catalan mosaic or modern minimalism. Modern minimalism won. You told yourself it was because of practicality but secretly it was because you could imagine this child, this squalling hypothetical mass, vomiting spectacularly over terrazzo.

Alexia folds her arms, a little too tightly. She’s wearing the navy Barça hoodie she stole from the kit room last season, the one with the crest embroidered so neatly you sometimes stare at it just to feel calmer.

“I just…” she starts, then trails off.

You wipe the knife clean on a damp tea towel—Liberty print, an import because Spanish ones are too short, too thin, too prone to shrivelling like old men in the sun.

“You just… what?” you prompt, tone sharp enough to draw blood.

She shrugs, helpless. “I’m being nearby.”

“Congratulations,” you deadpan. “Shall I fetch you a medal?”

Alexia pouts, an expression that would probably have got her punched if she weren’t spectacularly, unfairly beautiful.

There’s a bottle of Solán de Cabras water on the island, the blue one you’ve been craving like it’s holy water, and you take a slow, careful sip, just for something to do. You can see Alexia itching to offer you something—toast, fruit, the moon on a plate—and you brace yourself for the inevitable.

“Are you hungry?” she blurts, like a sneeze.

You don’t answer immediately. You let the silence unfurl between you like a long, slow exhale. Barcelona silence: interrupted only by the distant yapping of a terrier somewhere on Carrer d’Aragó, the low hum of a Vespa struggling uphill.

“I’m fine,” you say eventually, with the kind of icy politeness that would make Buckingham Palace staff nod in approval.

Alexia shifts her weight from one foot to the other, chewing her bottom lip like it’s rationed. You notice she’s wearing her fitness tracker again—a WHOOP with a Tundra Superknit bisep band—obsessively monitoring her sleep, her steps, her heart rate. You imagine it buzzing quietly under her hoodie, flashing an alert: STRESS DETECTED. BREATHE, IDIOT.

You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Do you want to feel it kick?” you offer, with all the grace of a trapdoor opening.

Her face lights up like Plaça de Catalunya at Christmas.

She’s across the room in two strides, hands out, reverent, like you’re a relic.

She places her palm gently over the slight swell of your stomach—warm, steady, the faint scent of her vanilla hand cream ghosting up to you. You remember buying it with her in a cramped Gràcia pharmacy two months ago. She spent fifteen minutes comparing brands while you sat on a plastic stool and calculated, clinically, whether divorce paperwork could be filed in Catalan.

You both wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The baby remains stubbornly, impressively still.

“I swear,” Alexia says, whispering like the baby might overhear and feel insulted, “it moved earlier.”

You nod slowly, gravely. “Maybe it’s allergic to hovering.”

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[xjulixred45x]

On the Kid Yuu thing just imagine Idia meeting them and like it's a mix of sadness because of how much they remind them of Ortho and like happiness because they remind him of Ortho... it would become instant big brother mode... Yuu is now Idia's little sibling... and it creates an almost funny fight between Ignahyde and Dismonia because Idia is trying to steal Yuu to Ignahyde, and Lilia is trying to steal Yuu to Dismonia. They bicker over vc 24/7 it's hilarious. And Yuu is just sitting there like "heh?" But enjoying the attention of people actually wanting them around.

OMG THIS IS SO CUTE

First of all, I firmly believe that if Yuu were a little child, Idia would approach them much sooner than in canon, precisely out of an older brother instinct. Obviously, he doesn't do this in person (at least at first), but rather through his iPad, either by bumping into a lost Child!Yuu in the grand halls of NRC and failing to find the first-years, or by trying to find Grim on their own. Either way, Idia can't bring himself to ignore this creature, so he ends up reluctantly helping Yuu until another student or responsible adult takes over.

From there, the encounters escalate, with Idia eventually bumping into Yuu at lunch, during certain activities, etc. Yuu probably initially approaches him because they thinks his way of going to class without leaving his room with a "super futuristic floating screen" is SO COOL, but eventually they even ends up going after Idia to get him to explain things like how TWST works, magic in general, or even tutor them without losing his patience (let's be honest, as much as we love the first-year gang, not everyone can handle a little kid).

I feel like at some point, when Idia realizes that Yuu always ends up involved with the Overblots, he ends up having a very serious talk with Crowley about his failings as a teacher, adoptive father, etc. All of this brings back flashbacks for Idia to the original Ortho... you know, so he's NOT going to allow adults to leave a defenseless child in a dangerous situation. Not again.

Idia also desperately tries to teach Yuu the basic rules of Flight or Fight, only in his case it's Flight or Flight. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if this Child, about 35 pounds socking wet, tried to face a magical being on their own AGAIN, without even having any magic of their own. What if their luck runs out and something bad happens? What if neither he nor Ortho is there to help him? Idia swears his hair will turn white from the stress this causes him.

(Can you imagine Idia having a Pearl-like moment with Steven, where she says, "Why won't you let me do this for you, Rose?!" but calls them Ortho? I'm ready to make you cry today.)

This even leads to Idia leaving his room more often! Precisely to keep Yuu company and have a fun time, just him, Yuu, and Ortho. I like to imagine Idia letting Yuu play video games (appropriate for everyone) with him, even going easier on Yuu just to make them happy. Of course, Ortho would have to be the one to get them out of Idia's room so they could have sunlight, food other than chips, and some social interaction besides each other.

Idia is also a MASTER at handling Yuu's tantrums if they has one. Yes, he gets overstimulated easily, but a crying child? Do you have any idea what Ortho was like as a child?

There will be days when the first years don't even know what to do to stop Yuu from being grumpy, and then Idia comes in (Ortho called him for help after Yuu gave him the most furious scowl ever seen). It's not even 10 minutes since he starts talking to them, and badamin badabam, Yuu is back to their normal mood. No one knows how he does it or what kind of sorcery he's working, but it's working.

Ortho is happy to no longer be the youngest! He'll constantly check Yuu's health, analyze a better diet for their development, and is always willing to play with them if Idia is too busy/unable to. He also becomes a partner in crime when they both want to get Idia out of his cave, whether it's through using Yuu's puppy eyes or Ortho dragging him outright. They're a formidable duo.

Speaking of custody battles, yes, they would be legendary. On one side, we have Diasomnia family, trying to bribe Yuu by riding Malleus's dragon form. On the other side, we have Pomefiore, trying to convince Yuu to stay for a while (or forever) for a self-care routine. And of course, Octavinnille, who offers Yuu a tasting menu especially for them.

Meanwhile, Yuu is happily playing video games with Idia in his room, while Ortho tries to divert attention from all of the aforementioned to extend Ignihyde's time with Yuu as much as possible. This will require another meeting with the dorm's lawyer (aka Trein) to decide custody. Again... But you know what? No matter what, Idia is going to fight for this one.

_________

(ESPAÑOL)

Primero que nada, creo firmemente que en caso de que Yuu fuera un niño pequeño, Idia se le acercaría mucho antes que en el canon, justamente por el instinto de hermano mayor. Obviamente no lo hace en persona (al principio al menos), sino mediante su Ipad, ya sea topándose con un Child!Yuu perdido por los grandes pasillos de NRC y sin encontrar a los de primer año, o tratando de encontrar a Grim por su cuenta, sea como sea, Idia no puede obligarse a ingorar a esta criatura, por lo que termina ayudado a regañadientes a Yuu hasta que otro alumno o adulto responsable se hace cargo.

A partir de ahí, los encuentros van escalando, Idia se termina topando con Yuu en el almuerzo, en ciertas actividades, etc. Probablemente Yuu se le acerca en un principio porque cree que su forma de ir a clase sin dejar su cuarto con una “pantalla flotante súper futurista” es TAN COOL, pero eventualmente incluso termina yendo tras Idia para que le explique cosas de como funciona TWST, la magia en general o incluso le de tutorías sin perder la paciencia (seamos honestos, por mas que amemos al gang de primer año, no todos pueden manejar a un niño pequeño).

Siento que en algún momento, cuando Idia se da cuenta que Yuu siempre termina involucrado con los Overblots, termina yendo a hablar muy seriamente con Crowley por su fallas como profesor, padre adoptivo, etc. Todo esto le trae a Idia flashbacks de cuando Ortho original….tu sabes, por lo que NO va a permitir que unos adultos dejen a un niño indefenso en una situación peligrosa. No de nuevo.

Idia también trata desesperadamente de enseñarle a Yuu las reglas básicas de Flight or Fight, solo que en su caso es FLIGHT OR FLIGHT, no quiere pensar en que pasaría si este niño, de unos 35 kilos MAXIMO, se tratara de enfrentar por su cuenta OTRA VEZ con un ser mágico sin siquiera tener magia ellos mismos ¿Qué pasa si dejan de tener suerte y algo malo pasa? ¿Qué pasa si ni el ni Orto están ahí para ayudarle?. Idia jura que el pelo le va quedar blanco por el estrés que esto le da.

(¿se imaginan Idia teniendo un momento similar a Perla con Steven donde le dice “¿¡Por qué no me dejas hacer esto por ti, Rose!?” pero llamándole Ortho?, hoy estoy lista para hacerlos llorar)

¡esto incluso lleva a que Idia salga de su cuarto mas seguido! Justamente para hacerle compañía a Yuu y que pasen un rato divertido, solo el, Yuu, y Ortho. Me gusta imaginarme a Idia dejando a Yuu jugar videojuegos (aptos para todo publico) con el, incluso siendo mas fácil con Yuu solo para hacerle feliz. Eso si, Ortho tendría que ser quien los saca del cuarto de Idia para poder tener luz solar, comida que no sean papitas, y algo de interacción social además de entre ellos.

Idia también es un MAESTRO en manejar las rabietas de Yuu si llega a tenerlas, si, el se sobre estimula fácilmente ¿pero un niño llorando? ¿tienes idea de cómo era Ortho de niño?

Habrá días en los que los de primer año ni siquiera saben que hacer para que Yuu deje de estar gruñón, y entonces entra Idia (Ortho lo llamo por auxilio después de que Yuu le diera el ceño más fruncido que haya visto), ni siquiera pasan 10 minutos desde que se pone a hablar con ellos, y badamin badabam, Yuu esta de nuevo con su mood normal. Nadie sabe cómo lo hace ni qué tipo de brujería sua, pero está funcionando.

¡Ortho esta feliz de ya no ser el mas pequeño! Y hara constantemente chequeos médicos de Yuu, un analizis de un dieta mejor para su desarrollo, y siempre esta dispuesto a jugar con ellos si Idia esta muy ocupad/no puede. Tambien se vuelve un socio en el crimen cuando ambos quieren sacar a Idia de su cueva, ya sea usando los ojos de cachorro de Yuu o que Ortho directamente lo arrastre, son un duo de temer.

Hablando de las batallas de custodia, si, serian lejendarias. Por un lado, tenemos a la familia de Diasomnia, que trata de sobornar a Yuu con montar la forma dragon de Malleus. Del otro lado, tenemos a Pomefiore, tratando de convencer a Yuu que se queden un rato (o para siempre) por una rutina de autocuidado. Y como no, Octavinnille, que ofrece a Yuu un menú de degustación especialmente para ellos.

Mientras tanto, Yuu esta felizmente jugando videojuegos con Idia en su cuarto, mientras que Ortho trata de desviar la atención de todos los mencionados anteriormente para extender lo mas posible el tiempo de Ignihyde con Yuu. Esto requerirá otra junta con el abogado de los dormitorios (osea, Trein) para decidir la custodia. Otra vez…. ¿Pero sabes que? No importa, Idia va a luchar por esto.

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[ik33ponmakingc00ki3s]

"I think my frontal lobe just developed bro"

(I got flashed for searching up skirts so I chose flowers instead)

Genshin Chars reaction to you wearing a pencil skirt

They've been having these feelings for awhile now and you wearing the skirt just gave them a boost

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Al Haitham, Childe, Diluc, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli x GN! reader (not separated)

Genre: Romcom, fluff-ish

Warnings: Mentions of Abortion on Aether's part, Mentions of Suicide on Childe's part (This is not angst I swear)

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(A/n): Fuckass app bro (It's my fault tbh). Yesterday I had to rewrite everyone's parts half-based on the screen record as Diluc's part was pasted at the word counter website. So thank God.

I got sleepy, didn't notice I posted my draft so I panicked, and deleted it. So here's a rewritten version of it and I hope it's better, I just add in the scenarios that I can remember. And I'm sorry if some chars are ooc--

New: Gave this chapter a few minor updates!

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Part 1 ❀˖ °

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Header made by me <3

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Aether✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The twin that's 5 seconds younger than Lumine. Charming, Sporty, and helpful towards people (Especially to you)

Lumine groaned as she couldn't HANDLE any more shit from the 'could've been aborted twin' because he couldn't stop talking about you for days now. The way how you talk, your style, your laugh--OH when you laughed at his joke one time too! Lumine hissed and slammed the door against his face. "She deserves someone way more funnier!" leaving a sulking Aether as he prepared for school.

Ever since you walked through the door, he choked on his drink as 2/5 people that cared to check on him gave him a questioning look and faced towards the location he was looking seconds ago. Wiping his mess, he looked up to see some of them staring at him because you walking around a pencil skirt made him act like that.

You sure do have some cake in there huh, should've worn that pencil skirt since the first day so they got something to look forward to and attend school everyday---WHAT WHO SAID THAT???

That aside, Venti and Heizou were gonna have a field day about this as they teased the fuck out of Aether, and Lord he was BEGGING them internally to stop because you were just 2 seats in front of him, Talking with Mona and Ganyu about how nervous you feel for your defense against your research. He was frantic, nervous, ashamed even, "Guys please don't risk it.." He sighed nervously, fingers tapping, eyes switching towards them and you, hoping you hear none of their BS.

"Hey Aether! could we borrow your stapler real quic- oh! thanks" Your voice snapped him out of his state as his now buttery fingers searched for his stapler on his desk and gave it to you quick--almost dropping it in the process when your fingers lightly touched his, pressing his lips in a straight line while his skin warmed up. Sitting up properly, he saw Venti and Heizou look at him like he eats burgers with a spoon and fork.

"What-"

"Dude, you just straight up gave them your stapler without answering them"

Aether froze, he didn't realize that. He was so caught up in his own situation that he didn't bother answering you, and that made him melt out of embarrassment, he hoped that you didn't mind that behavior from him as he crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on top. Groaning at the heat as Heizou and Kazuha were lightly laughing at him from the side while Venti kept on smooching and teasing tf out of him.

"Guys can you just fucking practice? We're doing defense today"

Scara groaned, he was annoyed by just witnessing all this with Childe yapping besides his ear. Aether thanked him silently as he lifted his head up and stole glances from you from time to time, calming himself down as you chat away with your groupmates with your legs crossed as he looked away. He and his group were aware of his feelings towards you, and he knows that his best friends were into you too.

That's why he's gonna beg Lumine for some info from you since you guys are hella close, he has to know your favorite food, color, or your favorite sanrio character and he hopes that its the popular ones like cinnamoroll or pompompuri instead of the ones with long ass names like Fuwafuwanyankomitai- fucking whatever.

He'll be sure to do it--no he will do it because he knows that there are other great people outside his group that are interested in you too and he'll do his best as he can.

Albedo✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your Golden boy who's your Class crush, Class president AND who's ALSO your group leader He def didn't stay behind class to convince your teacher to switch groups and make him the leader

With Albedo on your side, he can give your group a free pass to success, He was literally chosen to be a part of the Top 5 students to join but declined it because it would hinder his studies and that the school would just use him for bragging rights.

Your group is so lucky to have him or else your performance would've been in ruins with the panelists getting up on your asses with the smallest of mistakes. The other groups were having high hopes of him being in their group, but thank God he switched, because he knows that they'll rely on him too much and dump the difficult parts on him.

And so he enjoyed his limited time with you and did his best to give this group a stable backbone, making sure that they know what they're doing as he helped them in their parts when they asked for it.

Oh especially with you, he likes helping you a lottttt.

Eager was he as he sat besides you one time, he was so glad that the "teacher grouped him up" with you-- asking if you needed help, and before you could say no, he had your favorite drink and placed it in front of you. And before you could answer again, he beat you to it, "I was wondering if you tried this one actually, it's getting popular these days..." What a fucking liar, he saw you order this drink 3 times when he was studying at a cafe during his free time. You just didn't notice him as much like he does to you.

You wore a pencil skirt when you went to a group meeting one time and he couldn't almost concentrate, and now that you're wearing it again with a different style, he got a bit distracted as he unintentionally complimented you before and after the defense.

"You dress yourself like how Pierre Auguste Cot paints his muses" and "People keep leaving fashion shows because you weren't there to perform"

You were too stunned to speak as he gave you a small smile, even if you didn't know who Pierre is, even if you hated modeling, he would still see you as an icon--a muse, in his view. With your quiet state, he then realized that he complimented you 2 times in one day, clenching his jaw but kept the same face. He just hoped that you aren't weirded out by him with all the things he's doing, but oh he has to you know. He has to be 5 steps ahead of everyone, and always have to be 5 steps ahead of everything. That's his way to receiving such high achievements and go way beyond people's expectations.

So he's not letting this go so easily, no, he's moving mountains just to get closer to you and bloom to something more. He knows how to play with your buttons as he felt piercing stares behind his back, they're watching and they're mad, but what can they do? He always has to be ahead of them and that's what riled the tension more. So after checking the attendance three times, he called you again with a gentle smile, holding himself back from wanting to touch your hair and put them behind your ear, corny but cute.

"You did very well in the performance, I think you even pleased the panelists too. Now, I'd like to ask you, if we ever get to collaborate again, can it be in a restaurant next time?"

Al-haitham✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One of the Top 5 students who put their school's name to championship but he's such an ass. Not with you tho, he's "trying" to upgrade the relationship between the two of you but is just a pussy too busy for it

Walking around the hallways, Al-Haitham and Kaveh were having their usual morning routine, coffee at 7:30 am and sticking up rocks in each other's asses. He just came from the championship days ago and took another few days break before heading back to school again "Hey Haitham look, 2 o'clock in front." Kaveh whispered as he looked up.

It was you, wearing a black pencil skirt with the length stretching down above your knees with a medium slit in the side, along black stockings and heels. Fixing your papers and signing attendances with Ganyu. God damn, even if you two don't meet as "much" he can't help but feel shameful for having feelings like these towards you. "Hey man, you've been staring for a while now, something in your mind?"

He angrily looked away and saw that Cyno was waving his hand in front of his view, his voice increased at the 'staring' part as it grabbed a few student's attention walking by. Thinking he was a pervert checking out on people.

"What the fuck do you want" He hissed as Cyno raised both his hands (Absolute Cinema) "Look-- I know you wanna bag them so bad, but atleast do something about it, other students from different classes are making their move while you're here staring" He wasn't lying, he felt like he was just a floater friend to you, talked a few times, bump into each other from hectic schedules, share small greetings whenever you meet.

Simple and casual stuff you know, you guys were grouped a few times, attending group meetings to having hangouts, going to small parties from other friends, to you begging him to play Online TCG and chatting on discord till 2 am, evolving to buying each other snacks when the other didn't eat.

Yeahhhhh floater friend.

"I'll think about it." He wanted to make a move too but he thinks that you aren't that interested in him. He himself is stubborn, especially in situations like this, convincing himself that everything's neutral. Even if his friends push him to go for it, he doesn't want to ruin the "small" friendly relationship you both had.

Sooo for now, he's just gonna lay-low and test the water before dipping in. Eyeing your ass view before heading to his own class.

"Think quick and hard soldier, OR I can help you set up with them. Yk, spy on some friends of mine to get info about you." Cyno offered to him as Al-haitham huffed.

"I can do it myself, but if there's no choice then I'll let it be--"

"Booooooo this is why you don't get bitches, you don't fight for them." With the sullen tone Kaveh had, Cyno snorted as Nari came up. His long fluffy ears twitching as he sniffed into the not so new topic of his circle.

"Hm, still having trouble with that special person you're afraid of confessing to Haitham?"

"I'm not planning to."

"And why's that? Afraid of getting rejected because you didn't want to ruin the only connection you have with them?"

He paused, thinking for a bit and before he could answer, the professor came in as everyone settled to their seats.

He let a frustrated sigh and thought, fuck it, it's either he keeps it in or take the risk of becoming more than just a "floater" friend to you, and if it works out, he can see more of you wearing pencil skirts till both of you reach your 40s, he doesn't mind that.

So there he sits in his own thoughts, contemplating what his friends said, and you wearing that skirt-- I mean making the first move towards you before it's too late.

Childe✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

• The transfer student that got a "bit" distracted when you wore a pencil skirt that he fumbled his performance but made up for it

As Childe was typing away, finalizing the powerpoint as he saw a figure walk in the classroom. He glanced up for a bit then back--wait. He did a double look and saw that the baddie wearing the corporate uniform was actually you! The one who he admires oh so much!

"Какое зрелище..."

(What a sight to see...)

He breathed in and out as he went back to his work, Albedo put him in charge for finalizing the small errors present in each slide as he stared for the screen for awhile, looking at you, then back at the screen, than looked up to you, then back, then to you, then back, then you-- ok he wasn't even typing anymore as he was just looking up and down.

He hoped no one noticed as he snapped back to work and tried to finish it at best as he didn't attend a group meeting once because of family matters. Wanting to gush about you to Scara, asking him if he saw you, then get back to his notes. He faced his direction while Scara was trying to focus on his paper, leaning besides him as Childe ruined his focus and filled it about you. And yikes, he swore that Scara was about to punch him in the face but cussed at him and his groupmates instead.

Childe was used to it but sulked back to his seat and read his notes as the Professor and a few panelists came in the room, telling everyone to prepare for their defense.

