#compared to the Organization's... organization

[rawme-price]

Soulmate scars au with ghost who endures torture and war vs civilian reader???

Ghost didnt like to think about his soulmate. At all. For the longest time he thought he didnt have one, a desolate creature destined to be alone. He couldn't fathom the idea of someone's soul being entwined with his own, not after all the abuse hes suffered. First under his old man and now under the hands of war.

In fact, he completely forgot about his soulmate until he suffered a pretty bad injury. Two bullets to the abdomen, an anxiety inducing surgery for his team, and the all clear from the doctors left ghost in his medical room. The private area was an improvement from others hes stayed in, but hes still uncomfortable in the hospital gown and scratchy sheets. Awake in the middle of the night because all the doctors want to give him is mild ibuprofen (for reasons idk im not a doctor).

Pain twists and stabs at his stomach, so bad he almost doesnt notice another stab of pain. This one on his arm, the type of pain he recognizes instantly. Dread curling in his stomach, ghost turns his wrist upwards and nearly throws up. There, in flowering deep violet lines, are his soulmates wounds. Short and long horizontal lines, organized in a neat parallel row.

Hes not stupid. He knows what they are. Ghost actually does become sick, stumbling to the bathroom only to lay with his head pressed against the tile for a long time. He stays there, staring at the violet marks that will soon fade to lavender until kyle finds him.

The sargeant swears, and fast as ghost is to clamp a hand over his wrist, he isnt fast enough. Gently, slowly, kyle kneels down and peels the hand away, his lips purse and his eyes water.

Ghost blinks for a second and opens his eyes back in the hospital bed. Sun shines through the window, well into midday. When he focuses, he can hear his teammates muffled voices outside his door.

"Captain, he has a right to know-"

"No one's stopping him. Simon can put the pieces together himself."

"So what, we just sit on the information? Wait for him to realize and end up like- like *that* again?"

"Im with kyle on this one-"

The voices fall silent when ghost slowly opens the door. He looks like a mess, eyes red and lips chapped. "I should know what?" He asks, hand clamped over his wrist without realizing.

"Its not something youre ready-" Price begins, voice firm, but kyle cuts in.

"your scars are morse code."

Ghosts eyes widen, breath hitching, how- he looks down at his wrist and slowly removes his hand. It takes a moment for his sluggish mind to work over. But when hes does, simon makes a wounded sound. He closes the door, locks it, and just stares. Stares at the marks as water spills over his lashes, knees buckling when he takes a step. The violet marks, series of long and short cuts, a message for him from his soulmate. The only scar ever taken, compared to all the horrible scars hes handed out.

"I love you" carved by his soulmates hand.

[yuzukatanki]

"Look at me tonight, not as a man, but as your husband." || Caleb x Reader || 18+

tags: Lots of fluff with smut, oral (f!recieving), fingering, overstimulation

Attention: this is NOT "canon" to the recent card and its storyline, just also wedding-inspired, lest someone becomes confused. Also not canon to the game's storyline either, so don't tell me how this fic wouldn't be possible lol. Also, this got super long.

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Caleb can not wait to get his hands on you. His eyes have been glued to you all day. Sure, there really is nowhere else he should or even could be looking as your future husband (and just thinking that gets him feeling both fuzzy and heart-stoppingly terrified). But... It's the sight of you in the prettiest white dress he's ever seen, and his heart refuses to calm down. The stupid organ's so active it could win a gymnastics medal. Caleb knows you're beautiful. He whispers that to himself when nightmares wake him, and the sight of you breathing softly next to him calms the panic. He knows this every time he marvels at the fact that you're here, with him. He thinks of it every time he sees you in the sunlight, in his clothes, in his arms. But today? It's as if you've become so beautiful he can't even compare you to anything human; you look like an angel. An angel, that's smiling today... Because she's going to marry him. Fuck, it's like you're glowing.

And you're his. His pipsqueak. His darling. His... His soon-to-be Wife.

From when you first shoo'ed him away to get ready earlier in the day, to when you let him see the dress, Caleb's heart is so overworked he's surprised he didn't faint when he first saw you in white. From nerves to just such an overwhelming surge of love, the poor organ is working overtime in there. And you... God, you sweet, silly girl, you just had to pull Caleb down a little, take advantage of how stunned he is to whisper so sweetly in his ear.

You've both said "I love you" so, so many times to each other. You've even said worse. Fuck, you're getting married today. But as you shyly whisper it in his ear, in that dress, Caleb is sure that it's done. His heart has stopped. He's going to die on his wedding day, from pure adoration and love. Yet he's got to revive himself. What kind of man would he be to leave you a widow after he worked so hard to make you his wife? And as you pull away, a shy smile on your face, he can't help but bring you back and press a kiss to your cheek. He whispers in his teasing tone, though it seems warmer right now, almost a little choked from emotions.

"You're looking so beautiful, you sure you wanna marry me, pipsqueak?" Of course, when he tries to ruffle your hair alongside his words, Caleb is promptly kicked out by your bridesmaids, scolded all the while for even daring to "mess up" the style they worked so hard on. And once he's out, the very few guests you've invited descend upon him with congratulations and bad marriage advice.

The day continues on, Caleb honestly can't remember anything before or after he sees you walking down the aisle. All conversations, even fears and nerves, are just pushed out of his brain, and he won't be surprised to later find a picture that has him with his eyes wide and mouth slack. Because God. Fuck. Did he tell you you're beautiful? Is there another word? "Beautiful" does not seem enough to describe you right now. And he swears he didn't cry, but you distinctly remember looking up, and if there were no guests around, you would've giggled.

Because there stands the mighty Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, the man shrouded in quite a bit of mystery and fear, the one who you would always want by your side to face the strongest of wanderers... With tears in his eyes, and they're oh so close to falling. And sure, you swear you didn't cry either, but soon, you and Caleb will come to a truce to say that neither of you did (though everyone knows the truth). You both get through your vows with voices that shake just a lil, and some sniffles you refuse to acknowledge. You kiss, chaste and sweet and after let the drinks flow, all with Caleb's hand on your waist, and his gaze pinned on you. The sounds of your now drunk guests cheering, the music, you don't really hear much of it, and before you know it, the day's passed. Somehow, it's all winded down, and you're not really sure when you guys left the venue and stumbled back to Caleb's Skyhaven home.

Is it the drinks? Is that why you're both giggling like little kids? Or is the giddiness and excitement because you've done it? You're married. Husband and Wife. Drunkenly dancing into the halls of your home, laughing over everything and nothing. Pulling each other closer, still as lovers, but now with a promise between you as you reach the bedroom.

Both of you are still giggling, like teens on their first date, as Caleb presses kisses to the nape of your neck as he undoes the zippers, ties and laces of your dress. As you pull off your jewelry and step out of the dress so Caleb can gently try his best to put it somewhere safe, both you and he are flushed. Have you stopped smiling even once today? You're not sure, but you forget the question as you step closer to Caleb, now working on unbuttoning his suit. Your lipstick leaves kiss marks all over his neck, as your fingers tug the shirt open, and maybe in the morning, you'll cringe at the stains on his collar. But Caleb will smile proudly and try to find a dry-cleaners that can clean the suit without removing the lipstick, much to your chagrin.

Caleb's hands also work on unclasping your bra, his own lips pressing on your forehead, your temples and your hair. It's only when you're both done stripping that you still for a second, Caleb with his face buried in your hair, and you in his chest. It's a moment of breathing in each other's presence, before Caleb's hands move again. This time, they move from where they'd been clasped around your hips, tracing up slowly. His fingers ghost over your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before reaching your face, where he brings your gaze to his. When you slot your lips together, it's perfect.

Your tongues move in sync, and Caleb guides you, albeit a bit clumsily, to the bed. When your back hits the mattress, he pulls away, and the visual is just breathtaking. He looks so ethereal, his half-lidded, adoring gaze making your heart quicken, his strong arms caging you in so securely. And when he goes down, settling on the bed as he pushes your legs open, a finger slides up and down your covered slit, and you can't stifle your gasp.

It only fuels him, though, his gaze becoming hungrier as his fingers now push past the cloth of your pretty panties to teasingly press and rub on your tight hole. When you look down, a shiver travels up your spine, making him chuckle. "It's so tiny... Can't believe it takes my cock so well." He muses, fingers coming back up now, moving on to poke at your clit. He gives it a teasing rub, enjoying the twitch in your thighs.

"C-Caleb-!" You're gasping, pussy already damp and he hasn't even done anything much. You turn your pleading gaze to him, hoping he can tell from just your pout how much you want, no need, to feel his tongue on your cunt. However, when he just raises a brow, you frown. "Hubby..." You whine, hoping to appease him, knowing how something in Caleb's brain always overheats when you call him a possessive nickname. And sure enough, it works. You can feel the hand gently holding your thigh tighten its grip.

"Yeah, honey?" he answers, smirk on his face as his finger continues to rub gentle circles on your clit. "You need something? Want your hubby to do something for you?" He continues, and when you whine again, he presses a kiss to the part of your inner thigh that's so close to your cunt, pulling back with a lil nip. "Come on... Tell me." He says, and like always, you know it's more than he's waiting for. He's not just waiting for your pleading, but for your command. He's waiting for an admission. An admission that you want him as bad as he wants you. That you want him to do things to you so badly, you'll command him to do it.

And you indulge. Gasping, you tell him. "F-fuck. Use your... Use your mouth, please!"

And Caleb indulges you, too. His head had honestly moved down before you'd even finished your sentence, and your entire body shivers when you feel his tongue glide up the fabric. Before you can whine and gently tug on his hair to say "Take them off!" he does, sitting back as he pulls em down and off your legs, holding them up with a cocky smile.

"Wooow... I know you liked me enough to marry me, but this much?" He jokes, and you gently "kick" his stomach (though it's more like a press, and with those abs, would he even feel anything??). But it works, Caleb tosses the panties somewhere, settling back down between your thighs. This time, his tongue presses true and proper on your cunt. And he eats you out like he's fucking starving. You're not sure if your fingers are gripping his hair so you can push him away or pull him closer, as he sucks on your clit, the stimulation definitely making your muscles spasm. His moans against your cunt make your heart throb, and when you glance down, you can catch a glimpse of how fucking messy his face looks, but how fucking elated his expression is right now.

Caleb makes you cum a minimum of twice everytime he goes down on you, and today it's like he's doubled that rule. No matter how much you whine, trying to close your thighs or push his head away, his strong hands just push 'em open, and he stubbornly refuses to move. His eyes flick up to gauge if you're really struggling, and when he gets his answer, he goes right back. At some point Calebs fingers start massaging your hole, waiting until you're so wet and loose they can slip in comparitively easy while he works on your clit. Caleb hums when he feels you tremble from the stretch, pressing a last few wet, open mouth kisses to your pussy before pulling away. "Yeah... Just breathe. I'm gonna make you feel good, right? You're gonna take all of me in your pretty pussy, right? My fingers, my cock, they're all gonna stretch you open for me." He mumbles, his eyes glued to the visual of your cunt taking in his fingers so prettily.

It makes your cheeks burn a little, how intensely he watches his fingers go in and out of your hole. So much so that you end up having to reach up and pull him down for another kiss.

This kiss is messy. It's all tongue with some teeth as you bite Caleb's bottom lip. You can feel some of your mind slipping into a fuzzy haze as you focus on Caleb's tongue expertly exploring, claiming your mouth, while his fingers pump in and out.

It's only after he's made you cum on his fingers (and just how many times has it been in total now?) that Caleb pulls them out with a filthy, wet sound. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you moan into your kiss, and you can feel Caleb trying to free his cock from its confines. When he pulls away, he sits back, breathless, eyes trained on you, as one hand carelessly works his cock. The head glistens with pre, and Caleb moans as he looks down at you.

"H-hey..." He calls, trying to pull you out of your daze. "Fuck... You're so pretty." He says, voice cracking a lil. He leans forward, plopping his head on your shoulder now. "You're so fucking pretty... And you're my wife?" He bites the place where your neck and shoulder meet so gently. "You married me?" He mumbles into the skin, hands leaving his cock to grab one of your tits, thumbing the nipple softly. He peppers sloppy kisses all over your neck as he continues to ramble, and you can't decide whether to focus on that or the way he's pinching your nipples.

"I- I'm gonna make you happy, right?" He asks as he moves down, looking up as he locks his lips on one of your tits. And you don't really have the bandwidth to say what you want to, so you moan. And it's an answer enough. While he sucks on your tits, Calebs free hand guides his cock. He grinds it a few times on your folds, slipping on the slickness there, before he takes a deep breath and presses it against the tight slit. You can feel the tenseness in his body as he pushes it in, and no matter how many times you've done it, you freeze as you feel inch after inch sink in so torturously slow. The stretch of that fat head, the stupid girth, a part of you wishes he'd just slam in, but that's not like Caleb. Caleb always wants to be gentle. He'd rather die then cause you any pain, even if you're feeling emotionally antagonized waiting for all of his stupid big dick to just go in.

When he's finally in, both of you go just a lil boneless with relief, waiting just a second until Caleb pulls back. And this time, he does slam it in. Your head falls back, the room is so noisy with loud moans, the wet sounds and the banging of the headboard hitting the wall. Caleb moves back to your neck, leaving your tits to his large hands, and a non-dazed part of you can hear him mumbling praise against your skin, can feel him biting and kissing, leaving a sizable amount of marks for you to find tomorrow morning. You can hear his breathy moans and how he whines about feeling so good inside you, how he fits so perfectly, how his wife is so fucking gorgeous he can't believe it. And Caleb cums faster then he ever has today, burying his face in your chest as he pulls out, his hot cum spilling all over your stomach. Your heavy hands bring his face up to yours, and you can see a little shine in his eyes, and you pepper kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, his pretty eyes and finally his lips. You both laugh softly as your previously intense kisses have now turned soft and sweet. Pressing gentle pecks on each other's lips.

Afterwards, Caleb collapses on top of you. The feeling is perfect, not heavy enough to crush you, but enough to make you feel secure and warm. You're not sure how you fall asleep in that state, when you wake up the next morning desperately wanting a shower, but feeling a bit too sore. And you decide to shake Caleb awake so that he can fill the bath for you two. But all that is talk and plans for the morning. Right now, honestly, you're both waaaay too tired to do anything. Exhaustion from wedding stuff and "married couple stuff" is leaving your minds drifting. And when you wake up, you can grumble about how gross you feel, and Caleb can agree as he presses a kiss to your ring finger.

A/N: Yaaay, everyone, let's celebrate our husbands coming home!! For me, it was Caleb (and hopefully next Sylus or Zayne, I'm not that picky), and thus I bring you a gift! It's Caleb and Reader's wedding night hehe~. I wanted to write Caleb as a softie... I mean Caleb has gone through so much that I really do think that if he and MC ever had the chance for a "normal" wedding he'd be an anxious, lovestruck mess the entire time. but I got carried away, didn't i? The fic is so long! But... I just love Caleb a lot. As a day1 one since launch player, I used to swear to all my friends that he would come back, and he did! So now I love spoiling him for mostly proving me right (as he should! The wife is always right!) and then for being a cutie!

Anyways, if you read such a long fic, on Tumblr of all places, thank you, really. Now that it's summer, I might start putting longer fics like these on AO3! Also, I'm always ip for beta-readers, especially cus after writing longer fics, I swear everything I write is awfu lolol!

Here's my fic masterlist, if you wish to read more! So small currently....

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Do you believe in fate? | Chapter 2

General Masterlist PART 1!! famous!Harry x fem!reader / flowershopowner!reader

Summary: After losing his wife, Harry struggles to navigate his grief, An encounter with Y/N, a kind florist, who shares the same experience.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst, A slightly rude Harry again, mentions of loss and grief.

As the session wound down, Elaine clapped her hands gently to gather everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone, let’s start wrapping up. Take a moment to admire your work—and remember, it doesn’t have to be perfect”

You set your vase down on the table, smoothing the final edges with careful precision. It was slightly asymmetrical, just as you liked, with a unique curve that gave it character. You leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Harry glanced at his own creation. It was… well, wonky was a generous description. The sides weren’t even, and it leaned slightly to one side, but there was something endearing about its imperfection.

“You finished?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him.

“Yeah,” he replied, chuckling as he tilted his head, inspecting his work. “If you can call it that.”

You smiled, looking at his creation. “It’s not bad…It has… charm.”

“Charm?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said with a small laugh. “It’s quirky. Quirky’s good.”

Harry shook his head, but he was smiling. “Yours is amazing, though,” he said, nodding toward your vase. “Looks like it could go right to the shop.”

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks warming slightly. “But yours has character. It tells a story.”