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

When it was his turn to present the next slide, his heart dropped, 3 words glued together was shown at the screen, an obvious typo in the presentation as some of his classmates stifled a laugh. "Shelooksgood" was written in the PowerPoint as Albedo sighed while some of your groupmates were getting nervous.

He panicked as he apologized for the mistake he made, along came Albedo who partly took the blame as the both of them didn't want their group to have deducted points. Enough to sway some panelists and let it off the hook, now he pretended that this never happened and locked-in with his presentation instead, ignoring his heart beating quick and mouth going dry.

Thank God he didn't put your name in there or else he'd shoot himself out of embarrassment, because changing his name, face, and identity would NOT save him from all of this.

So when he finished his part, he went back to his spot--hoping that it's enough to not deduct them or atleast give him minus points on his individual score instead. The professor gave a small nod of approval and so Childe glanced your way as you gave him a small smile, a 'Good job' expression that made his heart flutter.

He's definitely gonna talk about you to his family after this to get some advice from Mom and Pa on how to court someone who lured him in so fast.

Childe spaced out for a bit and snapped back when he heard your voice, calmly presenting but nervous inside, just like how he did his performance awhile ago. He wasn't trying to be weird or anything...he's just projecting his support for you imaginarily, hoping that you'd feel lighter and that the support you feel was coming from him. Till Mona lightly jabbed his side and whispered, "Stop staring at her, the red-headed panelist's observing us."

He looked at her then at the red-head, ah Diluc, since when did he become the student panelist? Anyways, Childe lightly scoffed then slowly fixed his posture creating small tension between him and Diluc as they had a small stare-off, only for a few seconds as your view came in between them with no care as you were answering the Professor's questions. Not knowing you unintentionally stopped something sinister brewing.

He let himself relax and just watched you, waiting for class to end to call his parents ASAP, he wants to get the cookie so bad frfr.

Diluc✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The student panelist who was harsh on other research group members but not you. He did a pretty good job with it too actually--Did I mention that he volunteered for it because he wanted to see you?

It's not a surprise that one of Ragnvindr's son would be at the top 5 students who'd bring home a certificate and trophy, along with making his father proud. Diluc didn't want to ruin anyone's expectation as he's carrying his father's last name. Hardworking and well-liked around the campus and office, so when his father asked if he wanted to be part of being a research panelist, he hesitated, thinking of wanting to back-out as his assignments and deadlines were piling up.

"One of your friends are in this class--don't worry about your grades falling off, they give credit for it as long as you reach their standards for paneling. They need students like you son, you're fit for it!"

His father said as he gave him the list of students with their assigned classroom, his eyes scanning names from the alphabetically ordered list, then stopped, '(L/n)', ah you're there. This could be his chance to get close to you as he immediately agreed to volunteer, receiving a pat on the back by his father.

-----------

Now he's sitting in your classroom, facing you and your group as he paid attention to the performance. He listened close, he listened well, and he also stared down at you for a full 30 seconds when you were telling your part and looked down at the paper, counting how many seconds then back to you, amazed by your style as he didn't notice that the panelist besides him was calling for him.

"Sir Diluc? It's your turn to ask them, do you have any questions?"

Ah, he didn't notice that he was distracted as he cleared his throat, "I don't have any questions about the paper but, I'd like to ask why did none of your groupmates help out on finalizing the PowerPoint?"

He asked, not amused as The ginger and the blonde took the blame and apologized, hoping that a small mistake wouldn't affect their scores. He'll let it pass. For now.

During the small incident, he knows that Childe was talking about you.

So he just nodded and let it be, seeing your face relieved as he let out a small smile before getting stoic. Noticing that a certain ginger was staring at him too.

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

After class, he denies all the complaints from his friends (who was in the same class as you) as he was being unfair towards them. But all he said was

"I just simply stated facts because that group followed what they were told to do, their title doesn't sound complicated, they followed the aide memoir, their objectives were clear, they didn't copy paste their research and winged it, they didn't forget to put their references, AND they defended their research with good points, now tell me, what is wrong with me giving a bit of praise for a group that did their best? Aside from that small occurrence with one of their groupmates..." Diluc knows damn well what he said was basic to most research groups, except for the copy pasting, reference, and defense part, he called those out in other groups that failed to reach their objectives. He's definitely biased towards you but can't admit it out loud.

Aside from that, The 3 second stare off with Childe awhile ago was a threat to him, he saw how Childe was looking at you, how Albedo complimented you at the start and end of the defense, how the other students were whispering about your outfit behind him-- You pulled yourself a lot of admirers huh?

That won't do, he was getting eager to talk to you, so he mustered up the courage and sent a simple compliment and swiftly went out the classroom, leaving you confused as Albedo called you in. Ignoring all the looks from other people, heading to his father's office with his ears all red.

What's with the rush?

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A/n: Hey Ho! IM SO FUCKING DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER BRO and I overdid Childe, Haitham, and Diluc's part, it's supposed to just be 610-615 words each but nah, I squeezed what I can think off with the others and even thought of removing Al-Haitham too, but nahhh. IM SO MAD AT HOW IT TOOK ME DAYS TO WRITE THIS LIKE??? HUH??��😭💔

[chrissssssmut]

yandere yeji yooyeon chaehyun yuna minju (illit) haneul yeseo x male reader

PLEASE can you reserve your story for me

Shuttered Devotion

Yandere Yeji, Yooyeon, Chaehyun, Minju, Yuna, Haneul & Yeseo x Male Reader

AN: Hope you like this dude! Also, THIS WEEK WAS TIRING BUT HEY NEW STORY!

You don’t know why you bought the camera.

It was an impulse purchase—an old Polaroid 600 from a dusty antique shop, sitting on the shelf as if it had been waiting for you. The store owner gave you a strange look when you picked it up, but the moment your fingers brushed against it, you felt a weird pull.

Like something wanted you to take it home.

And you did.

Now, it sits on your desk, next to your laptop, its presence almost unnatural in the dim light of your apartment. You tell yourself it’s just an old camera. Just a piece of history.

Until you take your first picture.

It happens late at night. You’re bored, half-asleep, and decide to test the camera. You aim it at your living room and press the shutter. The familiar whirr of the Polaroid fills the air as the film slides out.

You shake it out of habit. Watch as the image slowly develops.

And that’s when you see it.

Seven shadowy figures standing in your living room.

Your heart stops. The room is empty—you’re the only one here. But in the picture, there are figures. Tall. Feminine. Watching.

A chill creeps down your spine.

No. That’s not possible.

You rub your eyes, look again—they’re still there.

You swallow hard. It has to be a defect. Right?

Right?

You don’t want to think about it.

Your hands feel clammy as you set the picture facedown on your desk, avoiding its existence entirely. Maybe you’re just too tired. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you.

Without another word, you crawl into bed, pulling the blanket over your head like a child. You can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you, but you tell yourself it’s just paranoia.

Just sleep.

Just sleep.

Eventually, you drift off.

But in the silence of the room, the Polaroid slowly flips itself over.

The figures in the picture seem closer now.

You wake up feeling like you barely slept. Your chest is heavy, and your body feels sluggish, like you’ve been running in your dreams all night.

Maybe you shouldn’t have ignored the picture.

But you don’t want to look at it.

Instead, you grab the camera again, needing to prove to yourself that nothing is wrong. That it was just a one-time glitch.

You take another picture—this time, of your bedroom window.

When the film develops, a woman is standing outside, looking in.

Your blood runs cold.

Because you live on the sixth floor.

There’s no balcony. No fire escape. No way for anyone to be standing there.

You whip your head around, heart pounding—but the window is empty.

Then your phone vibrates.

A message from an unknown number:

"You’re finally seeing us, aren’t you?"

Your breath catches in your throat. Your hands tremble as you stare at the screen. You don’t respond. You can’t.

The next message comes seconds later.

"We’ve always been here. Don’t be scared, love."

Your stomach turns. A chill creeps up your spine.

You glance back at the Polaroid in your hands.

In the picture…

The woman’s head has tilted slightly.

She’s staring right at you.

You don’t know what to do.

You feel watched, like unseen eyes are locked onto you no matter where you go.

You tell yourself it’s just stress. You’ve been working too much, maybe you’re hallucinating from exhaustion.

Yes. That’s it.

You bury yourself under the blankets again, forcing your eyes shut.

You won’t take another picture.

You won’t look at the messages.

You won’t—

A soft giggle echoes in your ears.

Your breath catches.

That was inside your room.

Your fingers clutch the blanket. Your body freezes.

Then, a soft voice—low, sweet, too close.

"Are you scared, baby?"

Your entire body tenses.

That was a real voice. Not in your head.

But no one’s here.

Right?

The warmth of a hand presses against your chest—but there’s nothing there.

"You're so cute when you're trembling," another voice whispers, this time near your ear.

You rip the blanket off, sitting up so fast that your vision spins.

But the room is empty.

Nothing.

No one.

You breathe heavily, sweat clinging to your skin.

The phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: We’ll let you rest for now. Sleep well, sweetheart.

You don’t sleep at all.

You leave your apartment first thing in the morning.

You need to be somewhere normal—somewhere with people. Somewhere they can’t be.

You end up at a small coffee shop. It’s crowded, the smell of fresh espresso filling the air. The warmth should be comforting, but your hands are still cold.

You sit in the corner, gripping your cup of coffee like a lifeline.

Then—

"You look exhausted."

A voice.

Feminine. Familiar.

You look up.

A girl stands in front of you—long, wavy hair, a concerned look in her eyes. She’s beautiful.

She tilts her head. Smiles.

Too familiar.

Your breath catches.

You know her.

You’ve seen her before.

In the pictures.

Your stomach drops.

Before you can react, she sits across from you, crossing her legs as if she’s known you forever.

"You finally noticed us," she murmurs. "Took you long enough, babe."

Your hands tremble. "Who… are you?"

Another voice behind you.

"Isn’t it obvious?"

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head.

Six more girls surround you.

They smile.

Your stomach churns.

Because you recognize all of them.

Yeji. Yooyeon. Chaehyun. Yuna. Minju. Haneul. Yeseo.

The girls from the pictures.

From your apartment.

From your mirror.

You run.

Or, at least, you try.

But the moment you step outside, your vision blurs. The world distorts—the streets become a dark void, stretching infinitely in all directions.

You aren’t in the city anymore.

You’re… somewhere else.

When you turn, the girls are already there.

Watching.

Waiting.

"You should stop running," Minju murmurs, brushing a hand along your jaw. "We’re not going to hurt you."

"You belong with us," Yeseo whispers.

"You always have," Yeji adds.

Your head spins. Your heart pounds.

"What do you want from me?" you whisper.

Yooyeon kneels in front of you, cupping your face in her hands. Her smile is soft. Sweet.

"Everything, darling. We want everything."

Then, as if controlled by an unseen force, your hands move—lifting the camera, pressing the shutter.

The final picture develops.

It shows you.

With them.

Smiling.

Happy.

Like you’ve always been theirs.

And then—

Your mind goes blank.

For a moment, there is nothing—just a deep, endless void, swallowing every thought, every fear, every piece of your identity.

And then—

You wake up.

Soft sheets. The scent of lavender and something faintly sweet. A dimly lit room, bathed in warm candlelight.

This isn’t your apartment.

Your pulse quickens.

You try to move—your hands twitch against the soft fabric beneath you, but when you try to lift them, you can’t.

Something’s holding you down.

Your wrists. Your ankles.

Tied.

Panic surges through your veins.

That’s when you feel it—something moving on the bed beside you.

"You’re awake," a voice coos, warm breath tickling your ear.

You flinch, twisting your head to the side.

Yeji.

She’s right there, inches from your face, her eyes practically glowing in the dim light. A lazy smirk plays on her lips as she props herself up on her elbow, looking at you like you’re something precious.

"You slept for so long," she murmurs, fingers brushing over your cheek. "We were worried."

Your heart slams against your ribs.

"We?"

There’s movement around you. The bed dips, the air thickens, and suddenly, they’re all there.

Seven girls.

All of them.

You turn your head—Yooyeon sits near your feet, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your ankle, right where the restraints are. She hums softly, eyes half-lidded, as if simply being near you is enough to make her daze off.

Chaehyun rests her chin on your chest, staring up at you with lovesick adoration, her fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt. "It was lonely without you, you know?" she pouts.

Yuna shifts behind you, pressing her body close to your back, arms wrapping tightly around you. "You’re so warm…" she murmurs, voice dripping with possessiveness. "I don’t want to let go."

Haneul, sitting near your head, twirls a lock of your hair around her finger, watching as it slips between her fingertips. "You look so much better like this," she whispers. "Helpless. Ours."

Minju leans over you, her gaze dark. "You scared us," she says softly, but there’s a sharp edge beneath her tone. Her fingers press into your jaw, forcing you to look at her. "You shouldn’t run from us like that."

Yeseo, sitting on your lap, tilts her head. She smiles, but there’s a cruel gleam in her eyes. "It’s okay, though. We forgive you." Her fingers trail down your chest, her nails just barely scratching through the fabric. "As long as you don’t do it again."

You shudder.

Your mind is racing, trying to process everything.

Where are you? How did you get here?

The last thing you remember is the camera—the final picture.

You glance to the side.

There.

The Polaroid sits on the bedside table, propped up neatly like a framed photo.

You. With them.

Smiling.

Like this was always meant to happen.

Like you’ve been here forever.

Your stomach twists.

"I—" You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Your body feels heavy, like something is keeping you here, making it impossible to even think about escaping.

Yooyeon sighs, watching you carefully. "You’re panicking again…"

Yeji hums in agreement, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. "You always do this at first."

At first?

What does that mean?

"You shouldn’t fight it," Yuna whispers against the back of your neck, tightening her arms around you. "You belong to us."

"You always have," Chaehyun chimes in, her nails dragging lightly against your chest. "You just didn’t realize it before."

Your breathing is shaky.

"This isn’t—this isn’t right." Your voice is hoarse. "You can’t just… take me."

Minju smiles, but there’s something dangerous in her expression. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear. "We didn’t take you."

"You came to us."

Her fingers gently tilt your chin, forcing you to look at the Polaroid.

"You saw us," Haneul murmurs, her breath warm against your skin. "You acknowledged us. You brought us to life."

Yooyeon leans in closer, her lips ghosting just barely over yours.

"And now?" she whispers. "You’re never leaving again."

Your pulse spikes—you thrash, or at least try to, but their hands are everywhere. Holding you down. Stroking your skin. Soft whispers, gentle touches—suffocating.

Yeseo hums. "Still struggling?" She sighs, shaking her head. "You’ll break soon."

Haneul giggles. "They always do."

You try to scream, but Yeji’s hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the sound.

"Shh," she soothes, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. "Just accept it already."

Chaehyun grins. "We’ll take such good care of you, love."

Yuna nuzzles against your back. "You’ll see how much we love you."

Minju’s nails drag slowly down your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a very clear message.

"You belong to us now."

Yooyeon’s smile is syrupy sweet, her fingers tracing along your jaw.

"And we’re never letting you go."

The candlelight flickers.

The picture on the table changes—

Your expression in the Polaroid is no longer a frozen, forced smile.

It’s genuine.

Like you want to be here.

Like you’ve finally given in.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

You have.

[estellan0vella]

Better Than Winning: L.F & H.J Lee Felix x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 17.7K

CW: Pre-Established relationship between reader & Felix, Sexual Themes, Jisung is a panicked Bi, Emotional Abuse (Past abusive behaviour by an ex-partner), Minho is unhinged, Public Urination, Discussions of Freud, everyone is slightly insane, Big Dick Han Jisung, threat of suicide (in a joking manner)

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The living room of the Alpha Phi frat house is unusually quiet for a Saturday night. There’s no beer pong in the kitchen, no Hyunjin doing shirtless TikTok dances, no Jeongin and Seungmin bickering in the hall. Just the muted flicker of the TV, the low murmur of Easy A playing in the background, and the gentle rustling of textbook pages being turned and annotated. 

You’re curled up sideways on the loveseat, legs draped over Felix’s lap, with your child psychology textbook open across your thighs, and your black-framed glasses slip down the bridge of your nose as you try to highlight a section on Freud with a pink glitter gel pen.

Felix is shirtless beside you, a mess of ink and silver, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and fluffy Hufflepuff socks half-hidden under a blanket the two of you have been sharing. He’s scribbling notes onto a yellow legal pad, eyes flicking from the glowing screen of his iPad to the paper. His dark hair falls into his face, the strands curtaining over his piercings as he furrows his brow. 

You glance up at him, watching the way his lips twitch while he reads, the curve of his snakebites glinting slightly in the dim light from the lamp near the bookshelf. He looks focused, and devastatingly pretty in that Felix way, sharp metal and tattoos on soft skin.

“I have to do fusion cuisine,” he says suddenly, eyes still trained on his notes. “Something European mixed with something Asian. Chef’s specific about it too. Can’t just do like fucking sushi spaghetti or some shit, y’know?”

You pause mid-highlight and glance up. “Why don’t you make a pastry? Like... a croissant, maybe? But make it savoury. You could put bulgogi jjigae inside. Flaky outside, warm stew inside.”

Felix stops mid-scribble, mouth slowly curling into a grin. “Oh my fucking god, Angel,” he says, twisting toward you. “You’re a goddamn genius.” He scribbles furiously on his pad, murmuring, “Bulgogi... croissant... fusion pastry... flaky and savoury... fuck yeah,” then tosses the notepad onto the floor and leans over to kiss you. His lips are warm and soft, tasting like the strawberry gum he’s been chewing all afternoon, and he presses the kiss to your mouth like a punctuation mark. You giggle against his lips and rest your forehead against his.

“You’re welcome, chef,” 

Felix grins wider, giving you one more peck before leaning back against the cushion, tossing an arm lazily across the back of the loveseat. “What are you reading, Angel?” he asks, squinting at your textbook. “You’ve been making this really confused face for like twenty minutes.”

You grimace and hold up the book so he can see the chapter title: Freud’s Stages of Psychosexual Development. He makes a noise like a dying animal.

“That shit looks gross.”

“It is gross,” you say, exhaling. “He’s on the mandatory reading list for this module even though he’s been discredited by basically everyone with a brain.”

Felix snorts. “So why the fuck do you have to read him?”

“Because academia is sometimes stupid,” you say matter-of-factly, flipping a page with a sigh. “It’s historical context or whatever. Can’t talk about child psychology without talking about how Freud basically hijacked it with his weird ass theories. Like, okay, get this, he believed that boys go through this thing called the Oedipus complex.”

"What the fuck is that?”

“It’s this theory that boys want to fuck their moms and kill their dads,” you say with a wince. “And girls go through something similar called the Electra complex, where they want to fuck their dads and resent their moms.”

Felix recoils in absolute horror, eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious,” you say, turning your textbook toward him. “It’s all here. He even thought girls had penis envy.”

Felix looks like he’s about to gag. “So this dude thinks girls are mad they don’t have a dick, and everyone wants to bang their parents?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “That sounds like something Juwon would’ve agreed with.”

You snort, your laugh bubbling out before you can stop it. “Right? He probably read this shit and thought it was deep.”

“Fucking hell. Why would you want a dick? They’re ugly. Like, genuinely. As a bisexual dick haver, I can say, dicks are fucking horrendous.”

You dissolve into laughter, shaking your head.

“I’m serious, Angel,” he says, eyes wide and sincere, gesturing with one tattooed hand. “They look like sad flesh swords. That’s why we stick them in our mouths, less time to look at them.”

You’re giggling so hard your glasses slip again. “You’re awful.”

Felix nods solemnly. “Pussies? Pretty. Dare I say gorgeous? Dicks? Fucking disaster. I say this as someone who genuinely likes both. I am the true authority on this. I could stare at a pussy all day. Dicks? Either in my mouth or I’ve got the guy in doggy so I don’t have to see it.”

You wheeze with laughter, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. Felix grins, triumphant.

“I’m being so serious, Angel,” he continues. “I love dick. But it’s ugly. You’re pansexual. You get it. You’d rather look at a pussy than a fucking skin flute, right?”

You nod, barely able to get the words out between giggles. “I mean... yeah, you’re not wrong.”

Felix grins and reaches for you, tugging you gently into his lap. “Come here, smartass.”

You go willingly, folding into his lap as his arms wrap around your waist. Your book ends up somewhere on the floor, forgotten as he kisses you again, deeper this time. His tongue ring clinks softly against yours as his hands slide up your thighs, fingers dragging over the hem of your tartan sleep shorts, just beneath your ass. You whimper softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into his hair. He groans low against your mouth and pulls you closer, hips shifting beneath you.

Chan saunters into the living room, a massive bowl of popcorn tucked under one arm and a pair of neon green slippers on his feet and he’s shirtless too because apparently, Alpha Phi doesn’t believe in clothes on weekends. He drops onto the couch with a sigh, his legs sprawling out in front of him as he grabs the remote and turns up the movie slightly.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Chan says around a mouthful of popcorn, not even looking at you. “I’m just here for Emma Stone.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You have no boundaries.”

Chan shrugs. “You knew that when you moved in.”

Felix huffs, still holding you in his lap, his lips grazing your shoulder. “Chan, you’re bisexual, right?”

“Yeah?” Chan says, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it in his mouth.

“Back me up on this,” Felix says, pointing dramatically. “Pussies are nicer to look at than dicks.”

Chan considers this for a moment. “Yeah.”

You blink. “I agreed with you already!”

“Yeah, but you’d look at a dick that had been through a fucking blender and be like, ‘Nooo, it’s beautiful, I swear,’ just to spare the guy’s ego,” Felix says, poking your side.

Chan nods. “True. I was hooking up with this guy once, his dick was nasty. Like, full-on fucking swamp creature. Dirty as shit. I told him and he cried.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. “Chan! That’s so mean!”