Harry snorted, clearly amused. “The story of someone who has no idea what they’re doing.”

You laughed softly. “Hey, everyone starts somewhere. And honestly, it’s not about the end result—it’s about what you felt while making it.”

He glanced at the wonky shape in front of him and nodded. “You’re right. It felt… good. Different, but good.”

Elaine approached, beaming as she looked at both of your pieces. “Beautiful work, both of you. Harry, I love how your piece has this organic, unpolished vibe. And Y/N, your vase is stunning as always.”

“Thanks, Elaine,” you said, and Harry nodded in agreement.

As people began cleaning up, you turned to Harry again. “So, do you think you’ll come back?”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, I think I might.”

“Well, if you do, maybe next time, you’ll outdo me,” you teased.

For Harry, it wasn’t just about the clay now—it was about showing up, creating something, and finding a little bit of peace along the way.

Over the next few weeks, Harry became a quiet but steady presence at the pottery class. At first, he would arrive just before the session started, slipping into his usual seat without much interaction. But gradually, he began to linger, staying a little longer after class to clean up or ask Elaine about different techniques. You couldn’t help but notice how his once-clumsy hands were now shaping clay with more ease, and every so often, he’d glance at your work, offering a quiet compliment.

In return, you found yourself looking forward to his company. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm—exchanging small jokes, comparing your projects, and occasionally teasing him about his wonky creations. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the start of something familiar, something grounding. Though Harry rarely talked about himself, you could see the weight on his shoulders lifting bit by bit, and in his own guarded way, he seemed to trust you.

Today’s pottery class had just ended, and you lingered behind, cleaning up your station. Harry stood nearby, absently wiping his hands on a rag, his expression distant—almost sad.

“You okay?” you asked gently, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, his face serious. “I’m fine,” he said shortly, turning his back as he placed his scraps into the bin.

You hesitated but decided to press just a little. “You just look… different. If something’s bothering you, it might help to talk about it.”

He froze for a moment, then spun around, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard. “Why do you always have to ask? I said I’m fine! Just… leave it alone, alright?”

The sudden sharpness in his voice made you flinch, and your shoulders tensed as you took a step back. “I was just trying to help… I’m not asking you to vent about every detail. I’m just offering to listen—to anything you want to say. You’re not the only one hurting, Harry. We all are, in different ways. The least we can do is try to understand each other, and—”

“Stop,” Elaine’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “We’re not here to hurt—we’re here to heal. Do you think you both can manage the one rule we have?” she asked, her tone serious.

You both looked at her, feeling the weight of her words. Harry rubbed the back of his neck in frustration—not at you, but at himself, at everything.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured to Elaine, then turned to finish cleaning your station. Harry did the same, and for the rest of the time, neither of you exchanged another glance. The silence was awkward and filled with unspoken words. As Harry finished and removed his apron, he turned to look at you for a moment, then let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You glanced at him but didn’t respond immediately, unsure if you wanted to let the moment go so easily.

He took a step closer, his tone softer but still uncertain. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Not today, not the last time either. It’s not… you. I just don’t know how to handle this sometimes—how to handle me or whatever’s going on inside.”

You studied him for a moment, noticing the tension in his posture and the vulnerability he was trying to hide. “It’s okay,” you said. “All I want to say is… not everyone’s out to hurt you. As Elaine said, we’re here to heal.”

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The shop smelled of fresh blooms and damp earth as you arranged a new display of daisies and sunflowers by the window. Claire was at the counter, her hands busy tying ribbons around small bouquets for pre-orders.

“So,” Claire started, glancing at you over her shoulder, “are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to guess?”

You sighed, pausing mid-arrangement. “It’s Harry.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Pop-star sensation soon to be pottery sensation? What about him?” she said with a teasing tone

You leaned against the counter, fiddling with a stray petal. “He’s… complicated. One moment, he’s quiet and kind, even funny sometimes. But then he has these outbursts. He snaps at me for trying to help, and I don’t know… It’s like he’s carrying so much, and I just want to ease that for him.”

Claire tied another ribbon and set the bouquet aside. “And that’s a bad thing… why?”

“Because I don’t know if I should keep trying,” you admitted. “I mean, I’m not a therapist. I don’t even know if he wants my help. Every time I try to get close, he pushes me away. But then he apologizes, and it’s like he’s trying, you know? Like he’s not really a bad guy—just someone who’s lost.”

Claire nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve got to ask yourself, is it worth the emotional toll it’s taking on you?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “I just… I like helping people. I like when people smile and have a good time, that’s also why i love flowers! Who doesn’t like flowers?. It’s who I am. And I feel like he could use someone in his corner, even if it’s just for something small. But I don’t know if I’m helping or just annoying him.”

Claire leaned her elbows on the counter, her gaze soft but serious. “Y/N, you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. You always want to fix things, make things better. But you can’t forget something important—you’re healing too.”

Her words struck a chord, and you looked down, fiddling with a ribbon. “I know,” you said quietly. “It’s just… helping others makes me feel like I’m doing something good. Like I’m moving forward.”

Claire smiled gently. “And that’s great. But you can’t pour from an empty vase. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve come so far. Don’t lose sight of your own progress while trying to help someone else with theirs.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling in your chest. “So, what do I do? Do I stop talking to him?”

“I think,” Claire said, tilting her head, “you need to set boundaries—not just for him, but for yourself. If you think he’s worth the effort, then keep trying, but only as much as you can handle. And remember, it’s okay to take a step back if it gets too much. You’re not a bad person for protecting your own peace.”

You smiled faintly “Thanks”

“Now, are we finishing this display, or are you going to keep worrying over Mr. Styles?”

You laughed softly, feeling a little lighter. As you picked up another bunch of daisies, you decided you’d take things one step at a time—for Harry, but more importantly, for yourself.

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The living room was cozy and filled with soft, warm light from a table lamp in the corner. Harry sat on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His mother sat across from him in her favorite armchair, knitting needles clicking softly as she worked on a scarf.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” she said, not looking up from her work.

Harry glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you liked it when I was quiet.”

She laughed softly. “I do. But this feels different. It’s not the same as when you’re brooding. You seem… calmer.”

He shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I’ve been going to that pottery thing”

His mum’s hands stilled, and she looked up, surprise and delight in her eyes. “Have you? How’s it been?”

“It’s… alright,” he said, picking at a loose thread on the couch. “It’s kind of nice. Quiet. Messy, though.”

She smiled knowingly. “And the people?”

Harry hesitated, his fingers pausing. “We are a small group. All different—different ages, backgrounds. One of them…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the thread he was pulling at.

“One of them?”

He let out a small sigh. “There’s this woman. The florist. She’s… persistent.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Persistent how?”

“She keeps trying to… I don’t know. Help me, I guess,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Even when I snap at her or try to shut her out, she doesn’t give up. It’s annoying, but… not in a bad way.”

His mum smiled softly, setting her knitting aside. “She sounds like she cares. Maybe she sees something in you worth sticking around for.”

Harry let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“Maybe she doesn’t need to,” his mother said gently. “Sometimes, it’s not about knowing every detail. It’s about seeing someone and deciding they’re worth a little kindness.”

“I don’t know if I deserve that,” he admitted.

“Of course you do,” she said firmly. “You’ve been through so much, Harry, but that doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone. Let people in, even if it’s just a little. I’m not saying it in a romantic way, she could be a friend”

Harry nodded slowly, though uncertainty still lingered in his expression. “I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.

“You do that,” his mother replied with a smile, picking up her knitting again. “And remember my teapot” she smiled

As the quiet settled back over the room, Harry found himself thinking of your way of trying, even when he made it difficult.

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The pottery studio was quieter than usual, the soft hum of music barely masking the occasional clinking of tools and quiet chatter. You were at your usual spot, hunched over a lump of clay, but your hands weren’t moving the way they normally did. Instead, they trembled slightly, your focus wavering as you tried to steady your breathing.

Harry noticed as soon as he walked in. You always greeted him with a small smile, but today, your eyes were downcast, and your posture lacked its usual energy. Something was off.

“You okay?” he asked softly, echoing the same words you’d once said to him.

You glanced up, startled, and then quickly looked away, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day.”

Harry frowned, not convinced. “You don’t look fine.” 

Deja vu.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you let out a shaky breath, your hands pressing into the clay as if grounding yourself. “It’s nothing, really. Just… today’s a hard day.”

He didn’t push, sensing the weight of your words. Instead, he waited, his gaze steady but gentle.

“It’s my fiancé’s birthday,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or… it would have been.” you sighed “You think you’re okay, and then a date on the calendar reminds you that you’re not.”

He nodded, understanding more than he could express. “I get that.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face. “Yeah. I know you do.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable. Then, Harry leaned forward slightly. “What was his name?”

Your lips trembled, but you managed a faint smile. “Alex.”

“Tell me about him,” he said, surprising even himself.

You frowned and hesitated, Harry, the same man who snaps at you for even asking if he was okay, was now kind of prying, and some teeny tiny piece of you wanted to give him back the same but again, you weren’t like that, so you took a big breath and began.

“He loved flowers, but he could never remember their names,” you said with a soft chuckle, the first genuine one all day. “He’d walk into the shop, pick up a rose, and call it a daisy just to make me laugh.”

Harry smiled faintly, watching the light return to your face for a second.

“He was clumsy, too. Always bumping into things, dropping pots in the shop. It drove me crazy sometimes, but now I’d give anything to hear that crash and him muttering, ‘I’ll pay for it, I swear.’” You laughed again, but it quickly dissolved into a quiet sigh. “He had this way of making the ordinary feel… extraordinary. You know?”

Harry nodded, his throat tight. “I do.”

You paused, staring at the lump of clay on the table. “Anyway, time is a human-made construct,” you said, shrugging as if brushing off the weight of the conversation. “I try not to think about how long it’s been since he’s gone. What does time even mean, right?”

Harry froze, his breath catching in his chest. The phrase echoed in his mind, so familiar it felt like a whisper from the past.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

You looked up, confused. “Time is a human-made construct?”

He stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Where did you hear that?”

Your brow furrowed. “I don’t know. School? I’ve always said it. It’s just… something I believe, I guess.”

Harry’s heart raced, his mind replaying the countless times Sophia had said those exact words.

Time is a human-made construct.

She used to say it when he stressed over tour schedules or when life felt too fast. “Time is a human-made construct, Harry,” she’d say with a teasing smile, grounding him in a way no one else could.

But he’d never heard anyone else say it. Not like that. Not until now.

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the table. “That’s… something my wife used to say,” he admitted quietly.

Your eyes widened slightly, and you leaned forward. “i…truly don’t know where it came from…what a coincidence….”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice distant. “I’ve never heard anyone else say it. Not like that.”

The silence between you was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like something significant had passed between you—something unexplainable.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just… unexpected.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say, and the two of you sat in quiet reflection. The moment felt strangely intimate, as if Alex and Sophia had somehow been there with you, bridging a gap.

The following weeks brought a slow but noticeable shift between you and Harry. In class, the tension that once lingered between you had eased… He still wasn’t the most talkative, but he began to share little bits of himself—quiet jokes about his lack of artistic talent, light teasing about your near-perfect vases, and the occasional compliment that seemed to surprise even him.

One evening, as you both worked on your pieces, you nudged a wonky bowl he’d made with your elbow. “You know, if this whole music thing doesn’t work out, you could always sell abstract pottery.”

He laughed—a rare, genuine sound that made you smile. “Abstract, huh? That’s a nice way of saying ‘terrible.’”

“Terrible? No. Unique? Definitely.” You grinned. “Everyone loves a good conversation piece.”

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

Harry found himself at a charming little restaurant with his mum, a place she’d insisted they try because of its cozy vibe and homemade desserts.

“You seem… lighter,” his mum said, her eyes studying him carefully.

He paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “Lighter?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “Less burdened. It’s good to see.”

He shrugged, not sure how to respond. “Pottery’s been good, I guess. And the people there… they’re nice.”

She tilted her head, intrigued but didn’t ask any other questions.

When their meal ended, Harry asked for the check, and the server brought it over along with something else—a small postcard with the restaurant’s logo on one side and a handwritten phrase on the other.

He glanced at it absently at first, but his breath caught when he read the words:

“The future is waiting—don’t keep it waiting too long.”

Harry stared at the card, his fingers tightening around the edges. It was such a simple phrase, yet it felt like it had been written just for him.

“Harry?” his mum asked, noticing the way he’d gone still.

He looked up at her, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Sorry, dozed off,” he said quickly, slipping the card into his pocket.

As they left the restaurant, his thoughts swirled. The words on the card echoed in his mind, mingling with Sophia’s voice in his memory. For the first time, he felt as though she was urging him forward—not to forget, but to let go of the fear that held him back. ------- Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502 @gem1712 @haliastyless @lizsogolden

[revelboo]

I am in just absolute awe of the fact that you have so many storylines, and they're all (or mostly) connected?! I feel like I'm reading Transformers: Into the Revelverse haha I love your writing so much!! <3

🤣 I like overlapping storylines

Practice Makes Perfect Pt 3

Perceptor x Reader

• “Can you reach-yes, just like that. Thank you,” he murmurs and you smile hesitantly. Because the only way he’d been able to think of distracting you so you wouldn’t start panicking was to ask you to help him. And you’ve surprised him, eagerly leaning into whatever task he asks of you. Making him think you need this. Need to be kept busy so you can process what’s happened to you while you work without it overwhelming you. Understands that, because the only way he could think about what happened to him without coming apart was while his hands were busy.

• Startling when another alien giant storms into the lab with another human in his hand, you go up on your knees, heart racing as they glance at you, face ruddy and crying and then look away. “Brainstorm,” Perceptor growls when the other bot sets their human on a counter on the other side of the lab, that end messy with scribbled notes on boards and tools, disorganized compared to Perceptor’s careful organization. And you watch the new mech, Brainstorm, pull a blanket out of nowhere and drop it on the other human to make them flinch. “Are you hungry?” Perceptor asks you, optics on that other person sniffling and miserable. In the same situation you are, but coping a lot worse. And you nod slowly.

• Heading to the cooler to find some of Ratchet’s nutrient bars, Perceptor offers you his hand and you come to him willingly. Let him carry you over to Brainstorm’s side of the lab and you slide down when he rests the back of his hand against the counter. Grabbing both rations and walking over to the other human to sit and hold out a bar. And Brainstorm’s watching him and you both, the other scientist’s optics narrowing as his human takes the bar and rubs at their eyes. Wonders if Brainstorm’s made any effort to connect with his human, to make this transition easier for them. Doesn’t he realize this is traumatizing to all of the humans? “I fed them,” Brainstorm grumbles, hands moving to roughly grab supplies to work with. Offended.

• Offering your name, the other person hesitantly gives their own and take a bite of their bar, shuddering slightly. “Yeah, they’re pretty gross,” you say, taking a bite of your own and wrinkling your nose. ‘Are they?’ Preceptor asks sounding surprised and you nod at him. “I can eat it. I’d just rather not,” you admit with a shrug. It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever eaten, but it’s definitely up there. Raw kale might be worse. Maybe.

• “I’m afraid that I doubt any Cybertronian could make them any more palatable,” Perceptor says in apology, drumming his servos on the counter as the other human glances nervously at him, clearly uneasy as they take another bite. Hears Brainstorm clear his vents. ‘I could make something better,’ Brainstorm growls, glaring at him, rising to the bait just like he knew the bot would. “Could you?” Perceptor asks, tone bored and doubtful. And Brainstorm straightens, wings flicking in agitation. ‘You think I can’t make human fuel that tastes good? This is nothing for me.’ Resisting the urge to smile as Brainstorm starts grabbing supplies, muttering loudly about ‘making the best human fuel’ and ‘showing him,’ Perceptor pulls a blanket from subspace and offers it to you, warming when you smile up at him.

Previous

[doctorchill]

I was really curious about when this phrase came about and more importantly WHO came up with it? Was it some organically created term that then got twisted into a new meaning? Or was it CREATED just to rage bait and shit on young people lol

Well it seems like it is the first one... "micro retirement" doesn't really bring up any relevant results until about one year ago.

https://sussexretirement.co.uk/lessons-from-a-micro-retirement/

This one kind of just describes the idea of Taking A Break. They talk about enjoying simple things and besides the term "micro-retirement," they use "practice retirement." It is quaint and inoffensive as a concept. Oh yeah, it is also published by a retirement planning website!

https://www.wsj.com/podcasts/your-money-matters/how-some-people-work-mini-retirements-into-their-career/1bb848d6-e182-4237-9dea-835568cfab39

Then there is this one, which approaches the concept differently... they talk about people basically saving up a whole bunch of money, quitting their jobs, and taking like at least half a year to explore the world or whatever. It also compares it to a sabbatical, but a lot of jobs don't really offer that, so basically if you want a long time off of work, you gotta quit! It also suggests this is a twice-or-thrice-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, so definitely more than a vacation. Still, they aren't totally shitting on the idea either, they are saying that people can make this work, just don't go into it while you're $200k in debt.

https://www.fastcompany.com/91357784/what-is-a-micro-retirement-inside-the-latest-gen-z-trend

Alright, last is the article that is in the screenshots above. With no context, it definitely doesn't look great but again, they are defining a "micro-retirement" less as using your vacation time, and more like straight up quitting your job or just taking long, unpaid breaks. Not really attainable for most people... so yeah they say that doing that will hurt your finances. Not wrong I guess.