“Mean is the throat infection I would’ve gotten from that dirty dick,” Chan says calmly.

Felix groans and slumps back against the cushions. “Mood gone. Thanks, Chan. Gimme the popcorn. You killed my fucking semi.”

Chan passes over the bowl, still watching the movie. “You’re welcome.”

You giggle into Felix’s neck, snuggling closer as the boys bicker over popcorn distribution.

Chan starts telling more of the story, completely unfazed. “No, listen, like, it wasn’t even just the dirt. I mean yeah, it was visibly dirty, like he hadn’t washed it since middle school PE class or something, but also it smelled. I got one whiff and I was like nope. Absolutely not. I told him to go shower and he said, ‘I did yesterday.’ Yesterday! I was like, what part of your daily hygiene routine lets you walk around with a dick that smells like expired cheese?!”

Felix shudders, tossing popcorn at Chan’s head. “Dude, stop. I’m begging.”

Chan laughs, catching a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I’m just saying. You’ve got this idea that being honest is mean? Fuck that. If your genitals smell like a biohazard, you need someone to tell you.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you hide your face in Felix’s shoulder. “You guys are awful.”

Felix kisses your temple, sighing dramatically. “We were gonna have a nice makeout, Angel. Maybe even some heavy petting. Now all I can think about is swamp dick.”

Chan hums. “Happy to help.”

Jisung is pacing. The carpet in his bedroom is worn thin in a neat little path from his desk to the closet like the anxiety is slowly gnawing through the fibres just from the weight of his stress. His deep blue hair is wild, his shirt is rumpled, and his voice is bouncing off the walls like he’s been shot up with espresso and caffeine pills. It’s not even noon and he’s already sweating.

Minho lies sprawled on Jisung’s bed like he’s completely immune to the chaos erupting around him. One leg bent, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded in that permanently unimpressed way that only Minho seems to have perfected. He doesn’t say anything yet. Just waits. Because he knows Jisung. Knows the rant is coming.

Jisung throws his arms up like he’s preaching to the ceiling. “I swear to fuck, I’m gonna explode, hyung. I’m gonna combust. I’m gonna fucking die, right here in this room with a boner and a broken heart and no one’s even gonna care.” He pauses dramatically, spinning on his heel. “Or they will care. But too late. ‘Oh no, our precious Jisung is dead from sheer unbridled horniness and unrequited love, whatever will we do?’”

Minho yawns. “You done?”

“No! Minho, I want to fuck them. Both of them. I wanna fucking top them into the mattress until none of us can walk straight. Y/N and Felix. At the same time. I want to ruin them.”

Minho raises a brow, still not moving from his comfy position. “You? Top both of them?”

“Yes.” Jisung’s pacing again, hands flailing wildly as he speaks. “Felix with that dumb little smirk and those nipple piercings and Y/N with her fuckin’ angel voice and her dumb soft giggles and her Ravenclaw socks and why the fuck are they so perfect?! I’d top both of them, no questions asked. Felix moaning my name while I finger Y/N, that's the goal, that's the dream. I want it. I crave it. I’m suffering.”

Minho snorts. “Felix would top you in two seconds, and you know it.”

Jisung whips around, affronted. “No way! No, absolutely not. I would top Felix.”

“You could top Y/N,” Minho says casually, picking at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “Sure. She's a sub. We all know she’s a sub. The whole fucking house hears it when they go at it. But Felix  would top you and make you his bitch.”

Jisung stops dead in the middle of the room, staring at the wall like he’s having an existential crisis. Then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’d thank him for it. While I’m domming Y/N, Felix could just take me apart. And I’d be so fucking grateful.”

Minho smirks. “Knew it. Knew you were switchy.”

“Like a light switch, man,” Jisung says, pacing again, words tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall of chaotic, horny thoughts. “I’d dom Y/N so fucking hard, Minho. Like, make her cry from pleasure. I wanna say shit that makes her thighs shake. I wanna eat her out for hours, man. And then I wanna be on my knees for Felix, just completely ruined while he praises me and uses me.”

Minho blinks slowly. “You’re loud today.”

“I’m desperate!” Jisung practically yells. “Do you know how hard I get when I hear Felix talking filth to her through the wall? How much I want to be there, not just listening like some fucked-up voyeur ghost in the hallway? I cried while jerking off, Minho. Cried. Do you know how fucking tragic that is? You know what that does to a man’s pride?”

Minho looks vaguely amused. “No. You’ll have to tell me.”

“I was in the shower,” Jisung starts dramatically, eyes wide with memory, “trying not to wake up the entire house at 2 am, and I’m jerking it to the mental image of Y/N’s thighs shaking while Felix whispers in my ear about how good I make her feel. And I’m sobbing. Just one hand on my dick and the other covering my mouth so no one hears me crying over not being in a threesome relationship. That’s not even porn levels of pathetic, that’s Oscar-bait sad.”

Minho bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking mess.”

“I’m a panicked bisexual!” Jisung declares, pointing at his chest like he’s testifying in court. “What do I do, Minho?”

“Tell them you like both of them,” Minho says like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jisung blinks. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Are you on crack? Be honest. I won’t judge you if you’re a crack addict. I’d just like the option to try it with you.”

Minho sighs loudly, flopping back down. “Dramatic. Extra. So fucking loud.”

Jisung is already pacing again, tugging at his hair. “I’m gonna die, I swear. I am so firmly planted in the friend zone it makes my balls ache. My dick is sending out distress signals, Minho. Like, real Morse code. Beep-beep, I want to be the meat in a Felix and Y/N sandwich, beep-beep, help me.”

“Just jerk off,” Minho says, eyes closed.

“I have!” Jisung shouts. “Four times this afternoon! Because Y/N and Felix decided to give the whole fucking house a loud-ass audio porn show! My dick is sore, bro! I can’t bust without the image of being balls-deep in Y/N while Felix is rimming me like a goddamn devoted king!”

Minho chokes on a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“I’m in love, Minho! And lust!” Jisung says dramatically, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to his chest. “I want to date both of them. I wanna hold Y/N’s hand while Felix rests his head in my lap. I wanna take them on cute fucking dates and then rail them both in the same night. I jerk off every time I hear them having sex like some sad, horny ghost who just wants a boyfriend and a girlfriend to cuddle and destroy emotionally and physically.”

Minho just stares at him.

“And every time they smile at me, this guy-” Jisung gestures to his crotch, dead serious. “-salutes. Like he’s a fucking soldier. And my brain goes, ‘lick Felix’s nipple piercings. Find out if Y/N has a matching set. Do it now.’”

“Go to therapy,” Minho says flatly.

“Tried it!” Jisung yells. “Paid a whole ass woman to hear my issues, and you know what she said? ‘You should tell Y/N and Felix how you feel about them.’ So obviously I stopped paying her because that’s a terrible idea. I’m not telling my friends that I wanna be in a polyamorous relationship with both of them! Do I look like I have the confidence of someone who can say that and not immediately burst into flames?”

Minho shrugs. “You could literally just say it. Hey, I have a big crush on both of you and want to try polyamory. You down? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jisung spins toward him, eyes wild. “Oh? Oh?! Well, let me tell you what the worst-case scenario is, Minho! Worst case, I confess. They both laugh in my face. Then they sit me down, very gently, and say, ‘Oh Jisung, we thought you were joking, because obviously, we’d never fuck someone so mentally unstable.’ Then I have to live in this house forever, knowing I was rejected by the two people I adore more than anything, and every time I pass their room I have to hear the sounds of Felix pounding Y/N into next week while my broken heart beats in my chest like a lonely kazoo.”

Minho snorts again. “Jesus. Anything else?”

“YES,” Jisung says without hesitation. “What if Juwon put them off polyamory forever? What if that small-dicked loser is the reason I never know happiness? What if I missed my chance because he was a possessive douchebag who ruined their ability to trust anyone else? I’ll have to kill him. Not like really kill him. But like, I don’t know, emotionally assassinate him. Seduce his dad. Ruin his taxes. Whatever it takes to erase any lingering doubt they have about being open to polyamory again.”

Minho’s eyes are wide now, blinking slowly. “You are so unwell.”

Jisung groans, flopping to the floor like he’s physically weighed down by his bisexual panic. “I know. I know. But I see them. I see Y/N with her soft eyes and her stupid cute outfits and the way she’s so kind to everyone. She’s like a fuckin’ Disney princess who knows how to take dick. And Felix with his piercings and his tattoos and his voice all low and growly when he talks about food. What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

Minho sits up slightly. “You could just ask if they’d be open to something more.”

Jisung glares. “And what if they say no?”

“Then you move on, jerk off like a normal person, and stop crying in the shower,” Minho deadpans.

Jisung lies back on the floor, covering his face with his arm. “I’m gonna die a virgin. A virgin to threesome polyamorous bliss. I’m gonna have to marry someone boring and straight and emotionally unavailable because my one true fantasy is taken and probably thinks I’m a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo,” Minho says.

“And yet you love me.”

Minho hums. “Unfortunately.”

Jisung sighs again, deep and dramatic. “Maybe I’ll just seduce them slowly. Like, ease my way into their lives. Bring Felix coffee when he’s cooking. Help Y/N with her notes. Plant the seeds. And then bam! One day we’re all naked in bed crying from how much we love each other.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “You are so dramatic.”

“And yet... you listen to every word,” Jisung says with a smug little smile, even from the floor.

“Because no one else will put up with you,” Minho replies, but he’s smiling too.

And Jisung, for all his panic and theatrics, feels just a little bit better. Only a little. But enough. For now.

The front door of the Alpha Phi frat house bangs open as you and Felix stumble in, arms full of grocery bags, laughing breathlessly as a gust of cool spring air follows you into the warmth of the house. Your shoulder bag slides down your arm, and Felix, with his black and red sneakers squeaking slightly on the wooden floor, kicks the door shut behind him with the back of his heel. His hair is half tied back, the loose strands brushing his cheekbones, and his piercings catch the light as he turns to you with a wide grin.

“Holy fuck,” he huffs, shifting a bag higher on his arm. “I swear the little ones at the home today were on fucking rocket fuel. Did you see the one who tried to ride me like a goddamn pony while screaming yeehaw? That kid’s gonna be a menace.”

 “He’s six and he has dreams, Felix. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a cowboy.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix says, trailing after you. “If he ends up in prison one day, it started today.”

You shoot him a soft smile over your shoulder, and he pretends to melt, staggering like he’s been shot. “Don’t look at me like that, Angel,” he groans. “My heart can’t take it. You’re too fucking cute. I’ll burn the croissants because I’m thinking about kissing you instead of timing the bake.”

“You’ll burn them if you don’t stop talking and help me unpack these groceries,” you tease, nudging him with your hip as you reach the counter.

Felix grins, setting down the bags, the red lettering on his long-sleeved black shirt bold against the fitted fabric. His cargo pants swish softly with each movement, pockets stuffed full of random cooking notes and god knows what else. He begins unloading ingredients quickly, gochujang, beef stock, Korean pear, butter, puff pastry, sesame oil. 

You’re in your pastel yellow cardigan and matching plaid mini skirt, your curls bouncing as you move, your delicate gold necklaces catching the light. Felix keeps sneaking glances at you like he can’t help himself, and when he pulls out the croissant dough with a dramatic flourish, you clap your hands and beam at him like he just performed magic. He looks smug and a little bit in love.

You're just about to start measuring the ingredients for the stew base when you hear it. Moaning. High-pitched and breathy, and distinctly pornographic.

You and Felix both freeze. His head tilts. Your brows knit together.

“What the actual fuck is that?” he asks slowly.

The sound gets louder. Moaning. Wet, obscene noises. The slap of skin on skin. You walk toward the living room together like you’re entering a crime scene. Felix rounds the corner first and you peek over his shoulder.

There, on the couch, is Jisung. Hair messy, hoodie bunched up around his ribs, legs thrown over the armrest. A woman is splayed across the TV screen, cheeks flushed, legs shaking, and a man is between them, thrusting in slow, graphic detail while the background music plays like some kind of fucked-up love ballad.

Jisung, to his credit, is not actively watching it. He’s half-asleep, eyes barely open, head lolling back against the cushion like he passed out in the middle of a binge. His mouth is slightly open, breathing steady, and he only seems to realize what’s happening when Felix lets out a strangled, “Ji?”

Jisung bolts upright like someone shot him with a taser. “WHAT THE FUCK-!”

He scrambles, hands flailing for the remote. His knee knocks over a cushion. He presses the wrong button and the moaning gets louder. Much louder. Now it’s full-volume audio porn. The woman on screen is screaming in Japanese, the man groaning like he’s in pain or ecstasy or both.

“Oh my fucking god!” Jisung shrieks, smashing the remote with both hands. “STOP! FUCKING STOP!”

The volume goes up again.

“CHANGBIN TOLD ME IT WAS A GOOD ANIME!” Jisung howls, fully panicked now as he gives up and lunges toward the TV, yanking the power cord straight out of the wall.

You press your fingers to your lips, shoulders shaking, trying so hard not to laugh. Felix just stands there, eyes wide, looking like he’s been spiritually attacked.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Felix finally asks.

Jisung straightens, running both hands through his hair, face flushed redder than a cherry tomato. “It’s called Amai Choubatsu, and Changbin said it was, I don’t know, steamy or whatever, but I wasn’t even watching, I swear! I was just- I dozed off, and it was on autoplay, and now I look like a fucking pervert-”

“You are a pervert,” Felix says, still staring at the blank screen.

“I was asleep!” Jisung yells. “Why the fuck was the volume button next to the power button, who designed this shitty ass remote?!”

You’re snorting now, laughing through your hand as Jisung paces in front of the TV, still rambling. “I’m gonna sue whoever made that remote. I’m gonna sue Changbin. That man fucking set me up. He knew exactly what he was doing, he’s been trying to get me into fucked up shit for months. This is a targeted attack. A full-on assassination of my dignity.”

Felix shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh too. “You couldn’t have turned it off faster? You made it louder.”

“I PANICKED!” Jisung cries, flailing. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up to surround sound sex moans with an audience?! My soul left my body!”

You take pity on him, finally lowering your hand from your face, still giggling. “Do you want to come help us in the kitchen? Felix is doing a test run of his fusion dish. You can be the official taste-tester.”

Jisung perks up instantly, straightening his hoodie. “Yeah. Yes. Fuck yeah, let’s do that. Cooking. Taste-testing. Definitely better than whatever that was.” He shoots the TV a dirty look and bounds after you and Felix like a golden retriever who just got invited on a walk.

He’s still red in the face, but he bounces back fast, his embarrassment melting off him as he rolls up his sleeves and starts helping Felix unpack the rest of the ingredients. You direct him toward the mixing bowls, pointing out where the cutting boards are with a sweet smile that makes Jisung’s heart try to crawl up his throat.

Felix lets Jisung handle the puff pastry while he starts the bulgogi stew base on the stove. You’re measuring out sesame oil and rice wine, eyes focused and careful as you tilt the measuring spoon just so, completely unaware that Jisung is watching you and Felix like you’re the sun and he’s a half-frozen planet trying to warm himself.

“Smells fucking amazing,” Jisung says, leaning over Felix’s shoulder. ���Holy shit, Lix, you gonna feed this to your professor and instantly get a fuckin’ Michelin star?”

Felix chuckles, stirring the pot. “Hopefully I’ll at least get a passing grade. But yeah, I submitted the bulgogi croissant idea, and I’ve got two months to perfect the recipe. Figured I’d start now and experiment.”

You smile, setting down the oil. “You’re gonna kill it. You’re already amazing, Felix. This dish is just the cherry on top.”

Felix leans over to kiss your cheek, warm and soft, and Jisung swallows hard, gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re too good to me, Angel,” Felix murmurs. “I don’t deserve you.”

You giggle, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Yes, you do. Always.”

Jisung clears his throat loudly, trying to not feel like a third wheel while standing three feet from a public cuddling session. “So,” he says, voice just slightly higher than normal. “How do you put stew in a croissant without it turning into a fucking disaster?”

Felix grins, pulling away from you but still brushing his hand down your arm as he grabs the dough. “You make it thicker. Like a paste, almost. I’ll reduce it down and then cool it. Makes it easier to stuff.”

Jisung nods like he knows what that means. “Right. Thick stew. Got it. No leaky meat pockets.”

You laugh softly, and Jisung basks in the sound like he’s soaking up sunlight.

Jisung rolls out the dough while you brush the tops with egg wash. Felix tastes the stew and hums thoughtfully, adding a dash more gochugaru. You lean against Jisung’s side for a moment as you wait for the oven to preheat, and he practically vibrates under your touch. Felix reaches over to ruffle Jisung’s hair playfully, muttering something about him doing surprisingly decent for someone who can barely boil water, and Jisung is pretty sure he could die right then and be happy.

This. This is all he wants. Cooking with you and Felix, surrounded by laughter and warmth, the occasional teasing, the soft brushes of contact. You smile at him like he matters. Felix calls him a dumbass, but fondly. He feels like he belongs, and he wants more than anything to make this permanent.

So he throws himself into it, cracking jokes, licking a bit of sauce off his thumb with exaggerated flair that makes you giggle. He teases Felix about his meticulous plating and gets lightly smacked with a spatula. You compliment his croissant folding technique and he nearly blushes out of his skin.

He keeps thinking about what Minho said. About how he could just tell you both how he feels. How it might not be the end of the world. But for now, he keeps it to himself, because this soft, chaotic little kitchen moment is too good to risk ruining.

And if he falls a little deeper in love with both of you every time you laugh, well. That’s nobody’s problem but his.

Minho’s room smells like laundry detergent, citrus air freshener, and just a little bit like weed even though he swears he hasn’t smoked in two weeks. The overhead light is off, casting the room in the soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner and the television screen across from the bed, which currently plays a documentary on lion mating in the savannah with full, dramatic narration and too many close-ups of lion asses. Minho lounges shirtless in grey sweatpants, feet propped up on the edge of his mattress, arms folded behind his head like a relaxed but slightly amused deity.

Jisung, however, is not relaxed.

He’s pacing the length of the floor in Minho’s room, his wild blue hair tousled from nervous hand-tugging and his outfit consisting of nothing but black boxers covered in a proud, cartoonish dick-and-vagina print and bright yellow SpongeBob slippers that squeak slightly with every step.

“I think I’m ready,” Jisung says. “No more cowardice. No more hiding. Operation Make-Y/N-and-Felix-Fall-in-Love-With-Me is fucking go.”

“What changed? Last I heard, you were crying in the shower and claiming you were a cursed bisexual ghost.”

Jisung stops pacing, turning on his heel, shoulders squared. “They didn’t scream at me, Minho.”

Minho finally looks over at him, one brow raised. “Huh?”

“Yesterday,” Jisung says, pointing dramatically toward the door as if you and Felix are standing just outside. “I was half asleep, with porn anime playing, like full-onn big-titty anime chick getting railed, moaning echoing through the fucking house, and they walked in and didn’t scream ‘Burn the pervert!’ They didn’t even call me a creep. Y/N looked like she was gonna laugh and Felix just stared at the screen like he’d witnessed a murder, but they didn’t judge me. They pitied me. That’s affection-adjacent!”

Minho snorts. “So the bar is in the fucking Mariana Trench.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m being vulnerable,” Jisung says, hand pressed to his chest like he’s about to deliver a Shakespearean monologue. “I think I have a real chance. But I need a plan. And you, my emotionally repressed but freakishly strategic best friend, are going to help me.”

Minho groans, dragging his hands down his face. “Fine. I’m in. But first of all, what porn anime was it? Just for, you know, research purposes.”

Jisung throws himself onto the bed like he’s been shot. “Some prison thing. Not even hot. My dick didn’t twitch. Like, the animation was weirdly glossy and the guy had these creepy dead eyes. And the woman kept saying weird shit about being someone’s property. I was like, girl, get some therapy. Changbin needs therapy too. He recommended that shit.”

Minho nods solemnly. “I always knew he was fucked.”

Jisung sits up suddenly, eyes bright. “Okay. First idea. I need to be shirtless at some point. My tits are my selling points. Big tits, tiny waist. That’s my brand. That’s the bait.”

Minho glances at Jisung’s chest, and yeah, okay, he’ll admit it, not out loud, but Jisung’s pecs are ridiculous. Stupidly perky. Almost offensively hot. They move when he talks. They bounce when he laughs. They’ve got more presence than half the people Minho’s dated.

Minho gets up, grabs the whiteboard from the corner of the room and slaps it down on his desk. “Fine. Let’s make a plan. You want to win over a poly couple, one of whom is a soft, submissive angel and the other is a pierced, tatted dom with a resting sex face. This is advanced shit.”

Jisung paces again, fingers snapping as ideas flow. “I need to come off hot but safe. Like, sexually competent but not a threat to their relationship. Flirty but respectful. Horny with boundaries. Like a bisexual golden retriever who also knows how to rail someone into the fucking floor.”

Minho uncaps a marker and writes Golden Retriever Whore Energy on the board.

“Perfect,” Jisung nods. “Okay. Cooking. I did good in the kitchen. I helped Felix, I was flirty but not obnoxious, and Y/N called me sweet. That’s like prime real estate. So I keep helping in the kitchen. Domesticity kink activated.”

Minho writes Domestic Sexy Helper = Green Flag.

“Also,” Jisung continues, “I accidentally flexed my forearms when I was folding the dough and I caught Felix looking. Like, just for a second. But it counts.”

“Could’ve been judging your technique,” Minho mutters.

“Let me have this,” Jisung says, pointing a threatening finger.

Minho shrugs and adds Forearm Porn to the board.

“Now,” Jisung says, clapping his hands, “what about timing? Should I start hanging out more casually when it’s just the two of them? Or should I wait until there’s a group thing and naturally drift closer?”