But what is really funny is the people they interview as like, examples of micro-retiring. One guy is a business owner so uhh... of course he is able to take a long break! Plus he says he totally steps away - "any crisis or issue has to wait until he’s back" AND he has passive income anyway! Must be nice. The next dude is a teacher but he also has a "side hustle" of selling perfume, and he must be really fuckin good at it because the dude can afford a micro-retirement ONCE A MONTH and each one lasts ONE TO TWO WEEKS.... huh??

I mean, they point out "Gen Z" but the "micro-retirement" thing really just highlights the divide between average Americans and then the people who are actually TAKING a "micro-retirement." Whether they are Zoomers or Boomers, it is Just Rich People Things. Nothing to do with age. Like normal people can use vacation time but after that if you still want a break... just quit lol! But the rich people can basically never go to work and it's chill. Just stop caring about the people around you and have fun! What else is the point of working and making money? Like Mr. Perfume Seller says to conclude the article, “All I’m gonna do is just hand it off to my kids, and they’re probably going to squander the money anyway. So I might as well enjoy the money.” 

From the media that brought you "Millennials are killing [insert industry here]" articles for years and years and years, now we have....

"Hey, Gen Z, we're gonna relabel vacations into something else now and tell you how you really should be wary of taking vacation because it might impact your financial future."

This is a goddamn dystopia, we know this, right?

[kdh-tally]

Once the requests are unpaused can I request a Romance x Mira x Abby where fans found separate photos of one where Mira is girlfriend with Abby and the other with Romance and knowing the K-pop fans they absolutely feral and try to cancel Mira calling her stuff like “wh0re” , cheater, etc etc and there are many toxic Abby and Romance fans trying to cancel her and petitioning her out of Huntrix and basically how everyone is handling the situation ofcourse write this when you’re ready to like this

Mira Dealing With Cancel Culture

Prompt : Fans just love taking things out of context. Mira can't catch a break.

Author's note : I'm finishing this at 3am. This is gonna be scheduled for like 4:30 sumn pm on sunday. Sorry if it isn't proof-read!! I'm half asleep. And for those of you who don't know Bubble is basically an app that lets you "talk" to K-pop idols.

It started because of two photos. 

The first was of Mira and Abby outside a restaurant in Itaewon. It was newly opened and the two had booked the whole building in advance to get some privacy. Unfortunately for them, getting privacy was finding a needle in a haystack. Impossible.

Neither of them had noticed one of the employees, one that just so happened to be a fan of the Saja Boys, take a clear photo of them. Mira had her hand on Abby’s biceps, entertaining herself as they waited for their order to arrive. 

Once it was uploaded to the internet, it blew up. Fans were immediately shipping the two, creating theories and such. It was cute, annoying definitely, but cute.

Things went downhill when another photo was released.

This one was of Mira and Romance. The taller boy had been hugging her from behind while she shopped in a convenience store. Though they wore masks and hoods to hide themselves, their long pink hair was too obvious. 

Fans were immediately confused. Mira was supposed to be with Abby wasn’t she? The company never truly issued a statement on those images though. However, for her to be seen with Romance again so soon?

Fancams dating months back began resurfacing. Videos of Mira intimately interacting with Romance on stage were being compared to variety show clips where Abby and Mira stood a bit too closely for it to just be a friendly gesture. 

There had to be one single conclusion. She was two-timing them. Twitter accounts began coming up with their own conclusions, claiming Mira was a cheater. They believed she was two-timing both boys without their knowledge. 

Some Romance fans called Mira a manipulator, using his flirty personality for attention. Abby’s fanbase was split, some defending Mira, insisting there had to be a misunderstanding but most were attacking.

By day three, there were already organized petitions circulating online demanding Mira be removed from Huntrix. One gained over 100k signatures overnight. “Protect Abby and Romance. Remove Mira.” The comments were vile.

Some fans even spammed Huntrix’s fan café and the Saja Boys’ social media with snake emojis and edited clips labeling Mira as a serial cheater. Huntrix’s company remained silent.

–

Mira lounged on her couch, Romance cuddling her waist while Abby massaged her shoulders. She opened instagram, looking through what the fans were saying.

“Oh this one says ‘she’s not misunderstood, she’s just a snake. Don't let her pretty face fool you.’” She read aloud, voice dripping with amusement. A smirk creeped onto her face before she burst into laughter. “They’re getting so creative,” she chuckled, wiping a fake tear from her eyes.

“This doesn’t bother you pinkie?” Romance mumbled, his voice muffled by her soft skin. 

“Not really,” she shrugged, leaning back into Abby’s touch. 

Abby hadn’t spoken. Multiple thoughts were running through his mind. While he was happy Mira didn’t let the negative comments get to her he truly wished fans would stop attempting to interfere with their personal lives.

It had taken a lot for the three to get to where they were. It had nothing to do with the boys competing for Mira’s love, they had always agreed to share, but more so them getting Mira to accept her feelings for them. 

After all that, Abby hated that so many people felt the need to decide how he was supposed to feel about the situation. “I think I’m gonna make a statement,” he spoke, hands kneading gently into the girls shoulders. 

Mira leaned to look up at him, Romance tilted his head in is direction as well. Both wanted to hear his opinion. “Even though you’re not bothered they shouldn’t have the ability to dictate anything,” he explained. “Sure they might be trying to protect Romance and I but it’s  just gotten to be too much” 

Romance smiled softly at the other man, “You’re so cute you know that?”

“Shut up.”

–

Later that day, Abby had gone live. It was his first solo live since the rumors and photos had spread. His face was stone cold and serious, a drastic difference to the normally sweet and playful behaviour he put on.

“Hello everyone,” he began. “I know there have been some rumors circulating about my relationship status and I’m not going to be explaining my private life to you but Mira is not the villain.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not some victim of cheating. Stop harassing her. This isn’t some K-drama where you pick teams and decide who gets to be the lead.”

He didn’t even wait to read any comments, quickly turning off the stream. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket before heading to bed with his other darling partners. Mira was fast asleep, her back to Romance’s chest as she grabbed at Abby’s pillow. 

The other man smiled as Abby entered the room. “I watched your stream.”

“Yea?”

He nodded, fluffy pink hair getting even messier. “I wish she’d allow the company to put out a statement.” Romance mumbled as he placed a light kiss on the girl's neck. Truth was, their company wasn’t staying out of their own will.

Rumi and Zoey had immediately ordered for them to release a statement since the first day the rumors began circulating. However, Mira, not really caring for dramatics, insisted they let the issue fizzle out. 

It didn’t seem like it was going to be disappearing anytime soon. “Kinda find it hilarious that no one thinks we’re all in a relationship though,” Romance laughed under his breath.

“Can’t blame them, me and Mira do make a really good couple.”

“I think you mean me and Mira, you muscle head.”

“Go to sleep loser”

“I’m trying you idiot”

–

A few days after Abby’s live, the hate had quieted down. The trending tags disappeared and the conversation was no longer a headliner. While there were still many questions about why the company wouldn’t speak up for its artists, no one wanted to cross Abby. 

But that didn’t mean it was over.

Mira hadn’t said much since the backlash, at least not on Bubble or Instagram. She posted a few pictures, reshared Zoey’s story once, and uploaded a behind-the-scenes from their last comeback. Everything seemed fine.

That’s what Romance and Abby thought too until they walked into her room one afternoon. Mira was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small box open in front of her. Fan letters. A mix of them.

Some were cute, decorated with bows and heart stickers and many pink crayons. And some were folded like they were meant to be hidden. Romance leaned against the doorframe while Abby stepped inside.

Mira looked up, smiled, pushing the letters back into the boxes with slight urgency. “Hey. Didn’t hear you guys.”

Romance raised an eyebrow. “You got fan mail?”

“Umm yea,” She let out a fake laugh, brushing her bangs behind her ear. “Just looking through stuff. Fans are weird, but some are still sweet.”

Neither of them moved. Abby’s eyes scanned the few letters that remained spread out on the ground. One had been crumpled up, then smoothed back out. Another had a red line drawn under a sentence. His stomach turned.

He picked it up. Read it. “You’re the reason your parents hated you, right? Bet they’d be real proud of you now. Hooking up with two guys at once. Classic problem child behavior.”

He didn’t say anything, he just crouched and gently pulled the paper from her hand.

Romance stepped inside too. He’d seen Abby’s face after reading the letter. He knew it couldn’t have been anything good.

Mira didn’t move, she just kept smiling. But now it was clearly forced.

“You said you didn’t care,” Abby said softly.

“I don’t.” Mira shrugged, too fast. “I mean, it’s stupid. People online don’t know me.”

“But they knew that,” Romance muttered. “About your parents.”

Mira flinched. Her lyrics, lines in a song meant to make her feel more confident about who she was were now being used to bring her down. Romance crouched next to her, grabbing one of the hate letters and reading it out loud, monotone.

“You manipulate Abby and Romance because no one else ever loved you?” His eyes looked cold. He wasn't mad at her, but mad for her. “Who gave them the right?”

Mira looked away.

“Mira…” he trailed off as he noticed how her eyes began to water.

“No.” Her voice cracked.

Abby sat beside her. “You know you can cry around us.”

“I don’t want to.”

After a moment, Romance stood up suddenly, his hands clenched into a tight fist around his phone. “Alright.” He walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Abby asked, already knowing the answer.

“Fixing this mess,” Romance said without hesitation.

–

Romance’s story hit Instagram within the hour. In the frame was an image of the hate letters he and Abby had read. No names were tagged but his caption was clear. Imagine sending this to someone you claim to support. Hope you never meet me in person.

The second slide contained a recent photo of the three cuddling. Mira asleep on his chest as Abby rested his head on her stomach. She’s still the love of my life. Cry harder.

The third and final slide was a picture of Abby flipping off the camera while wearing a sweatshirt that so obviously belonged to Mira. The three of us are fine. Go worry about your own lonely lives <3

The next day, the company posted a short statement. Mira finally gave into Rumi and Zoey’s pleading. “Let us take care of you for once Mira,” Zoey cooed as the girls laid in a pile in their penthouse. The pink haired girl said nothing but nodded.

“We are actively investigating the fan accounts that sent threatening and abusive letters to our artist, Mira. Legal action is underway. Harassment will not be tolerated. She will also continue to participate in all future Huntr/x projects.”

It was short. But the message was clear. 

A week later, Mira posted on Bubble. It was short and blunt. Just the way she was. “You don’t have to get it. You’re not in it.”

And that was that. The hate stopped. The petitions for her to leave the girl group closed. Abby, Mira, and Romance showed up together on a variety show the next month. Though they wanted to, the host wouldn’t dare question any of them about their individual relationship status.

Fans watched them interact. The way Abby laughed too hard at Mira’s teasing. The way Romance instinctively fixed her mic. The quiet glances between all three.

Mira wasn’t a cheater.

The three weren’t pretending to be a love triangle.

They just were.

[badmilkk]

Some (of my) headcanons for Poppy:

She has mild ADHD, which affects her more in terms of focus and emotions than physically (though she does have brief moments of hyperactivity). The boys have learned to live with it and can recognize certain patterns or struggles she deals with, even if they don’t always know how to handle them. They do what they can.

Because of that (and considering how mental health was treated at the time, especially in subtle cases like hers), she often thinks she’s more annoying or clumsy than she really is. She tends to overthink small mistakes or feel deeply hurt by just one comment.

She’s got a few insecurities about her looks. Steve thinks she’s the cutest girl with the most unique face he’s ever seen. He loves her tummy.

She talks to herself without realizing it.

She likes singing, but only when she’s locked in her room.

She makes lists to stay organized… but never looks at them again.

She falls in love with every animal she sees. Of course, Darry’s not about to let her bring a one-eyed possum into the house.

She can’t remember anyone’s birthday except Pony’s and Darry’s. After their parents died and their birthdays stopped being celebrated, she eventually forgot about them altogether.

She has super intense hyperfixations!!

She was a daddy’s girl.

Just like Soda, she loves horses and cars, though she can’t park. She drives like a maniac.

She adores tiny objects that seem useless and keeps them in a little box she treasures.

In this universe, Evie is her close friend. Evie taught her how to do her makeup and dress like a proper greaser girl. She’s two years older, so she’s like a big sister and kind of an escape from the male-dominated world Poppy is constantly surrounded by.

She’s awful at putting in curlers, but she likes it anyways. It makes her feel more feminine.

She’s Darry’s spoiled one.

The gang sometimes acts like bodyguards for Poppy. Everyone protects her in their own way. You touch a hair on her head and someone’s knocking your teeth out in seconds.

When a serious fight breaks out, she tends to stay out of it. She does like fights and she’s tough, but she’s physically at a disadvantage compared to the guys. That said, she can throw a mean kick.

Like I said in another post, she works at the front counter at the DX gas station with Steve, who sticks to the garage. She also dropped out of high school at 16.

She’s the only girl competing in the Tulsa rodeo and she’s damn good at it, though she often has to deal with the inequalities of the time.

Sometimes she’s really innocent. She doesn’t always pick up on sarcasm.

She can't keep a secret.

[cece693]

TO LOVE A PETTY MAN (OR TWO)

pairing: hannigram x male reader synopsis: You knew dating one jealous man was a lot. Dating two? Practically a full-time job. Especially when said men are pouting because you wouldn't let them murder a single mother for simply saying you remind her of her ex.

You really hadn’t done anything. That was the frustrating part. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t wink. You didn’t even make lingering eye contact. All you did was help a woman in the grocery store pick up her runaway bag of apples. One of them had rolled dramatically under the organic pasta shelf, and being the decent human being you were, you retrieved it.

Then she had the audacity—the absolute nerve—to say:

"You know, you look just like my ex."

You laughed politely. Politely. Because what else were you supposed to do? Burst into flames? But Hannibal had stopped examining the bottle of balsamic vinegar. Will had paused, mid-scan of the cheese labels. And from that moment on, the rest of the grocery trip turned into a slow, brooding descent into melodrama.

You’d barely made it to the car before Will muttered: “What kind of ex are we talking about? Ex-husband? Ex-lover? Ex-convict?”

You blinked, seatbelt halfway across your chest. “Will—”

“She said it too casually,” Hannibal interjected from the backseat like a passenger in a mafia film. “As if comparing you to her previous romantic entanglement wasn’t deeply offensive to your current ones.”

You turned in your seat. “Are you seriously mad that she said I looked like someone?”

“She called you handsome,” Will added.

“She said I looked like her ex.”

“Exactly,” Hannibal said, eyes glinting. “Implying she mourns his absence and desires a replacement.”

“She was picking out Lunchables for her kid, not trying to woo me, for God’s sake.”

Will crossed his arms. “Well, you were very charming about it.”

You gaped. “I handed her an apple, Will.”

“Chivalry is not dead,” Hannibal said dryly, “but apparently monogamy is wounded.”

Back home, the pettiness reached new levels.

Will spent the next hour vacuuming aggressively while glancing at you like you’d run off to Cuba with the single mother . Meanwhile, Hannibal cooked a dinner that looked suspiciously like someone’s heart. You didn’t ask questions. You weren’t that brave.

“So,” you said at dinner, tapping your fork against your plate, “are you two gonna tell me why my apple-picking skills are being punished like war crimes?”

Will grumbled into his wine.

Hannibal said, “I simply find it interesting how quickly you engaged with a stranger over produce.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed, almost choked. “Are you two jealous?”

Will’s fork halted in mid-air.

Hannibal blinked slowly, like a cat caught knocking something off a table. “Of a woman with a child and bad taste in exes? Certainly not.”

“She did drive a Subaru,” Will added. “Very judgmental.”

You put your fork down. “Okay. First of all, you're both being insane. Secondly, it’s funny as hell. Third—no, Hannibal, you’re not allowed to kill anyone just because they breathe near me.”

Hannibal raised a brow. “I wasn’t going to kill her.”

“He was going to kill her,” Will said blandly.