“Too many people and you’ll get drowned out. One-on-one is where you shine. You’re weird, but it’s endearing in small doses. Like those tiny spicy peppers that burn your whole mouth but you kinda like it.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Minho deadpans.

“Liar,” Jisung says, bouncing a little on his heels. “Okay, next step, physical touch. I already know they’re both affectionate. Y/N hugs everyone like she’s the goddamn sun incarnate. Felix touches people constantly. If I mirror that, then maybe they’ll associate me with comfort. And hotness.”

Minho scribbles Touch Starved Bisexual on the board.

Jisung nods solemnly. “Now we get to the advanced part.”

“Oh boy.”

“Sexual dynamics. We have to factor in bedroom logistics, because if this plan works, eventually we’re fucking. And I need to make sure it’s compatible.”

Minho exhales and flops back on the bed. “Alright, hit me with it.”

“Okay,” Jisung begins, pacing again like a professor presenting his thesis. “Y/N’s a sub. That’s not even up for debate. She gets flustered when Felix tells her she’s pretty in that voice. You know the one. Felix? Full dom. That man commands. His presence is like sexy gravity.”

Minho doesn’t disagree.

“Now me?” Jisung thumps his chest. “Switch. Certified. I can dom like a champ and beg like a pro. I contain multitudes. Which means I’m the perfect addition.”

“Let me see if I’m following. Y/N gets two doms. Felix gets two subs. You get both a sub and a dom.”

“Exactly!” Jisung exclaims. “It’s perfectly balanced, like a horny little triangle. Everyone’s needs are met. It’s like the sexual fucking Avengers.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“I’m a genius,” Jisung counters. “Minho. Imagine it. I’m making Y/N fall apart under me while Felix is behind me calling me a good boy and pulling my hair"

Minho stares at him for a second too long, then looks back at the whiteboard. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“I’m emotionally invested,” Jisung says. “I want the relationship, not just the sex. I wanna wake up tangled between them. I wanna make them breakfast and kiss them both goodbye when they leave for class. I wanna hold their hands at the same time like a corny bitch.”

“You’re already a corny bitch.”

“Exactly! So I just need them to see it. To want it.”

“This plan is completely unhinged. But also weirdly coherent.”

Jisung grins. “That’s my brand.”

Minho nods, leaning back again. “Alright. Let’s make those bitches fall in love with you.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jisung says, eyes gleaming. “Operation Polyamorous Threesome Love Story is officially in motion.”

The note sits on the coffee table like it’s a live grenade with the pin barely hanging on. You’re curled up in Felix’s lap, your legs tucked to one side across the cushions of the frat house's overused living room couch, the soft weight of his arms around your waist grounding you. The light from the late afternoon sun spills through the big window, illuminating the little note like it’s daring you to touch it. Neither of you does.

You’ve been staring at it for five minutes now. Just sitting there, your back pressed against Felix’s chest, his heartbeat steady under your hand. The two of you haven’t said a word since you came in and found it sitting right there with your names written in neat, painfully familiar handwriting. Y/N & Felix in black ink. 

You can feel Felix tense behind you every time he blinks at it. His hand is clenched against your hip, knuckles whitening just slightly beneath the denim sleeve of his oversized jacket. You’re in a soft pastel green outfit today, your mini skirt perfectly pleated, your cardigan buttoned just enough to be modest but cropped enough to be cute, and your little white headband pushing your curls away from your face. You look like spring incarnate. But there’s a twist of anxiety in your stomach, a tightening that refuses to go away. A silence that says too much.

Felix sighs through his nose. “We could burn it.”

“We don’t even know what it says yet.”

“That’s what makes it worse.”

You both flinch when the living room door creaks open and Jisung strolls in, hair messy, hoodie halfway zipped, and a half-eaten rice ball in his hand. His eyes immediately zero in on the note like a heat-seeking missile. “Oh,” he says, mouth still full. “That’s addressed to both of you. You gonna open it or just keep doing the human statue thing?”

Felix doesn’t move and you stay quiet, lips pressed together.

Jisung blinks, then shrugs. “Shall I open it then?” he offers, already moving closer.

You nod before you can stop yourself. A small, unsure thing. Jisung snatches the note, tears the top open with his teeth like a raccoon in a vending machine, and pulls out the single folded sheet inside. He unfolds it with dramatic flair, eyes scanning rapidly.

“Oh,” he says, tone immediately dropping. “It’s from... uh. He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Your breath hitches slightly, but you don’t interrupt.

Jisung keeps reading. “He says he’s been to therapy. Says he’s been working on himself. Wants to reconcile. Apologize. Claims he’s gotten better.”

Felix’s arms tighten around your waist like a vice.

You glance back at him, your eyes meeting his. He looks... tired. Not angry. Not upset. Just that bone-deep weariness that only comes from someone reopening a wound they swore had already healed.

Felix takes a deep breath. “If he’s changed, we should hear him out.”

You hesitate. Then nod once.

Jisung makes a noise that can only be described as a cross between a dying cat and a smoke alarm. “No. No. No no no, fuck this. Intervention time.”

Felix sighs, already regretting everything.

“CHAN! MINHO! GET IN HERE! ACTUALLY, ALL OF YOU GET IN HERE!” 

Chan is the first to stumble in, a protein bar in one hand. “What the fuck, Jisung?”

Minho follows, t-shirt wrinkled, glasses slightly crooked like he’d been asleep five minutes ago. “If someone isn’t bleeding, I swear to god-”

Changbin barrels in shirtless and sweating, headphones hanging off his neck. “I was in the middle of a set! Who’s dead?!”

Hyunjin floats in like a storm cloud, dramatic and intense in an oversized silk robe. “If this is about Jeongin using my toner again, I will literally-”

Jeongin stomps in after him. “It was one time!”

Seungmin arrives last, holding a lighter. “I was gonna make nachos. If you pulled me away for nothing, I’m burning the house down with this lighter.”

Jisung turns to face the crowd like he’s a defence attorney delivering the final speech of his career. “We are on the verge of catastrophe.”

Minho groans. “What now?”

“It’s from Juwon,” Jisung says dramatically. “He’s been to therapy. He wants to reconcile. He’s trying to come back.”

“ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT,” 

“I WILL BREAK HIS LEGS,” 

“I WILL SLIT MY WRISTS IN PROTEST. I WILL PAINT THE WALLS IN MY BLOOD.”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two aren’t seriously considering seeing him again, right?” he says, looking between you and Felix like you’ve both lost your minds.

You sit up a little, feeling your throat tighten. “He said he’s been to therapy... he might’ve changed.”

“He won’t have,” Seungmin says flatly. “People like him don’t change. They pretend. Then they do it again.”

“Are we forgetting the time he made both of you cry in public just because he was feeling insecure?!”

“I hit that fucker with a frying pan!” Changbin adds. “A cast iron frying pan!”

“And I poured vodka all over him,” Hyunjin mutters with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Like holy water for assholes.”

“Seungmin tried to light him on fire!” Jeongin cackles.

“I fucking would’ve. If Chan hadn’t stopped me.”

“I WAS DOING DAMAGE CONTROL!”

“And Minho was holding you both like you were baby ducks,” Jisung says, gesturing at you and Felix. “He was trying to keep you safe while the rest of us were ready to commit crimes.”

Minho’s expression is stony. “I remember how you were sobbing. Both of you. Curled up in that corner while he yelled at you in front of everyone. And then had the nerve to act like it was your fault.”

“He made you stop hugging us,” Hyunjin snaps. “You both flinched when we touched you.”

“He made you cry, and he liked it,” Chan says, jaw clenched. “That’s not someone who gets a second chance.”

You glance at Felix again, your fingers laced with his, both of your grips tight.

Then Felix takes a shaky breath and nods. “Okay. We won’t see him.”

“THANK FUCK,” 

“I WILL NOT PAINT THE WALLS,” Hyunjin declares.

Chan sighs in relief, flopping onto the couch. “Thank god. I really didn’t wanna pretend to like him again.”

“Same,” Jeongin mutters. “I nearly dislocated my jaw fake smiling at him for three months.”

“Come with me,” Minho says suddenly. Everyone freezes as he steps forward, expression unreadable, shoulders squared with the kind of energy that usually precedes something unhinged. 

Minho grabs the note from the table without waiting for permission, holding it between two fingers like it’s covered in disease, and marches toward the back of the frat house. The rest of you follow like ducklings.

The air outside is cool and crisp, the back garden bathed in gold from the late afternoon sun and Minho stops in the middle of the yard, turns to face everyone, holding the note aloft like he’s about to cast a fucking spell.

“Now, I piss on this piece of emotional terrorism.”

“What-” Hyunjin starts, but it’s too late.

Minho tosses the note dramatically onto the grass like it insulted his ancestors, and then, without an ounce of shame or hesitation, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers and drops them straight to his ankles.

“NO FUCKING WAY,” 

“MINHO!” 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, choking on your laughter.

Minho doesn’t care. Minho is already pissing. He aims directly at the note, hips swaying side to side as a powerful stream arcs through the air and soaks the paper completely.

“Oh my fucking god, he’s actually doing it!"

Jisung makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a bark, doubling over as he laughs so hard he’s crying. “THIS IS ART! THIS IS MODERN FUCKING ART!”

You drop to your knees in the grass, face buried in your hands as you shake with silent laughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your skirt rides up slightly but you don’t care, you’re too far gone. You feel like your lungs might collapse, like you’ll never stop laughing. Minho’s straight-faced concentration as he pisses on the note is the most unhinged shit you’ve ever seen in your life.

Hyunjin has collapsed half onto Changbin, using his shoulder as a support while wheezing so hard it sounds like he’s been stabbed. “He’s moving his hips,” he gasps. “He’s doing a little fucking piss dance.”

“I can’t fucking breathe,” Jeongin says, clinging to Seungmin’s arm for dear life.

“I hate all of you,” Seungmin says, eyes wide but laughing anyway.

“You’re all lucky I have human decency and didn’t shit on it in front of you.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Felix gasps, half-laughing, half-shrieking as he clutches his stomach.

“I swear to go, if I see Juwon,” Minho continues, deadpan as his stream finally starts to slow, “I will piss on him too.”

“HE'S STILL GOING,” Changbin wheezes, holding onto Hyunjin for balance.

“I’ve had a lot of coffee today. Like, two iced americanos and a latte. This is not a short piss.”

You fall forward from your crouch, laughter tearing through you so hard you nearly faceplant into the grass. Felix falls next to you, pulling you into his arms as you both laugh, practically vibrating with the force of it. 

Minho finally finishes and gives himself a shake like a fucking golden retriever, pulling up his boxers and sweatpants like this was the most casual act of his life.

He looks around at the group of grown-ass human beings all collapsed in various piles of hysterical laughter and nods once. “Let that be a message to all emotionally manipulative exes.”

“You’re a fucking hero,” 

“I’d name my firstborn after you if I didn’t think you’d corrupt the kid,” 

“Minho pisses on the patriarchy,"

Felix leans in to whisper against your ear, voice rough with laughter. “We made the right call.”

“We really fucking did.”

Over the next week, Jisung starts showing up wherever you and Felix happen to be, like a friendly little parasite that’s decided the best way to preserve your happiness is to latch on and never let go. At least, that’s the narrative he’s sold you and Felix, and honestly, you both believe it. After all, he’s Jisung. He talks fast, he talks loud, and his devotion to his friends is so intense and sincere that no one ever really questions it.

He claims he’s there to prevent psychological sabotage from the emotional terrorist known as Juwon, and the first time he says it, Felix actually laughs so hard he drops the whisk he’s using into the mixing bowl. You giggle, perched on the counter with your legs swinging while Felix preps a fresh batch of his bulgogi jjigae croissants, and Jisung’s heart does a fucking somersault in his chest.

“Listen,” Jisung says, “I’m just saying, both of you are emotionally vulnerable right now. I need to be your emotional chastity belt.”

Felix snorts. “You’re so full of shit.”

You tilt your head at Jisung, amused. “So you’re, like, guarding our brains?”

“And hearts. Mostly hearts. But also your vibe, which is very soft and cute and must be protected at all costs.”

You press your hand to your chest and flutter your lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

Jisung’s face goes a little pink, but he masks it with a gulp of soda and a muttered, “Yeah, well, I’m amazing.”

Minho told him to play it cool. "Just be there," he’d said. "You’re already halfway in the door, idiot. Just don’t kick it down by being insane."

But Jisung is not cool. Not when Felix calls you Angel and brushes a kiss to your temple without even thinking. Not when you lean over and poke at Felix’s arm tattoos while asking about the new filling ratio in the croissant dough. Not when the kitchen smells like love and trust and sex and baked goods and he’s standing on the edge of it all, trying to convince himself this is enough.

He keeps telling Minho it’s working. That he’s slowly infiltrating your heart. That your smile lingers longer on him now, that you laugh more freely, that maybe you’re seeing him as something more than the slightly chaotic best friend. He tells Minho that Felix is definitely noticing him. That Felix’s hands linger on his back when he passes behind him at the stove. That Felix teases him more. That the three of you are syncing like a fucking polyamorous power trio.

Minho doesn’t even try to hide his smirk when he says, “Or maybe you’re feeding your own delusions like a starving raccoon.”

Jisung throws a pillow at him and keeps dreaming.

He learns your class schedule under the guise of tactical protection, meets you at the student cafe with lattes he claims were on sale, and starts quizzing you casually about psych theories. You’re studying Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development for your childhood psych minor, and Jisung manages to tie it into criminal psychology like a nerdy magician.

“So basically,” he says one afternoon as the three of you sit on the front porch steps, “if a kid doesn’t get their basic trust developed in infancy, they’re gonna have way more issues later when it comes to intimacy, which is, like, textbook setup for criminal behaviour.”

You nod thoughtfully, eyes shining. “And it loops into autonomy versus shame too. Like, if they don’t build autonomy at the toddler stage, they’ll always rely on others to determine their sense of self, which ties into identity issues during adolescence.”

Felix looks up from his sketchpad, blinking. “Are you two having a sexy nerd moment right now?”

Jisung grins. “Maybe.”

You laugh, warm and genuine. “You can join if you want.”

Felix snorts. “Nah, I’ll leave you to your kink.”

Jisung pretends he’s not getting hard at the idea of a psychology-themed threesome.

The croissant testing continues almost every day. Felix has now adjusted the dough-to-filling ratio three times, added caramelized onions in one batch, and experimented with gochujang paste-glazed puff in another. You and Jisung are the designated guinea pigs, and you take the job seriously. You sit together at the counter with matching mugs, giving detailed feedback while Felix watches like he’s being graded.

“I like the sweetness of the onions here,” you say thoughtfully, licking your fingers. “But the stew’s a little too wet. It’s bleeding through.”

“Agreed,” Jisung says, mouth full. “But also, holy fuck. If I ever got railed after eating one of these, I think I’d ascend.”

Felix just laughs, brushing flour off his pants. “I’ll put that on my Yelp reviews.”

Jisung doesn’t know how he’s supposed to keep it together when Felix says shit like that while looking like that, inked and pierced and covered in flour, all soft laughs and lethal eyes. And then there’s you, sweet and golden and smiling at them both like you’ve never known cruelty, like you’re built from spring and honey.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Until Tuesday.

The day starts like any other. Croissants in the oven, Jisung perched on the counter like a gremlin, you leaning against Felix as you whisper something in his ear and giggle. Felix makes some dumb joke and Jisung throws a spatula at him. Normal shit.

The croissants come out piping hot and steaming, and Jisung’s already grabbing one before it cools, blowing on it dramatically while mumbling something about risking third-degree burns for flaky food.

He bites in and groans. “Okay, okay, this is the best one yet. Holy fuck, Felix, this one hits. The beef is more savoury, and the texture’s perfect.”

There’s a smear of bulgogi sauce at the corner of his mouth, and he licks his lips, but he misses it. Felix steps forward, reaches out, and with the softest, most casual motion in the universe, wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. And then Felix fucking sucks his own thumb clean.

Jisung short circuits. He stands there, croissant in hand, eyes wide and jaw slack, as Felix turns away to grab something from the counter like he didn’t just casually fry Jisung’s brain.

You blink at Jisung. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He makes it through fifteen more minutes. Fifteen excruciating minutes of pretending he’s normal, of acting like he didn’t just have a sexual awakening from one goddamn thumb.

The moment you and Felix leave to grab some more ingredients from the market, Jisung bolts upstairs like he’s been launched out of a cannon. He doesn’t knock when he storms into Minho’s room. He never knocks, which is a problem today. Because Minho is under his covers, shirt off, hand down his pants, clearly mid-stroke and looking very much in the zone.

“FUCK! Get out!” 

“NO TIME,” Jisung shouts, throwing himself onto Minho’s bed like a deranged gremlin. “MINHO. I NEED TO FUCK Y/N AND BE FUCKED BY FELIX RIGHT FUCKING NOW.”

“Can I just jerk off in peace once this month? Please?”

“NO. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”

Minho sighs the sigh of a man who has known nothing but suffering and dramatic bisexuals. He flops onto his side, abandoning his hard-on, and pulls the blanket up to his chest. “Do I need to stroke your hair again?”

“Yes. Please.”

Minho rolls his eyes but reaches out anyway, threading his fingers through Jisung’s hair with long, slow strokes. “Alright. Let it out.”

“I need to dom Y/N until she cries while I suck on Felix’s fingers. Minho. He wiped sauce off my mouth and then licked his thumb. I almost came in my fucking pants. That’s not fair. That’s a war crime. You don’t just do that to a person!”

“Mmm.”

“Felix has got these hands, right? Like veiny, tattooed, perfect dom hands. I want them everywhere. I want them around my throat, I want them on my hips, I want them inside me. Y/N looked at me with those sweet eyes and I was like, I’d literally pay her tuition, I’d buy her a pony, I’d kill a man for her. I’d raise a baby with her and Felix and go to PTA meetings and bake fucking cookies.”

“You sound stable,” Minho says flatly.

“I’m not,”

Minho just keeps stroking his hair as Jisung melts into it like he’s a cat getting scratched behind the ears.

“I’m gonna die,” Jisung murmurs. “Die horny. Die in love. Die with un-sucked nipples and a heart full of yearning.”

“Poetic,” Minho mutters.

Jisung sighs deeply. “Tell my story.”

Minho just rolls his eyes. “You’re not dying. You’re in love with your friends, and it sucks, but you’re surviving. Just keep taste-testing the croissants and pretending you’re normal.”

Jisung groans. “Pretending is exhausting.”

“Yeah, well,” Minho says, shifting under the covers, “so is jerking off to the thought of a threesome that hasn’t happened. Welcome to the club.”

Jisung lifts his head. “Wait, you-”

Minho cuts him off with a glare. “Don’t. You’ll ruin the moment.”

Jisung drops his head again, comforted by the hand in his hair and the low hum of Minho’s voice. For now, it’s enough. Barely. But enough.

Jisung is flat on his back, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling like it’s going to bless him with divine intervention. His comforter is pulled halfway up to his chest, his knees are bent, and his fists are clenched at his sides like he’s bracing for an earthquake. Except the earthquake is coming from the other side of the fucking wall. Because Felix’s room is right next to his, and you and Felix are currently fucking with the enthusiasm of a couple auditioning for a porno with an emotional subplot.

He has his pillow over his head, earbuds shoved into his ears, and he’s muttering to himself like a man on the verge. “No, no, no, think of nasty shit, come on, think of... feet. Dirty feet. Athlete’s foot. Fungus. Come on, Jisung, be strong.”

But his dick does not care about foot fungus. His dick cares about the soft moans slipping through the wall like they’re aimed directly at him, about the low, guttural growl of Felix’s voice, about the sweet little whimpers he hears from you that sound like you’re being ruined and loving it. 

And then, through the fucked-up miracle of paper-thin frat house walls and bad insulation, he hears something that makes his whole body seize.

“Fuck,” Felix’s voice drips through the drywall, husky and slow, “can you imagine if Jisung was in here with us?”

“What-” you gasp, breathy and high, “-you think he’d like it?”

Felix laughs, low and dark. “He’d love it. He’d fuck you so good, Angel. He’d top you like he’s been dying to. And I’d take him from behind, slow and deep, make him moan.”

“You think he’d let you?”

“Bet he’d beg for it,” Felix murmurs, voice thick with lust. “Beg me to keep going while he wrecks you.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung whispers, eyes the size of dinner plates. His body goes stiff, and his dick stands to full fucking attention with the urgency of a fire drill.

He has to leave. He has to leave right now. 

Waddling shamefully out of his room like a penguin in heat, Jisung uses both hands to cup his crotch, like a cartoon character. He makes it to Minho’s room in record time, knocks once with his foot, and then just barges in because dignity is long dead.

Minho, already propped up in bed reading something on his iPad, doesn’t even flinch. “Come cuddle, sad baby,” he says flatly, lifting the edge of the duvet like this is just another Tuesday night where Jisung needs affection because his feelings are louder than his common sense.

But then his head turns and he sees the way Jisung is standing, legs awkward, hunched posture, hands cupping his crotch, and Minho blinks slowly.

“Wait! Hands in the air, you little goblin. Hands up right the fuck now.”

“What?!” 

“You heard me,” Minho barks. “Hands. The fuck. Up.”

Jisung, face bright red and eyes wide in panic, lifts his hands like he’s being arrested. His boxers tent comically, the front obscenely prominent. He stands in the centre of Minho’s room like a deer caught in headlights, half expecting to be shot or baptized.

Minho stares. Stares longer. His jaw drops. 

“Where the fuck have you been hiding that?!”

“Don’t make this a thing,” 

Minho is already pointing. “That’s why you’re short! Your height is in your cock!”