“Thank you, Will.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “You two are supposed to be grown men. One’s a genius psychiatrist and the other’s a federal consultant, yet both of you are pouting like I kissed her under the mistletoe.”

Will lifted a shoulder. “Wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t have that face.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for being born with symmetrical features,” you deadpanned.

Hannibal, ever elegant, took a slow sip of his wine before offering, “We simply wish to remind you of our exclusivity clause.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You mean the part where you both get irrational when someone compliments me?”

Will shrugged again. “It’s not irrational. You’re hot.”

Hannibal nodded solemnly. “It’s very inconvenient for us, emotionally.”

You stared at them both in disbelief, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Next time,” Will continued, pointing a fork at you, “just let the apple roll. Let it rot. You don’t need to talk to strangers.”

Hannibal placed a hand over his heart. “Let the apples go, darling. Think of us.”

“You two need therapy.”

“You are our therapy,” they said in unison.

You put your head in your hands.

“Just to clarify,” Will said a minute later, “if she were to fall down a flight of stairs, purely by accident, we’d still be clear, right?”

“No, Will.”

“Right, right. Just checking.”

You fell asleep that night in the middle of the bed, their limbs tangled around you like the world might steal you in your sleep. Which, to be fair, wasn’t impossible with the way they glared at the world for merely existing in your general direction. But honestly? It was kind of cute. In an over-possessive, “might-murder-a-soccer-mom” kind of way. And you suppose, for better or worse, being loved by two dangerous men meant the produce aisle would never be safe again.

[infiniity-survivor-choco]

Daily Reminders.

Executive dysfunction isn't being lazy. You're disabled.

Parents should treat their kids with respect. Not as pet projects to project their dreams onto.

Intent matters in anything and everything.

Organized Religion has caused a lot of damage. Christianity and Islam in particular. You're not obliged to explain to anybody your disdain for either. Faith is separate from Religion.

2025 is ragebait. overcome it through Spite and Whimsy.

Comfort characters are more than pixels on a screen. They can be a lifeline to some. Do not allow anyone to diminish their worth to signal virtue about the value of "real people." because the feelings fiction brings you are equally as real.

Stand your ground no matter what depending on how much of your safety or comfort you're willing to sacrifice for the end game.

Survivorship status is no crutch or badge it's a part of you and it's different for each one of us. Someone's performative critique pointing and using someone's status to devalue them based on their own selfishness and inability to process their misery - usually from the shadows defines them and not you. Respect yourself and your journey. Move. Forward.

Being angry is okay. Being upset is okay. Crying is okay. Hating is okay. Feelings of any type are equally important and should be safe to process with true friends. Nobody who loves you will keep a record of your self expression to later try use against you.

Everything you think you know. You often don't. When you feel an expert in something it's the wonder of diving deep into something and being fascinated. The Dunning Kruger Effect takes effect here. Ancient philosopher Socrates said it best. "All I know is I know nothing"

In juxtaposition to the point above. Acknowledge your skills and capabilities. The above quote doesn't mean you're ignorant. It means there's always so much more to know. The universe is a prime example. Humans. Fickle as they are have already made so many theories with the very limited technology compared to what's needed to traverse it. In such few years. It's just as understood though that many of these will be disproven as hypothesis always undergo that process in which they're tested. Should they last they're close to fact as possible.

You don't need to like people. You don't need to care if a lot of people don't like you. Existing for the world is the opposite of self actualization. If you are loved and love those worth it to you, the rest is noise. Your journey is yours to walk and live. Anybody trying to torpedo it becomes a simple obstacle.

That said. Don't hurt those who don't deserve it. Being kind isn't about platitudes or weakness. Be a monster to monsters, be sweet to sweet people, discern the difference between anger and malice, too, it's about being self aware and aware of others.

You'll meet once in a blue moon people who don't appear human. This isn't metaphysics but just special individuals that don't fit any personality type or anything you've heard of. I'm one of those myself. There's not many in the world but it starts intuitively since little and develops from understanding the world and universe.

[lucysarah1875]

I noticed you wrote Levi had OCD. Is that confirmed or just headcanon? I always see it floating around but was unable to confirm it anywhere but I might be missing something. I know he is very cleanly, but someone with OCD probably wouldn’t turn around and get dirty right after. But surely it might be different for everyone so if that was Isayama’s intention than I stand corrected.

(Also this is not meant to be taken hatefully. I truly am just curious and you seem so knowledgeable and trustworthy compared to other blogs if I am honest with you)

OMG, I’ve been meaning to do this deep dive for the longest time. Thank you for the perfect excuse!

First, I want to start this conversation by saying I’m not a doctor or psychiatrist, so my knowledge comes from research and general information I’ve gathered over time. That said, I believe Isayama unfortunately fell into the stereotype — and actual misinformation — of implying:

“Cleaning or being organized = OCD.”

This is a really common stereotype, both in fiction and real life. People casually say things like “Ugh, I’m so obsessive, I need all my t-shirts perfectly organized, I totally have OCD haha.”

But in reality, OCD is very different and much more serious. Yes, OCD can present itself through obsessions with germs, symmetry, and cleanliness, but there’s a specific “pattern” to it that goes way beyond simply liking things neat.

OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and that name is really important to break down. There are actually multiple types of OCD, and if anyone’s interested, I really recommend listening to people with real, diagnosed OCD share their experiences. It’s a complicated, often misunderstood mental illness, and it isn’t as well-known or represented accurately as people think.

The one defining feature of OCD is:

Intrusive Thoughts.

And I’m not talking about the meme version of intrusive thoughts, like “haha I had an intrusive thought to jump off the sidewalk.” No, real intrusive thoughts are a constant, terrifying loop of ideas that can range from mildly irrational to completely overwhelming. For example:

“I need to double-check that email to make sure I didn’t say something wrong.”

…to…

“If I don’t jump on my bed ten times and flick the lights on and off exactly fifteen times, my entire family will die.”

As silly as some of these might sound to an outsider, for the person with OCD, they become real. The obsessive part of the mind repeats these thoughts so much that they start to feel true, even when they aren’t. That’s where the compulsivebehaviors come in — the person performs “rituals” to temporarily quiet the anxiety those thoughts cause.

The problem? These rituals only bring relief for a short time. The intrusive thoughts come back, stronger, more overwhelming, and the cycle deepens.

OCD varies from person to person, and yes — there is a type of OCD focused on cleanliness and symmetry. But ironically, those with “cleaning OCD” often aren’t actually clean, because their brain convinces them things are never clean enough. For example:

They just organized their wardrobe? Great… Except no, their mind tells them it’s contaminated again. Someone touched that corner two days ago — what if it’s covered in germs? What if it has chickenpox? Now they must re-clean it — right now, now, now.

This is why OCD is so exhausting and why it requires treatment and support. It’s not something you “turn off” because you have work to do — it consumes people’s lives.

Now, about Levi…

Levi never shows signs of intrusive thoughts in the story. He never feels the compulsive, overwhelming urge to clean something again and again because his mind tells him it isn’t done right. In fact, we constantly see him put aside his cleaning habits the moment the situation demands it. Someone with true cleaning-related OCD wouldn’t be able to do half the things Levi does:

He pauses cleaning because of an urgent meeting in the cabin.

He gets covered in dirt, blood, and even picks up Eren covered in Titan saliva — completely unfazed.

In A Choice With No Regrets, he falls into a barrel of oil, and what does he do? Clicks his tongue in annoyance, gets help cleaning up, and moves on.

Someone with genuine cleaning OCD would’ve been panicking. There’s even a type of OCD where people feel the compulsive need to scrub their body or wash their hands raw after experiencing anything they consider “dirty” or “contaminated.”

Levi? We never see behaviors like that. Not even close.

That’s why I strongly believe Isayama simply fell into the harmful “clean = OCD” stereotype, using it mostly for comic relief. Levi’s cleaning habit in the story is exactly that — comic relief. The moment something serious happens, it disappears. And if you noticed, as the story progresses, even the “cleaning obsession” fades away entirely. It used to show up all the time in early chapters — toward the end? Almost never.

In fact, under the amount of stress Levi faced in the later arcs, someone with real OCD would’ve shown worseningsymptoms, not fewer.

So no, I don’t think Levi has OCD.

And honestly, that’s why I avoid exaggerating the cleaning thing in my stories, or I keep it at a level that just makes sense for a normal, neat person — because when you look closely, the OCD narrative doesn’t really hold up.

Now, if you asked me, “Then what does Levi have?” — I’d say it’s more of a control issue than OCD.

Control issues often stem from trauma — the belief that if you control everything around you, nothing bad can happen. Levi’s controlling nature shows more in how he handles people and situations than in obsessive cleaning.

A good example? When Erwin decides to go on the Retake Wall Maria expedition, Levi feels powerless and frustrated — so what does he do? He overreacts, beating Eren and Jean more than necessary, trying to reassert control. Even Hange points out that he went overboard.

Basically: “Erwin’s doing something I can’t control — fine, I’ll control something else. The kids are acting up? I’ll remind them I control this.”

If Levi had true cleaning OCD, he’d be scrubbing the mess hall floors while everyone else is out drinking beer — but he’s not.

Ahh, I’ve been meaning to write this analysis for so long! Thank you for the opportunity!

And omg, thank you — don’t worry, I didn’t take your ask in a bad way at all! I really appreciate that you think I sound trustworthy, haha. 💕

Have a lovely day!

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Ten (BB) 2 of 2

@belsasim, @corrienteallita, @cawthorntales, @hashimasims, @ravingsockmonkey, @pixeldistractions - Sim creators and co-writers

Results based on charisma skill level.

Mariela (1.88)

Dee (2.12)

Kaye (2.36)

Harmony (2.61)

Billie (3.10) - Wins the date

Sarah (4.30) - Bonus points!

Dee: All that fuss for nothing, huh

Mariela: Ooof, I got rocked!

Dee: No jokes to cover the situation?

Mariela: Umm... Not really. I haven't had a date this round so I guess my nerves are just having a moment

Dee: There's still the group challenge, whatever that is. And you always talk to Deanna even if you're not on a date

Mariela: Hmm

Harmony: It was worth a shot and I did make something cute.

Kaye: Maybe I should hang out at GeekCon some more and get some pointers from the cosplayers for next time

Harmony: You looked so lifelike

Kaye: Thanks! I mean there's magic in the bloodline so I had some insider knowledge of how things should look. I think you should be applauded for standing in all that fire though

Harmony: *laughing* I was so worried I'd just fall face first into some of it

Sarah: Whatever happens, you can't fall in love with me *hands you a flower*

Billie: Game reference?

Sarah: Game reference

Billie: I feel really good. I finally won a date with Deanna doing something I really, really enjoyed. I wish I could wear my costume to the cafe!

Sarah: I wonder if we can take our costumes...

Billie: I'll distract them, and you grab

Billie has chosen the cafe for her date this round. It is her first time getting a date with the bachelorette, will things go well?

Deanna: I'm glad you liked the challenge

Billie: It was a lot of fun. I hope there's more artistic challenges in future

Deanna: Do you think you're mostly lucky or unlucky?

Billie: I consider myself pretty fortunate, but probably the biggest thing I need to work on is comparing myself to other people and wanting what they have

Deanna: Jealously can be tricky

Billie: Like at art school there was this girl who got everything, but her art was so derivative! My friends said 'Don't worry, she's on her own journey,' but she was in all my classes! It was hard to look at it from their perspective, but eventually I got my own art show, too

Deanna: Congratulations

Deanna: Can we get deep for a bit? My family believe in the watcher but I know not everyone does. Do you believe in fate, you know, destiny? Or do you think we're all at the mercy of some watcher?

Billie: I do think we're born to be certain things

Deanna: Like callings?

Billie: Exactly. I was probably destined to be an artist from the time I was small. I didn't like stacking my blocks, but I liked organizing them by colour, so I was probably always going to be an artist and not an engineer!

Deanna: *laughs* Definitely a good career choice for you then

Deanna: Say you can live anywhere. Where would you live?

Billie: I love Evergreen Harbour

Deanna: Never wanted to try anywhere else?

Billie: I'm a bit more laid back than cosmopolitan, but I think I'd probably enjoy an urban environment with a thriving art scene, like San Myshuno or Del Sol Valley. Probably. Maybe the traffic would be too much for me

Deanna: *laughs* Devin is always complaining about traffic

Deanna: I have to say I like being in Tartosa because it's close to my family. I could be persuaded to move if it was to somewhere stable, not constant packing and unpacking

Billie: I think Tartosa is beautiful, but the classical art isn't really my style. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate classic art forms, but grittier or more modern style is much more me

Deanna: *smiles* I can see that

Billie: If you couldn't do your robotics work in a place like Evergreen Harbour but wanted to be with me, I could be persuaded to move anywhere. All I need is an easel, right?

Deanna: I'm pretty sure I could build my robots anywhere *smiles*

When everyone is back at the villa it's time to work on their skills. While some challenges are more up to luck, there are some that are influenced a lot by skill. This is the last chance they have to study before the group day challenge, and the next round if they advance.

Today the popular choice appears to be… logic! Harmony, Billie and Sarah all choose to work on it, and wonder what challenge they'll need logic for if they make it to the next round. Dee channels her anger into studying rock climbing, yeah she's still annoyed about her loss the other day. Mariela meanwhile branches out with fitness, feeling like it's a sensible option to cover bases. Kaye decides to move about and work on her nectar making. She does want to be a master maker after all and it's been a while since she crafted.

Devin: First date with Billie then?

Deanna: It was. I'm glad people that didn't get them last round are getting a chance. I don't want to send someone home without having spent any solo time with them you know

Devin: How did you find it?

Deanna: She's such a creative soul, it was great to properly chat

Devin: Any sentiments?

Deanna: *sighs* Not today sadly

As it's the groups last day together before the group challenge, final dates, and commencement ceremony, we again head to the spa. Reece (Deanna's best friend) welcomes everyone and escorts them to the meditation area in the back garden. There he leads a guided meditation

Reece: Close your eyes and become aware of your breathing... picture a place that makes you feel calm. It might be the beach, the woods, behind a beloved screen or in front of one...

Reece: Repeat to yourself after me... whatever happens I am worthy of love and joy

The meditation wraps up and the group gets a shock. Sarah got so deep in the meditation that she... floats? Reece assures them all he's done it to, it's temporary and on the soft ground out here there's nothing to worry about.

After yoga it's time for dinner, grilled by Deanna herself. The group moves to the picnic area.

Deanna: Fruit cobbler! Get your fruit cobbler!

Reece: And you made fun of me for being domesticated

Dee: Dessert for dinner?

Kaye: Sounds good to me *tucks in*

Harmony: It looks nice, thank you Deanna

Deanna: *smiling* You're welcome

Harmony: You sure you don't feel... weird?

Sarah: If I was "floating" and I don't believe I was, I don't feel any different

Mariela: You were 100% floating. High in the sky. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It's Sarah

Billie: I always love how colourful berries are

Kaye: The advice is to "eat the rainbow"

Deanna: We talking skittles or vegetables?

When the food is finished the group get to experience the main reason for the spa trip - a chance to relax and let go of stress or tension from the competition.

Everyone gets a face mask! Some get massages, some steam in the spa and other relax in the massage chairs. Autonomy is set to full and Deanna always starts in the massage chairs, since those relaxing in the spa normally start chatting pretty quickly.

For some reason I can't explain Sarah's hair changes when she's in the sauna... pretty sure it's temporary? Once Harmony and Dee are finished in the massage chairs they strike up a conversation about the latest episodes of The Adventures of Skunkbert that Dee and Kaye have watched.

It would appear that the spa has been breached today, with over eager fans taking the chance to talk to contestants and Deanna (I cropped out a sim interrupting Mariela as she was trying to relax).

Following her massage Billie is still deep in reflection on her date today and doesn't seek anyone's company. There is company upstairs though as Deanna talks to Dee and Harmony.

Dee: I'm telling you, season one episode five, hilarious

Harmony: *smiling* It's so nice to hear that

Deanna: I'd love to watch some but I don't have a lot of free time at the moment. I'm filming every day

Dee: No wonder you make them take us to the spa

While Sarah fights off sleep in the sauna, Kaye goes in and chats to Mariela.

Kaye: I think you're really good at diffusing awkward situations

Mariela: Thanks! I'm only so good at that because I specialise in making awkward situation though...

Kaye: *chuckles* We have to hang out in the city sometime

Harmony: Are you feeling better now?

Dee: For sure. I just get worked up too much but I'm mellowed now

[trainradicalism]

In recent memory, some of the highest profile leftist orgs to be infiltrated were explicitly ML (CPUSA, WPB, etc.) and therefore could not have been infiltrated by feds posing as anarchists because anarchists either would not have joined or would not have been let in. The overall number of anarchists, in my experience, is miniscule compared to the number of statist communists like MLs or Trotskyists. The fact is that any organization presenting a serious threat to any state is going to be infiltrated regardless of political affiliation, including the actual Bolsheviks.