“MINHO-”

“Forget everything nice I ever said about your stupid hair or your pretty eyes,” Minho continues, sitting up now. “That third leg is your selling point. Jisung, what the fuck? Does it not get heavy?!”

“Can we not-”

“You have a monster cock and you never told me?! Me! Your best friend! Is this why you never get naked in the locker room?! Is that why you change behind a fucking towel?! You afraid of taking someone’s eye out or tripping someone over with that python?!”

“Please stop talking about my dick like it’s a registered weapon.”

“It should be!” Minho shouts. “You should have a license! There are elephants with less to deal with!”

“MINHO.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“I panicked!” Jisung cries. “Do you know what I just heard through the wall?! They—Felix and Y/N, they were fucking and talking about me!”

Minho pauses mid-rant. “What?”

Jisung starts pacing, hands still hovering near his crotch. “They said they wanted me to join. Felix said I’d top Y/N and he’d fuck me at the same time. And Y/N sounded like she was into it! I was just trying to sleep and suddenly I’m the fucking guest star in their nightly sexcapade!”

Minho’s expression flickers between confusion, intrigue, and thinly veiled amusement. “So what you’re telling me is your crush might not be as one-sided as you thought?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung says, collapsing into Minho’s chair, legs spread like he’s given up. “Maybe they were just dirty talking. Maybe they meant nothing by it. Maybe it was just some fantasy bullshit and I’m projecting. Or maybe it was about me and now I have a fucking boner that won’t go away and I want to cry and also cum and also crawl into a hole and die.”

“So basically business as usual.”

“Shut up.”

“Come here, penis monster,” Minho sighs, scooting over and patting the mattress. “Just don’t poke me with your fucking divining rod, alright?”

Jisung grumbles but crawls under the blanket, still hard and ashamed, curling into Minho’s side like the world’s most tragic cuddle bug. Minho wraps an arm around his shoulders and hums. 

“You smell like desperation and confusion.”

“I smell like love and sadness.”

Minho’s hand rubs soothing circles over his arm. “Same thing.”

And as Jisung lies there, painfully hard, emotionally overwhelmed, and clinging to the only person who knows all his fucked-up secrets, he wonders if maybe he’s not as alone in this as he thought.

The scent of kimchi and sizzling beef fills the frat house like a wake-up call from the gods, the windows are cracked open just enough to let in the early morning air, still cool from last night’s breeze. 

You sit at the counter on your usual stool, cradling a hot mug of coffee in your hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Your hair is piled on top of your head in a lazy updo, loose strands falling around your face as the steam from your drink curls around your cheeks.

Your crisp, blue pinstripe shirt clings to you just right, unbuttoned to that perfect spot where your cleavage draws attention without effort. Paired with a sleek, high-waisted white mini skirt and delicate white ankle socks, you’re a vision of calm elegance, totally at odds with the chaotic house around you. Your butterfly hairpin glints in the morning sun and your gold hoop earrings catch the light every time you shift your head slightly.

Felix is at the stove, humming to himself, half-dancing in place as he flips kimchi pancakes with the confidence of someone who’s mastered the art of multitasking. He’s wearing one of your favourite looks on him, an open red plaid flannel shirt over a tight black tank top that hugs his frame like a lover, light-wash jeans full of rips and frays that show off the smooth stretch of his thighs, a black belt with subtle metal detailing, and those absurdly fluffy black socks you bought for him in the winter that he now wears religiously.

His hair is half-up in a messy little bun that you helped tie earlier with one of your scrunchies, and the rest of his hair falls around his shoulders in inky waves. He looks entirely too good for someone making breakfast at 8:42 in the morning.

You sip your coffee, watching the pancake flip in slow motion and then Jisung shuffles in like the ghost of horny chaos past.

He pauses in the doorway, barefoot and bleary-eyed in a pair of mismatched sweats and a hoodie that’s falling off one shoulder. He stares at the two of you, Felix glowing golden over the stove, you sipping coffee in all your soft, pin-up sweetness and he nearly turns back around to go straight back to bed.

But he doesn’t. Because he’s an idiot. And he’s also whipped.

Felix smirks when he catches sight of him. “Morning, Ji.”

You glance over, smiling gently. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” Jisung croaks, voice rough. “I made some bad choices.”

Felix raises a brow but doesn’t push. He plates the last of the pancakes and nods toward the counter. “Come help me dish everything up. I made kimchi pancakes, jjigae, and eggs. Feeding the masses.”

Jisung pads in slowly, dragging his feet as he moves to stand beside Felix. “Feeding the masses or trying to seduce the entire house with food?”

Felix grins, sliding him a pair of tongs. “Can’t it be both?”

They start plating in silence, the comfortable kind. Jisung tries not to look at Felix’s hands but it’s impossible. They’re everywhere, moving over the counter, flipping pancakes onto plates, brushing against his own every time they reach for the same serving spoon. The touches are soft, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Jisung doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even breathe too loud, afraid to shatter the moment.

He’s halfway through arranging pancakes on a tray when Felix glances over at you. “Angel, can you go wake the guys up? If I try, they’ll throw something at me.”

You nod, setting your coffee down and stretching lazily, exposing just a hint more skin beneath your shirt. “They won’t yell at me. I’ll go be nice.”

Jisung watches you walk out of the kitchen, your skirt swaying, your steps light, and then turns back to the counter only to find Felix staring at him like a cat with a canary between its teeth.

“Didn’t hear you whining last night,” Felix says casually, stirring the jjigae. “Kinda missed it.”

Jisung freezes. “What?”

Felix’s smile widens. “Usually we can count on a backtrack. Little background vocals of you jerking off while we fuck. But not last night.”

Jisung’s heart tries to escape his chest. “I- I- Fuck, how do you-?”

Felix shrugs like it’s nothing. “Thought you were more obvious, honestly. We can hear you. And you’re not exactly quiet.”

Jisung gulps, throat dry. “Fuck, I-”

“What?” Felix asks innocently, dragging his spoon through the pot. “Thought we didn’t know about your big crush on us?”

Jisung stares at him, mouth slightly open, and Felix just tilts his head. “What changed?”

“I went to Minho’s room.”

Felix laughs softly, shaking his head. “Sad, really. We even started talking about you last night, hoping you’d start making noise. We were getting bored.”

Jisung blinks rapidly, blood rushing south like it’s got a mission, and Felix’s gaze dips down meaningfully.

“Careful,” Felix murmurs. “Might want to tuck that into your waistband. Or whip it out. I wouldn’t complain.”

Jisung makes a sound that can only be described as a strangled scream and immediately drops to the kitchen floor, face down like he’s trying to merge with the tile.

“I need to lie down,” 

Felix leans down, grinning. “Gonna ask Minho for advice later?”

Jisung nods silently, still face-planted against the floor.

Felix coos. “Poor baby.”

“I hate you,” Jisung mumbles, voice muffled.

“No you don’t,” Felix says sweetly. “You want to fuck me and Y/N.”

Jisung groans louder, kicking his feet against the tile like a toddler having a meltdown. “Fuck you, fuck this kitchen, fuck everything.”

The moment breakfast is over, the second the last kimchi pancake has been devoured and the kitchen cleared with everyone staggering off in various directions, Jisung grabs Minho by the wrist and practically drags him through the house like a man possessed. Minho doesn’t even have time to protest, just gets yanked up the stairs and shoved into his own room, the door slamming behind them.

Jisung is breathing heavily, eyes wide, hands flailing as he spins around to face his best friend like he’s about to deliver news of the apocalypse.

Minho stares at him flatly. “You’re being weird.”

“Oh my fucking god, Minho,” Jisung says, bouncing on his heels. “It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“They- Felix- He knows. He fucking knows and he said something in the kitchen and I think I died, like, actually died and now I’m in queer horny purgatory and this is hell and heaven all at once.”

Minho blinks slowly. “You’re gonna have to use actual words.”

“Felix said he knew I’ve been jerking it to him and Y/N,” Jisung blurts. “He said he knows, and that they were talking about me last night on purpose, and that they wanted me to hear it, and he smirked, Minho. He smirked. Like he meant it.”

Minho stares, stunned into silence for a long beat. Then, slowly, incredulously, “So… let me get this straight. They wanted you to hear them talking about how much they want you. How much they want to fuck you and instead of joining in or walking in there or literally saying anything, you ran here? To me?!”

“Yes. I panicked. I came to you.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“So fucking much!” Jisung wails, pacing again. “My brain short-circuited, Minho! My dick was out of commission. It was like being horny and terrified and in love all at once and also Felix was teasing me and I just- I melted! I melted into the floor!”

Minho groans. “Ji, they want you. They want you bad.”

“I know! What do I do?!”

Minho rolls his eyes like he’s in the presence of a complete dumbass. “What do you do? You fuck them, obviously!”

“I can’t just-”

“You can and you should,” Minho interrupts. “You’ve been crying about this for months, crawling into my bed, sobbing about how you want to top Y/N and be fucked by Felix. Now they’re literally asking for it. They’re handing it to you on a platter. You’re the only one cockblocking yourself!”

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. Then your voice floats up from downstairs, light and sweet.

“Minho? Can you look out your window, please?”

Then Felix. “Now, Min! Look now!”

Minho frowns, already striding across the room to his window. He throws it open and pokes his head out, the late morning sun streaming in and casting a golden glow across his face and then he goes completely still.

Jisung joins him, brow furrowed, and the moment he leans out the window beside Minho, his stomach lurches.

Juwon.

Standing right there on the front step, holding a massive bouquet of what looks like white roses and baby’s breath, speaking to you and Felix like he’s in the middle of a drama redemption arc. His hair is too perfect, his outfit meticulously put together, and the self-pity practically oozing from his voice makes Jisung recoil.

“I just... I never heard back from you,” Juwon is saying, holding the flowers out like an offering. “You didn’t reply to the letter, and it’s really affected my recovery. I’ve been working on myself, doing therapy, trying to change, but I needed closure. And I think maybe, if we could talk-”

Minho’s eye twitches. “Oh fuck no.”

Jisung’s mouth falls open. “Is he seriously-?”

“I said I’d piss on him.”

“What- Minho-”

Minho yanks his sweatpants and boxers straight to his ankles in one swift motion, strides right back to the window, and without a second’s hesitation, lets it rip. A golden arc of vengeance rains down from the second-story window, and Juwon yelps, stumbling back as the stream splashes across his shoulders and chest.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

Felix claps a hand over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter. You bite your knuckle as you try and fail not to burst out giggling.

Minho’s voice rings out from the window, gleeful and proud. “FUCK YOU, YOU MANIPULATIVE PRICK!”

From the window next to Minho’s, Changbin’s head pops out, eyes wide with glee. “IS IT GO TIME?”

Chan’s head appears a second later. “FUCK YEAH IT’S GO TIME!”

Hyunjin’s head joins them, already holding an egg. “Say the word.”

“FIRE!” Minho bellows.

Eggs start flying out the window. One hits Juwon square in the shoulder, another explodes at his feet, yolk splattering his expensive shoes. He stumbles and flails, trying to dodge as the barrage continues.

“YOU SHIT-STAINED LOSER!”

“FUCK YOUUUUUU!” 

Chan throws an egg with perfect quarterback aim. It nails Juwon in the chest.

Downstairs, Jeongin and Seungmin have joined the party from the living room. Their window slides open and Jeongin leans halfway out, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“YOU GOTTA BE BRAIN DEAD TO SHOW YOUR FACE HERE!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OUR PROPERTY, YOU WET MOP OF A MAN!”

“SEE THIS? THIS IS WHAT A BIG DICK LOOKS LIKE!”

Chan loses it. “OH MY GOD.”

Minho keeps going. “FELIX AND Y/N TOLD ME ALL ABOUT YOUR TINY TWO-INCHER!”

A massive whoop goes up from every window. Jeongin howls. Seungmin nearly falls out of the living room. Changbin is wheezing. Chan is crying with laughter.

Juwon, completely humiliated and covered in egg, piss, and verbal abuse, finally stumbles back off the porch and bolts down the walkway like his ass is on fire.

The moment he’s gone, the boys collapse into cackles. You’re still standing in the doorway with Felix, eyes glistening from laughter, hands clapped over your mouths.

Jisung, still stunned beside Minho, finally breathes out. “That was the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Minho, finally shaking himself off and pulling his pants up, turns to Jisung. “Now go fuck your couple before I start peeing on you too.”

The living room glows with the soft, warm hue of the floor lamp in the corner, casting gentle light across the space. Felix is already sprawled across the couch in black sweatpants, shirtless, tattoos in full display and glinting slightly with the soft light. His shoulder-length hair is half-tied, the ends curling over his chest and collarbones. His piercings catch the light when he tilts his head, eyes locked on the opening credits of Mary Poppins playing across the flat screen. 

You’re curled beside him, legs tucked underneath you, dressed in a pale pink silk nightgown that stops mid-thigh. It clings to your curves and catches the light in that way that makes Felix look over at you every few seconds, smirking a little each time.

You’ve got a blanket over your lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced between your knees, and your eyes are soft, a little sleepy, completely content. The familiar music plays low in the background as you sip from a mug of chamomile tea and lean your head against Felix’s shoulder, humming quietly along with the opening score. The air is peaceful, calm in the way only quiet evenings can be in the chaos of a frat house.

The door creaks open just as Julie Andrews starts singing and Jisung pokes his head in, eyes darting around as if he’s checking to make sure this isn’t some weird dream. His gaze lands on you and Felix curled up on the couch and he almost turns around to leave again, heart thudding loudly in his chest, but then Felix looks up and grins.

“Come sit, Ji.”

Jisung freezes for a second. Then, without thinking, he shuffles in quickly, trying to look casual while his pulse is jackhammering. He doesn’t ask where he should sit and doesn’t hesitate. He makes a beeline for the couch, slipping right onto your other side and sliding into place like he was always meant to be there, sandwiching you gently between his thigh and Felix’s hip.

You smile at him as you tuck your feet up onto the couch, shifting just enough to lean into his side while still resting your head lightly on Felix’s shoulder. Jisung goes rigid for half a second, staring straight ahead like a deer in headlights. Then, slowly, he relaxes, wrapping an arm around your shoulders instinctively, like he’s done it a hundred times. You melt into it with a soft sigh.

Felix leans forward to grab another pillow and tosses it onto Jisung’s lap without looking. “You wanna go on a date with us?”

Jisung’s eyes widen and he turns slowly, mouth already falling open. “What? Seriously? Like, a real date? With you two?”

Felix smirks, not taking his eyes off the screen. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Yes. Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent in. Sign me the fuck up. I’m so available.”

Felix chuckles. “You’re a switch, right, Ji?”

Jisung sits a little straighter, nodding again with wide eyes. “Yes, that’s me. Very switchy. Versatile, some may say. Emotionally and sexually flexible. Minho calls me chaotic.”

Felix laughs again, and it’s low and warm. “Good. Now let’s keep watching Mary Poppins.”

Jisung nods obediently, heart pounding against his ribs as he tries to process what the fuck just happened. Did he just get asked on a date by Felix? With you? Together? Is this real life?

He tightens the arm around your shoulders just slightly and you lean into it, letting your head rest lightly against his chest as your eyes remain fixed on the movie. Your hair smells like lavender and honey and Jisung’s brain begins its rapid-fire descent into emotional catastrophe.

Then he feels it, Felix’s fingers brushing against his. It’s subtle. Just a slow, warm touch where their hands rest on the blanket across your lap. Jisung glances down, lips parting as Felix’s fingers slide lightly over his knuckles, casually interlacing their pinkies.

Every inch of Jisung’s soul leaves his body. He swears he ascends on the spot. His heart stutters. His breath catches. His eyes sting a little from how full he feels. He is touching both of you. He is sitting between the two people he’s been in love with for months and he just got asked on a fucking date. His mouth moves without his permission.

“Oh my god, I’m going on a date with you two.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah.”

Jisung shoots to his feet, fist punching the air. “OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You yelp and laugh, startled by the sudden movement, the popcorn bowl nearly falling off your lap. Felix leans away, grinning, as Jisung turns in a circle on the rug, hands up like he’s summoning divine forces. “IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENING.”

Footsteps pound on the floorboards above and then Minho comes running into the living room like he’s on fire, wearing a silk emerald green robe, a white towel wrapped around his wet hair, and a sheet mask plastered to his face.

“What the fuck is going on?!” he demands, breathing hard, eyes scanning the room like he expects blood.

Jisung spins to face him, dramatically pointing toward the couch. Toward you. Toward Felix. Then he clutches his chest and drops to his knees like he’s been shot, eyes wide with emotion.

Minho’s jaw drops. “You’re going on a date with them?!”

Felix looks up, blinking. “You understood that?”

Minho throws his hands up. “I speak dramatic bisexual!"

You’re giggling now, eyes wide and shining as you look between the two of them. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Jisung cries from the floor. “I’ve never been less okay in my life!”

Minho steps forward, face mask crinkling slightly as he places a comforting hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “You’ve been training for this moment. All the pacing, the crying, the horny rambling. It all led here.”

Jisung looks up, eyes comically wide. “Do I bow? Should I make a speech? Should I buy condoms?”

“Definitely buy condoms,” Minho says, dead serious.

Felix shakes his head, still grinning, and reaches for the popcorn bowl that nearly got sacrificed to the moment. “You’re not getting laid tonight, Ji. Calm your tits.”

“Oh,” Jisung breathes. “But someday?”

Felix winks and Jisung lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan and flops onto the rug, face pressed into the carpet like he’s one with the floor now.

Minho sighs, adjusting his towel. “I leave you people alone for one evening and you emotionally implode without me.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” Jisung mumbles into the carpet.

Felix laughs and tosses popcorn at his head. “Get up and come cuddle. Movie’s not over.”

Jisung scrambles up, moving like his body is made of jelly and adrenaline, and flops back into his spot beside you, breathless and still smiling like an idiot.

You glance between the two of them, resting your head back on Jisung’s shoulder with a soft hum. “So we’ll pick a night for the date?”

Felix nods. “Yup. Something cute. Something chaotic.”

“Perfect,” Jisung whispers, eyes glued to the screen again, a smile plastered across his face.

Jisung takes a deep breath at the top of the stairs, shaking his arms out like he’s about to walk into a battlefield. His heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, and Minho and Hyunjin are still watching him from behind with matching smirks, both looking like smug stylists who know damn well they’ve created a masterpiece.

“This is either the hottest I’ve ever looked or I look like a bisexual rave warrior,” 

“You look hot enough to cause accidents,” Hyunjin says.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Go before you sweat through that shirt, dumbass.”

Jisung flips them both off and finally descends the stairs, each step making the metal on his vest clink softly. The electric blue leather catches the low lighting of the hallway as he walks, glinting off the studs. Underneath, the dark blue and black abstract-patterned shirt is tucked neatly into wide-leg denim jeans, held up with a studded black belt that gleams. The jeans fall perfectly over chunky black platform boots, adding a few inches to his height, something Minho had insisted on, saying, “You need the presence.”

His hands are decorated with layered silver rings, some bulky, some delicate, all of them catching the light. Matching bracelets jingle softly at his wrists, and his ears are full of silver, glinting against the slight flush in his cheeks.

When he steps into the living room and sees you and Felix standing near the door, everything inside him stutters.

You look like a dream. The pastel blue cropped cardigan clings softly to your arms, the white lace-trimmed camisole underneath giving the outfit a touch of delicate sweetness that makes Jisung’s brain momentarily stop functioning. The high-waisted plaid mini skirt is just barely long enough to be legal, and your hair is curled and perfect, dainty gold necklaces glinting against your collarbones. Your small white bag hangs delicately off your shoulder like the whole look was curated by the universe just to end him.

Felix, on the other hand, looks like a living god. He’s wearing a sleeveless black leather vest over a cropped textured white blouse, and Jisung’s eyes zoom in immediately on the abs beneath the hem. The leather trousers fit him like sin, cinched at the waist with a thick belt dotted with metallic accents. The high-platform combat boots look dangerous and gorgeous at once, chains catching the light with each slight movement. Felix’s hair is half-up, half-down, dark waves falling over his shoulders and framing his face like he’s stepped straight out of some androgynous fantasy.

Jisung makes a noise, something high-pitched and involuntary, a whimper that sounds like “hnnnggg” as his eyes jump back and forth between the two of you.

You giggle softly, stepping forward and brushing your fingers over his vest like you’re inspecting him. “You look amazing, Ji.”

Felix grins, bumping your hip with his. “We clean up nice, huh?”

Jisung’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He nods like his brain’s buffering. “You both look like you’ve come to kill me. And I’m fine with that.”

Felix laughs, teeth flashing. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jisung croaks, then clears his throat and tries again, “Yes. Definitely. Extremely ready.”

“Where are we going?” he adds, as you all start heading toward the front door.

You glance back at him, excitement glowing on your face. “One of the workers at the children’s home gave us the keys to the arcade. Said we could have the place to ourselves for a few hours.”

Jisung stares. “That’s fucking adorable.”

“It’s fun,” you say with a smile. “But we’ll have to catch the bus. None of us can drive.”

Felix groans dramatically. “One day, one of us will learn.”

“But not today,” you say sweetly, pulling the door open.

Outside, the night air is cool and comfortable. The three of you walk down the block, Felix on one side of you and Jisung on the other. The world feels smaller in the best way, like everything that matters is right here, walking in step. Jisung’s hand brushes yours as you all move toward the bus stop, and he fights the urge to lace your fingers together. Felix catches the look on his face and just smirks.

At the stop, the street is still alive with distant chatter and the low rumble of traffic. A soft wind lifts your curls, and you tuck a strand behind your ear, smiling to yourself.

“Minho really went off with your outfit,” you say, looking Jisung up and down with open appreciation.

“Hyunjin helped,” he mumbles, cheeks pink. “They kept calling me their doll.”