All I can say is there's a reason why the CIA is always infiltrating leftist movements by posing as anarchists, by being accepted by anarchists and blending in with anarchists so well... almost like they are counter-revolutionary.... and not educated on Marxism enough to know that the state is not always an oppressive structure, as it only arises from irreconcilable class antagonisms, and not having a state structure to protect the revolution after it has happened basically guarantees it's reversal.... which is exactly what the bourgeoisie wants...

[portalbones]

Just something about ghosts (specifically the DP ones) Warning long post.

Acids (and bases) are able to conduct electricity. The stronger the acid, the more electricity it can conduct, since those have particles that are more heavily dissolved. That means there are more freely floating particles, which act like electrolytes and shit to conduct electricity. I know, I know. "But portalbones, when are we gonna get to the ghosts? This is just chemistr-" shut up or I'll whack you with a rolled up newspaper. Or something.

"Strong acid" as a term more refers to how much of the acid dissolves rather than a measure of how corrosive the acid is. HCL in low enough concentrations can still be less corrosive than a weak acid like acetic acid, which is just vinegar. But, in a pretty basic concentration (like if both are the same concentration), HCL will be more corrosive (I think) and will conduct more electricity.

You know what else acts kind of like electricity?

A whole fuckton of those ghost laser things that danny has shot from his fucking ass in multiple episodes.

Ectoplasm is often used as a weapon, both by the ghosts and by the Fentons. It must have some attack potential beyond "ugh yucky slime," right? The idea I'd like to propose is ectoplasm being acidic.

All ectoplasm would contain some sort of strong acid, but in varying concentrations. Ghosts like the Box Ghost or those little shit goo ghost things that are your generic specter who aren't as strong would have lower concentrations of ectoplasmic acid, meaning they can conduct less energy and their surfaces would basically be non corrosive. Maybe a bit tangy if you bit them, idk.

Stronger ghosts like Skulker or Ember would have higher levels of acid, allowing them to conduct more energy and use stronger attacks. If you touched them for too long, it might sizzle a bit, but still nothing major. Skulker can power his suit with the energy conducted from his acid, which is unusually high in concentration for a ghost so small.

This acid would help them eat, since to stretch themselves like that they probably don't have much for organs, because those would be destroyed. They can still consume food because it's just dissolved inside them. Even ghosts who are weaker still have this, because the acid manifests in layers. The closer to the core you go, the more acidic they become. The core is what provides the energy that will be conducted, the acidity is what lets them use it. That's why sending out beams doesn't fry the ghost who does it. Or something.

Surface level ectoplasm is likely what's seen getting all over the Fenton lab and what shows up when there's an ectoplasmic mess to clean up. It's not really corrosive, just glows annoyingly (zinc sulfide, anyone?) And has the acidity of maybe vinegar. If you have a cut or sensitive skin it might sting. The ectoplasm used in the ghost weapons is stronger, maybe enough to give surface burns but usually targeting ghosts.

I feel like Danny and Vlad would work in a similar way to this, meaning ghost Danny just has no organs. Cut him deep enough and he'll melt the knife that you used to do it. It explains why he can use so much energy, since his acid levels would be comparable to one of his stronger enemies. These levels can adjust over time, becoming stronger as they power up, but it usually doesn't impact the ghost negatively.

Certain ghosts have an abnormality that makes their acid content super high, so that even the outer layers burn stuff pretty well. Things like that would be found in the ghost I made for the comic, for example, though I don't think any canon ghosts fit the bill. Have fun fighting that, Danny.

TL;DR basically ghosts have acidic ectoplasm that conducts the energy from their cores to use their ghost rays and stuff. The outer layers are pretty neutral though. Maybe chucking baking soda in the Box Ghost's face would hurt him. Idk. If the science here is wrong blame my sophomore Chem class for that. I don't remember that shit.

[manmadeseraphim]

An Essay on Angron from Warhammer 40K

Angron Thal’kyr, The Lord of the Red Sands, The Red Angel. A being born a demi-god, turned to a beast, then reforged as a monster of the warp. A man born to be the personification of the empathy of the Emperor of Man. This birthright was stolen from him, and in its stead was placed the butcher's nails. The creation of an emissary of apathy–and how poetic is that? A man made to hold the burdens of others, LITERALLY possessing the ability to take away the feeling of pain of all kinds, made to be an uncaring, cruel, and vindictive bastard–scourging the stars for blood and skulls in service of his enslaver.

When many think of the soft or gentle aspects of warhammer, many minds float to Vulkan, the primarch of the Salamanders as well as the legion themselves. They show compassion and love to the humans they save. Often depicted more as ‘super heros’ in the fandom rather than inhuman warmachines (of which is still acknowledged). But this stage was built for that of Angron, one meant to be a bastion of empathy and compassion (in the sense of the 41st millennium). This shines through his gene-seed impact on his sons, the XII legion–then War Hounds. While they embarked on some of the most brutal and messy battlefields, the War Hounds are quite different from the berzerkers of the modern World Eaters who live blissfully in their violence, and in agony when not. 

The War Hounds were unlike other legions during the great crusade, they had no war cry, they were not melee frenzy fanatics, they were slow and measured warriors. Those who would dredge across the battlefields with organized shield formations, combing through the obstacles. It was said that the War Hounds would march across their battlefields in all but complete silence, focused on cutting through those marked for death. Often deployed to the most brutal objectives as shock troops, the War Hounds took to the field with a mission to pursue. 

I will stand to argue that in the brutal darkness of the far future, the War Hounds showed the most empathy to those they felled before meeting Angron. They do not relish in the pain they inflict, but work in quiet efficiency to see the deeds done. Even in the World Eaters of today you can see a hint of this ‘empathy’. They will not maul you, torture you, or make you into a room of living and conscious; in worship to their lord, they work to take skulls, cut heads. In comparison to those like the Night Lords, Emperor’s Children, or even Dhrukari–this is an extremely merciful fate. Nothing more than skulls for the skull god, a death usually by decapitation. 

Before the primarch of the 12th became a ghost of a man at Desh’elika ridge–he lived to fight for the freedom of his brothers and sisters of the gladiatorial Nuscerian pits. He lived to stand beside and die with the slaves he was in bondage with. To bring peace and freedom to those enchained as he felt and lived the same paint as them. In his first ever conflict in the gladiatorial pits as a child, he chose to snap his adversaries' necks rather than simply throwing them into the acid rising beneath them. To spare them from the agony the fluids of pain would bring to his opponents, a gesture of empathy. It is almost ironic, that the primarch of empathy was never shown any himself. His own was violated and stripped from him–a rape of his own mind by the barbarus tech of Nusceria. 

In its own twisted and macabre way, the enforcement of the butcher's nails unto his own legion was an overall display of forced empathy. Making his sons experience and understand a fraction of the pains he did (as the implemented nails were ‘cheap knockoffs’ when compared to the original Nuscerian technology). Until that moment, his legion was literally physically incapable of keeping up with their primarch on the battlefield. Angron’s lust for violence and slaughter forced him to hurl himself into the fray of melee without regard for himself–only the engagement of brutality. The delegated position of bodyguard to the primarch, the devourers, had become a job of redundancy, as not even them could keep up with their primarch to ensure his safety.

Angron’s apathy enforced by the nails can be seen by his slaughter. His complete lack of care as to who he was fighting, who he was hurting, all to sooth his own paints. Furthermore, while one could argue the implementation of the butcher's nails unto his legion IS an example of forced empathy, it is also apathy as to the promised harm it imprints into his sons. Angron did not care for his sons to see his perspective. He didn't care to be understood–he wanted to hurt others. To claim some form of measured control over the galaxy he resides in. When his legion could not complete a worldly conquest in 31 hours (1 Nuscerian day), he would force them to decimate themselves (purge 10% of their ranks). Over and over again Angron exhibits behaviors of callous regard for the impact of his choices on those around him. He wants to inflict pain on others because it is truly the only thing he can remember living through. In spite of life itself, he wants others to join in his misery. 

Most of this apathy results from the butcher's nails, but its true enforcement comes from Angron’s depression and self destructive desires. Decimating his legion brings only pain to his future objectives, but he doesn't care. Angron hated his life under the emperor, he wanted nothing more than to have died with his siblings in the mountains of Nusceria. How he acts is without regard to himself. For two years even, Angron ran away from his legion. He went to a death world to find something that would be strong enough to kill him. A dramatic attempt at suicide. He only refused to see to it personally, as he deemed it a dishonorable end. For those two years he did nothing but fight other creatures, hoping that one would finally kill him. Unfortunately he was so successful at killing the beasts, he began to be worshiped as a god by the natives of the world. 

A demi-god of empathy and compassion–given no chance to even live. His choice to show his father figure empathy in the gladiator pits, his choice to refuse to kill him because of their bond, sealed his fate. His display of self, stripped his very purpose from his soul. Marking him for ruination, ownership to yet be held by Khorne. Angron could have been a leader like that of Guilliman, but was damned from the start. A tale of Greek tragedy in true, someone who never had a chance to live, never given permission to die, only promised the perpetual continuation of pain. With his only escape being the apathetic violence enforced onto others. He was never allowed to truly be. 

[monkebearness]

Our Story, Like a Romance Novel [Chapter 3: Everything in Everywhere]

Chapter 0, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Tags: (super) angst (sorry), (some) fluff, alcohol

Word count: 10.6k

a/n: yeah, this one's gonna be a bit sadder than the last. I don't know what else to say, tho don't say I didn't warn you lmao. but I hope you like(?) it. more notes at the end.

Junghoon sighed amidst the cold, empty hallway of the building’s second floor, opening Room 238 with his spare key.

The clock struck 08:00 A.M. October 12, 2023. Thursday.

He entered the club's room. Before opening the door, his thoughts circled around one wish: for everything to be the same. The room welcomes him with the same scent of air mixing with the old dusty wooden interior and the couch that hasn’t been sat on yet.

But he knew too well… Everything else didn’t feel the same.

No one else is there. He understood why some of the members are not yet ready, but he wanted to keep the room as tidy and comfortable to be in—as it was in the last few weeks. Everyone just returned from a holiday week, after all, which in some way, felt too short.

On most days, he would see Xinyu mingling beside Sohyun on the couch, with Nien being their third wheel from the side, goofing around. Seoyeon stayed the least out of them due to her active council matters, but her guidance remains with her rules and messages with the rest of the club. On the table, Yubin scrolled through TikTok on her phone in front of her laptop with cackles, and tries to show the reels to Dahyun, while the latter herself did her best to concentrate on her own studies, if she’s not playfully threatening her with a fist, if she didn’t make up her mind. It was simple and calming.

Aside from him being the first one to get into the club room, it simply felt empty without anyone sitting on the couch and reading some of the books from the shelves or sitting on their table. He could still recall Sohyun organizing and editing her new music mixes on her laptop with her close friends. Now, half of the shelf is emptied out and littered with dust, yet he recognizes that some of these books are still hers. Most of them, in fact. The rest of the girls rarely read here, unless they’re bored the hell out of their mind or sleepy.

There was no doubt she admired influential foreign authors and artists. She even taught Junghoon about some of their philosophies while comparing them to Eastern schools of thought. Even in her early twenties, Park Sohyun already proved herself to be a woman of many wonders. But so many more unanswered questions erupted from within him.

Placing his items on the table before picking up the vacuum cleaner on the corner of the room, he can’t help but remember his last meeting with her. He plugs the device on the nearest extension, before turning it on. As Junghoon aimed the hose and nozzle on the floor, he pondered about that day, when she told him about her plans. Two weeks ago.

= = =

“Noona…” Junghoon faces her as she’s sitting on the dining table. “Why aren’t you telling anyone else about this?” It was a Saturday evening when she paid him a visit.

“I don’t want the girls to worry too much…” she sighs with her eyes forcibly closed shut, much to Junghoon’s concern. He felt she doesn't even want to face him out of shame, as her grip on her mug of coffee tightens, unfazed by its warmth. “It’s better this way.”

“But they’re your friends! They’re supposed to worry about this... We’re supposed to care about whatever you do. Wherever you’re going, you gotta let us know.”

Especially after how she helped him open up about his grandma, she knows he’s right.

“I–I know,” she stammers. “But I’m leaving tonight. There’s no point in telling the girls now… Not when they’re home with their families… This shouldn’t add to their concerns. And I’m really sorry that I’m giving it all to you. This burden…”

“No, it’s okay, noona. I understand what you mean, and it’s okay that you’re telling me first. It must be hard for you to keep it from everyone else. But I still think you should at least tell Xinyu-sunbae about this. This will break her heart more if she doesn’t know.”

What made the situation much more heartbreaking was it was the holidays in Korea. Chuseok lasted five days where most people went to their hometowns and celebrated with their families until the following week. That weekend, Junghoon stayed home, in the boarding house with his grandma where Sohyun decided to pay him a sudden visit out of nowhere, much to his surprise.

Sohyun took in what her friend had said for a second. He’s right, but what if she just ends up hating me? What’s even the point if I’m leaving anyways? Shit. In her brief silence, she looks at him with a gloomful expression; water crawling out of her eyes.

She holds his hand with both her hands. “Junghoon-ah…”

“What is it?” he awaited whatever she'll say to him next. A request. A plea. A promise.

“Promise me something. And I know it’s too much for me to ask, just because you’re still in the club. But if you can—”

“Of course, noona… You can ask me anything, really. I don’t mind.”

Her voice weakens. “Please look after the Mad Money Club… Look after Xinyu-yah.”

Looking after the whole club? That shouldn’t even be a question to Junghoon. The club has basically been a second family to him. He couldn’t be more grateful to be with them. But keeping an eye on her girlfriend? Even that was too much of a responsibility for him. However, never in Junghoon’s life has he said “no” to any loved one’s request, especially if he owed them a lot. Sohyun helped him get through the first year of his college life.

The situation has become even more disheartening now that Sohyun began to break down in tears in front of him. He didn't know her as much as he thought he did.

Breaking through his hesitation, Junghoon slightly opened up his arms and held onto his sunbae, even if he was not sure how she would’ve taken it. Still, in her sadness, she understood his kind intention and in her desperation, she accepted his warm embrace.

Despite still being in disbelief about her suddenly leaving, he slowly patted her on the back. “I will, noona… I won’t leave them behind.” Sohyun let out her tears within their embrace. From the window of the kitchen, Junghoon’s halmeoni observed the two with a soft sigh. A part of her more youthful intuition wished she could do something to keep things lightened up and cheerful, but she also realized, that’s life.

And now that she has finally asked him to do something for her, it’s the least he could do as she leaves them. This may be the last time he sees her in person. What else can he do?

= = =

He still understood that Sohyun’s choice was not simply due to “fresher opportunities.” While it’s true, most of the pressure was applied by her parents. People he hasn't met.

Still checking on the club from time to time, Junghoon still wished that things turned out differently. Everyone else felt the same way, but they knew that dwelling into it would only prolong the misery that’s still embedded deep in their hearts and minds.

When Sohyun left for the club was the start of how much had changed… And though he no longer needed money, thanks to his newer part-time gigs outside campus, Junghoon still chose to stay as a part-time member of the Mad Money Club by mainly assisting the members with any errands or collaborative organization projects as he managed to earn enough money to support both himself and his grandmother with their boarding house.

She spent the remainder of the semester trying to push away even her fellow clubmates. In the later weeks of October, Xinyu would go to some of her acquaintances’ gatherings. Drinking at bars and partying at nightclubs after classes. She was the most vulnerable. She was also vulnerable to thieves and creeps, even though she had a history of being a “wilder” freshman, as Seoyeon and Nien remembered. But, it was thanks to her closest friends that they still looked after their now eldest member, even if it ‘annoyed’ Xinyu.

“That’s enough, unnie,” admonished Nien as she took the empty shot glass from her.

“Nien-ah,” Xinyu snatched it back, although she doesn’t fill it up. “Don’t tell me you’re being all grumpy now when you used to be the life of the party when we were freshies.”

After all, the Mad Money Club is more than just a club to them. If they couldn't talk her out of going outside at night, each member would take turns coming along with Xinyu.

“We can’t always babysit you, especially when you’re like this,” Seoyeon reprimands through her embittered, yet suppressed sorrow. “Not all of us can!”

“I didn’t ask for you to come here…” she shoots back, raising her voice. “You two tagged along, which you were welcome to, but I didn’t expect you to be such party shitters!”

“Look…” Nien retains the vibe of empathy in her tone, hoping it reached Xinyu’s blatant dismissiveness. “We know Sohyun-unnie left, and we couldn’t do anything about it since that was her parents’ choice… We all lost her… The least we can do is wish her the best.”

They rarely fought. And now, they try their best that things don’t change between them.

“Whatever,” the older woman sneers, before turning to the bartender for another bottle to fill up her glass with a terror-inducing tipsy gaze, making them comply immediately. Her dismissiveness only triggers another groan and sigh from the two as they leave her  from the sidelines, while they watch her wallow into her liquor. “Don’t follow me…”

The two maintain their watch over Xinyu. From her stool, Nien slightly arched her back, staring at the ceiling, with both her elbows leaning onto the counter, before letting out a minty exhale, like a dragon who lost its fume. “Seoyeon-ie… You know this is gonna be a problem for us this semester, right? Not just for us…”

Seoyeon groans in agreement, her eyes rolling to the side to steal a glance at their friend. All three of them had entered their senior year, after all. After taking a sip of her glass of sparkling water, she shook the cubes of ice inside her glass before turning to Nien with hesitation. “I, uhh, have an idea, but...”

“I may not like it?” she completes, right before taking a sip of her glass of berry juice. “You know what? I don’t care. Spill it. I mean, what’s the worst can you say?”

= = =

A few days have passed. Junghoon finds himself at the Shin Saimdang Auditorium on a Wednesday afternoon. For him, classes for the day were done, yet his objectives weren't, having gotten himself a new organization to be a part of. On day one, he didn't waste any time and got himself carrying and placing more props from backstage onto the stage for their upcoming production.

Meanwhile, two busybodies observe him from the front row. “So… Who’s this fresh—”

“You should really stop calling people that, y’know?” Yuki interrupts her with suspicion.

“Who’s the new guy?” Hwihyeon raised her voice with irritation. “There, are you happy?”

“That one’s from Xinyu’s little club. Geum Junghoon. He’s a year our junior, I think.”

“A guy? In her club?” the other woman scoffs. “Since when is that a thing?”

“I had the same question myself… ‘Till now, actually. Can you believe that?”

Hwihyeon darts her eyes above, her head tilting to the right. “I mean, now that I think about it, Daeho did hang out with them more when Mad Money helped us in our Red Book and Laundry stages… Remember that?”

“Daeho’s gay…” Yuki reminds her. “And our hetero guys who worked with them did not even last ten minutes in the same room. We’re talking about someone who’s most likely straight, who has been spending a lot of time with six women for a year now.”

“Come on, Yuki-chan,” Hwihyeon tried to sound more reasonable as her pitch eased up. “He’s not that bad. Just because a guy’s not your type—”

“Is he your type?” She raised her eyebrow and the right corner of her lips.

“Yah…” Hwihyeon crossed her arms. “He is cute, but that’s not relevant here…”

“Says the one who just said an irrelevant point,” she shoots back.

“My point is, you barely met him and you’re judgy, especially with his preferences. He might not even be that interested in anyone, and you're being like that.”

Yuki’s quarrelsome confidence is shaken with her next words. With ease, Hwihyeon’s already gotten through her somewhat exaggerated front. “I’m not being judgemen—”

“And just to add to my little argument, doesn’t the guy who Nien is seeing lately drop by whenever we visit their club… Why didn’t you mention him before? You got a bias pr—”

“Fine!” Yuki sighs in defeat, making Hwihyeon chuckle at her dramatic response. “I guess I may have misjudged this guy even though I barely know him. I just couldn’t believe they’re getting more and more progressive… At least, in that aspect.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Hwihyein nudged her shoulder with a suggestive smirk. “If Junghoon’s got friends, you can finally have a little more people for your group dates!”

“I knew your brain would go there, but that's a good point, weirdly enough. But I still think we gotta keep an eye on him. You never know.”

“He seems too timid for her taste… Eh, I doubt he’s got anything fishy. And he was pretty close with Sohyun-ah, too, so I doubt he’d lay a hand on his friend’s ex.”

“That’s exactly why we should remain cautious! No offense to the guy, but it’s Zhou Xinyu. Compared to him, we know her much, much longer.”

Hwihyeon sighs in irritation, as a second later, curiosity lights up in her eyes, making her move on her feet towards Junghoon’s direction. “Fair, but you know what? I’ll—”

Yuki can’t help but follow her trail with a sense of panic. “What are you doing?”

“You said we have known Xinyu longer, right?” She asked her with a smirk. “So why not give him a proper introduction to the rest of our crew ourselves?”

Biting her lower lip in embarrassment, Yuki tries her best to pull her friend away, but Junghoon slowly turns to find them. Their faces slowly welcome him with soft smiles.

Hwihyeon went first, while Yuki maintains her distance beside her. “Junghoon, right?”

“Ne.” They exchange a slight bow. “Annyeonghaseyo, Jo… Hwihyeon-sunbaenim?”

“That’s me!” she chuckled in glee. “Nice to meet you. And please, just call me Hwiseo.”

From the distance of the stage above, two other women watched on the three while they became acquainted, prolonging their meeting as they helped with carrying more props.

“Why didn’t any of you turn him down?” Xinyu grumbled beside Jihye, their producer.

“Okay, first of all, he’s proven to be super duper helpful. He’s got all the skills we need since our sunbaes graduated… Plus, we can’t say no to your own friends’ referrals.”

“We’ll need all the help we can get. This is an original play, after all… I doubt he’ll be needing more homework to familiarize himself with, except for the manuscript.”

“Well, I can't argue with you. I don’t know why I even complained to begin with… But, you should know he’s not the most comfortable with many people. If that happens he’ll lose his focus.”

“He seems to be doing just fine!” Jihye lightly pats her right shoulder thrice. “We don’t pressure folks who don’t want to be disturbed… Especially if they’re one of our own.”

“As if I have a choice, I still gotta save his skin…” she sighs. “Those two are relentless.”

“I’m sure he can handle himself. Haven’t you two been friends for a while now?”

“Friends?” she sneered softly. That’s one way of putting it… I met him ‘cause of Sohyun.”

“Oh…” Jihye realized exactly who she’s referring to. A familiar name yet a sensitive subject. “I, uhhh, I didn’t mean to make you… bring her up, Xinyu-yah…  Mian…”

“It’s fine, Jihye-yah…” Her tone runs colder. “I was just stating a fact. Why be sorry?”

“Look… Umm… I know things are tough for you now, but if you want some company… Someone to talk to, we can pay a visit—”

“Junghoon-ah!” hollered Xinyu, as if she didn’t hear another word from her own friend. The young man turned his head at her like a meerkat while she casually jumped down the three-feet stage and walked to them. Hwihyeon and Yuki look at their friend from gazes of curiosity to wariness. She didn’t mess around. “These two bothering you?”

Xinyu and Junghoon were not the closest, but they were always on good terms being in the same club, especially when Sohyun was around. But now that she’s left, her absence left a vacuum in their club. Junghoon lost a mentor and friend. But arguably, Xinyu had it worse. She was left with a broken heart at the start of fall. With such a sudden painful shift in her life, how can she start over? Without the one she loves? What is there left?

Over time, Junghoon more or less became Xinyu’s “part-time” assistant since Sohyun left for Europe. On weekends, he’s assisted her and the club whenever she’s had much busier preparations for her stage plays, willingly helping her buy her costumes or help rehearse her lines whenever she’s not meeting with the rest of her fellow cast and crew.

In turn, Junghoon became somewhat of a momentary member of the Thespians Society production crew to assist Xinyu during their breaks and rehearsals, volunteering to join and help the organization out to keep his promise in any ways he could for two months.

He truly wanted to help her feel better. For Sohyun’s sake. For the Mad Money Club.

“How was that take?” she asks. “Don’t bother sucking up if that's not what you think.”

He’s the least thespian, though exposure through the club’s invitations on plays for a few months made him learn a thing or two, if not a little more about stage productions.

“It is good, sunbae, but…” he gave the best insight he can think of. Thank goodness, he did well in Oral Communication and fairly decent at English Literature. “If you can add a little bit more the cadence of your voice and some gesture with your expression. Since it's a tragic monologue, perhaps you can imagine yourself after a bad br—”

Oh shit. Too soon. Why did I come up with that kind of example? He instantly thinks to himself with regret, too ashamed to even look her in the eye. You idiot... Fucking great.

“Wow…” Xinyu chuckles, yet such a reaction sparks a tremor through Junghoon’s spirit. “You’re starting to sound like our actual director and assistant. Why did you stop there?”

He lost his words. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to come up with that scenario. We can—”

“I get your point,” Xinyu dismissed his remorse like a hiss, numbing any pressures of her heartbreak with her tone and look of professionalism. “Let’s take it from the top.” She claps her hands, creating a startling thunder around the club’s room. “Again.”

He’s no longer getting paid by working for the Mad Money Club, which he insisted, thanks to his new and more stable part-time jobs outside campus, but as he always reminded himself, he owed all the people there for basically changing his life for the better and would keep owing them with his service and support.

They became more like a third family to him, just like his closest friends are his second.

Especially the promise he made to his sunbae, this is the last time he should never fail the club under any circumstances. That included not letting any of them in harm’s way. Yet that also meant that he had to keep an eye on her, like Seoyeon had asked him to. It was something Xinyu had to put up with. She even brought him elsewhere when no one else was free. Simply to lessen the feeling creeping up on her. That vulnerable loneliness.

Eventually, none of the girls were available to watch her. Because Xinyu didn’t tell them this one Friday night. This was a mistake, Junghoon told himself. But he’s already here. After a quick time check on his phone, he assists the woman out of the empty alleyway, but he kept his distance, a foot beside her. He could've alerted the others about her, maybe even called them when she got tipsier, but his attention was locked enough.

“You’re such a fucking liar, Park Sohyun…” she mumbled to herself. “All those promises. Why can’t you even consider that I wanna still be with you. Lots of couples do L.D.R. But you…” She sniffs. “You beautiful piece of… You…” She started sobbing. “I--I can’t believe you would do this to me, Sohyun. I fucking hate you! That I—snn—Love you… So much.”

The more she talked to herself, more questions added up to his sober mind, fueled by the disheartened demon on his left shoulder. Why didn’t they keep the relationship going? Who in God’s name made them think of making that decision? Just why?

But the more hesitant and meticulous angel on his right shoulder kept on shushing him. This is not our business, Junghoon-ah. You were never their matchmaker. Shut up and focus on helping her get home. And by the way, how we you supposed to know wher—

“Xinyu-sunbae, you should really go home now,” he tapped her arm. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m fine, Junghoon-ah…” she sniffed. “I can take care of myself. You can go home now.”

He swallowed his throat, still following her stepped. “I know that, sunbae. But you’re no—”

Xinyu pushed him away and leveled with him. “And why are you still here, anyway?” She wiped her tears falling off her chin, while more keep pouring from her eyes. “Your wise and precious Sohyun-noona left and now, you don’t have any money to latch on to!”

Junghoon doesn’t know what to make of her remark. “That’s not—”

“That’s not what?” she raised her voice. “Isn’t it why you joined us to begin with? So you can have financial assistance? So we can be your trust fund until you graduate college?”

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it. She probably does. She has a point. Ugh it doesn’t matter. Sohyun-noona’s gonna kill me if she’s here to witness this. While such words leaving her mouth were induced by the vicious combination of alcohol and heartbreak, Junghoon tried to keep himself together in front of Xinyu. Getting through the stinging sensation as he thought about her words while battling his inner thoughts so he can deal with the more urgent issue at hand. I didn’t know she thought of me like that. Or maybe I just didn’t want to notice it. But now that I heard those words from her…

“You gotta go home, Xinyu-noona. Please,” he begs. Sohyun wouldn’t want this. This is the last thing she wants. For you to feel this way, he thinks to himself as he saw her in this not so sober situation with caution.

“Who are you calling noona?!” she snaps at him, darting her wrathful face closer at him.

Xinyu lets out a laugh. “That’s… What I thought. Heh…”

After taking a few more steps, she turned around him again with a mischievous grin.

“But then again, I gotta give it to you Junghoon-ah... You've done a lot of good things for us... Our precious little club... I guess I have to thank Sohyun-ah for that… Errand boy.”

He shook his head, chuckling at her sudden tease, unaware of her tone. “I just wanted to help you out whenever I can... That was nothing.”

She tilts her head. “What happened with you and Nien. Was that nothing to you, too?”

A nerve was struck, maybe more than one. He felt his right fist slowly clenched—as well the palpitations on the vein of his head—but his conscience immediately reminded him it was her words that got him to a standstill, with no words to defend himself. He hasn't or wouldn't hit anyone, let alone a woman. Perks of a wallflowering wuss, he pondered.

“You know, Nien hasn't liked someone that much since... forever... I mean, she was over the moon for you, the chance you went out together. Just the two of you lovebirds... But then of course, you threw that away, after one family emergency.”

It's been months since she started seeing someone. It never bothered him, nor did he make a face that suggested otherwise. But being reminded of that mistake. Right in his face by her heartbroken best friend, his heart begins to sink while its beating imitated the clenching of his hand. Even his own halmeoni encouraged him to go for it, as did Tone, Myungsoo, Dahyun. He had months to listen to his own heart and their words. But he didn’t. They treated each other without crossing the boundaries of friendship.

The man forced a soft smile for her to snicker at. “She’s… Happier with someone now. Someone who could give more time and attention to her.” he added a shrug. “And I'm happy for them for that, so... I don't know why you have to bring that up now.”

He knows it's no use talking to someone intoxicated, but perhaps it'll help him open up. Breathe a little better somehow. She won't even remember it tomorrow, he surmised.

She jeered at his response, but she provided no answer either, at least for a moment. “Ptui…” she spat on the ground. “Getting friend-zoned… would hurt less than—this.”

He didn’t know if those words were meant for him or herself. He didn’t know anymore. It was as if she wanted to bring someone else down to her level of misery and despair. In the past few weeks, she’s never treated any of the Mad Money Club that way, not that he knew, but he knew she wasn’t capable of saying those kinds of things to them. Maybe he deserved to hear those prickly words, after all.

“It's unfair, isn't it?” she turned to him once again with a demented gaze. “One day, you found a new family with the woman of your dreams... And the next—she fucking leaves you the second she gets the chance to be some artsy snob, to be some slutty casanova!”

He would’ve told her otherwise. That Sohyun thought of her more than her own dreams. That she was everything to her. But through her rage, she kicks the trash bin in front of her, almost losing her balance completely.

Junghoon placed his hands on her shoulders, before she can collide with an open bin. “Sunbae!”

She ended up sitting on the concrete, her knees landing first on the concrete floor, a few inches next to a small pile of littered mess. “Get off…” she nudged her shoulder off him. “I barely... slipped.”

Staring into each other’s soul, he found that same look of despair and hopelessness in her. He’s reminded of Sohyun. His heart clenched even further. “Xinyu-ssi…”

“Heh…” she scoffed once again, but her fingernails tightened on his shoulders, digging on the fabric of his shirt. “Now, you don’t even have your sugar mommy to pa—”

Even in her tipsy and intoxicated state, she can feel what’s wrong in her body. Her eyes widened at this realization, but it was too late. Bile projected from her mouth as it fired straight to what’s in front of her. And the two just happen to be only two feet apart from each other.

“Oh,” her eyes slowly close, before abruptly releasing a burp. “Shit… Nggguuuuhhh…”

Giving in to inebriation, the woman lost consciousness. Blacked out. The only good thing is that she fell into Junghoon’s arms as he caught her by instinct. Despite the green vomit stain now splattered on his azure shirt, he only stared at her with concern.

“Oh my God,” he heaved, maintaining his hold on Xinyu. Instead of feeling any disgust over the stain on his clothing, he looked far into the street a few meters ahead of them, flowing with worry and sympathy. “Sohyun-noona, what do I even do with her?”

Not even the spirits on his shoulders could answer him. He had to follow his intuition.

= = =

“What if… I—we end up, like, going somewhere else?” Sohyun suggested, nuzzling her forehead on Xinyu while the latter lied on her lap. “Outside Korea, I mean. You know, it’s not too bad if we consider our options after graduation, you know?”

She tilted her head, her lips beaming upwards with wonder. “You mean, like me trying out Broadway or West End? You producing remixes for artists? Even original songs?”

“Oh, wow! That’s not too bad of a proposal… New York or London? That’s ambition!”

“You said we should consider our options,” she whined. “I was just following suit!”

“I didn’t say they were bad!” she chuckled, caressing Xinyu’s soft cheeks as she sulked. “I think you should do whatever you want.”

Within moments, the lying woman’s smile returned. “How about you, babe? You seem more and more keen on us graduating. I’m sure you already got a lot of plans kept in your journal, don’t ya?”