Felix chuckles. “You’re their proudest creation.”

Jisung huffs, pretending to pout, but the praise makes something flutter in his chest. “You’re lucky I like you both. This much metal makes me sound like a wind chime.”

The bus arrives with a hiss of air brakes, and the doors open with a mechanical wheeze. It’s packed. Standing room only.

Felix curses softly under his breath. “Of course, it’s fucking full.”

Jisung steps up first, helping you up onto the bus by your waist without a thought, and you laugh, bracing your hand against his arm as you find your balance. The three of you move toward the back, wedging into a small open space near the rear exit. There are no poles or rails, so Felix stands behind you, placing his hands firmly on either side of your waist. Jisung slots in front of you, one arm braced above him against the side panel of the bus to steady himself, the other resting loosely around your shoulders.

Felix’s chest is against your back, warm and solid, and his hand slips down slightly to the bare strip of skin between your camisole and the waistband of your skirt. His thumb strokes lazily there, subtle and comforting. Jisung, on the other hand, is keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, but you can feel the tension in his body where it curls around yours like he’s buzzing.

Jisung glances down, sees your skirt hem teasing along your thighs and glances around at the strangers on the bus. Some are looking, some aren't, but none of them are close enough to touch.

Still, he shifts, subtly positioning himself so he’s blocking any line of sight that might give anyone an upskirt view. He meets Felix’s eyes over your shoulder and finds the other man doing the same thing from behind you.

The shared look says everything. 

Jisung exhales slowly. His hand brushes against your upper arm. You don’t flinch. Instead, you lean slightly into the contact, your weight settling more comfortably between the two of them.

Felix’s chin drops to your shoulder for a moment, and his lips skim the top of your ear.

“Almost there, Angel,” he murmurs.

Jisung hears it and feels like he might melt right into the floor.

You glance up at him with a gentle smile. “You okay?”

He nods quickly, eyes warm, voice quiet. “Best I’ve ever fucking been.”

The bus hisses to a stop, brakes squealing as the city noise spills in through the open doors. Felix gently taps your hip, and Jisung lets you step off first before he hops down behind you. Felix follows, his boots thudding against the pavement. The night air hits with a little more bite than before, and you pull your cardigan closer, your fingers gripping the edges as your curls bounce softly with each step.

The arcade sits tucked between a boarded-up ice cream shop and an old record store with graffiti-painted shutters. The neon sign over the arcade entrance is dark, but the bright cartoon decals plastered to the windows are still cheerful even in the dim light. 

Felix fishes the keys from his leather vest pocket. “Moment of truth,” he says, crouching slightly to fit the key into the lock.

Jisung leans against the wall beside you, his boot tapping rhythmically against the ground, eyes darting from Felix to the storefront like he’s waiting for a secret door to a fantasy world to open up. You watch as Felix twists the key, jiggles the handle, and with a loud click, the door creaks open. 

“Holy shit,” Jisung murmurs as the three of you step inside.

The inside is a chaotic mess of bright colours and silent machines, the stillness of them slightly eerie without the usual arcade noise. Prize plushies hang limply from the claw machine near the entrance, their glass cases fogged slightly from humidity. The glow-in-the-dark carpet is tacky under your Converse, and the back wall is a kaleidoscope of neon-painted murals of racing cars, anime characters, and giant pixel hearts.

Felix crosses the floor, his boots thudding against the ground as he heads to the side wall behind the counter where the control panel lives. He squats down, flicking a switch and twisting a dial. Lights flicker to life like dominoes, first the red and blue glow of the skeeball machines, then the bright flashing bulbs of the basketball hoops, then the row of racing games down the middle. Finally, the air fills with the chirps, pings, and start-up jingles of ancient arcade cabinets coming to life.

You grab Jisung’s hand and tug him toward the back. “Come on, I know exactly where we’re starting.”

Jisung follows eagerly and Felix jogs to catch up, laughing under his breath as you lead the way past whirring claw machines and flashing DDR pads, weaving through old-school cabinets until you reach your destination.

The Mario Kart arcade cabinet stands proudly near the corner, worn but functional. The seats are cracked at the edges, and the paint on the plastic steering wheels is chipped, but the screens glow brightly, invitingly.

Felix lets out a low whistle. “This thing still works?”

“Last time I came, yeah,” you say, bouncing on your toes. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s our piece of shit now.”

Jisung cracks his knuckles. “Alright, bitches, I’m ready to dominate.”

You and Felix both raise your brows at him.

“Dominate twelfth place maybe,” Felix quips, sliding into the red seat on the far left.

You giggle, slipping into the middle seat, leaving the rightmost spot for Jisung. You reach for the controls, squinting at the character select screen as the coins blink in the top right.

Felix digs into his pocket and tosses a couple tokens into each slot. “On the house, courtesy of children’s home generosity and my morally grey sense of fun.”

The game fires up, and you all start mashing buttons to pick your racers. You slam down on Peach without hesitation as Felix hums, eyes scanning the screen before landing on Bowser. 

Jisung squints at the screen and huffs. “Toad. He’s a little freak. Just like me.”

The countdown begins and all three of you grip your wheels like you’ve trained for this your whole lives. The screen bursts to life with colour, the track lighting up in all its over-saturated glory, and the announcer counts down.

Three… two… one… go.

You hit the gas too early and spin your wheels, Peach lurching forward like she’s been hit by a truck. Felix’s Bowser slams into the wall. Jisung’s Toad takes off like a bullet, straight off the side of the track.

“Fuck! Why is this so sensitive?!” Felix huffs, jerking the wheel too hard and sending Bowser straight into a banana peel.

“Why the fuck does the jump make me go backwards?!” Jisung wails.

“I just fell off the fucking rainbow bridge for the third time!” you shout, mashing buttons as Peach spirals into the void again.

The first lap ends and not a single one of you is above ninth place.

“Jesus Christ, how are children supposed to be good at this?!” Jisung yells, frantically steering.

Felix’s entire body is leaning into the wheel like that’ll help. “My guy’s driving like he’s on acid!”

“Felix, you’re fucking Bowser, he weighs like four thousand pounds, you can’t drift like that!” 

Jisung snorts. “How the hell do you know that much about Bowser?”

“I do research,” you say proudly, just before Peach drives into a fake item box and spins out.

“Top-tier research,” Felix mutters. “Look at her go.”

“Shut up, you’re in last!” 

Jisung, somehow, is now in tenth. He cheers like he’s won the lottery. “Suck my tiny mushroom dick, losers!”

You and Felix scream at him simultaneously.

The second lap is just as catastrophic. Jisung forgets to drift on a corner and slams straight into the railing. Felix launches a shell backwards that ricochets and hits himself. You somehow manage to drive off the side three more times.

“Okay, okay, we suck, we’re so fucking bad at this.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung says proudly as he crawls into ninth for a whole two seconds before being overtaken by Donkey Kong.

“Alright, Donkey Kong can eat my ass,” Jisung mutters.

“God,” Felix groans, “this is like watching toddlers drive bumper cars. I hate this and I never want to stop.”

The final lap is pure chaos. Items are flying. Someone throws three red shells in a row and Felix is hit by all of them. Jisung misses a ramp and spins out. You manage to catch a boost only to immediately swerve off the track.

By the time the finish line appears, you’re in tenth, Jisung is in eleventh, and Felix is dragging Bowser’s ass in a solid dead last.

There’s a beat of silence and then all three of you erupt into laughter so loud it echoes off the walls.

“That was fucking terrible,” 

“I’ve never been so humiliated,” 

“I fell off the track eleven times,” you say, eyes wide. “I counted.”

"We’re not even racing each other. We’re just trying not to lose to the bots.”

"Fuck you, AI Luigi. Fuck you and your stupid green hat.”

After the catastrophic Mario Kart attempt, you skip over to a basketball hoop game that looks like it’s seen better decades, calling out over your shoulder for them to follow. Jisung jogs to catch up, his boots heavy against the floor, still trying to process that he’s on an actual date, with you, with Felix, with both of you. He’s not sure if he deserves it, but he’s not about to question it too hard either.

“Alright,” you say, tying your cardigan around your waist as you approach the hoop machine, “first to get more than five points wins. If we all fail, I’m claiming victory by default because I’m cute.”

Felix laughs and moves to your left, stretching his arms like he’s preparing for an Olympic event. “Five points? That’s it?”

“This thing is broken,” you reply, gesturing to the net, which sags slightly and tilts suspiciously to one side. “Plus, we all suck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jisung says, puffing out his chest. “I played basketball in middle school.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What happened?”

“I hit puberty and realized I’m short,” Jisung says, grabbing a ball from the dispenser. “I moved on to journalism and emotional damage.”

The game starts and the timer begins its rapid descent. Balls start flying. Jisung launches one and hits the rim so hard it bounces back and smacks him in the chest. Felix overshoots and the ball hits the plastic board with a thud before dropping straight down. You barely graze the edge of the hoop with your first shot and huff in frustration.

“Fuck this game!” 

“I feel like I’m in gym class again and about to throw up.”

Jisung manages to sink one and throws his arms in the air. “One! ONE POINT, BABY!”

You get two by pure accident, one ball hits the rim, bounces off the back wall, and falls through just as the timer beeps. You cheer in celebration anyway, jumping up and down while Felix collapses against the machine, laughing so hard he nearly slides down the side of it.

“Zero,” he gasps. “I got zero fucking points.”

“I’m the goddamn MVP,” you shout, pointing at yourself. “You losers owe me your lives.”

“You barely got two!” Jisung says, giggling uncontrollably. “I got one!”

“Which is less than two, genius,” you shoot back, poking his chest.

Felix watches the two of you bicker with a fond smile before grabbing both your hands and tugging you toward the next machine. “Come on, you degenerates. Let’s go see what else we’re horrible at.”

The next hour is a full-blown descent into chaos.

You try your hand at the claw machine and almost break a nail before Jisung steps in and somehow, through pure bullshit luck, wins you a tiny plush penguin with lopsided eyes. You hug it to your chest like it’s a diamond, smiling so wide it makes Jisung’s brain short-circuit again.

Felix insists on playing the old-school dancing game, the kind with the coloured arrows and metal platforms. It starts out okay, but five seconds into the first song, it’s obvious none of you have rhythm. Felix does an impressive slide and then trips over his own foot. You flail dramatically, nearly twisting your ankle, and Jisung, determined to win, starts flapping his arms and stomping like he’s being electrocuted.

“Are you having a seizure?” 

“I’M DANCING!”

You collapse on the side rail, laughing so hard tears stream down your face.

The only game any of you do remotely well in is the zombie shooter near the back of the arcade, and that’s only because it doesn’t require finesse, just blind panic and button mashing. Felix dual-wields the plastic pistols like he’s in a John Wick movie. You scream every time something pops out at you and immediately unload the entire clip. Jisung crouches behind the cabinet like he’s in an actual war zone, making little pew-pew sounds with his mouth.

“This is the only time I feel alive,” he mutters, reloading furiously as a zombie dog lunges at the screen.

“You’ve been bitten three times already!” 

“Let me go out with a bang!” 

The three of you don’t even beat the level, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The entire night becomes a competition of who can fail hardest, who can suck the most with the most flair. Felix declares himself king of last place, you call yourself the chaos gremlin queen, and Jisung just keeps yelling “lower-tier excellence!” every time he finishes second-to-last instead of actual last.

You take a break on the floor in front of the air hockey table, all three of you panting and laughing as you pass around a can of soda. 

Jisung leans back on his elbows, watching the way the neon lights reflect in your eyes as you smile. Felix is beside you, his leather trousers creaking softly as he stretches out his legs and leans back. You’re between them, your knees drawn up, cardigan still tied at your waist, hair curling around your face like a halo.

It’s not glamorous. You’re all sweaty, slightly dishevelled, and still laughing at the way Felix screamed during the jump scare in the zombie game.

But to Jisung, it’s fucking perfect. He doesn’t even need to win at anything. He’s already won. Sitting here with the two people he adores most, surrounded by bright lights and busted machines and joy so loud it echoes, he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Okay,” you say, nudging Jisung’s knee with yours, “who’s ready for skeeball?”

“Last place gets no soda,” Felix says, finishing the can with a dramatic gulp and tossing it in the recycling bin like a basketball player.

“I’ve never been more motivated,” Jisung declares, standing up and brushing off his jeans.

And the three of you head back into the blinking chaos of the arcade, ready to fail again in the most glorious way possible.

The morning sun cuts through the gauzy curtains in Minho’s room, casting soft streaks of light across the mess of laundry and half-finished mugs of coffee scattered around his space. Minho is half-awake, his cheek pressed into his pillow, hair a chaotic mess of flattened strands and soft waves from last night’s shower. He’s in a ratty grey tee, one that reads PETA: People Eating Tasty Animals and a pair of threadbare boxers, his legs tangled in the blankets as he squints at the door that creaks open without a knock.

Jisung waddles in with a grin so big it makes his cheeks puff up, arms lifted in a lazy stretch over his head as he yawns. His hair’s sticking up on one side, he’s wearing boxers with tiny frogs on them, and a t-shirt that says I Paused My Game To Be Here. There are faint red scratches on his collarbone, a few more just visible on his upper thigh where the hem of his boxers rides up, and his neck is bearing a fresh set of hickeys.

Minho lifts his head an inch from the pillow. “Why are you smiling like a cat that got the cream?”

Jisung flops dramatically on the bed beside him with a loud groan of happiness. “Because I did, Minho. I did.”

Minho blinks once, then shifts to his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Tell me everything.”

“Oh my god, where do I even start?” Jisung kicks his legs behind him, like he’s trying to contain how excited he is and failing. “We played every game in the arcade. We sucked so bad. Like embarrassingly bad. I nearly cried laughing because we all just kept losing. Felix couldn’t score shit in the basketball game. Y/N somehow managed to reverse drive in every racing game. And me? I was just trying not to piss myself from laughing.”

Minho hums, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re glowing. Like post-orgasmic happiness glowing.”

Jisung shoots him finger guns. “I am glowing. I’m radiant. I’m ethereal. I’m living my best slut life, Min.”

Minho cackles and tosses a pillow at him. “So did they like your pant monster?”

Jisung lifts the hem of his shirt to show the marks on his hip, bright red nail indents and a bite mark. “Loved it. I mean, look at me. These? These are the marks of love.”

“I’m proud of your slutty little journey.”

 “I’m proud of it too.”

Minho’s eyes narrow slightly. “Wait. Why are you walking funny though? You walked in here like you just got railed.”

Jisung turns his head and grins, all teeth. “Because I did get railed by a god, Minho. Multiple times. My ass is still recovering from being respected thoroughly by Felix’s demon dick and my dick is singing heavenly symphonies from being balls deep in Y/N.”

Minho groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. “Fucking hell. Good for you, Ji.”

“Thank you, I’m in polyamorous heaven.”

Minho reaches over to scratch lightly at Jisung’s head, fingers moving gently through the tufts of hair sticking up from sleep, sex and probably too much hairspray the night before. “My sweet bisexual baby bird is all grown up.”

“This is the best timeline. I’m cuddled up with my best friend after fucking the most beautiful couple in Seoul and playing Mario Kart like a toddler with brain damage. Everything is perfect.”

Minho grins. “That’s the dream right there. Tell me more.”

Jisung snorts and lifts his head just enough to meet Minho’s eyes. “Okay, so after the games, we laid on the air hockey table floor, because obviously that’s what you do when you’re sweaty, exhausted, and too horny to stand properly. And I just looked at them. And they weren’t perfect in that moment. They were messy, their hair was everywhere, Felix had sweat dripping down his chest and Y/N’s eyeliner was smudged from laughter. And it was like they’re not gods, they’re just people.”

Minho shrugs lazily. “Yeah. Because they are people.”

Jisung waves a hand dramatically. “No. They are deities. Okay? Divine. Transcendent. Made of glitter and stardust and the best fucking skin I’ve ever touched. But yeah, they’re human too. And that made everything better. Like, I didn’t have to be anything. I didn’t have to pretend. I could just be Jisung, chaos incarnate, and they liked it.”

Minho rests his chin on his palm, watching Jisung with something close to fondness. “So the date went well?”

“So well. The best date of my life. And an even better night.”

Minho perks up. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Nope, you get no details.”

“You asshole! I deserve details! I’ve earned porn privileges!”

“You’ll get the PG-13 version and a mental slideshow if you’re lucky.”

“I want the director’s cut with commentary!”

“Nope! No deleted scenes either!”

Minho groans and rolls on top of him like a cat, pressing his forehead into Jisung’s back. “I hope Felix left hickeys on your balls.”

“He might’ve,” 

"You’re disgusting. I love it. I love you.”

“Love you too, Min,” 

Five months into the relationship, things have settled into a rhythm. A chaotic rhythm, sure, but it’s yours. Mornings are sleepy and warm, full of tangled limbs and grumbled jokes. Evenings are spent rotating between campus classes, shared kitchen experiments, and flopping onto the Alpha Phi living room couch like a pile of affectionate, sleep-deprived puppies. And nights like tonight are for Studio Ghibli, mismatched pyjamas, and three humans pretending they understand the plot of Ponyo while two of them doze off halfway through.

Jisung is the only one paying attention to the screen, bright-eyed and emotionally invested, arms crossed as he leans forward slightly on the couch. His hair’s a little messy, and he’s in a faded yellow sweatshirt with an enormous cartoon duck on the front, paired with navy pyjama pants. On his left side, you’re curled up, your blue silk nightgown just barely covered by the thin blanket thrown over your knees. On his right, Felix is draped lazily across the cushions in loose plaid pants and a black tank top, one arm tossed over your legs and the other tucked behind his head, eyes half-lidded.

“This fish girl’s chaotic. Like she said I'm five and then started flipping physics the bird.”

Felix yawns. “Baby, she's magic, not chaotic.”

“No, she’s chaotic and magic. Like, she’s a menace. She turned the sea into a soup. Look at that wave! That wave had teeth.”

You hum softly, head tilting into Felix’s arm. “She just wants to be a girl.”

“She just almost drowned the world to do it,” Jisung says, grinning. “Honestly, I respect the hustle.”

Felix chuckles sleepily, reaching over to tug your blanket up higher on your legs. “You're missing all the good bits, Angel.”

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “It’s too soothing. The music is like a lullaby.”

“And the visuals?” Jisung adds, still staring at the screen like it’s a life lesson. “I feel like I’m being spiritually cleansed. This is how I ascend.”

You giggle, rubbing your cheek against Felix’s arm. “If you start crying again like you did during Spirited Away-”

“That was a sacred moment,” Jisung says, cutting you off with a mock-serious tone. “I will not be shamed for weeping when Haku remembered who he was.”

Felix laughs under his breath and leans over to kiss the top of your head. You tilt your chin, nudging his cheek with your nose before settling back into the pillow. Jisung’s lips quirk into a soft, content smile.

He’s warm. Not just physically, though the blanket and the two of you squishing him into the couch are definitely cosy, but emotionally. Steady. Safe. Like the world could be crashing down outside and he’d still be fine as long as you two were here with him.

Then there’s a knock at the front door and all three of you pause.

“The fuck?”

You blink a few times, groggy, but the knock comes again. Two sharp raps. You rub your eyes and push the blanket off your legs, standing carefully and padding toward the door in your white fluffy socks.

“We weren’t expecting anyone, right?”

Jisung frowns, already halfway off the couch. “Nope. If this is a surprise inspection from the RA, I swear to god-”

You reach the door and open it cautiously and then immediately lean your head back. “Lix! Ji!”

Felix’s feet are hitting the floor before you finish the sentence. Jisung’s already jogging behind him, hair bouncing, both of them rounding the corner into the hallway just as you step back from the door.

Standing there, in the porch light, holding a small bouquet of crumpled white lilies, is Juwon.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking from you to Felix, then to Jisung. “Can I talk to you two? In private?”

Felix’s brows shoot up as Jisung’s face immediately crumples into a scowl.

Felix folds his arms. “What you say to us, you can say to our boyfriend.”

Juwon’s jaw tightens. “It’s personal.”

“Yeah,” Jisung snaps, stepping forward. “So’s being manipulated, guilt-tripped, and emotionally drained, but here we are. I didn’t spend months building a healthy, emotionally stable relationship with the two of them so some insecure, manipulative, micro-dicked gaslight goblin could pretend like I don’t belong"

Felix makes a choking noise behind his hand before he holds his hands up, spreading them wide. “Jisung’s the opposite of you.”

You giggle softly, covering your mouth.

Jisung grins, eyes gleaming. “Minho calls it my monster cock.”

Juwon stares. Silent. The three of you stare back before Jisung grins and opens his mouth.  "JUWON’S BACK!”

Chan’s voice bellows from above. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

Minho appears around the corner with a slipper in one hand and murder in his eyes.

Jeongin and Seungmin skid into view from the kitchen, Hyunjin right behind them, shirtless and wild-haired like he just rolled out of a Renaissance painting. Changbin’s already armed with the legendary frying pan, the one with the dent from Juwon's face almost a year ago.

“MOVE!” 

“I GOT HIM!” Changbin shouts, raising the pan above his head like Thor’s hammer.

Juwon doesn’t even speak. He just turns and runs as six men chase him down the street. You lean against the doorframe, laughing into your hand as the chaos disappears into the distance.

Jisung kisses the top of your head, then leans over to kiss Felix’s too. “Let’s go back to watching Ponyo,” he murmurs. “Or, I watch while you two snooze while those six chase Juwon for as long as they need to.”

Felix smiles softly and threads his fingers through yours. You nod, wrapping an arm around Jisung’s waist. Together, the three of you pad back into the living room, leaving the door open just a little, just in case the guys come back needing water or bandages or to brag about a successful slap.

But for now, your couch waits. The soft buzz of the TV hums in the background. And Jisung? Jisung is exactly where he belongs.