“Hmmm... They’re more like self-brainstorming than plans… I actually made up a list that I’ve been considering for a while, if we ever get to have a trip across the world…”

“Jinjja..?” Her eyes widened. Her heart wanted to believe it. “You and me on a trip?”

“I wouldn’t imagine it any other way. You’d be surprised how much of the list is yours.”

She giggled. “You just know me too well, you know that, hmm? My alpha muse.”

“Aniya… I feel like you know me a lot better, babe... More than anyone.”

“Well, I love you, Sohyun-ie… Whatever dreams you might wanna chase, I wanna be there to support you, hmm? But, umm, it’d be really nice for me to be closer to you…”

“I… I love you, too, Xinyu-ie… So much, my goddess… I don’t deserve you, do I?”

Pulled in by the sound of their heartbeats and enticing scents, the couple leaned closer into each other until their lips crashed together. Each kiss has always felt like heaven for them.

“Says the one who made the first move on me,” she shot back as their lips parted.

“Yah…” Xinyu playfully smacked her shoulder. “You were flirting around the fence! I couldn't tell if you were being sss—”

= = =

Morning has passed. Sunlight already prickled through her eyelids, prompting her to rise from her comforting slumber out of the bright irritation. She heard the door creak open. From outside, Junghoon kept his distance and greets her respectfully. From an oversized shirt to jogging pants, he’s in much more comfier attire than the ones she saw him in. She has yet to realize it, but her style of clothing isn’t entirely different either. It's simply too comfortable for her to notice.

Xinyu blinked rapidly at his presence. “Where am I?” He counted at least five times.

“You’re in our—” he paused. “I mean my boarding house, sunbae… You’re in my room, so I slept elsewhere last night… But do you, umm, remember what happened last night?”

After a moment of struggling to recall the other night, Xinyu’s tiresome eyes grew at her realization. Last night flashed right before her eyes. Aish! Fuck. Shit. What the fuck did he do—the fuck did I just do? Instinctively, she closed her eyes as her body is caught by the net of embarrassment. For a split second, she covered her face with her hands. As the silence continues, she looks back at Junghoon, opening her eyes to confront the present.

“Did I really..?” She's too hesitant, horrified even, to complete her own words.

Junghoon understood her confusion. “Yeah… You drank a lot last night at the bar.”

She looked down, assessing what she’s wearing. Clothes were a bit looser than what she usually wore but they're oddly comfortable enough because of it. She didn't mind it, but the fact that such clothes weren’t hers only drove a few more questions to fill her mind. Thankfully, Junghoon sensed her concern when she scanned her new clothing.

“I got your clothes washed in the laundry outside. They got really soaked after you… umm… Passed out.”

“Wait…” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you—?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” he panicked at her extreme insinuation. “I did not change your clothes. My halmeoni did. Plus, the laundry's only around the next block… I can take it out in an hour if you want, but that's also her clothes you’re wearing. Are they too uncomfortable for you? Cause—

“No, no, please… They fit just fine.” Her voice toned down hearing his grandmother's involvement. “I…ah–Thank you, Junghoon-ssi.”

“No problem, sunbae. You can thank her downstairs. All your stuff is there on the table.” He points to the corner of the room. She located her purse. “So umm, just let me know if something else is missing. Or if you need anything.” He bowed to her. She did the same.

After screaming right into a pillow and seven more minutes of contemplating on her life decisions, Xinyu headed down the stairs and into the living room. On the left side of the room: a flat screen TV right next to a small bookshelf, and a couch in front of it. On her right she saw an elderly woman walking from the kitchen counter, bringing three pairs of stainless steel chopsticks, spoons, and small bowls with her and placing them on the dining table. Junghoon was standing next to the stove, holding a ladle and pouring it into a clay pot while most of the steam rose up to his face. Xinyu walked up to them quietly, but her eyes crossed paths with the woman.

“You must be Junghoon’s guest,” the old lady greeted her with her sweet and raspy voice. “Join us for lunch. You might wanna clear your head with some hangover soup. We also have other meals that you might like.”

Junghoon placed plates of various meals. Rice. Bossam. Japchae. Haejangguk. Kimchi.

Xinyu bowed, her voice softening compared to last night. “Thank you, halmeoni. I’m not much of a picky eater.” She sat down on the chair. “I, umm, actually like all of these.”

While smiling at her, Xinyu sat at the chair right in front of Junghoon, facing where he was sitting. His grandmother was seated in a chair beside, sensing the unease between the two.

“You're very welcome—” she halted. “May I know your name? If that is okay with you.”

“Sure, halmeoni! It’s Xinyu... But you can say it like ‘Shinwi.’”

“Ah, Shinwi, Your name sounds wonderful, dear. It’s unique. It stands out.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she lowered her head for a bow. “And thank you for the food as well. The haejangguk is really delicious. Especially with this cup of warm tea, it really gets the headache out of the way.”

“I’m glad to hear that, although it's my grandson here that cooked the stew. I haven't cooked anything heavy in a while now, but I did teach him how to cook it.”

Xinyu took a look at him, but he kept eating his meal. Yet the millisecond he looked up to steal a glance at her, she slightly lowered her head on her bowl and chowed down a spoonful of rice, while pondering to herself at this moment. This feeling of being treated as a guest? It’s new to her, strangely enough. Do I even deserve this? After the shit I’ve said to him? God, I’m such an asshole. The savory treat that she's indulging in this hospitable household, wrestling with her guilt by her treatment of him outside.

“Is it too salty, dear?” asked the older woman. Only a third or her bowl was emptied. In front of Xinyu, Junghoon stopped his munching for a second, yet he continued almost right after. He looked down to focus on his japchae, but she caught his deadpan eyes.

Despite hearing her concern, Xinyu looked up to her with eyes of wariness. “Oh… No, no, no, it's not salty at all, halmeoni. Your grandson really knows how to balance the seasonings. I'm just surprised… I, uh, never got to eat something like this at home.”

“Well… That's oddly nice to hear, since we rarely cooked for anyone else… Make sure you eat up a lot, arasseo?”

“Ne…” Such simple words encouraged Xinyu to take two pieces of bossam with her chopsticks and wrap them in a cabbage, much to Junghoon’s surprise. Within three seconds, she snuck the meal in her mouth—chewing as soon as it's inside her cheek. “Jeong…mal kamsa…hamnida…” she mumbled, making the elder woman snicker.

Almost an hour has passed since they finished. Thanks to his grandmother's advice, the two headed outside for a walk around the local neighborhood of Keuri-gu, Seoul. Xinyu had her leather shoes on, realizing how polished they looked.

“The laundromat’s just around here,” Junghoon instructed her. “But I’ll have to drop by the pharmacy for a bit. Do you mind if I head there first..? I’m just gonna buy medicine for my grandma.”

She slowly recalled his situation. “No, I don't mind waiting at all. I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, okay.” They walked together. “If you need anything, I can buy it for you, sunbae.”

Throughout their thirteen minutes of waiting inside the drugstore, Xinyu couldn't help but be more curious about her hoobae. There was still guilt in her for sure, knowing how she thought of him, but now that he’s around, she didn't want to misunderstand him any longer. She didn’t listen to Sohyun much, or at least was fully convinced when she told her about Junghoon, but now that she’s all on her own, she gotta ask him herself.

“Based on your receipts from last time, here’s your medicines,” the pharmacist shows the tray to Junghoon. “Make sure your grandmother drinks them on time, arasseo?”

“Yes, Doctor. Daedanhi kamsahamnida,” he bows with gratitude.

“You’re very welcome.” She took a look at Xinyu. “Your girlfriend’s really pretty.”

Xinyu snickered, before whispering to herself. “What a cliche thing to say.”

“What’s that?” The pharmacist couldn’t catch the young woman’s remark.

“Oh, she’s just saying that she’s not my girlfriend,” Junghoon's intercepts. “We’re just friends from college. She���s my sunbae.”

“It’s nothing, Doctor,” Xinyu stepped up. “I just wanna thank you for the compliment.”

The pharmacist chuckles. “There’s nothing to thank me for, dear. You’re like an idol!”

“That’s very flattering, ma’am. But I’m just a student for now. Exploring all my options, you know?”

“Perhaps you should consider the best ones, sweetheart. Not everyone gets to be born beautiful like you… Anyways, thanks for the visit, you two. Take care!”

They exited the store, basking underneath the sunlight once more. Xinyu still looked at him without any words. He’s a bit more suspicious about her behavior. It’s not like her. I know that she remembered what happened last night, but she’s never been this awfully quiet or at least, less talkative to everyone, even to me.

“What is it, sunbae?” His question pulled her back out to reality.

“Huh?” She turned to him. “Oh, yeah… I wanna ask if that is—ummm—the reason why you worked with us? Why you joined the Mad Money Club in the first place? For your halmeoni’s medications?”

With pursed lips, he slightly nods. “I guess that's one reason ever since I worked.”

“And that date you had with Nien last semester…” she continued. “You stood her up because of your grandmother’s emergency, right? I remember that day clearly.”

“You’re right, sunbae,” he looked down in guilt. “But to answer you, the longer I stayed with guys, I can’t help but love and accept the club for what it is. Beyond that side gig part. The hangout, the members, and what you do and work on… That’s why I didn’t continue with the payment. Like my closest friends, you guys are worth staying for.”

She looked at his smile. His look of encouragement, in spite of their farewell. It’s like he had a second chance at life when he thought of his first meeting with them one year ago. Her realization made only her feel lightened up. Made her think of the rest of her loved ones. The ones Xinyu had almost taken for granted right after her girlfriend left her on short notice. There was nothing she could do. She could still be drinking and blaming Junghoon or anyone else for letting Sohyun go, but it won’t make her feel any better.

“You know… You have a point. Sohyun-ah leaving… It shouldn't stop me from staying in the club. There's other people here worth staying for… And I want to be with them, too.”

“That's…” He didn't expect her to take his words that way. Heck, he still sensed that she's hurting. “Kind of nice to hear from you, sunbae… I’m glad you feel that way.”

She faced him with a more straightened back and courageous posture. “How about you, Junghoon? Are you leaving the club for next semester or will you be staying with us?”

“I’m…” He already knew his answer, but some things would be far easier said than than. “I’m staying with you guys. Because as long as there's a Mad Money Club, I’m with you.”

Hearing his optimistic words brought a smile on her face. She doesn’t know exactly why, but for once, she realized that she doesn’t have to keep wallowing in self-pity and bottles of soju. It was one painful breakup that she went through and is still going through, but she felt that it shouldn’t hold her back. Xinyu wanted to keep living the way she yearns. She has to liberate herself and enjoy the moment with the ones who are here with her. Her heartbreak’s still there, but so were the people willing to help and give her the attention and remedies she’d need to heal, no matter how long it would take.

After a brief revisit to Junghoon’s home, followed by a quiet, ten-minute bus ride from the Keuri-gu bus stop, the two arrive outside the first SSU campus gate. Both were now in new attires, with the woman wearing her clothes from yesterday, her jeans and white shirt, before she’d spilled her own bile on it. Junghoon retained his joggers, although he was now wearing a darker shirt.

As they reached the sidewalk, the woman spotted a man in a black suit, standing outside a stealth wealth car. An undeniable presence which slowly made her hair stand up. Not because of the possibility that he is another stranger, but because she might know his exact identity, even from a distance.

“Ms. Zhou!” They heard the man’s voice call out. “Where the hell have you been?”

Her suspicions had proven to be correct. “Mr. Yi… What are you doing here?”

Junghoon stood in silence right beside her, simply intimidated by the sight of this man while they walked up to him. Despite being inquisitive of his identity, he only looked at Xinyu, like he’s looking up to a royal or a goddess that he happened to be involved with now. This isn’t my business, but I can’t leave her alone until I’m sure. They seem to be close, yet she acts polite towards him. Is that man her father? Brother? Uncle? Do all rich people just have hitmen-for-hire? Shit, I should've just called the girls sooner!

“Your parents would’ve looked for you all over the city if I didn’t find you sooner.”

Such words alerted her. A paralyzing trigger. “They’re here? Since when?”

“They’re still at the airport back in Beijing, but they told me that you haven't been answering their calls since last night… You weren’t answering mine either.”

So he must be a bodyguard or someone close to their family, he added.

“I know. But my phone died last night,” she brings up. “I only got it charged an hour ago.” She bows to him, adding up to Junghoon’s assumption. “Joesonghamnida.”

Yi shook his head. “It's fine… Now, answer my question. Unless you want your parents to ask you the same question tonight, I don’t know if I can help you get out of this one.”

“I–ah…” Xinyu almost fumbled. “I stayed at a friend's place last night after a gathering.”

The head bodyguard looked at Junghoon with distrust. “Is he the friend you went with?”

“Uh, no!” she waved her hands, a bit agitated at his look. “He is a friend of mine as well, but I slept at another friend’s place. I just happened to stumble across him on campus.”

“Ne, she’s right, ahjussi,” he bowed out of instinct, intimidated by the man’s keen stare. “Annyeonghaseyo.”

Yi slowly nodded at Junghoon with respect, but the woman’s words weren’t enough to convince him. “Hmm… Do you two have classes today?” He took another look at Xinyu, slowly flaring his breathing through his nose, as the guard scanned the wrinkled clothes of the young woman. “You should get your clothes changed, by the way.”

“We don’t?” she emboldened her cadence. “Because it’s a Saturday? And I just got these washed. Plus, It’s not like I’m going anywhere else anyway… so I don’t see the big deal.”

He scoffed. “If it’s not a big deal, then I don’t see why we can’t go home now. You got some explaining to do once they get here.”

She turned to Junghoon. “I gotta go…” she held his hand. “Thank you, Junghoon-ah. And please thank your grandmother for me…” she got inside the passenger’s door, as opened for her by Mr. Yi. “See you on Monday!”

“I will, Xinyu-sunbaenim,” he waved at him, his relief returning. “Annyeonghi gaseyo!”

After Xinyu and Yi drove away. Standing in front of the pavement, Junghoon looked at the vehicle and sheepishly waved at it as his sunbae and her ride slowly left his sight.

Junghoon sighed with relief. “I shouldn’t be going this far… But at least she’s alright.”

From a distance, four figures exited the main campus gate and ran straight to Junghoon. Hearing his name like a megaphone, he looked back to see Seoyeon, Nien, Dahyun, and Yubin approaching in a hurry. They must’ve read my texts about Xinyu-sunbae since last night. I hope they don’t get mad at me for letting her sleep at our place.

“Sunbaes. Yubin-ah… What are you guys doing here this early?”

“Junghoon-ah!” Seoyeon latched her hand on his shoulder while catching her breath for a moment. “Where is Xinyu-unnie?”

“Is she okay?” added Nien, though she looked at him just as worried, her fingers holding on his palm. “Where is she now?”

“She just left in that car with her bodyguard or someone. He was in a black suit.”

“Which one?” asked Yubin, which made him raise an eyebrow.

“The one named Mr. Yi,” he recalled vividly. “If I’m not mistaken. Tall and brooding.”

Junghoon was a bit perplexed by the bombardment of questions fired by their worries, but sighs followed as nothing but relief was felt by the three women after hearing that name from him and how he described the man.

“Dahaengida…” Yubin exhaled, reassured by his short description. “It’s just Mr. Yi.”

Her relief and the others’ positive yet even mundane reaction made him tilt his head. “Do you all know who he is?”

“Yeah, umm… Mr. Yi is actually the head bodyguard of the Zhous,” Seoyeon briefed him.

“Oh… So she does have many bodyguards after all,” he slowly nodded at this realization. Paranoia would’ve pushed him to ask more questions, but he kept himself calm around them. If they trust him, if she trusts him, there’s no good reason I shouldn’t.

“Yeah, she does… But don't be intimidated by them too much, arasseo?” she assured him with a snicker, noticing his unease at the thought of meeting more men in suits. “They’re not assassins, unless you give ‘em a reason to be.”

“Don’t mind Seoyeon-ah… How about you, Junghoon-ssi? Did you guys stumble on anything or anyone suspicious last night?” Dahyun took her turn to ask him.

“Luckily, we didn’t, noona. The bar she was drinking in happened to be walking distance from my boarding house. Place was almost empty and no one bothered her… Bartender even asked us to leave at midnight. Scared when she got too drunk.”

“Thank God she was with you.” Seoyeon placed her hand on his shoulder once again, her worry still not leaving her mind. “Junghoon-ah… Thank you so much for taking care of her…” Her grip on him slowly prolonged into a squeeze, but he never seemed to feel a sting. “But we’ll never let any of you be on your own ever again. That’s our promise!”