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @puppymsworld

Proofread by the lovely @hwangjoanna (who has a Squid Game SKZ AU which you should all go and show some love)

Based off this Jilix ask but I took some creative liberties

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Any analysis of how Undertale deals with Pacifism and how it tries to guide the Player towards it has to take a deep look at Papyrus. Because Papyrus is the one character in the game who will never kill, the one actual ‘True Pacifist’ in the game’s main cast. 

I mean, the Player can be an even bigger Pacifist. Papyrus does still FIGHT, and the Player can get through an entire run without draining a single sliver of HP. But… they can also be the world’s biggest murderbastard and literally stab reality to death. 

Toriel would very much like to not kill, but she is also fully capable of doing so.

Same with Asgore, but he has a lot more actual blood on his hands. Undyne and Mettaton are both fully 100% willing to kill to accomplish their goals. Sans is non-violent in most runs because he’s too lazy and depressed to do anything, and when he is motivated into actions - it is in the form of a FIGHT to the death. Alphys… the timeline is a bit fuzzy cause both she and Mettaton love lying so much, but it seems like she did sincerely add deadly weapons to Mettaton cause killing humans would make him more 'useful' and then had second thoughts once she developed a parasocial relationship with the Human Child and THEN she and Mettaton started hatching their little play-acting plan. I think??

With Papyrus there is NONE of this ambiguity, we know for sure - no matter what timeline or what may come - The Great Papyrus will always choose MERCY.

And the interesting thing about that is on a Meta-Sense, Papyrus is a very rare example of the game giving MERCY towards the Player. 

Because the game starts out being really obtuse with the Sparing mechanic and how it works. If you want to be a Pacifist in Undertale from the get-go, you’re gonna have to work for it. You're gonna have to figure it out on your own and commit to it and believe that it's possible. It's basically a test of your own belief in non-violence and your moral integrity. Then, the RUINS end with the Toriel boss battle - in a way, that’s probably the hardest Sparing puzzle in the whole game. And it’s very very easy to accidentally kill her. (I’d almost say that’s the intention of the battle, to try to goad the Player into Resetting so they can see how the game remembers across RESETs)

And then we have Papyrus, and it’s not just that his ‘Sparing Puzzle’ is something as simple as outlasting him and letting him run out of dialogue - and it’s not just that he’s the only boss that will just give up and let you continue if you lose to him enough times. it’s also that, just as Papyrus is the only boss incapable of accidentally killing the Player - he’s also the only boss that the player is incapable of accidentally killing.

(Okay, fine, to be pedantic, there’s also Asgore)

I mean, the Player can certainly kill him if they want to - but draining Papyrus’s HP just makes him skip through his battle dialogue right to the end of it. It’s designed in such a way that, no matter what Route you're on and no matter what approach you take with Papyrus - you will always end up on this screen.

Unlike basically any other Monster in this game, including the major boss battle just before him - you can’t kill Papyrus accidently. You can't kill him without also having Sparing him as an option. The game kinda treats killing Papyrus as one of the Worst Things You Can Do because killing Papyrus will always be a deliberate, considered action done to a person who will not kill you and who has stopped wanting to FIGHT and has extended a hand of Mercy. With the game clearly communicating what you need to do to Spare him at that moment.

And that means that - even if you killed before, even if you don’t have the patience of a True Pacifist, even if you spent all this time in the game without even trying to engage with the Sparing mechanic… as long as you don’t want to be a Huge Rat Bastard, the game is basically gifting you with the very very easy option to not be. Being a Pacifist in Undertale is usually a challenge - a puzzle to be solved, a test to pass. But as long as you aren’t intentionally trying to be the Worst Person - the game is basically giving you Papyrus. 

If you accept his Mercy, you are accepting the game’s Mercy. That sort of benefit-of-the-doubt assumption that maybe all of the LOVE you might have accumulated so far was all due to honest mistakes or panic or an attempt in self-defense. That you still deserve this one chance to prove that you are not intentionally, maliciously cruel - or at least not like the Worst Person in the World. Even if you did kill before, you still deserve at least one friend.

And Sparing Papyrus leads you to his wonderful Hangout/Dating Sequence and to his Phone Calls and they all add so much wholesome charm to the Undertale experience and no matter what happens Papyrus will always think the best of the Player and he will always trust them and it also makes Sans also kinda your buddy by default. And more than just adding a little bit of wholesome charm into even the more LOVE-filled Playthroughs, I think this is meant to try and incentivize these players into trying out the Mercy mechanic a bit more.

Whatever it’s, like, for future playthroughs or Resetting the game right there to try a True Pacifist Run right there and then or just trying to be a little kinder for the rest of this current playthrough - especially since there’s an emphasis about the close friendship Papyrus has with the upcoming boss Undyne, and to a lesser extent with his idol and next-next boss battle Mettaton. It’s like “well, if you didn’t figure out how to spare before, this is how you do it? And isn’t it nice to have a friend? Isn’t it nice to not have to kill this lovable skeleton man? You should do this more often wink wink nudge nudge!”

And it’s like… all of Papyrus’ loved ones care about him so much but they also look down on his pacifism. They see his inability to kill and desire to make friends as simple naivete and that’s why all tend to hide the truth from him all the time. About what will happen to the Human he will capture, about what his new Human friend might’ve done, about the fact that they view him as so naïve. 

They admire it on some level, that’s why they want to protect it, but they also see it as a weakness which is why they want to protect it by lying to him all the time. But, you know, Undyne says that if Papyrus goes into battle he’ll be ‘ripped into little smiling shreds’ and that is certainly what happens every time a Player chooses to refuse Papyrus’ Mercy and the game’s Mercy and press that FIGHT button…

But have you thought about all the times that doesn’t happen? All the careless or violent players who were offered that skeletal hand of friendship, accepted it and then carried that offered kindness forward for the rest of the game? All the players motivated to do good for the sake of their buddy Papyrus? All the Murder Routes stopped because the player just didn’t have it in them to kill someone who believes in them so earnestly?

Like, no, it’s not a surefire thing - especially since Papyrus has so much less narrative power than the Actual Unkillable Time God that is the Player. But it happened, and it happened many many times to many players. Papyrus offered Mercy, the game offered Mercy. And much like Frisk’s Pacifism, it comes from a place of seeing the honest goodness in your ‘enemy’ and can inspire them to become a better person - this little sparkle of goodness being passed forwards. 

And I think that’s beautiful, even if it didn’t happen in every timeline. Any potential future where Papyrus’ kindness can have such an effect on the Player and thus the entire trajectory of the Underground validates his kindness and pacifism on some level - even if there are also always the potential worlds that it backfires completely. 

And there’s also one other way in which the Great Papyrus Proves Pacifism Pays. One that is a bit more practical, perhaps. And one that Papyrus himself is not even aware of. 

Papyrus’ boss battle can be a surprisingly challenging one specifically because he is the only one who doesn’t kill the Player.

Like there is a reason why Papyrus will just offer you to skip his Fight after you lose to him three times, because if he didn’t do that - there’s an honest risk that the Player can get stuck in a much stuckier way than anywhere else in the game. 

Because, like, for basically any other character in the game, being killed is the Worst Thing that could ever happen to them. For everyone except the actual Player Character because we are an Actual Unkillable Time God and dying is nothing more than a minor annoyance that sets you back to your last SAVE Point. So, leaving aside Papyrus’ admirably kind intentions - there is not much material difference from the Player’s perspective between getting Captured and getting a more traditional GAME OVER. Except…

Except getting Captured does not undo everything that happened in your inventory during the battle. In every other Undertale battle, if you use all of your items but still lose - the GAME OVER at least means you get your stuff back. But because Papyrus doesn’t kill you, any healing item you’ve used during the battle is still used. I have watched so many Undertale Let’s Players waste all of their valuable items on their first Papyrus battle and then have to face him again without them and thus do even worse in their second go… and then their third go... and thankfully then Papyrus offers them to skip the fight.

And while that technically can be circumvented by just manually closing the game and opening it back again on their pre-battle SAVE Point, a lot of players are gonna reflexively Save over it if they pop over to the Shop or the Snowed Inn before their second attempt at the battle. If Papyrus didn’t offer that chance to skip his battle, it could’ve easily become a softlock situation for a huge chunk of players - because he doesn’t kill the Player.

Most of Undertale deals with the value of non-violence from a standpoint of morality and kindness and personal connections. Since most people do die when they get killed. But when dealing with an Unkillable Time God like the Player, Papyrus proves that not-killing might actually be the most practical solution.

Of course, it doesn’t seem like Papyrus is aware of any of this. From his perspective, he is just offering genuine mercy to a being just as ephemeral as he is. But it accidentally turned into one of the most effective methods of blocking the Player’s way… at least he didn’t offer us an opt out so soon after that. 

And it’s interesting when comparing him to how his brother Sans - one of the few people actually aware of the existence of SAVEs and RESETs - deals with the Player. Because the Sans boss battle at the end of the Murder Route is entirely based on the concept that death is nothing but an annoyance to the Player. Sans is less trying to kill the Player (the way Undyne the Undying did), he is simply trying to annoy the Player into a ragequit. But he is still killing the Player.

Now imagine a Sans battle where he has all of his usual annoying tricks, but also instead of killing you - he captures you just like his brother would’ve in a happier timeline. And while it’s not a fool-proof plan to stop the Player in their tracks - he could very easily stick them in that sort of softlock situation where they have to battle him again and again without any Healing Items. Forcing them to either abandon the game or RESET the whole world back the way it was - just like Sans wants them too. 

But instead, by killing the Player, he is just allowing that perfect second-third-fourth-fifth-sixth-try where they get all of their Stuff back. And he does actually knows that. And why doesn’t he do that? (Speaking here from an in-universe character study perspective. Obviously the Doylist answer is that the game doesn’t want to Softlock you even in the most deliberately-frustrating part of the game).

Maybe, even though he intellectually knows that killing the Player will be of no help - he still does it because he wants to. Because he just wants to get back at the evil murderous monster that took his brother from him and destroyed his entire world even if he knows it’s actually ineffective. And this thirst for bloodshed is, ironically, blinding him from a new exciting way to actually practically stop that murderous bastard who is themself motivated entirely by bloodshed. 

Maybe he just can’t do something like that. Reducing an enemy to exactly one HP and then stopping is not a feat anyone else in the game is capable of pulling off - even the ones who would obviously use such a thing (like Toriel or a Player with a Pacifist intentions). Maybe it’s something that requires a lot of hard practice and discipline and carefulness, that Sans never thought to put in because he didn’t see it as a useful skill the way Papyrus did. 

Maybe that wouldn’t have worked anyways. After all, and that’s something I kinda touched on in a previous Overly Long Rambly Hot Take - Sans’ War of Attrition against the Player is greatly helped by the fact he can’t remember every single previous try and so he can’t get exhausted the way the Player can get. Obviously, without a GAME OVER induced RESET that will not apply. Which is especially notable because… Sans’ laziness is literally what brings him down at the end of that Boss Battle. 

So maybe, while Papyrus, as long as you decline his offer to skip the battle, is capable of offering just the same Battle as before over and over and over again.... It’s possible that Sans just won’t be able to pull off two or three or more battles of the same intensity and difficulty in a row without a RESET to undo his own exhaustion. 

But I think it’s at least worth considering the option, y’know? That after all this time of viewing Papyrus’ kindness as sweet-and-yet-kinda-foolish-naïveté - that exact viewpoint made Sans overlook the perfect solution to dealing with his little Murderous Time God problem. Cause he just never considered that while killing might be fully morally justifiable in this situation and very very satisfying, that does not necessarily mean it is actually the most practical solution. And that maybe, in a weirdly twisted way, Pacifism WAS the answer.  

[randomlonelymusician]

Lacey Games New Transcriptions!

Emails

Email 1 by line:

Concern over Lacey's games character

Hello parents! Today I want to bring attention to this website I found my girl watching: Lacey's girl games.

I thought it was innocent until I saw the mascots. There is

one, Jay, who acts and dresses like a boy. She also throws the

devil's sign constantly [...] which is totally inappropriate

for girls. I can't believe

they'd put a queer in child's website. I am a very concerned

mom because of that. My little Amber started telling me she wanted a skateboard. What's next, wearing those hideous boy caps? Hanging

around boys who will hurt her? Wanting to become a boy? Be careful.

Email 2 by line:

I just saw it. That is not a girl, that is a dʏke. You

character. I posted about it on Facebook.

Everyone agrees its an inappropriate character for kids. by now. It's a dʏke in a

"girls" website. We are getting all the parents to email around, hopefully

knock some sense into the developers…my girl loves this website. I hope they fix it so I can allow her to visit again.

Email 3:

I can definitely agree that a character that says "I'd only be caught dead wearing makeup" in one of her games is not a role model little girls should he having. I don't know why they couldn't just keep Lacey and the other one and get rid of the boygirl thing.. Let us know about updates on sending emails. Maybe also block it in schools until then.

Jay End Screen

Text by line:

She stepped into the empty room at the edge of the universe and

calmly walked toward the single button on the wall as she

had been told by the gods above could delete the existence of anyone

she disliked she thought long and hard of all the ugliest souls she had

ever known she made her decision and her finger met the button without any ceremony

but looking down at her feet it was all red with blood she stood in shock the blood tainted her very being she had thought deletion

to be clean and to start without realizing that death is the only deletion

that exists and there is no death without painful unrelenting grief

and grief stared at her through mirrors forever, from the eyes of

all she has ever thought to delete it was a world catastrophe

___________________________________________________________

Please add to these! This is just a start based on what I can make out!

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I feel like House would want to be at every pre-natal appointment. He wants to make sure you and the baby are all taken care of. Now, when you have a sonogram and the doctor finds not one baby heartbeat but two? Please give him a moment to be slack jawed.

A/n: Ahhhh I loove all this dad!House asks

It was one of those rare mornings where the sun was shining brightly through the windows of their apartment, casting a soft glow on the furniture as House adjusted his coat, trying not to look too impatient. He wasn’t exactly the picture of excitement about these pre-natal appointments, but he was there—every single one. He’d started attending every visit, without fail, whether it was for a simple check-up or for the dreaded blood tests. And it wasn’t just for you—he didn’t want to miss a single moment of what was happening with the baby.

You had been all smiles on their way to the clinic, and even though House could see the subtle exhaustion in your eyes—morning sickness, hormones, and everything else weighing heavily on you—you seemed genuinely excited. Maybe it was the change of scenery or the distraction from everything else, but your enthusiasm was infectious.

They entered the ultrasound room, and as usual, the technician guided you to the examination table and draped a cloth over your stomach. House stood beside you, his arms crossed, trying to act nonchalant, but internally, he was a tangle of nerves. He hadn’t really talked about it, but he’d been worried. About the pregnancy, about the baby, about everything—and he hated that he couldn’t fix everything for you. He hated feeling like he was standing on the sidelines. He didn't want to screw this up, doubts swirling in his mind.

You squeezed his hand as the technician applied the cold gel to your stomach a shiver rushing up your spine, and he was immediately reminded of how much he cared for you. That protective instinct had only grown as the weeks had passed. He kept his gaze firmly on you, trying to keep his mind focused as the technician set up the machine.

“Alright, here we go,” the technician said cheerfully, positioning the wand on your stomach and beginning to move it around.

The screen in front of you both flickered to life, the usual black and white images appearing in a chaotic swirl of shapes and shadows. House couldn’t decipher it all, but he didn’t have to. He knew enough to understand the images of the baby’s developing form.

The technician said nothing at first, just moved the wand a little more, adjusting the angle, and House leaned forward slightly, watching the screen intently. He was still adjusting to this whole “fatherhood” thing, but seeing his baby on the screen was real—the little flicker of a heartbeat, the tiny, fluid movements, all starting to make it seem less like an abstract concept and more like his child.

Finally, the technician paused, her hand hovering over the controls as she studied the screen turning to you both with a smile.

“Well, looks like we’ve got a surprise here.”

House’s brow furrowed, and he glanced between the technician and the screen. He didn’t like the sound of that. Was something wrong? His stomach tightened, and the sudden concern was palpable.The thought of anything being wrong with you made him ill.

The technician glanced at him, then back to the screen, her voice upbeat. “Let me adjust this a bit.”

You looked at him, your brow raised, as the technician moved the wand again a shiver rushed down your spine still not used to the cold jell, this time with a little more deliberation. House swallowed hard, trying to focus. He was pretty sure his heart was beating a little faster now.

And then, it happened.

The sound—a soft, rapid thump-thump, thump-thump—came through the speakers, a steady beat, unmistakable. But then there was another beat, just as loud, just as strong, following the first one.

Two heartbeats.

House’s jaw went slack. His body froze, his mind scrambling for what that could mean. His eyes darted from the screen to the technician and then to you. His heart skipped a beat, the sudden wave of shock and realization hitting him harder than anything else.

Two heartbeats.

The technician looked at him, your expression warm. “Looks like you’re going to be a father twice over. Congratulations—twins.”

Hearing the news, your expression held a mix of disbelief and joy.

He couldn’t say anything. He was just… there. Two heartbeats. His brain was trying to catch up, but it wasn’t happening fast enough.

He stared at the screen, blinking a few times, before turning back to you. You were looking at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, and he could see the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. House wondered if your heart was racing as much as his.

His mouth was dry. He opened it, but no words came out. He tried again, but all he could manage was a weak, breathless “Twins?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes never leaving him. “Looks like it.” A small smile slowly formed on your lips

House looked at the screen again, then back at you, his mind still reeling. Twins.

His heart was racing now, though not from panic. For the first time, it was just a rush of pure emotion—this overwhelming realization of how much he cared, how much he wanted this, wanted them, no matter how crazy it all was.

And then, without thinking, he turned to you and blurted out, “I can’t even put together a crib for one. How the hell am I supposed to do two?” God he already knew how that mess would go.

You laughed, your hand finding his again giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Guess we’ll figure it out together.”

The tension in his chest eased, but his hands were still trembling, his mind spinning with the news. Twins. Two little lives, growing inside of you. A future a future with you, with his children, a future that was going to change in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

He was going to be a father. And now, more than ever, he realized that he didn’t just want this. He needed this.

He could feel the tears forming in his eyes the man swearing it was just dust but holding the sonogram picture in his hands made it all to real

And he couldn’t wait to meet them.

[little-one-eyed-monsters]

Film fact (from a media nerd) part 2- Why actors like Top Form's Johnny fall in love with their co-stars on set

Part 1 here.

Method Acting is deemed by many experts (including the Screen Actors Guild of America) as the most prestigious and difficult acting technique in the profession. It takes years to master, and just as long to shake the after-effects off. Those who perfect the craft enjoy a long and decorated career, but they usually undergo intense mentorship and training for this technique.

We see this in Top Form's main character, Akin. The moment we were introduced to him, we learn that Akin is not just famous; he's a prestige actor. Prestige actors are highly respected for their artistic integrity, and are recognized for their extensive acting portfolio. Akin is classically-trained in the Alba Acting Method by his grandmother (herself a beloved, multi-awarded theater actress), and was working as a child actor long before he received his first breakout role as a full fledged star. Prior to the arrival of his professional rival Jin (and Johnny, in some capacity), Akin had a decade-long foothold in the industry. But best of all, Akin is experienced enough to separate whatever he's feeling from his characters' projections. We see that he still acts wonderfully on stage even though he's going through a breakup with Jin, and can establish onscreen chemistry with anyone, even people who irritate him.

So, what happens when a rookie attempts to do Method Acting without proper training and mentorship? Well, they suffer the after-effects of the technique: sham emotions.

They become a Johnny.

An assaulter? A rapist? A manipulative tool? In this context, no. Just a bad actor.

In the industry, sham emotions go by many names, but they usually pertain to a similar phenomenon. These refer to unexpected by-products of a characters' thoughts and emotions, that some actors mistake as their own. You see, some kinds of method acting demand so much emotional imbibing that actors even forget their own personality and behavior, and mistakenly believe that they are the same as their character.

We see this from Jin in Ep 1, who, after being given a crash course on the Alba Method by Akin so he can cry on camera, imbibed too hard and developed a sham emotion: arousal (see part 1). This in turn, developed into obssession, and finally, actual attraction.

But what about Johnny? He never received Akin's crash course, just his criticism. Why is he attracted to Akin?

(Well, aside from the fact that Akin, and actual Thai actor Boom Raweewit, is drop-dead gorgeous, a genuine talent, and a wonderful human being).

It's quite obvious in the series that Johnny practices a different acting technique from both Akin and Jin. He's trying (and failing) to execute the most EXTREME kind of Method Acting: Dissociation

Dissociation refers to an acting method where the actor completely empties himself of all personal thoughts, personality and emotions, in order to become the literal embodiment of their character. They do not "break character" even when the director yells cut at the end of the day-- they will continue to be their character for the whole duration of the project.

Ideally, Dissociation ends once the project is finished and the actor moves on to another character. The actors who do this often win awards for such convincing performances, BUT they usually have a hard time distancing themselves because of the physical and psychological impact of their transformation. They develop weird quirks, or find it difficult to move on from emotional scenes like crying or confrontations.

Famous Hollywood actors who practice Dissociation (based on interviews):

Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Lady Gaga, Meryll Streep

Oh Lord, here's where it gets dicey- Famous Thai BL actors who practice Dissociation (based on how they personally describe their performance, and some bts):

Mew Suppasit and Gulf Kanawut

Boss Chaikamon and Noeul Nuttarat

For this, I absolutely blame Mame Orawan and her team. They're demanding that these actors disappear so much into these characters that both Mew and Boss are seen in behind-the-scenes videos unable to stop crying after they end an emotional scene. Mew had to be comforted by at least five Tharntype cast members in order to calm down. Gulf adapted his character Type's mannerisms so much that he admitted in a radio interview that it took him two months to return to his normal speaking voice. And Noeul admitted in a LITA bts interview that he once forgot they were filming an NC mid-scene, with how much improvisation he and Boss were doing on set. These are all signs of unsafe work environments.

Also, take note that sham emotions aren't just manufactured in actors, they can be elicited from the audience, too, if Dissociation is highly effective.

Anyway,

Johnny, Johnny, why Akin?

Johnny practices Dissociation every time he sleeps with his producers. He sheds all of his personal thoughts and emotions in order to adapt to the role of obedient sexpot. In the stage play, he uses exaggerations in his portrayal of Monte-- a scrunched facial expression, a lower-register voice, an overenunciated accent, slower, bigger movements-- anything to remove Johnny and replace it with Monte.

Akin's Alba Method is the DIRECT OPPOSITE of Dissociation. It removes the character altogether, and focuses on natural human reactions based on movement. Akin doesn't pander to Johnny's emotional (stunted) smirking-- instead, he focuses on eliciting a visible reaction from Johnny, that may not be related to his character at all.

Remember the first time they met?

Akin during the practice swordfight is not channeling his character's emotions. His character, in the script, is supposed to be enraged, and Akin here is personally annoyed. But instead of channeling either emotions through facial expressions or words, he moves instead. He challenges Johnny by tossing him the prop, then lets the natural adrenaline of the fight build his anger. In the end, he actually encouraged scene partner Johnny to be mad, too.

Just like Jin, Akin Alba'd Johnny into another sham emotion: anger.

But for Johnny, this was the first time someone actually removed him from his Dissociation. Someone elicited an emotion from him that felt natural. He was annoyed and cocky when he came in. At the end, he was angry.

And much like how crying mimics arousal, in the Alba Method's emoting chart, anger mimics sexual tension.

(The difference in the chart is that arousal is slow-building. Sexual tension is sudden. This would explain why Jin wanted to woo Akin, while Johnny wanted to have sex with him immediately).

Additionally, dissociation practitioners in HOLLYWOOD often find themselves vulnerable to sham emotions. The five I mentioned up there went on to couple up with or marry (multiple) people who were present in their films--costars, producers, directors, etc. Notoriously, these relationships do not last because again, they are shells for their characters. The moment they FEEL that someone is making them experience a human emotion outside of their character, they get attached. But do these last? No, because they are sham emotions.

Johnny's attraction for Akin is a sham because he's so dissociated, he can't determine what's real and what isn't. All he has is his reaction to Akin, and Akin makes him feel something different. In another universe, one without a Jin and one where Johnny is a decent human being, maybe he would've been able to pursue Akin. But just like Brad and Angelina' marriage, or any of Johnny Depp's five co-star girlfriends, I doubt it would have lasted very long.

Disclaimer: I am not implying that MewGulf or BossNoeul are ACTUAL COUPLES. I believe the opposite-- you can check my dash for previous posts on the matter. I respect all of their past, present, and future significant others. I mentioned them as examples-- please don't come after me stans.

Trust Johnny to give me a hard time analyzing his trash character. This was so long and I apologize. Stay kooky, folks.

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons Part 2

I had a blast writing part 1, so here's some more headcanons of reader progressing through their pregnancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He doesn't have a pregnancy kink per say, but... seeing you pregnant with his child does things to him that he can't even begin to put into words. He's always found you beyond gorgeous, of course, it's just that now it borders on literal worship. Said worship will be expressed quite physically on a daily basis; he'll slide his hands over your middle, leave trails of kisses up and down your body, and catch himself staring multiple times even before the two of you get out of bed each morning. He can't even really believe that you've somehow managed to get more beautiful, but he'll consistently try to describe the depths of his devotion in song, gifts, and countless hours spent adoring your presence.

- He'll want to start preparing for all baby related events as soon as possible, in part because the arrival of another heir is going to be quite the occasion, but he also just wants everything to go perfectly. The official announcement will come with multiple days of celebration across Hell, including a massive party in the castle itself, and each event that follows will somehow manage to top the last. You'll get enough gifts to fill up multiple rooms, and so many cards with well wishes you could fill up an entire library, but Lucifer expects nothing less. Every ounce of his considerable power is dedicated to making sure you get the best of everything. This dedication also applies to the little things the two of you do together, like decorating the baby's room. He'll insist on hand crafting the furniture, the toys, and every decoration with you directing at his side, and he'll use the most magical materials at his disposal. Hand painting the walls with stardust is not out of the question.

- Things have changed a lot since Charlie was born, and he was previously unaware of the many technological advancements now available for expecting couples, specifically ultrasounds. He's amazed and wants to attend every appointment even more at the prospect of actually seeing your child before they're born. Of course, upon beholding the lopsided blob on the screen for your first check up, he's far more overwhelmed than he could have ever imagined. He can see little hooves and everything! The doctor doesn't quite know what to make of the King near to weeping at the sight of a being no larger than a peanut, but you take it all in stride. Once he finds out that pictures can be taken of the scans, he requests as many as he can carry, and his pockets are bursting with photos of Charlie and her not-yet-born sibling. He'll show them to everyone that does and doesn't ask.

- While he can be overly protective and his efforts to provide for you are more akin to spoiling, he's not at all without cause in doing so; carrying a child of Lucifer is no easy task. As your body becomes the epicenter for a developing power beyond imagination, you'll need him by your side with increasing frequency, especially once the baby's uncontrolled magic starts surging and affecting your reality. You'll be unharmed, but it's still quite nice to have Archangel level powers around to get things back to normal once you start inexplicably walking up the walls, speaking in dead languages or levitating random items with a glance. He takes it all in stride with humorous stories about how Charlie did the same before her arrival, though your cravings for increasingly esoteric rare foods do have him apologizing for the inconveniences of angelic biology, as even he needs a few days to acquire the rarer items your body demands.

- As delighted as he is to have another child, he can't help but be haunted by doubts of all he's done wrong as a father so far. No matter how much of it was out of his control, he fears everything that went wrong will happen again, and that he might just be gaining a second child to fail. It's only through your loving reassurance that he retains some faith in himself, and dares to believe he'll be a halfway decent dad to two children.

[nilsavatar]

DAY 23 BITING - Part 5

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!human

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

Genre/Warnings: fluff, ANGST, introspective, delicate themes (hibrid pregnacy, political and ideals conflict). All characters are AGED-UP. This the sequel of the @layla2-49 request used to fullfil the promp day 23 of lunakinktober 2023

Summary: Following the unexpected pairing that occurred at the Tree of Souls, after connecting as only two Na'vi normally could, Celeste and Neteyam entertain a clandestine relationship. Several times they have discussed coming out, but the girl is too prey to her insecurities as a human to do so. It is Eywa who will decide for both of them with a disconcerting revelation: they have conceived a hybrid child.

Word Count: 3,2k

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Celeste sat on the edge of the medical cot, gripping the fabric of her shirt with shaking fingers. The weight of Neteyam’s words still hung in the air.

“You’re not human anymore.”

She wished to deny it, to cling to what she knew, but how could she? Every breath she took in Pandora’s air without choking, every whisper of life she felt moving under her skin, alien sensation coursing through her veins, told her the same truth. The child was manipulating her systems to an extent never before observed, just as a hybrid pregnancy had never been seen in the past. And no one knew when it would stop—if it would stop. Max and Norm had thrown themselves into research, but their finding only led to more questions.

“Her DNA is restructuring at a cellular level,” Norm explained, swiping through the scans on the holo-screen. “Her skeletal structure is shifting. Her respiratory system has already adapted, and now…” he hesitated, looking over at her. Max sighed. “Your nervous system is being reconfigured. That queue forming at the base of your skull? It’s not cosmetic. Your body is developing a neural interface like the Na’vi.” Celeste swallowed hard, reaching back to touch it. It was still small, hidden beneath her thickening hair, but she could feel it now. A living part of her that shouldn’t be there.

Jake, who had been pacing silently, stopped short. “Are you saying she’ll be able to connect to Eywa?” His voice was gruff, skeptical, fearful. His friends exchanged a glance before turning back to the girl. “We don’t know yet, but it’s a possibility.” Netyam, seated quietly by her side until now, finally spoke. “And the baby?” His voice was even, but his fingers curled into fists on his lap. “The baby… is accelerating it.” Their breath caught. “The hybrid nature of the fetus is actively rewriting Cel's biology to accommodate it,” Max continued, voice full of scientific accuracy marred by paternal concern, looking now at her. “This phenomenon occurs in all pregnancies and is known as microchimerism. If refers to the transfer of cells between mother and child through the placenta. Even in normal pregnancies, it is a little-known occurrence, but in your case, the influence of fetal-origin chimeric cells exceeds typical limits.”

Neytiri had remained silent the entire time, standing still beside her son. One hand gripped his shoulder, drawing comforting concentric patterns on his deltoid, while her golden eyes remained severe. But now, she stepped forward and crossed her arms. “You mean to say the child is forcing this change?” Norm grmaced. “It’s not forcing—. Something in the child’s DNA knows she wouldn’t survive carrying it in a purely human body.”

Celeste flinched at Norm's words, her heart pounding violently, Neteyam tensed next to her. Would she still be herself when this was over? Would she recognize her own face, her own mind? Or would she become something entirely different, something that neither human nor Na’vi would truly accept? The thought was terrifying.

Jake cast a warning look at his wife as if to caution her from speaking her mind. Neytiri’s expression didn’t soften, but she said nothing more. Then his eyes drifted back to his daughter-in-law, the way her skin was shimmering gently in the lit obscurity of the lab, how her body was progressively adapting. The tswin shaping at her nape had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. If her form was mutating so drastically, what would that mean for the child? And for her?

He had spoken with Neytiri in private, hoping for some measure of reassurance, but he had found her just as torn. “We don’t know what this means,” she had said, her voice quiet but heavy. “And that’s what scares me the most,” he had admitted. He wasn’t just worried about the girl. He was worried about what her transformation would mean for the clan. If Eywa was manipulating her DNA through the fetus, then why? What future was she shaping?

And what if it wasn’t meant to last? What if Cel was being remade to bring this child into the world, only to lose her in the process? That thought kept him awake more nights than he could count. He knew what would happen if the worst-case scenario occurred. He knew all too well the emptiness of losing someone dear to you. He had experienced it more times than he would have wished for even his worst enemy. He had lost friends, comrades, his brother. He had almost lost his son. Immediately, his mind went to him. What would become of Neteyam if he lost her? He would never be the same; even now he did not recognize him, worn down by anguish.

What about Spider? Celeste was his home, his comfort in a world that did not belong to him. They were twins, just like Jake and Tommy, they had lived everything together. But just as had happened to the Sully twins, at some point their paths had inexorably split, taking them on two distant paths. Only in appearance. Just as Jake's destiny had led him to overlap with his brother's, so Spider was to come alongside in support of his sister's. Besides fear, how must he have felt in passively witnessing her metamorphosis, who day by day seemed to become closer and closer to a Na'vi than a human? That he just could not imagine.

Jake needed answers. And he feared they were coming faster than anyone was ready for. The latest tests confirmed her transformation wasn’t stopping. Max and Norm had gone over the results a dozen times, looking for any sign that this was something temporary. Something they could explain. But there was no precedent for this. Her DNA was shifting, human markers were fading at an alarming rate, replaced by something that straddled the line between Na’vi and… something else new.

Her complexion had taken a weak lavender undertone, barely visible in bright daylight but unmistakable at twilight and dawn, when the light was less vibrant and strong. Her nails sharpened slightly, and finally, she no longer needed food like humans did. Her frame craved raw energy—sunlight, the forest, the pulse of Eywa herself. The longer she stayed indoors, in the compound, away from the living nature, the more drained she felt. It was tiring. Suffocating.

It happened a week later. Celeste had insisted on stepping outside the lab. She couldn’t take it anymore of the white walls, the observation screens, the constant monitoring. The moment her mate stepped inside, one look was all he needed. “You have to be outside,” he said, even if his voice was laced with reluctance. She nodded, but Spider got anxious, looking between them and then back at Max. “Is it safe?” The doctor let out a sigh, rubbing his jaw. “Safe? No idea. But keeping her locked in here isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making things worse.” Jake exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. When Celeste met his gaze, something in her expression softened him. Damn, he thought, he always had a weak spot for her, like with Kiri and Tuk, his baby girls. He was definitely a girl’s daddy, unfortunately for himself. “Okay.”

She didn’t wait. The moment her bare feet touched the ground, she felt it. A wave of energy surged up through her legs, into her spine, as if the very land beneath her had been waiting for her return. The air hit her lungs with a rush of clarity, sharper, richer than anything she had ever felt. Her skin prickled, the glowing freckles responding to the pulse of the world around them. The jungle came alive around her, as if the planet was welcoming her back.

And then the pain started.

Celeste staggered, gripping Neteyam’s arm as a sharp, searing heat spread up her spine. “Cel?” His voice was urgent, his grip steady, but she could barely hear him. The world around her blurred, the sounds of the forest amplifying to an unbearable degree. She gasped, collapsed to her knees as white-hot agony lanced through her head. Neteyam was shouting, dropping beside her, hands gripping her shoulders for stability, Kiri and Lo’ak rushing forward, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the sensation of something unfurling from her body. An intense, searing pain lanced through her skull, as the base of her neck split open, releasing the long, trendily-like strands that had been growing beneath her nape.

Something ripped through the base of her head. Her queue. A fully formed, living, breathing kuru.

She reached up instinctively, fingers trembling as they touched, yet Celeste wasn’t afraid. Because as her kuru writhed in the air, reaching, searching, she perceived something. Vast, alive, profound, and endless, welcoming her like a mother greeting a lost child. Her breath hitched.

She could feel Eywa as more than just a presence—she felt her in her bones. The connection was instantaneous. Overwhelming. She sobbed, hands gripping the earth, shaking as the energy of the world itself surged through her. Neteyam was there, arms wrapping around her, his forehead pressing against hers. “Ma muntxate,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. She had no words. Because deep down, she knew. She had crossed a threshold that could never be undone.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora, yet all Celeste could feel was the fire coursing through her veins. Her body still trembled, her breath shallow as the tendrils of her queue twitched against her back, newly formed and sensitive to every shift in the air. It was a weird, indescribable sensation.

Everyone had fallen silent, staring at her in a mixture of awe and fear. Neteyam hadn’t moved from her side. His hands still cradled her face, his golden eyes flickering between wonder and worry. “Yawne…” His voice was hushed, reverent, like he was afraid to break whatever spell had just woven itself around her.

But Jake… Jake was rigid. He stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw said everything. He wasn’t just shocked. He was afraid. Celeste forced herself to take a breath, focusing on the way nature seemed different now. The hum of Eywa’s presence was louder, a song thrumming beneath her skin. Every leaf, every creature, every pulse of life—it all resonated with her in a way that was impossible to describe.

She was no longer just aware of Pandora. She was part of it.

“We need to get her back inside,” the olo'eyktan finally said, voice tight. His son's grip on her tightened. “Keeping her locked away won’t change anything.” The man’s eyes snapped to his firstborn. “You don’t know that.” “And you do?” Kiri’s voice cut through the sky, sharp and defensive. She had been kneeling beside his best friend, her hands hovering near her shoulder as if wanting to touch but not daring to. “Eywa is doing this. Can’t you feel it?”

Their father let out a breath, his gaze shifting to Norm in his avatar form, looking for confirmation. But he remained silent, her piercing amber eyes fixed on his adoptive niece as if studying something sacred—and terrifying.

Celeste swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their uncertainty pressing down on her. “I don’t think this will stop,” she whispered. “It’s not just the queue. My body is still… shifting.” She flexed her fingers, watching the faint bioluminescence swirl beneath her skin. Jake shook his head, muttering under his breath before turning once again to Norm. “Is this even possible?” The scientist exhaled, rubbing a hand over his neck. “Scientifically? No. But nothing about Pandora works by human rules.”

A heavy silence settled between them. It was Kiri who finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. “Eywa has chosen her path. Whether we understand it or not… it is already set.” Celeste shuddered. She knew, deep in her bones, that she was right. There was no going back. And the question that loomed over all of them now was—

What was she becoming?

That night, Celeste sat at the edge of the outpost, her arms wrapped around her knees, watching the forest shift under the soft bioluminescent glow of Pandora. The air hummed around her, every leaf and creature alive in ways she had never perceived before.

Before. That word felt heavier now, like a distant memory of a life that no longer fit her. Her queue rested against her shoulder, its presence both foreign and natural. Every so often, the tendrils twitched, reacting to unseen energies in the air. It should have terrified her. Instead, it felt right.

Footsteps approached, and she didn’t need to turn to know it was Neteyam. She could feel him now, sense him in a way that had nothing to do with sight or sound. “You should be resting,” he murmured, lowering himself beside her. She let out a quiet laugh. “How do you rest when your whole body is rewriting itself?” Her lover didn’t answer right away. He watched her, his honey eyes reflecting the soft blur of the forest. “Does it hurt?”

She thought about it. Physically, no. The initial transformation had been painful, but now it was something else—like her body was stretching into something it was always meant to be. “No,” she admitted. “It’s just… overwhelming. Everything feels so different, so new.”

Neteyam reached out, hesitating before brushing his fingers over her forearm. The contact sent a shiver up her spine, not just from the touch itself, but from the way she could feel him—his presence, his emotions, even the warmth of his spirit, like he was somehow connected to her beyond just flesh.

His expression softened. “I don’t care what you become, do you know that, right? You are still you. You are still my mate.” A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to believe that. But was she really still the same person? Before she could answer, rustling from behind made them both tense.

Jake.

He stepped forward, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between them before settling on her. His expression was unreadable, but she could sense the conflict inside him. “We need to talk,” he said. Neteyam stiffened beside her. “Dad—” “Alone.” Celeste placed a hand on Neteyam’s, silently reassuring him before nodding. “It’s okay.” Reluctantly, he squeezed her fingers before standing and stepping back into the shadows of the outpost, leaving her alone with Jake. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The man exhaled, hardly, embarrassed, almost, before sitting down beside her. He didn’t look at her at first, just stared into the lively jungle. Night had fallen deep and heavy across the forest, wrapping the world in a silken hush. The trees shimmered faintly with bioluminescent moss, the air thick with the sounds of life breathing in unison. But its beauty faded as he looked at her, his jaw tight.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you,” he finally said. She swallowed. “I know.” “You don’t understand.” He turned to her, eyes dark with something raw. “I’ve seen people change because of this planet. I know what it means when Eywa chooses someone. It’s not just about you anymore. It’s about the future. And the future…” He trailed off, inhaling sharply. “I don’t know what looks like anymore.” Her chest ached. “I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

He rubbed his hands together. Jake hadn’t felt this lost in a long time. He had fought wars, led people, faced the impossible—but this? This was beyond impossible. He wasn’t in front of an enemy right now; Celeste wasn’t just another battle to strategize around. She was family.

He had taken her in when she was just a kid, guided her, protected her, loved her like she was his own. And he was forced to watch her change into something he didn’t comprehend—something he wasn’t so sure he could understand. He wasn’t sure if she even needed him anymore. He couldn’t accept that, no father can. Cel and Neteyam had each other now, but in his eyes, they would always be children. His children.

The girl sat beside him, quiet but steady, her bright veins barely visible under the starlight. He looked at her tswin, how it rested against her skin like it had always been there. It made his stomach twist. She looked Na’vi, but she also didn’t. She looked still human, but she wasn’t anymore. Now something in between, a being Eywa had shaped with her own hands.

Celeste hesitated, then reached up, touching her queue, sensing his intense stare glaring at it. She didn’t feel in danger, at the same time, she felt the urge to shield her most vulnerable part of her body. The tendrils reacted instinctively, perceiving the tension in the air. Jake studied her, his eyes searching for something—doubt, fear, anything that told him she wasn’t so prone about this. But she was. She knew this was happening for a reason.

“Jake,” the girl pronounced softly, breaking the silence. “I know this scares you.” His jaw tightened, “‘m not scared—” “Yes, you are.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “And I get it. But I’m still me. I’m still your daughter.”

Something inside him cracked. He turned to her then, really looked at her—not as a mystery to solve or a threat to predict, but as the girl he had raised. The girl who used to stumble over her own feet trying to keep up with Lo’ak and Spider. The girl who had sat with him at the edge of the forest, asking questions about flying, about war, about the world she had grown up in but never truly belonged to. Finally, he sighed. “Kid…” his voice came out rough.

Celeste reached for his hand, and when her fingers curled around his, he almost pulled back—not because he didn’t want the touch, but because for the first time, he could feel something else beneath her skin. A pulse. A hum. The same thing he felt when he connected to the Tree of Souls.

It was her. Eywa was inside her, woven into her frame, her spirit.

Jake swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to protect you from this,” he admitted, voice low. “I don’t know what this means for you, for Neteyam, the clan. For any of us. This doesn’t just change you. It changes everything.” Celeste’s fingers tightened around his. “I don’t either.” She looked down, taking a breath before meeting his gaze again. “But I know I don’t want to do this without you.”

The man let out a shaky breath, rubbing his free hand over his thigh. It would be easier if she were just changing. If she were becoming Na’vi, like he had when he left his human body behind. That, at least, he could get.

But this? This was something Eywa herself had allowed—maybe even designed.

Celeste wasn’t just shifting from one thing to another, and Jake had no idea what that meant. But as he looked at her, at the fierce determination in her eyes, at the way she still held his hand like she had when she was younger, when she still trusted him to lead her—

He knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t letting go. “You’ll always have me, baby girl,” he said, voice thick. Celeste’s breath hitched, her eyes shining—not just with the eerie halo of her transformation, but with something far more human. And for now, that was enough.

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