“It’s no problem, noona,” Junghoon nodded, feeling the ease of his calming heartbeat, just hearing her reassurance, and the undeniable grip she’s had on him. “I’m just glad she’s okay now.”

“Now that that’s been dealt with…” Dahyun scratched her head with a frown. “Gosh, we really gotta talk to her next week. Things must have been the hardest for her, ever since Sohyun-unnie left.”

“Right, unnie,” Yubin nodded, also with a somber face. “We gotta be there for her the moment we meet on campus. We can’t leave each other now… Not in a time like this.”

Junghoon rubbed his left wrist. “I think I may be able to help you guys on that one.”

They turned at him with anticipation. “You have any ideas in mind?” Seoyeon wondered.

= = =

Monday finally arrived. Outside the building, Junghoon crossed paths with Xinyu. But, more accurately, he waited for her arrival for twenty minutes. It’s already approaching lunch break, though this time it took her a little later for her to arrive here than usual.

“You’re a bit later than usual, sunbae,” he greeted her with a slight bow, as did she.

“What do you mean?” she tilted her head at him. “It’s not that rare that I arrive a bit late. Plus, I had some stuff to sort out with my parents, if you still remember that last week.”

She’s right. His own remark made him guarded. “Yeah, you’re right. Mianhamnida.”

Xinyu looked straight into his eyes, examining his behavior. Something’s off with him. Is it because of last week? I hope things still aren't weird between us since I threw up on him when I dropped drunk. Or when said those things to him. Damn, I sucked ass.

“And, umm, speaking of last week…” Her lips twitched. “I think I owe you an apology…”

“Oh, sunbae…” Junghoon almost took his right foot backwards, unaware she would take this conversation, but his left stayed, maintaining his attention to her. “You don’t hav—”

“I certainly do, and I want to…” Her eyes darted at him. “Mianhaeyo, Junghoon-ssi.”

A suppressed part of him, however, yearned to hear those words. Those eyes of hers, mirroring the times she’s taken him seriously during their meets. “You were drunk.”

“That didn’t make it right… I treated you like a punching bag just because I was tipsy—”

“You were wasted—” he tried to lighten the mood, although he felt it was a gamble.

She chuckled, in disbelief he would respond in that lighthearted manner. “That’s besides the point, but yeah… I am really sorry for all those hurtful things. Especially with what I said about you and Nien, I think you’re a good guy. Everything just… Came over me.”

“Gwenchanayo, sunbae… Believe it or not, Nien and I already talked things over a while back, so there’s no bad blood between us. But I do appreciate the apology… Jeongmal.”

He took another breath and added more to his words. “And if it makes it feel any better, you can also stop calling me too formally, then we’re all good… If that’s okay with you.”

Slowly, her lips curled upward. “Of course. That’s the least I can do, Junghoon-ah…”

Silence prolonged through their smiles, but for the woman, something’s still strange.

“By the way, why did you wait for me? Did you and the girls already meet in the room?”

He hated lying. “I wasn’t… Waiting. And no, we haven't had a meeting yet. You know we can’t do that if we’re not complete.” Yet, he was simply making things up on the spot.

She crossed her arms. “So you weren’t just standing on this spot before I arrived?”

His eyes kept moving from left to right. Diagonally, up and down. “Since you are not there yet, I thought I could just, you know, get some air. It was getting hotter there.”

“But we have AC inside the room,” Xinyu pointed out. “Don't tell me it’s broken now?”

“I mean fresh air,” Junghoon chuckled nervously. “Nothing beats nature, right?”

“Why not just open the window?” she shot back. “Our room’s on the second floor.”

“Because everyone else was into the AC,” he whined. “Didn’t wanna bother them while they wait for us.”

“You know they won’t mind if anyone feels cold.” She squinted her eyes, while Junghoon tried his best to level his gaze with hers without a sign of panic. However, she can notice him breathing through his nose, louder than usual. “What’s going on with you today?”

Junghoon was already fumbling. He hesitated more, struggling to come up with another excuse in front of her. That is until he hears a vibration in his pocket. He didn’t know if it entailed good or bad news, making him pull out his phone and check the message.

“Crap,” he whispered to himself, but her ears caught him.

“Who was it?” she bluntly questioned him, focusing on his instant face of agitation.

Why did I say it out loud?

“Oh, that was no one. Just some spam emails. I was just checking the time since—”

There’s a larger digital clock behind them and it has been on since the morning they got here. He’s caught. There’s no point in stalling her. There’s gotta be some other way to give them a little more time.

She became a bit worried by his movements. “What is it, Junghoon? Tell me.”

Junghoon's anxious look remained, even though he had no other words left to say. “Well…”

She rushed into the building and walked swiftly up the stairs, despite his pleas. Opening the door of Room 238, she expected the worst to happen, based on Junghoon’s concern.

“Surprise!” shouted everyone inside the room, leaving Xinyu stunned, astonished at her sisters while Junghoon stood beside her with a warm smile and slow breaths of relief.

Her boiling worries simmering down with relief at the sight of her members the moment she looks at their glowing faces and radiating smiles. She felt her eyes starting to water.

“W–What’s this?” She slowly stepped inside, looking around the now decorated room in awe. Junghoon silently closed it before it stirred attention from other students or worse, professors. Inside, the walls are with photos of their time together in the past two years. Noticing the teddy bears and the religious statues, stacked with fake Korean won bills, which they made as a goof for her project made her laugh and giggle, as if her sadness drifted in her moments of reminiscence. The food on the table reminded them of their first time dining outside campus.

“We wanted to surprise you with a little something, unnie,” Seoyeon chuckled, holding Xinyu as she walked closer to them in wonder.

“I know Sohyun-unnie may no longer be a part of our club, but she wouldn't want us to keep feeling like this. Even if you guys aren’t… Together anymore,” Nien comforted her.

“That being said,” Yubin continued, looking at the dozens of pictures on the wall as well. “We want to remind you that we’re not going anywhere, unnie.”

“I know, I—” Xinyu halted, realizing it’s never just about herself. “We shouldn't be afraid to see things differently, because that’s not necessarily a bad thing… It’s Sohyun’s choice to leave and there’s nothing much we can do. We can only wish her the best…” she sighs. “But at least… At least, we’re still here. Thank you girls.”

“We’re always here for you, Xinyu-unnie…” Dahyun reassured her, as the rest nodded.

“I’m so—ssorry I ppushed you—away, girls,” mumbled Xinyu, each of her hands holding onto Nien and Seoyeon. “I don’t know where I’d be without you—all… I–snn–love you.”

Tears began to pour from her eyes, closing them as she felt the sweet embrace of her sisters, huddled together into a group hug. Seoyeon dragged Junghoon to join their moment, slumping him between her and Nien. They closed their eyes, treasuring the  warm embrace for a few seconds, before the tantalizing scent of food distracted them.

“As you are now looking at our containers and deliveries on the table,” Yubin informed everyone. “You girls better not worry about getting lunch, arasseo?”

As Xinyu noticed, their table was not scattered with their usual notes, books, and other devices. Instead, stainless metal containers of various foods are placed by the members. The Mad Money Club rarely got to eat together during class hours since they didn’t want to spend their funds and allowances together at the same time, but today’s an exception.

“I can’t believe you managed to buy these,” she wondered, still in awe at the makeshift buffet on their table. “Did you have them delivered?”

“We didn't order everything outside. Just the appetizers we usually order,” Seoyeon explained like she was a waiter impressing a bunch of customers. “Lucky for us, Yubin and Junghoon volunteered to cook these main dishes, just to try out something new. Our maknae chefs.”

Xinyu looked at Yubin and Junghoon—giving them a smile of genuine appreciation and gratitude, even though he’s more occupied with the rest of the girls in handing out their paper plates, disposable spoons, and chopsticks, as if they were having an actual party. She then looked at the four women, as her heart had slowly melted by their surprise.

About five minutes later, they heard a few knocks on the door. Xinyu almost panicked, but her suspicions overcame her fears when Junghoon had quickly opened it with little hesitation. She exchanged a few looks with Seoyeon and the rest. Seeing Yubin holding her grin, Seoyeon shaking her head with arms crossed, Dahyun moving her fingers like they’re strings, and Nien scratching her head with a smile—her suspicions shifted into both annoyance and anticipation.

From outside the room, entered Hwihyeon, Yuki, Jihye, and Daeho, cheering “Surprise!” Their hands held an assortment of soda and fruit juices. Five bottles and a litter each.

“Girls?!” Xinyu’s eyes widened, her smile immediately returning. “How did you—?”

“A little birdy told us about a secret little party,” Jihye teased, making Dahyun giggle.

“We can’t miss out on the fun, hehe,” Hwihyeon added, her jumpy movement mirroring Seoyeon’s cheerful behavior all of the sudden. “If you don’t mind us being here, that is,” Yuki chimed in beside Daeho, who simply waved at her with a warm, supportive smile.

At this point, Xinyu couldn’t care less about who told them. Now that they’re here, her heart was yearning for them as much as she did her own club. “Come in!” she hollered, pulling them inside by their hands just before Junghoon closed the door shut. The Mad Money and Thespians Society huddled with cheers and enthusiasm. “These dishes look amazing,” she added. “but I don’t even know if we can finish all of these by ourselves.”

As much as it ached for her to keep on thinking about the one that got away, she realized there’s still a lot more things worth staying for here, while she’s in college. Maybe she’ll meet someone new, but that matters the least to her right now, maybe for a long time. 

Whoever’s here, that’s more than enough.

= = =

From the other side of the globe, it's still an hour before sunrise. In her autumn wear, Sohyun rested her crossed arms on the parapet with her earphones on, as the morning breeze blew off the orange and yellow leaves down the ground. From her distance, her peripherals caught the bridge, with its bundles of love locks. Shifting her gaze into the depths of the Seine river, she took a deep breath into the Western air. She checked the time on her watch, prompting her to take a stroll back to her dorm.

The door quickly unlocked with her key, which Sohyun slowly turned with caution. Without muttering a word, she took her shoes off and placed them on the doormat.

“Olivia? C'est toi ?” a new yet familiar voice mumbled to her. Her roommate—still pulled into her slumber—was awoken by the creak of the closing door. Crap… she thought, You should’ve closed it slower. Still, she kept her voice lower in front of her.

“Oui, c'est moi, Sylvie,” she hummed, taking off her jacket and placing it on the chair in front of her desk. “Qui d'autre ?”

“As-tu au moins dormi un peu?” she asked, right before letting out a yawn.

“Oui, mais pas autant que tu as dormi,” Sohyun couldn’t help but chuckle at her state.

The woman snortled as she sat down on her bed, rubbing off the rheum of both her eyes. “I see your French is getting better.” She changed her tongue to English with ease while retaining her native accent. Nevertheless, Sohyun has little more experience with this language. She’s got someone to thank that for.

Sohyun sat down on the chair. “Merci beaucoup. I, uh, I had a little time to study.”

“At this hour?” Sylvie rested her right cheek on her knuckles, intrigued by her feat, even though she just caught the bags under her eyes. She had an urge to say and ask about it, but she thought they're not close enough to reach that level of conversation. Not yet.

Sohyun rummaged through her wardrobe. “Just wanted to wrinkle my brain a bit.”

“Mon Dieu…” the French woman shook her head. “Girl, we gotta get you a new hobby!”

Sohyun pulled out a fresh set of clothes and a towel. “I’m flattered, but who needs them now when we have class in an hour?”

Sylvie sighed, making her pick up her phone on her nightstand. “You just had to remind me that, don’t you?”

“You said you wanted me to have your back,” she countered, raising her hands in the air.

 “Touché,” Sylvie chuckled, getting up from her bed while Sohyun walked up to the bathroom with her essentials.

Sohyun might not be there to celebrate with them, nor could the members contact her as of this time being, but they commenced their feast in Korea, as, even in their unexpected farewell, all members wished the best to one of their own in her future endeavors. Hope clung on, maybe she’ll call them soon. As much as it pains her, she has a new life now.

For now, only a thought ought to keep them going through this chapter. Wherever they were, wherever they would end up. Who knows what the future holds?

= = =

so that's it for this chapter. aside from apologizing again, I feel obliged to clarify that I'm also a soxinz shipper lol, but this is an au. it's all fiction. so yeah. plus, other writers have written their ship way better. some of them are available on this site too. also, apologies if I somehow offended any French readers lol, I only used a translator for that, so that's another clarification out of the way.

on another note, I'm still on a break from smut one-shots but the latest waterbomb has been really pushing me to write something, even if it's just a quickie smut or fluff, so maybe, maybe, not, I'll post something new, eventually. for now, I hope you liked this one, or not. I still appreciate the read. hope you have a nice day and 'til next time!

[laserbobcat]

OMG the whining is OFF the roof with this one! Call the wambulance. Waaaaaa everyone loves trod: Yes it's one of the oldest and biggest cotl fics, it's extremely well written, full of wonderfully fleshed out characters, and loved for many, many good reasons. "Favoritism" means injustice, every bit of attention this AU gets is 100% deserved.

Waaaaaa I'm sick of too much suffocating fanart: Bruh seriously? Suffocating? You're in a fandom full of cool fanart that people put their heart into, for you to enjoy, and you're complaining? Insane. It's extremely insulting to me as an artist. I never see enough art of the things I like. Oh but I guess it's because:

Waaaaaa art takes attention away from my writing: Just. Ok let's break this one down. 1) Humans are visual creatures, images will always, always get more attention than writing, in any and all context. That's why corporations ruin the view everywhere with ads billboards. And don't shame people who don't like to read. 2) All fandoms for visual media, like video games or anime for example, work even more like this. It's always harder to get attention for your writing, compared to book fandoms. See point above. It's a harsh reality a lot of good and passionate writers face everyday without throwing a public tantrum about it. Deal with it. 3) Attention? Are you pitching art vs writing because you're frustrated about your numbers? Seriously? Are you implying that writers who also make art cheat or something? Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, they enjoy doing both? Because this is all hobbies and passion and not an engagement contest? The entitlement is insane. Have you even considered for a second that maybe your writing, sorry, isn't good? Have you tried taking feedbacks and trying to improve? Because the fic writers and readers I know will dig deep into AO3 until they're read everything they can. Do you even value the few people who take interest in your work? Will they only matter when there's a certain number of them?

Waaaaaa the algorithm hates me: Nah buddy, algorithms hate all biological organisms without distinction. You know how you counter that? Community. By engaging sincerely with people you like, you create networks naturally, for example you could make an artist friend who could draw for your fic in exchange for some writing from you. It happens a lot, collabs are common. Not with that attitude though, salt doesn't make friendships. Might be that your personality drives positive people away from you and you blame the algorithm.

"All art is art. Please show it the love it deserves, and don’t toss aside a story just because there aren’t visuals accompany it." Don't you dare get up on a soapbox, with an anon mask, and pretend to preach love for writing as a disguise for your bitterness. You're not spreading a positive message for writers, you're tearing down an artist in particular because of you personal frustration with the amount of attention you, personally, apparently don't get. "No hate but-" it is. Whining is one thing, but here you pointed your finger at someone who is wildly liked because they're a great artist and writer, and a very positive and supportive person who shares a lot with other people in this fandom, (they also openly share their huge anxiety about trod being successful) and shamed them. You blamed someone (while pretending you're not doing it) for creating stuff they love because you feel it's taking attention away from you. You did all of that without taking anyone's feelings into consideration. What did you think, that because someone's work is popular, they can't be touched by hurtful words? Do you think numbers and notes protect people's feelings like a shield? That they make insecurity and anxiety vanish? Is that why you're so desperate you don't get enough? You should be ashamed of your behavior. Change it. Be a better person. You will never get the human connection you seek with this win/lose, attention seeking, lack mentality. Only more feelings of emptiness.

Before I start this, I love TROD. Fantastic fanfiction, beautiful art, wonderful story. Absolutely no hate to the AU or the creator because I love both.

This fandom also loves TROD… and nothing but TROD. The favoritism is getting really annoying. I’m sick of looking for fic recs just to see TROD every other comment. It’s like being recommended Percy Jackson over and over. Everyone’s read it, everyone loves it. PLEASE recommend something else.

Tied with that: please share fics that don’t have art. This fandom (and every fandom but especially this one) has such a suffocating preference for fanart and I’m sick of it. You can be a wonderful artist but a learning writer and gets loads of attention, but if it’s the opposite? If you’re an incredible writer who can just sorta draw? Good luck getting noticed for your talents. Doesn’t help that Ao3 doesn’t have an algorithm but art-based platforms do and will, by default, flush out all the pure writing content/creators.

All art is art. Please show it the love it deserves, and don’t toss aside a story just because there aren’t visuals accompany it.

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